#considering his personal history and trauma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lady-quen · 3 days ago

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🥺

Oh my goodness, a whole analysis... for my writing... this is the highest compliment I could have ever hoped to receive, thank you so, so much! I'm holding this to my chest and crying 💜

I've definitely put my whole soul into writing this, and since I happen to be best at writing angst, tension and action, it was a blast to work on. Hollering at the notes, howling at the moon, even. So, I allowed myself to ramble about some of your points :D

- Referring to Mael as "the Knight" so extensively is indeed meant to juxtapose the current version of himself to what follows, when he self-describes as a fallen or failed Knight of Thorn. Wielding Caladbolg for extended periods of time burns his hands even through his enchanted gloves, since he's carrying the very weapon meant to slay the kind of monster he's become. Add in the fact his first Wyld Hunt was canon-divergent and instead of being sent to fight Zhaitan right away, he inherited Riannoc's Hunt to slay Mazdak - this man cannot escape the irony of tragic cycles.

- Since he wakes 5 years before canon and joins the Priory early to research Krytan history and necromantic rituals in hopes of stopping Mazdak (before the whereabouts of Caladbolg are known) I'm also working on the idea Sieran was his student instead during the PS. Meaning losing her would be traumatic in a whole different way, considering he later takes on Maol as a squire and trains him to be the next Knight of Thorn but almost loses him to Jormag in the process. We need to post more about this whole plotline, I promise it's so good and parallels Riannoc and Waine (violent cough sfx)

- As for his colors, Mael is actually based a lil on a tillandsia air plant! It's a xeric plant, silver when dry, gets greener when rehydrated. Yes, this means that if you dunk Mael in water his hair turns green. I have a more in-depth post about it somewhere, will reblog it. In any case, this is why he looks silver sometimes and greenish some other times. A quirk of ingame lighting which I turned into a biological trait.

- The Lost Soul' stripping of identity was extremely fun to work on. Mael basically regresses completely to his pre-awakening Dreamer self (even if intertwined with trauma) and subconsciously confuses the Domain of the Lost with the Dream. Hence the comments about the hounds, he was always surrounded by fern hounds when in the Dream. Both Mael and Maol have deep-rooted canine symbolism, it does indeed follow them throughout their lives. Plus, Maol's introduction to the DW is literally through tracking down Mael in the Desolation, looking for answers about his Dream of the Three Knights as well as why Mael's still "alive" after Maol witnessed his death through his unnaturally strong Dream connection.

- The journey through the Domain of the Lost is all about finding one's identity and purpose, and yet, a part of Mael was worried that the person he was in life was evil. This is partly because he died so violently he confused himself with Balthazar, but also ties to the slight canon-divergencies with which I portray the Commander. Post-Maguuma, witnessing all the racism against sylvari and being aware of the threat of having his rank taken from him or even being assassinated, Mael truly began his moral downfall from the chivalrous Valiant he once was - working closely with Whispers to weed out those who opposed him, knowing that were he to lose the rank of Commander, the Pact would have likely fallen apart. He became a killer, a wolf holding tight the reins of all those who would dare oppose him. And, well, as a Dawnborn, he was always exceedingly good at political games, lies and deceit. It all culminates in The Departing, of course, forcing Mael to truly become his personal image of ultimate evil - a lich - for a greater cause.

- Taking the soul of a literal avatar of hunger transforms him into an image of hunger and ambition, someone doomed to never be able to stop his pursuit and never truly have enough. This is why he takes on a self-assigned "endless Hunt" to strike down any threats to Tyria that pop up. His chain magic comes from the need to suppress the more volatile side of his power - though we don't have an official Deldrimor script, so his tattoos are in Krytan, the sealing spell he inscribed into himself is a dwarven one to mirror the bindings of Fenrir being forged by dwarves. It's also derived from the same spell he studied before canon to seal Mazdak in his tomb, back when killing a lich seemed impossible without Caladbolg. As such, his own body becomes his own tomb, the bindings of a beast awaiting the freedom of Ragnarök. Naturally, his symbolism extends to his swords, which are both named after Fenrir's first chains.

- Goodness, I wish gw2 had the sense to add in Fear Not This Night during this segment, even if it's a sylvari anthem, it's still used in PS anyway. The themes are indeed perfect since the Commander is literally going through their very worst, personal night. And, the angst hound I am, this instance is the last time Mael ever hears the lullaby, since dying severed him from the Dream. He sings his own version later (I cannot get over "Who needs the light" when interpreted as sylvari Comm singing. M sylvari Comm's character progression is just infinitely dear to me, you can hear the innocence gradually leave his voice.)

- Yes! Giving Nenah a more nurturing, almost motherly role is meant as a callback to Mael having the Pale Mother to support him his whole life, and then losing the connection so traumatically, dying alone in the desert. But even though no one could save him then, he's not alone in the Domain of the Lost, and it is only with Nenah's guidance that he manages to undertake his perilous journey of rediscovery. Since he was in a hurry, I didn't have him accompany Nenah to her own Trial, but I do love love love how you can choose to follow her back to the Judge and hear her story, as well. How she avoided Judgement because she was afraid she hadn't done enough in life - to help others, to honor Kormir's teachings - so she stayed as a self-appointed teacher of the Domain's rules. In the end, Kormir worked through her even then, and helping the Commander allowed her to finally rest easy.

- His armor change during PoF gave me a bit of a headache at first, I very much had a battle of "this looks cool, I am putting him in this now" and "yes, but where would he get a whole (Grenth-styled, to boot) armor set in the middle of the fast-paced Elona campaign?" Hahah. So... he became Grenth's most special magic girl. Yes. We can officially call Mael a magic girl.

- Yes!! Even if the placements of the maws didn't occur to you beforehand (which is absolutely fine, by the way) I made sure to stress that aspect here. Poor man gets literally branded forever with the reminder of his demise. But also? In a sense, he channels his magic through his scars, turning his worst trauma into strength.

- ...Recontextualized repetition and myself should get married at this point, I'm telling you. It's the point where he realizes what he became and gets too nauseous to think - coupled with what remained of the demon briefly possessing him.

- LOL, I'm so glad you enjoyed the funny micro scene of Mael sassing Joko only for me to immediately slam you with PoV-shift whiplash of the DW crying over their leader's mutilated body. Record scratch and cut to Rytlock, "I bet you're wondering how we ended up in this situation..."

- If you enjoy little callbacks like these, then hop along for the ride, because this man is not escaping the constant cycle of events and themes spinning him around like a messed up carousel of hell. :D

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to do this! This damn plant is so dear to me, so he gets to suffer. Something something, love leaves teeth marks... and mine includes tearing into the character so hard there are shreds on the walls.

Hounds to Hamartia

"...Do you really want this, Commander? You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger." "...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough. You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?" "To save her. Yes. I will do anything." "Will you be anything?" "Yes."

[The Departing soft rewrite as applicable to my canon. 15k words. Tws for major character death, major character undeath, blood, gore, unreality, fantasy racism, swearing. The study of ambition as a fatal flaw, ironic destiny, as well as what it means to become a monster to stop an arrogant god. The Commander's encore.]

The arid Elonian air strained his lungs. That, and all that smoke from the Forged that insisted on barricading his path every step of the way.

The Knight ducked, deftly avoiding a blow from a massive Cannonade - deathly green magic snaking around the tip of Caladbolg as he angled it upward. With a shink! the Thorn slotted neatly between the plates of the construct's armor, severing the strands that bound the soul battery within. The flame fizzled out, and the colossus fell to its knees.

That... was the last of them. Maelmordha sighed, wiping a stray bead of sweat from silver skin. Sun-dried, his leaves and bark had practically lost all color. The sylvari took a short break in his climb, leaning against one of the rocky pillars that offered him some shade. Idly, his unaltered hand played with the settings of his communicator. He had already tried to enter the channel before, but the duststorms coming in from around Kesho had rendered the effort moot. Once again, the device returned nothing but static. Just like the buzz of sand in his ears when he braved the vast desert.

The necromancer pocketed the contraption, vinetooth arm adjusting Caladbolg's weight upon his shoulder. Not too long, now, he thought to himself. As he walked, the top of the Spire finally came into view - the meeting place he had arranged for the Dragon's Watch to pick him up. In theory, the altitude should allow for his communicator to work even despite the chaotic weather.

In practice, however, he really didn't like the dark clouds looming in the distance.

„Taimi, come in.” He stopped in the middle of the plateau. The only thing that answered him was yet more static, causing the Knight to let out an exasperated huff. The airship should have been visible by now. Did they get stuck in the storm? Worst case scenario, he could wait however long it took - he'd much rather spend a few extra rations than have the Watch crash somewhere far from civilization, thrown to the mercy of Elona's fickle weather and scorching sun. Spirits of this land only knew just how much of a scorned mistress it could really be, but he was beginning to get an idea. And that idea was that the sky was darkening much too quickly to be natural.

Something stirred in the pit of his stomach. Gold eyes narrowed, scanning the area around him. His stronger arm rested on the hilt of the Thorn, feeling the fuzz on his neck stand up as though seized by crackling static.

A sound. Like thunder.

The Commander leapt back, just narrowly avoiding the fiery meteor that crash landed in the middle of the Spire. What in the fucking Hydras..?! No, this wasn't a meteor -

„Balthazar!” His lips moved on their own. Fuck.

The God seemed to drink in the shock and fear betrayed by the necromancer's features. Grizzled features contorting in a self-satisfied smirk beneath a crown of obsidian horns. His gaze was oppressive, even when his voice seemed almost eerily playful. „Expecting someone else?”

Shit. This wasn't winnable.

The Commander forced a smile, even when he could already feel his skin shedding water at the sheer heat emanating from the God of Fire. His mask would do no good here - Balthazar knew all too well he held the upper hand. Still, if the Dragon's Watch were to come - how did the human God even know they were meeting here?!

Think, Mael, think..!

„Oh? Can't a man go sightseeing in peace?” He blurted out with a nervous laugh, Caladbolg poised and ready for combat. He could hear the rush of sap in his ears, heart pounding to the rhythm of alarm bells ringing in his skull. Gold eyes scanned the plateau. As if on cue, walls of fire, summoned with a snap of the rogue deity's fingers. Cutting off his escape route. Like a wolf smoked out of its den and ensnared in a ring of burning forest.

This was the end of the road. Knowing running was no longer an option, the sylvari's gaze focused on Balthazar, eyes wide and instinctive smirk turning into a wicked-looking grin. It wasn't a smile, anymore. He was a cornered beast, all bared teeth and feet ready to spring. The god chuckled. „Good. Just like that. I want your eyes on me, now, Commander.”

His title was a mockery, upon Balthazar's tongue. Like playing pretend with a child who wished he could be king. In the end, mortal rulers were but fleeting autumn leaves, falling soundless before eternal Gods. Not even a requiem, only the desert winds.

Fuck that. He was not going to think that way. He would not give this man the satisfaction. Maelmordha grinned, the sharpened tips of his fangs but polished wood before the hulking giant of flame and metal. So, too, was Caladbolg - but the Thorn had slain strange things before. And he laughed, a brazen sound to challenge Balthazar's own. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly.

„Bring it, then. Just us.”

No one was coming. Good. He would not suffer Balthazar to hurt his guild.

His attitude seemed to humor the God. An enormous blade of lupine decor and crackling hellfire rose at the fiery monarch's whim, carried solely by the strength of his will. Mael prepared himself to dodge - ducking swiftly under a wide swing that would have surely cleaved him in twain where he stood. Like a hot knife through butter. Still the red-hot bottom of the sword singed his foliage, adding a dusting of black to once pure-white leaves.

He sprang back to his feet, rolling deftly around the God's shin. Caladbolg struck viciously - a resounding clang as divine wood struck divine metal, repelled by the sheer force of magic clashing against magic. Shit. Balthazar was not only armored from head to toe - he was his armor, inhabited by flame like the lanterns in the Grove holding fireflies.

Unbothered, the God of War extended a palm - his war machine of a sword moving of its own accord and raking the ground where Mael had stood but moments prior. Lazy, like a cat swatting a toy mouse. Knowing its plaything won't run away. Catching a gaze of twin funeral pyres, the necromancer extended a hand of his own. There was no flesh nor blood here, but a necromancer of his caliber could make do.

„Rise!” He commanded, and the bleached bone of Elona's past answered his call. Skeletal warriors, rapidly assembling, with sand-worn equipment clutched in desiccated digits. Not like these could do much against the living embodiment of volcanic fury dressed in fortress walls, but they could be a distraction.

„Oh? What's this? Playing with toys? Feeling lonely?” Balthazar teased, a swing of his sword turning one of his minions into bone dust. Too shattered to return, a jigsaw with a million pieces. „...Have your friends abandoned you?”

He wasn't going to let Balthazar's teasing get to him. He only grinned in response, brows furrowed over sharp, golden orbs. Good, he wanted to say. Good, only I pay the price for my foolishness - no, don't think like that.

...You can salvage this. He's arrogant. An enemy so sure of their superiority won't be as ready for the tables to turn.

He ducked and weaved, striking with Caladbolg where he was able. Hissing as the fire burned his skin by mere proximity, retreating into a Shroud of shadows. Each step of this dance was a brush with death - against a predator who could crush him in a single blow.

„What do you say we take things a little more slowly this time?” The deity rumbled contentedly - reveling in his opponent's fleeting strength.

„I'm surprised a God can derive this much enjoyment from fighting one mortal.” Maelmordha quipped back. „Picking on prey your own size didn't go well, last time?”

„It seems you need a lesson in humility.”

He provoked him. Good.

Having baited Balthazar into advancing, the Commander leapt back. As soon as the God's boot touched the polished stone floor where he had stood but seconds prior, runic patterns alight with a green hue began their work.

An explosion, followed by another, and another. Sizzling poison accompanied by bitter frost, Death's own essence wrapped around the fallen God's form to sap his strength. The necromancer felt some of his burns heal from the sheer amount of magic taken through this gambit. Revitalized, a glimmer of hope surfaced within his mind that maybe, he could last long enough to devise a proper plan.

...And yet, even that amount of magic only seemed equal to plucking a single hair off the back of a rampaging boar. Balthazar didn't even seem to feel it.

He closed the gap faster than Mael could have ever anticipated such a behemoth to move. A motion of a fiery hand prompting his greatsword to thrust forward at unprecedented speed, and the Pact Commander could only respond so well.

A massive claw of pure darkness rose from the ground to intercept the blade, hardening quickly into solid shadow. But the flame only burned brighter. Parting the dark like a lantern, phasing right through his spell before he was fully ready to dodge.

He felt the blade brush against his side. It almost felt painless - before the scream caught in his throat.

He fell to his right, clutching his cleaved side. Golden blood gushed from the gruesome wound, Caladbolg clattering to the ground without fanfare. A howl of agony burst through clenched lips before he could ever choke it down. Shaking, he pushed down on crimson fabric, knowing no bandage could stem the flow of the sap that stickied his fingers.

Like a tree taking an axe to the trunk only to topple over. Even with all these years, he really was no more than a sapling.

No, no..! Get up. This isn't the end. Is it..?

He fought so hard to not let the terror show in his eyes. Even so much as meeting Balthazar's gaze was a monumental task. But he did. He blinked against the twin suns that threatened to steal his vision, and the Lord of Flames smirked. Satisfaction, mockery, faux pity, he couldn't even tell what it was, if not all of it at once.

„Feeling mortal yet?” He thundered, even the softest whisper of his voice an earthquake in its own right. „Do you recall the lesson? No? Let me repeat it for you: never defy a god.”

Through the haze of pain and building panic, the necromancer did the only thing appropriate. He laughed. His vinetooth arm reached for the fallen Thorn. Using the sword as a crutch, he pulled himself up to his feet. Even if his knees trembled. Even if the warmth spreading across his side sent waves of nausea through his guts.

And he felt it again. That magic he had absorbed previously. Except - no - this magic was.. was Balthazar directly feeding a sliver of his magic to him, right in that very moment? Was he going crazy from blood loss? And if so, why did he suddenly feel so much better?

Good enough to stand. Good enough to swing a sword - even with just one arm, and the other possibly the only barrier stopping his insides from sightseeing the outside world. He was still bleeding, but this... he had time. He had time.

Time. Time. Just... a little more time. What are you holding out for, Valiant? You know help isn't coming.

Tick, tock.

He bit back a groan of pain. I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Every second he wrestled from this dire hourglass was a testament to his resilience. Every long second that counted down towards his death was a testament to Balthazar's pride. Panting, mortal breath mixed with immortal, singing fire and the roar of a sword two times his height or more slamming against the ground like a thunder drum.

A terrible symphony, for none to behold but themselves.

Tick, tock. He dodged. Tick, tock. The Thorn glanced off of impenetrable armor. Tick, tock. He slipped on his blood. Balthazar seemed almost disappointed at the lack of banter.

He couldn't move fast enough. His right hand joined the left in gripping the hilt of Caladbolg when he prepared to parry. Blinding light strained his eyes as the telekinetic strike came his way, and he angled the Thorn to minimize damage.

A sickening crunch. He skid back several meters, fresh pain seizing control of his senses. His right arm refused his control, and the tip of Caladbolg fell heavy against the floor in a pitiful attempt to stop him from falling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he beheld what had become of his uncorrupted arm - mangled at the elbow, splinters of wood tearing through vine. Fresh sap streaming down his sleeve, dripping from unresponsive fingers. It hurt. Oh, by the Tree it hurt so much. A low whine of agony escaped heaving lungs, tears flowing freely down silver cheeks. He couldn't even find the energy to meet the God's gaze, then. And he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Reality's weight was settling in, like dull ache in the bones.

If he looked at him now, what would he find? What was this sadism? How long would this last..?

Tick.

Tock.

Another blow. There wasn't even any time for him to breathe. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly. Like a ragdoll, he was practically thrown across the arena, a new slash in his shoulder rendering his right side almost completely useless. His mangled form finally came to a halt when it crashed against a pillar, rupturing something inside. A pained hiss, then desperate roar of hatred and sheer anguish. With his sole working hand, he slowly dragged himself, yet again, towards his sword.

„Suffer a little more loudly. Cry out!” The God raved in glee. „Let everyone hear!”

...Who...? There was no one here... Was there? It was getting dark. Maybe the shadows dancing at the edges of his vision were people, after all.

So he did the only thing he felt he could still do. Eyes numb to the pain. He got... up. Up to his knees, for his body refused to climb any higher. Up, as though clawing for a shred of dignity. At this point, the liquid pooling in his mouth tasted all the sweeter when he considered it signaled his coming release. And he knew how Trahearne had felt. Yes, the darkness suddenly seemed so... appealing. Even if the quiet scared him.

He didn't want it to be so... quiet.

„I do enjoy these little get-togethers. You're proving to be quite useful.” What in the fuck was Balthazar rambling on about? He struggled to focus on the words. He let out a wheezy „what” and spat anothet mouthful of sap. M-maybe if he tried to talk, Balthazar would converse rather than slowly pull him apart. Alas, his inquiry was ignored.

But something else answered. At first, he didn't know what it was.

The God of Fire walked towards him at a leisurely pace, before finally stopping mere centimeters away from the Knight - forcing him to look practically straight up. He could no longer make out Balthazar's features, privy only to a hazy outline of horns and two burning eyes.

„Listen...” Maelmorda rasped. Even that much took an unbelievable amount of effort. A long pause, just to collect enough breath to form words. „I never... even... wanted... to kill you....”

The true threat to Tyria were the Dragons. And they could not be killed without catastrophe following. He supposed all his dreams and lofty ambitions were but delusions of a madman. In a sense, Braham was right. Who gave him the right to kill Dragons, anyway? And who made him believe he could ever stand against a God? Hubris, all the way down. His very own hamartia.

„You won't.” The deity of Fire and War answered, matter-of-factly. The clock was winding down. Sleep. Please. „...How sad for you to die so far from home.” Please. No more magic moving his strings. No more teetering on the brink of oblivion.

No more. He let out a harsh gasp and fell backwards. Balthazar seemed satisfied. He supposed he could die knowing he gave a God some exercise.

There was a light in the sky. Huh, so this is how....

He blinked. This was no star, nor an opening of the heavens. It moved. It was... blue. And he felt a tiny mind hold the hand of his own. Filling his silence with song just to keep him afloat. And he knew. And oh, he knew.

„Ah, the scion... come here to defend her Champion.”

„Aurene, no...” He cried out, sole working hand reaching out in her general direction. His mind begging her to run. Grasping at the air with twitching fingers, as though he could in any way stop the God from taking her like he took all he ever wanted. Just another conquest.

She whined like a battered pup. Tiny yelps that communicated more than language ever could. Her magic cradling his weary soul even as he felt every thread that tied him to existence snap one by one. Begging her to stop. Holding her mind's hand when she refused, for he knew all too well the pain of letting go. But Balthazar had already claimed what he came for. Played him like the fool he was. So he decided to claim one last thing, just out of spite. I want your eyes on me, now.

Aurene was whisked away from the reach of his vision, fading sight filled completely by his killer. And the sword that lingered, a stake, above his heart. „And now, you die.”

...Aurene, I'm so -

In an instant, she felt the connection sever.

What am I? Who am I?

It saw a barren sky, shorn of stars. Its eyes never blinked. It did not know what a sky was. Only that it filled its sight, the very first ephemeral memory, ever since „existence” became a concept that it knew.

But besides that, it also knew one other, much more intimate thing - an idea that existed before it did. The idea it needed to be somewhere else.

It rose. Spectral fingers digging into grass, without feeling. Chest falling and rising without breath, as though in a hazy recollection of having once carried that rhythm.

The ground was cold. What was... cold? Everything that heat wasn't. It did not know why, but it brought it comfort. The idea of being something else than cold terrified it. And so it wandered. It was the only thing it could really do. It was almost familiar, like a dreamscape that it once existed in before existence became a concept that gave it meaning.

Occasionally, it passed another spark. Heard questions, and discovered it could speak.

What is my name? Something inquired. I don't know, it answered.

What is a... name? And why does everything hurt?

In the distance, an object. It moved towards it. Beside it, stood a spark, asking questions. Inside it, stood another. Different. Almost like it did not... belong. The very moment it moved closer, it was addressed directly.

„You there! Come here. Over here. We can help each other. What is your name?”

Ah, again... that word.

„I don't even know who I am. Or where I am... Or how I got here.” It only spoke the truth. It had no concept of anything else - at least at the time. The stranger, however, seemed well versed.

„You died - it happens.” It shrugged. Seemingly unbothered at the notion of whatever death was, even though it certainly raged at the predicament of being restrained within an object. „Welcome to the Domain of the Lost. I am, of course, King Palawa Joko.”

Huh, it thought, and its mind regained a little clarity. Was „Palawa Joko” a name?

„King Joko..? I'm sorry. I don't know that name,” it gently responded. Wide, curious, trusting gold, like the eyes of a a freshly blossomed hound. Ah, yes... it missed them. Why weren't there more hounds? It felt like there were, last time. When was... last time?

Its inability to recall the name sent the stranger into a fit of anger. The spark could only tilt its head inquisitively, attempting to understand the many terms that rapidly spilled forth from chapped lips. Ah, yes... it had... a body. It was not a spark - a spirit. Like it. Why was it different?

So it asked. And received another name in response - Balthazar. It felt... familiar. But it did not feel cold, and that scared it more than anything.

It seemed this Balthazar was a liar, then. A deceiver. And it understood what it meant to lie and deceive, and some of the light left its eyes. It knew that it, too, had lied and deceived in life. But... why? Why would someone do that? A concept of a headache was something that became known right after. And yet, that gnawing, anxious sensation persisted. This was no place for it. It needed to be somewhere, but not here.

And it realized it, too, had been a he. Like Balthazar. Was he.. Balthazar? No. He can't have been, right? He had half a mind to ask Joko about it, but the amount of confusion he was already suffering was enough for the time. Such as, what the difference between „God” and „King” even was, if there was any.

He imagined that, had he really been Balthazar, King - God..? Joko would have had more to say about it. He let out a spectral sigh as he watched the other spark argue with the stranger on the proper definition of godhood. He was not sure what “Genuflect, peasant” was supposed to mean, but apparently, the Domain of the Lost was where such debates commonly took place.

„Come, gentle spirit. You must take the next steps, and I've heard enough of Joko's blasphemies.” Its - her..? voice pried him from his thoughts. She had evidently grown bored with the stranger within the object, and decided to debate him next. Oh, Mother. Wait, who was Mother? But more importantly...

„...Who is the Judge..?” He asked the fellow spark, following closely in tow. The landscape was strange and the anxiety was not going away. Even existing was difficult, like every body part was ill-fitting. Uncomfortable, like his very self was a lie.

She turned her head, coal brown meeting gold. She had a soothing air around her, like the remnants of a gentle sun. Warm. But not... scary. Not in the sense that Balthazar was.

„He is a loyal servant of Grenth. Charged with sending all the spirits who come through here to their appointed place.”

„But I don't know who I am. I don't know where I should be.” He mused sadly, as though afraid to admit he had no frame of reference. Everything simply fell away the moment he arrived here. If he even did arrive. Or had he always been here..? And yet, if so, why did it feel so wrong?

They walked the haunted plain, passing many other sparks. Some tall, some diminutive, some with beaks and fangs and tails. So many shapes to exist in that he had never fathomed. So, he looked at his hands. Compared his silver skin to that of the spark walking beside him. Bronze, soft, kissed by the sun. His was... harsher, pale, cold like snow.

Eventually, his senses were filled with the presence of something far greater than mere sparks. She beckoned for him to step forward, coaxing him gently towards the being. He was... massive. Hooded, with a skull mask for a face. He absentmindedly touched his own.

„Come, spirit. Do not be afraid.”

„I'm not sure why I'm here, or even who I am.” He confessed, resolving not to lie. In truth, he wasn't even sure.. how to, at least not at the time, but if being wretched had condemned him to that place, then nothing good could ever come of it.

The creature seemed to recognize his turmoil, and spoke in a soothing baritone. „That's because most spirits find their own way to their fate when they die.” He explained. „But those whose deaths are too traumatic often forget who they were or how they perished.”

„These spirits, like you and me, end up here in the Domain of the Lost.” The spark beside him added. Again, that name. This place. So.. wrong. Traumatic. Perished..? Right. He died. King Joko told him that.

„But I can't be here.” He tried to reason in the only words he knew. He didn't know why, nor where else he was possibly meant to be - he just knew it wasn't there. Like... warm. Too warm. Like fire.

Walls closing in from every direction, every angle, and he needed to get out. He needed to call for help, but also... he needed it to stay away. He was not to be helped. Why? There was a shadow in here with him. One other being. The only one. He felt like it had all happened before, and was the reason everything hurt. Why his skin felt like a lie, and his gaze darted around corners.

„You will reach your rightful place in time.” The grand being reassured, standing ever tall. He had to look up just to meet his gaze, and his chest moved faster.

„First, you must recover your name to know who you were and how you lived. Then, you must learn your purpose, to understand the choices you made and why you lived as you did.” The Judge continued, his bright green orbs a familiar hue. „Once you know your name and your purpose, only then can I determine your final destination.”

„...But how do I do that?” He asked. Confusion and fear swirled in gold eyes, as though the walls were already getting closer. Soon, he may be stuck here forever. A cage. Let him out. Let him out. He needs to see her.

Who?

„Nenah has traveled the path you now face. She can assist you.” The servant of Grenth clarified, an armored hand signaling in the direction of the sunlit spark. He met her eyes, and understood her name. ”...For though they may have belonged to you in life, once your name and purpose enter this domain, they are yours no longer. And you will have to fight to reclaim your name.” The creature's next words rang out with a heavy finality. „Now, arm yourself.”

And he was gone, dissolving into the shadows from whence he had come. Though he still had more questions than answers, this... was a starting point.

„Nenah... So you discovered your name? How do I reclaim mine?” The cold spark mused, unsure where to even begin. He did not want to fight other spirits for something he wasn't even sure was his. What if he ended up with the wrong name? What if he stole someone else's only hope to leave this place? Was this a price he was willing to pay? A spectral hand massaged the bridge of his nose, as though the habit had helped him process similar predicaments in life. Not that... he really even knew what „life” was - just that it wasn't „here.”

And if it wasn't here, maybe he needed to be alive.

„I learned my name from the spirit of my old mentor. But only after besting him at a challenge of riddles.” Nenah smiled sadly in recollection, letting the words linger on her tongue. ”I discovered my purpose hidden in an old diary I had written as a child. I was a teacher.”

A mentor, then. How fitting. Guiding others in life, and now again in death. A luminary in a land of darkness. „Is it that simple?” He raised his brows, hesitant to believe things could ever go so smoothly. Somehow, he had an inkling that bad luck was destined to follow him wherever he went. Call it a hunch, but... his hunches tended to be correct.

„It's different for everyone. The judge said you must fight to recover your name, so you clearly weren't a teacher.” Nenah pondered aloud, taking in his form from head to toe. His gaze followed hers, and he found himself clad in crimson fabric. Comfortable, but form-fitting clothes, accentuating his graceful shape. His shoulders, adorned with metal pauldrons - and knees guarded in a similar manner. Chainmail beneath his vest, little interwoven loops of steel. „A soldier, perhaps?”

„I... I don't know.” Despite everything, he truly did not know. The world was bleeding back in very slowly. Who's to say he was a fighter? Maybe he was a scholar? A performer? His knuckle idly moved across his lip, but he excavated nothing else from the chasm that was his memory.

Nenah sighed. „Well, if you are to fight, you must first arm yourself.”

„With what?” He asked, incredulous. For whatever reason, he had an instinct to pat himself over for hidden weapons. The woman raised a ghostly eyebrow.

„Spirits must abandon their possessions before they may move on.” She set off towards some distant yonder, and once again he followed.

„I'll look around. Maybe I will.. find something.” He sifted through foliage and rubble, even when the geometry of the place didn't make much sense. For weapons, he would usually go to... a blacksmith. A mystic forge, maybe. Mother?

„You know, I.. remember. I had a sword.” He recounted, searching for a familiar outline on the floor. Sliding across stone. Reaching for the hilt. He only had bits and pieces, but he instinctively looked low. „I think.. Mother gave me it.”

„Your mother?” Nenah chatted. „Was she a warrior, then? Was the sword a family heirloom?”

„I don't... think she was, no. But I think others have owned that blade before me. I think it... had seen the blood of its wielders.”

„Too much blood spilled everywhere, I tell you...” The fellow spark sighed. „I know all about it, gentle spirit. Though with your recent revelations, I suppose gentle may not be so fitting.”

„...Why do you think so?”

She did not answer.

It took them a long time to get anywhere with the search. He supposed time lost meaning in a place such as this - with no frame of reference, who's to say what was day and what was night? If death had already come, there was nothing to count down towards. Sifting through mud, he wondered whether eternity was always supposed to be so dull.

Here and there, other sparks. Shaped like many things - the best approximations of themselves in life that they could muster. And yet, there were also those formless. Like clouds, and their voices sounded like rain mixed with lightning static. Nenah warned him away from those. He supposed that was what awaited if one did not reclaim their name.

And then some who spoke in nonsense and riddles. Cryptic warnings, issued from behind trembling hands, as though covering one's face rendered them invisible. It's coming, they whispered. What, he asked.

„...The Beast. And It will get you too.”

Before he could ask any additional questions, the spark... evaporated. Pure magic in the air, and then nothing. Wherever they had gone, he hoped they had at least escaped It.

„...Is it Balthazar?”

„Who?” The teacher turned to face him as he sifted through a pile of sand.

„The Beast. It's the worst thing I have heard spoken of, here. It feels like it matches with that name.” He had no better ideas, anyway. Each step into the unknown unlocked something - not always useful, but he was determined to connect the dots. Even when he grasped at straws.

„Oh, Balthazar? No, no. He's one of the Human Gods. The Six. And he betrayed them.”

„He betrayed them? He lied and deceived them? Why?”

„No one knows. One day, he just... did. And the Beast has been here ever since.”

The sand moved with a gust of wind. A shine caught his eye, and he moved closer.

And there it was, halfway buried, as though attempting to take root. A ghostly image of his sword - slotting neatly into his hand. Like it was meant to be there. Like it had been, for a long, long time.

„Huh.” Nenah gave Caladbolg a good lookover, before coal eyes met honey gold.

„I know now. I was a soldier.” There was conviction in the spark's voice. A newfound confidence, even when facing his truths came at a cost. His words gradually turned quiet. „I... don't think I was a good man. I lied and deceived. I think I wanted something very much.”

Nenah lingered in silence. A hand of sun-kissed bronze rested upon one of the cold spark's shoulders, feeling metal. A reassurance, perhaps. Or simply an acknowledgement. Whatever it was, her smile gave him the strength to keep going.

„Look. Over here.” She suddenly yanked him, pulling him behind a cover of trees. And then, himself.

Red cloth, bronze tinted metal. Stealing fervent glances, as though afraid of every shadow. That expression of prey-animal terror did not suit his features.

„That spirit... it looks just like me.”

„We should follow. Hurry!” They ran after it, and it broke into a sprint. It weaved inbetween rocks and trees, heading for a cave shrouded in webs. A dead end. His gold eyes met their own reflection, and his mirror image screamed.

The Thorn moved like second nature, and the dagger fell out of their hand. And so, the illusion shattered - a small creature huddled, weeping, where his warped self had been. „I yield!” It screeched. „I yield. Take it! It's yours.”

He still held the Thorn - a show of power, though he did not intend to strike down the thief. „Why did you steal my name?” Gone was the mellow calm with which he arrived. The timbre of his voice changed - and so too did the look in his eyes. No longer honey, but liquid gold. „Answer me.”

And the creature wept, for it did not know any better. But he still did not remember. Why he fought, why he lied, why he killed.

„Keep looking.” The same guiding hand rested once again upon his shoulder. Though steady, her tone was filled with urgency. „If you don't reclaim your name quickly, you could lose it forever.”

And so, he fought - like the soldier he was. And as each spark begged for his mercy, doubt surfaced in his spirit.

„What if it was.. an evil name? What if finding who I am will make me worse?” He questioned, feeling the heat radiating from his bark. Pain. The sword in his hand was singed and black. It hurt. He did not remember, but the pain was growing. „What if where I am meant to go is even...”

„That's not for you to dwell on. Your task here is merely to find it. There is nothing more for ones such as we.”

„Nothing more..?”

„Your name and your purpose are all there is. And since more than one have claimed your name, it means it must be a prestigious one. Now, ask yourself. If yours were an evil name, then would they still seek to make it theirs?”

„...Do they know who I was? And if so, then why don't I..?”

„You will. All things in time. So fight, noble spirit.”

And he fought. Until the tide of shadows finally stopped coming. And the dam holding back his tears broke.

„I remember.” He lifted his clawed hand, watching his digits tremble with each new memory that surfaced in his hollowed mind. „My life... was filled with conflict.” Always war. Always killing. „Victory... and loss. I was a leader - a commander. I was...”

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer.

„...Maelmordha. Yes. This is who I was.” A name, of his own. Something that felt right and not like a lie - even if the pain never went away.

Umber eyes lit up with the gentlest smile. „I could tell, Maelmordha. You wielded that weapon like a true fighter.”

„But I don't know why I fought... what I strove for, or against.” The sylvari spirit looked down, amber orbs filled with indescribable longing. It was all so very tiring, and he felt bad for relying on Nenah's guidance so extensively. Didn't she have a place to be..?

Didn't she, too, feel like she had to be somewhere else?

„Next is your purpose. What drove you forward... and what ultimately led to your death. The answer is here, somewhere in the Domain of the Lost.”

„...I just have to find it.” He finished her thought. She smiled, and nodded. He returned the gesture. „But how will I know it? Where will I find it?”

The words that came next were nothing but cryptic - as his guide slowly made her way onward, as though knowing exactly where to go. „If you truly desire it... your purpose will find you. I'd start with the bird.”

„A bird..?” The fallen necromancer questioned. And then he saw it: a raven of brilliant white. Its feathers alight with a sheen that reminded him of home - like Mother's petals. And he remembered Her, and each lullaby She used to sing. „Come! I need to -”

He tripped over a stray root, and realized it was moving. The ground itself shook and parted beneath his feet, tendrils slithering like snakes as a beast - a Dragon - rose in the distance. Grand, like a monument of leaf and vine, and in front of it - a pair of lights. Caithe, one of the Firstborn. And himself. Images of the eldest Knight of Thorn, Riannoc, his blade of alabaster bark glowing with the light of hope. Caladbolg itself, which now rested in his care. And on the other end, a lich, his skeletal hands commanding death like a putrid orchestra - drowning the First Knight in a sea of corpses.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray.

The raven flew ever onward, unfurling a sea of memories. And he ran after it, hand outstretched, mouth forming a silent call.

Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

It weaved through the darkness like a lone bolt of lightning through blackened storm clouds. He took Nenah's hand, pulling her along - afraid to let go, but infinitely more scared to lose track of the light. And they ran. „My eyes are - they're open, Nenah!”

„Good! Let yourself feel it, and let it wash over you. He who follows his purpose will never truly lose it!”

Awaken from a quiet sleep, hear the whispering of the wind. Awaken as the silence grows in a solitude of the night.

From the dark, twisting shapes. The stench of rot and clattering of bone as a tide of Zhaitan's legions marched against the army of the Pact. Mazdak, the Accursed, fallen at last at his hand – his first Hunt fulfilled. Sieran's parting words as the gates closed. The Sunless' advance and the fall of Claw Island. The tears shed that day, and the promises made to live on in spite of them. And then, in the end, their banners, raised high upon the towers - him and Trahearne, side by side.

Darkness spreads through all the land and your weary eyes open silently

Sunsets have forsaken all, the most far off horizons.

And again, they charged. Roar of gunfire and steel. Wyld Hunts that seemed all but impossible, keeping steadfast hand in hand. And the heart of it all, cleansed and beating again, as he remembered holding him for the first time. And laughing.

Nightmares come when shadows grow. Eyes close and heartbeats slow.

The assault on Arah. The thundering of war engines and the roar of airships. Destiny's Edge standing united, and him leading the final push. Zhaitan's death throes shattering the mountain, sending the Dragon itself crashing from blighted heavens towards the shoreline. Victory, and the first kiss shared in the dim light of a study. Why was he crying? Like he was already aware what came next.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

„Mordremoth!”

It all unfolded in quick succession. Ceara's fall; Scarlet Briar. The assault on Lion's Arch. Aurene's egg and Caithe's betrayal. The disaster of Maguuma, all that death and then - past the horror of it all - holding his dear's broken, dying body as the foul magic bled out of his system in rivers of gold. The Thorn trembled in his hands, but he knew not to let it go. The day his eyes turned cold. He felt Nenah's hand squeeze his own.

And you can always be strong. Lift your voice with the first light of dawn.

His hatred. His bitterness. And Her light, which saved him.

The founding of Dragon's Watch. The awakening of Primordus and Jormag. Braham's burden and the wrath in his words as he snapped. A bridge, burned to ashes - a wound that they would no longer have the chance to mend.

And Her, coming into the world at last. Caithe's words, and her vow. To lay down her life for -

„Aurene.” He found himself repeating his own words. „Her name is Aurene.”

Dawn's just a heartbeat away. Hope's just a sunrise away.

The rise of Lazarus. A mystery of the great deceiver. Climbing the spire as everything around them began to burn, and yet they knew the only way was up. He knew the only was was up.

It had always been like that, hmm, Commander?

The raven disappeared into the smoke, and he dove after it. Coughing, as though his lungs remembered the feeling. White leaves singed black and then he lost her in the fire. „Nenah! Where are you!” He could no longer feel her hand. His fellow spark had disappeared, and only Balthazar's pyre remained. The planks behind him crackled and crumbled as burning heat cut off the way back. So he climbed. Following each white feather. Humming Mother’s lullaby.

„...Have your friends abandoned you?” He could hear the God's mockery in his ears. His oppression, his glee, the sadistic pleasure he took in prolonging his every breath. And then, Aurene. Reaching for him. Damning herself just for a chance to save him.

And still, in the end, she was taken, and he died with no one to hold him. His last words frozen in his throat. But now, he screamed. He screamed and wept and his eyes shot open only to find his fellow spirit clutching his hand tightly within hers. And he looked into coal orbs and in his tormented mind, they seemed to flash crimson, shadowed by a crown of horns.

„...Balthazaaaaar!!” He howled like an animal, thrashing. A hand pushed down on his chest, keeping him on his back, before pulling his head into her lap. „Shh. Shh. There, there. Just breathe. Like you remember. Even like this, it helps.”

Tears streamed freely down silver skin as he wept in terror, clawed hand outstretched towards the sky. But there was no Aurene. No dark clouds cutting him off from the world. No Balthazar, staring down at him like yet another broken toy, balancing his blade over his heart. So, he did the only thing he could. He cried, allowing the mentor spirit to gently pet back his leaves, quelling the sobs that shook his body.

„...I remember. I remember.” He repeated, the most quiet of whimpers. Wet, haunted gold found umber again as he spoke. „Balthazar - he wants revenge on the other gods, and he's going to use Aurene to get it. I... I have to convince the Judge to send me back.”

„Rest, silver tongue. Death is not something to outwit.”

„You don't understand.” He gathered himself enough to stand and walk, even as his knees shook with every step. „That bastard will destroy Tyria. All of it. This isn't about me and my ego, for fuck's sake!” The Commander broke into a sprint. Moving as fast as his legs would carry him, causing the Elonian spirit to struggle to keep up. „He wants the strength of the Elder Dragons for himself, and doesn't care that killing them now will doom the world!”

„I see.” Nenah responded. There was deep concern upon her face, now, as the true weight of all that had transpired took the time to fully settle and click into place. „...He has ravaged this place. Stolen spirits and used them to bolster his army. He has let something horrible into this place, something beyond even Grenth's jurisdiction.”

Maelmordha paused, stern gold meeting her gaze. „The Beast. Come. We need to move!”

As soon as they arrived in the Judging Ground, the grand spirit rose again from the shadows, a visage of skull and green fire ready to welcome them both. Recognizing Nenah and sensing the distress within her companion, he turned his full attention to Maelmordha.

„Grenth welcomes all, noble spirit. Step forward, and I will send you to your appointed place.”

But the necromancer had other ideas. He took exactly one step in the Judge's direction, setting his boot down with absolute conviction. „You must let me go back.”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. If the Judge could produce an expression, he would surely have frowned. A spectral sigh laced his words when he next spoke, weighting them carefully. „...I see you clearly now, Commander. Balthazar killed you, but you would face him again?

„Yes.” The sylvari replied immediately, filled with fervent - perhaps even crazed - determination. Yes, a thousand times yes. Even when it hurt. He couldn't just let her... He grit his teeth, releasing a quivering breath.

„Balthazar has done great harm here.” Grenth's right hand confirmed what Nenah had already told him. „The magic he uses to hijack spirits shakes the foundation of the Domain of the Lost. But I... cannot help you.”

No..! No, this wasn't going to end this way. He would not let it. By the Tree, he had to bargain.

Mael took another step, lacing fingers together as though in prayer and slowly shaking his hands with every word. „If I could only get back... if I could defeat him, it might undo the damage he's done in both our worlds.” There. He was officially bargaining with Death himself. Or, rather, his right hand, but the point still stood.

The Judge sighed painfully, sending ripples through the aether. „It is too late. No life remains in your body. Unless...”

Unless? Fucking hell, he was actually getting somewhere.

„When Balthazar left, a fearsome beast, the Eater of Souls, rose to prey on the waning life energy of the spirits here....”

Nenah moved closer. „That's got to be the screams I heard in the distance. So, it is true, after all.”

„...If you were to defeat the beast and claim its power, that life energy might be strong enough to reanimate your body.” The Judge continued. „Allowing you to go back. But, if you were to fail, the beast would consume your entirety. I could grant you no final reward or punishment. Your spirit would simply cease to be. Do you.. really want this, Commander? You will be changed. There is no other way. As a necromancer, you know what this entails.”

He did. Oh, he did. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound froze in his throat.

Riannoc...! He tried to shake the memory from the Dream. Lose the ghost of the man whose Wyld Hunt he once bore. No, this was bigger than him. Bigger than all of them. That bastard had Aurene, and if she...

Maelmordha clenched his fists. Gaze downturned, shrouded in white leaves. His shoulders shook with the weight of the choice placed in front of him. With the phantom of his people's very first nightmare. Did he... have the right? To do this? And if so, who gave him it? Who allowed this man to play God in his own right?

He supposed the answer was standing right in front of him. Gazing with green orbs, waiting patiently for his reply. „Grenth does not take kindly to those who defy his domain. But he is willing to forgive this one transgression, in the name of both our worlds. You will become something different, and if you ever go astray, you will no longer be entitled to your final reward.”

„Diabolistic magic...” He muttered under his breath. His fellow spark looked on with worry. Softly, her hand once again found his shoulder, resting upon it with comforting weight. „Whatever you decide, I will help you see it through til the end. So, think - for what does your purpose call?”

Did it call for him to fall this low? And yet... if it was the only way to save Aurene - to save Tyria, then did he ever really have a choice at all? He took a breath, and his golden gaze rose anew, finding ghastly green.

„...I accept that risk. I have to go back to finish what I started.”

Clawed gauntlets rose into the air, the Judge's mask angled towards the jade-hued skies. „Then in Grenth's name, o blessed sinner, conquer the Eater of Souls and live again! Remind Balthazar that none escape judgement.”

With a snap of the servant's fingers, crimson fabric set on viridian fire, and in an instant, his body was framed in darksteel. A long, black cape extended from beneath the upturned spikes of his new pauldrons, ornate gauntlets wrapping around his forearms and tall, metal greaves fitting upon his legs. A disc of magic flared to life over his sternum, like an eye of Death itself.

He took a moment to inspect his new armor, finding it a perfect fit. „...Thank you.” He gasped, unsure at first what to make of the gift. And yet he could feel no ill magics from it - nothing meant to limit or control him, only accentuate his existing power.

„Let this be proof of Grenth's favor. An exceptional honor, in exchange for your willing sacrifice. Go, blessed sinner, and may your soul remain your own through this dire tribulation.”

„It will. You have my word.” And he turned around, features dark and the Thorn on his back ready.

After all, he who bore Caladbolg would not fall, so long as his desire was pure. Funny how that turned out. Did the sword's apparent curse carry on in death? He'd have to find out.

„Allow me to lead you, Maelmordha. The Beast stalks the deepest shadows of this land. Those spirits we've met earlier...”

„...It may already be too late for them.” He finished the teacher's thought. „I'm sorry, Nenah. But I cannot allow you to go with me, this time.” If he were to be devoured... ah, would it not simply be due payment for his hubris...? But her? She had done nothing but help him. „This is a journey I must take alone.”

„Even when dying alone was your greatest fear?” She retorted, causing the necromancer to seize up. He did not look at her, simply continuing to walk forth into the darkness. „...Thank you, Nenah. But I will take this from here.”

„As you wish, blessed sinner.” And just like that, her footsteps no longer accompanied his.

And in the deepest depths where even the raven did not delve, he found it. A hideous demon of blue fire, contorting into whatever fears his mind held to finally settle on the form of a Mouth of Zhaitan. Towering, with rows of fangs ready to snatch him up where he stood. How did one fight hunger incarnate..? He drew the Thorn, and charged.

The same rules did not apply here as in the waking world. This was not only a fight of tooth against thorn, but a dance of nightmare. Like every worst part of him, reflected right back in his face. The shadows had been nothing, compared to this. They only wanted his name, after all.

Oh, the Beast? It wanted everything. To strip his soul, down to the marrow. And in the end, it had been decided all along. To conquer the Mouth was to embrace its hunger. To take for himself another name. Even if he had to become a worse version of himself, he would do it in every life. His right hand's fingers traced a symbol on his heart. Chanting an ancient curse, the same forbidden verse he spent his first five years researching. The Commander's spirit ignited in black smoke, Caladbolg a Reaper's scythe.

...Do you really want this, Commander?

You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger.

...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough.

You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?

To save her. Yes. I will do anything.

Will you be anything?

Yes.

Waken then, Fell Wolf, and hunt.

Kill Balthazar, and devour.

The monstrous body before him fell, dissolving into shadow. His scythe still lodged in its burning core, he felt the cold flicker climb up his weapon and touch ground with his skin.

The demon's magic flooded his senses. The world swirled in front of his eyes, a gaze of spectral gold darting around in terror. He saw the lost sparks return, freed from the beast's belly, as they all moved in unison towards Judgement. The Domain breathed a sight of relief - and then he felt his chest rip open.

And he screamed. By the Pale Tree he fucking screamed. Feeling every second of the blade digging into and parting his flesh, crushing organs and searing his insides. Except now, the blackness offered no relief. There was no merciful veil of Death to take the pain away, to ease his body's last gasp as embers took his lungs. And the flames did not burn his throat and steal his voice. At some point, the agonal screech turned into a howl, and his eyes wept spectral light.

Seizing, he fell to his knees. His armor glowed a deep cerulean - and more metal enveloped the Commander's form. He scarcely registered it, even when links of chain snaked round his heaving chest and hooked into the gaping cavity of his wound.

It was almost a mockery. Almost a voice, sneering into his ear. This is what you are. Do you regret it yet?

„Aaaargghh!” His own voice burst forth in strained cries. Calling names as though their owners could ever help him. „Pale Mother! Aurene! Grenth!”

No one will save you now, either. You chose this. Maelmordha, you poor, poor fool.

It felt like ages but the pain relented just enough to leave the fallen Knight gasping and wheezing in a ghastly approximation of life. Collecting his stolen breath, registering a familiar sensation upon his cheeks before he ever realized he was crying. Again. And only then did he get to truly, wholly gaze upon his form - the warped image of his own demise, seared forever into his soul.

Trembling fingers probed at the edges of his wound - the very one that killed him - and found fangs. Rows of umbral teeth, licked by flickering tongues of blue fire. This had to be... was this real? Absently, he reached inside, half expecting the slick wetness of entrails. Instead, he found only cold nothingness, and a pulse at the core of it all. A rhythmic thrum of magic where his heart had been, just barely out of reach, yet begging for his touch.

Focus, the magic whispered. The Alchemy bends to your whim. Death's defector, defiler of Nature. So he did. And the dark became corporeal.

Transfixed, he pulled on the object, and out emerged a sword of midnight. Blue veins running along its surface, magic pulsing to the beat of the orb that lay at its center; Connecting the hilt and the blade. And he felt his new heartbeat, bare within his hand. Bound to his maw with chain like some eldritch stem, bridging the gap between man and demon. The first fang of the bound Wolf, and then the second - Dromi and Lædingr.

They slotted into his grip as though he had never been meant to hold anything else. Extensions of his ambition and his sin. These blades, they felt nothing like Caladbolg. Where the Mother's Thorn tasted of light and grief, these weapons? They were forged of naught but gnawing hunger, pulled straight from the pit of his stomach.

„I'm...” He was almost afraid to have a witness. But he did. And slowly, he lifted his gaze again, finding his fellow spirit staring back with what could only be described as somber pity. „...Nenah, why did you come... I'm...”

What am I?

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer. A... his sight was blurry.

„I'm... so...”

Static enveloped his mind. Ghastly blue light burned within his eyes.

„I'm... so... hurrggh....”

He was ravenous. He - it - the Soul Eater.

Someone called out. Their words but white noise in the void of his thoughts.

Slowly, he walked. Tips of his swords dragging against the ground and gouging the earth. The magic inside him pulsed like the want that moved his jaws. The desire that now held together his spirit. This unholy, aberrant, ugly spirit. Pounding in his split-open chest, the war-drum of instinct drowning out every alarm bell in his mind.

Devour. This is what you are. This is what you chose. Didn't you?

„...Remember...”

A voice. Did it matter? They all screamed at the precipice between worlds. Their words made no difference.

„...Remember who you are...! Remember why you did this..!”

Aurene? No, she was...

Who - whose name was this? What was a name?

„Blessed sinner..!”

Who?

There was the sensation of weight wrapping around his wrists. He growled, lips twitching. And in that moment, his mind surfaced - searching for something, anything, to keep itself afloat.

„Remember your name! Maelmordha..!”

And he snapped back. Blue eyes back to yellow, swords dissolving and chest stitching shut. A gasp, as though his soul yet remembered the rush of air in his lungs. And he found dark eyes, holding the gaze of his own - a lifeline for a dead man.

The eyes of a woman who never knew him. A woman who had nothing to gain from this, and everything to lose.

„...Why..?” He mouthed. Utter silence in his mind aside from that singular question. „...Why did you risk your li - your existence? I could have -” Mael scowled, bringing gloved hands before his face. His digits shook with the strain of keeping himself together.

He could have eaten her. Erased her. Even now she caused this beast's mouth to water. A soul - a light - pure magic. He knew now how Dragons felt, and if the hunger hurt so much, then were they ever truly to blame..?

There was conviction in Nenah's eyes as she once again took hold of the sylvari's wrists, pulling them down as to force the fallen Commander to meet her gaze. „This isn't about... what you could have done to me. Nor what could happen to you. This world is falling apart at the seams because of Balthazar. I believe... I'm here, because Kormir wanted me to help you.”

„Kormir..?”

The Goddess of Truth who could only smile sadly as she departed. No actions taken, only words of hollow solace - as she abandoned them all. Abandoned her people. He wasn't human, but witnessing the heartbreak on Kasmeer's face? He might as well have been. „Kormir left us. Left Tyria behind. The Gods have relinquished all claim to this realm -”

„And yet you're here. And you'll live again. With Grenth's own blessing. So who's to say they really left us? Who's to say they abandoned us when they still guide us?”

Mael closed his mouth. The teacher was right. This was an angle he hadn't truly stopped to consider - and what right did he have to stomp down on the hope that still remained for the people? Living or dead, they all needed a light to lead the way. Gods and spirits for men, Dream for sylvari. Heroes and concepts to hold onto - invariably, no one ever wanted to go alone into the dark.

To trudge on, not knowing what awaits on the other side. The necromancer's voice came in a soft whisper.

„...You're right. I'm sorry. And... thank you.” Maelmordha swallowed, desperately pushing down his racing thoughts. He forced an apologetic smile, a last look at the fellow spirit who had accompanied him for so long. „So... I guess this is goodbye.”

„So it is.” She returned a smile of her own. In that moment, the humble teacher truly looked like the Goddess she so loved. And he could see that love burn bright. It would be the beacon that lit her way to her final reward, far, far away from the war that took her and those she mentored. A war he'd return to, damned as he was - to make sure it took no one else. Perhaps it was a fool's notion, but a chuckle broke through the silence nonetheless.

„Good luck wherever you're going, and... Pray for me, would you?”

„I will, Commander. Trust in Grenth. And know that everything happens for a reason.” She let go, a final nod offered his way before she turned around, heading towards the Judge.

And so, Maelmordha turned his gaze towards the precipice of worlds, knowing he now possessed the strength to bridge them. But one more voice vied for his attention - someone he unfortunately recognized. Once again demanding to be the center of the world, now with the added bonus of kissing ass. A smirk crept onto the Commander's features.

„Look who's groveling. Genuflect, Your Majesty.”

And so began the worst lich feud in Tyrian history, but that was a tale for another time.

”Gods, I... I can't even bear to look at him.” The mesmer's body shook with stifled sobs. Tears charting dark lines down pale skin - washing away the paint from her lids.

Tribune Brimstone could only frown, jaws parting to offer some form of solace just before he remembered he was never any good with words. And so, lips fell over fangs again, safekeeping solemn silence. „Yeah... yeah.”

He always did make everything worse, didn't he...? Green orbs wandered back to the proof of his failure. The haphazard veil that covered the worst of the Commander's wounds was soaked in sap. Empty eyes now resting closed, the poor bastard looked almost eerily peaceful. Almost as though he were merely resting. It didn't suit him to be so dark in the evening, though. That ruby light was gone and the soldier in Rytlock - all he had ever been - knew better than to dwell on death as humans did. It wasn't sleep. No gods to kiss it all better. And all that blood and gore couldn't be dressed in words in a way that made it pretty.

„He's done so much and I can't... I can't even look...”

Kas was still crying. Rytlock winced. Clawed hand hovered over her form, as though debating whether his touch could offer any superficial semblance of comfort. Ultimately, it retreated, and his tail flicked uncomfortably. With a deep rumble, he excavated his voice.

„...He wouldn't have wanted you to.” There was no point. He was gone anyway, so it didn't matter. At least he wasn't in pain anymore. And, well, Commander never did want anyone else to have to suffer for no reason. „Shit, how we gonna break this to Taimi...”

„That's what I'm worried about. Kid won't take this too well.” Canach sighed, raising himself up from his kneeling position. „Aren't you the Watch's second? Should I call you Commander, yet?”

„Shut it, weed.” The snarl came on its own before he ever had the chance to reel in his anger. A growl seeped past the Blood Tribune's teeth, and he pinched the bridge of his snout. „Look, just - just let me think. Or make the call yourself if you have so much yapping left in you.”

Uncharacteristically, Canach merely sat quietly away to the side, closer to the body. For a brief moment, the Secondborn's stern gaze met that of the charr, before both men promptly looked away. It was clear the former convict had no interest in petty arguments at the time - whatever words he did have locked firm behind his teeth.

„I'll do it.” A meek voice picked up from the back. Rytlock's head turned, only for green orbs to meet dim blues. Lady Meade looked positively pathetic. And yet, though her eyes were framed by streaks of runny makeup, her expression was one of tired determination. Rytlock chuffed.

„You sure? You aren't looking too-”

„I said I'd do it. So, let me.”

Silence. Kasmeer raised her hand to her ear to dial on the device, and the comms crackled to life. One last shaky breath, and a tiny voice came through.

„Yes? Hello? Guys, is everything alright?” The small prodigy chirped in a fervent tone. Her voice cracked towards the end and Kasmeer Meade could feel her heart crack in tandem. „...Please tell me everything's alright.”

„Oh, Taimi. Baby, I'm so sorry.”

„Kas? Kas - I - Kas tell me what's - No no no please don't tell me he's -”

Despite the fresh tears tugging at her waterline, the mesmer knew she had to say it. „Shhh, I'm so sorry. Mael's gone, Taimi.”

It was as though the full weight of it only really sank in at that moment. Rytlock's glare seemed to actively want to bury itself in the dirt, while Canach turned away to gaze silently off into the distance. Even Kasmeer felt a fresh knot twist within her gut only to release, all that horrible, horrible tension burning like living fire the very second she heard Taimi's voice quiver on the other end of the line.

„No.. no, no.. Kas this isn't funny...” She sniffled, and the mage of Lyssa could oh so easily visualize the little girl shaking her head over in her lab. Just like when she argued with Phlunt, or any other scientist. Always so very confident in herself, and what she believed in.

„No, this isn't FUNNY, don't LIE to me, he's FINE! He's the Commander - he's - he's FINE - go check! Do the light test on his eyes - t-take his pulse - s-sylvari don't have easily accessible carotids b-but -”

„Taimi...”

Another click, and Canach joined the line. „Taimi, there wasn't even a need to check.”

„Canach!” Kasmeer could only gasp at the swordsman's blunt intrusion. „Canach, I swear on the Six -”

„Make that Five. He's dead, kid. That's a whole God that got him. Could tell the moment we looked.”

„Fucking burn me, have some tact!” Rytlock snapped, earning a scornful glance from the sylvari. The tension could very well be cut with a knife.

„Or what? Thorns, sometimes you have to be direct. Grow some spine, you people!”

„That's a CHILD!”

„...I'm still on the line. I-I’m not a child! I can hear you all. I'm sorry. I j-just -” Taimi's voice broke again, dissolving into a series of wheezy sobs. Kas's heart dropped. She was having an episode. The mesmer wasted no time in briefly disconnecting her communicator.

„Shut UP! Both of you!” The outburst was so out of character that both Rytlock and Canach promptly fell silent. Having achieved her immediate goal, the mesmer tapped the device again. „Talk to me, Taimi.” Walk her through this, Kasmeer, just like Mael used to. Don't let him down, now. This is the least you can do.

„I'm - I-I'm just... I'm so sorry I screamed.” The teenager sniffled, interrupting herself with a hiccup. „I-I knew the odds were bad... I just didn't want it to be true...”

Lady Meade smiled painfully, mustering up every bit of comfort in her voice. Oh, how she wished she could be there with her - lay her hand gently upon the asura's head and pet her hair. Just like he always did.

„It's alright. Everyone reacts in their own way. It isn't your fault. Shh. Shh. It's okay...”

„If I - I-if I weren't taking a break at the time I could have noticed the energy readings were shifting and he - B-Balthazar - was changing course - and we could have warned him before the storm set in and comms died -”

„...You know this isn't true. You can't always work. If you had overworked yourself, you could have missed something else, baby. We may all have been dead. You could have gotten hurt from overdoing it.” The only thing she could do now was speak and listen. Between herself and the Dawnborn, she wasn't ever really sure who was better at talking people down. „...He wouldn't have wanted this, alright? Commander - Mael - wouldn't have wanted you to aggravate your condition. None of us do.”

„H-he was the first person who really, truly took me seriously!” Taimi was spiraling. „What I do is my choice! And I could have saved him! I could have... Alchemy...”

Her tired body was giving out, too drained to argue in vain with herself. Deep down, she knew. She knew that she had been powerless to stop it. That even the Dragonslayer had no hope to kill a God, and it was a childish thought to even entertain. That deep down, Mael himself knew he was marching to his death, but his Wyld Hunt drove him onward anyway.

Just like shackles and chain. Being pulled ever towards the gallows, with no ability to run. And yet, he shouldered his fate with a smile.

Even when she watched him grow bitter and jaded he always found it in himself to smile for her.

„...You did your best. That is more than enough.” Kas' lids fell shut, forcing out the last tear that still lingered in the corner of her vision. „He's proud of you. I know.”

Wherever he was. If he was... anywhere. She didn't have the heart nor the stomach to consider the full implications of Grenth leaving. When she next opened her eyes, her vision was swimming - and not because of the desert heat, which had long since given way to a brisk evening chill. Taimi seemed to have calmed down, and only the occasional quiet sniffle still registered on their shared frequency. The Meade sat down on a rock, fearing her own legs too feeble to keep her upright for long.

„...So, what do we do?” It was Rytlock who next broke the silence. „It's late and there may still be some Forged in the area. Wouldn't exactly want a bullet through the skull and an early ticket back to the Mists. Would hate to disappoint Commander like that.”

Again, he thought to add. He bit his tongue.

„...I'll stay here and get a breath of fresh air.” Canach sighed, the usual edge to his tone replaced by bitter, cold apathy. „If you want to go back to the ship, then go. I need to collect my thoughts.”

„I'll cloak us, just to be safe. Let Fidus know to post sentries and be on a lookout for trouble.” Exhaustion was not going to stop Kasmeer from being cautious, and this was simple magic, anyway. With a wave of her hand and reality rippling beneath her force, the top of the Spire was encased in an invisible bubble. Reflecting sight, just like a one way mirror. If anyone else wandered inside, she'd know.

In the end, none of them had it in themselves to go back - not yet. A quiet vigil for the fallen. For a leader. For a friend

It felt like several hours had passed. The night was silent and uneventful, an air of tranquility fallen over where tragedy had struck. Ash and dust long since scattered to the wind, there was scarcely a trace of the battle. Only charred foliage, cooled armor strewn about here and there, and three broken people trying to decide where to go from there. But the night, though quiet, held danger nonetheless. Teasing fate was a fool's errand in these lands.

„It's high time we move. I'll... get the body. Set a course for Amnoon.” The revenant spoke, and the airship's crew began preparations for takeoff. Kasmeer and Canach wordlessly nodded, their gazes following Rytlock as he walked up once again towards the center of the Spire.

...The very last thing Kasmeer Meade expected was to hear Rytlock holler her name with borderline panic in his voice.

„Uh, Kas?!”

„What is it?!” Both her and Canach were already running from the deck back to the plateau, weapons drawn and half prepared to find Forged come to hunt them down and finish what Balthazar started.

But Forged did not have blue eyes. Whatever stared back at them from the very center of the Spire was no soldier of Fire. A figure shrouded in shadow, darkness itself gathering where it stood to leave its features obscured and nigh unrecognizable. Stark blue eyes seemingly lost interest in gazing into Rytlock's own in favor of inspecting the sheet of gold-soaked cloth held in one hand.

„Get back!” The charr ignited Sohothin, wide arc of his sword a warning to both sides. „Where is the bo - where is he?!”

The stranger's head turned, shifting shadows offering a glimpse of white hair. Aether warped their words, like the Mists themselves speaking. „Rytlock...”

And yet, the sound of his name in their - in his lips was recognizeable beyond all doubt. „Kasmeer! What in the hells! Is this one of yours or am I going mad?!”

„What do you mean mine - you can't be - since when do I -” The mesmer was tripping over her words, staff clutched tightly. She could smell necromancy anywhere. Jory, and Mael - she's spent so long around them, but this felt familiar and different at the very same time. A darkness she knew well, but somehow wrong. A twisted image of Grenth's magic that sent alarms going off in her brain and overwhelmed her thoughts. That aura was oppressive.

„Is that...” Canach mouthed, incredulous.

„No. It's not.” Brimstone bared his fangs, tail lashing wildly against the ground. „I've been there. I know what lurks there. This isn't him. It's a demon.”

The figure's eyes seemed almost sad. He dismissed the notion.

„Grrraaaahh!!” With a mighty leap, he charged, fury burning in his eyes - challenging the reflection of the ghost fire that razed Ascalon. If this beast thought he'd let it defile the Commander's body, it was dead fucking wrong.

Split seconds before Sohothin could sink its fangs into a gap in darksteel armor, the stranger's chest opened. A jagged maw of teeth.

„Pale Mother!” Canach gasped, and Kasmeer covered her mouth. Taimi came online and hurled a hundred questions over the comms.

Their swords met with a spectral chime. Like a rung bell, living flame against one cold and dead. That strength. How did so much power fit in such a small, feeble sylvari body? The charr grit his teeth, air hissing past his brandished fangs. A deadlock.

„Rytlock! Stand down!” The stranger repeated, forcibly. The Tribune's mind flashed back to their last fight. Pain and rage seethed in jade orbs, muscles pushing with all their might against the single sword that halted his advance. „...No. I won't let you. You don't deceive me!”

Blue eyes that gazed from where gold had once been narrowed. „I thought I had made myself clear before, Tribune. I won't take no for an answer.”

A pulse of dark magic repelled Sohothin, forcing Rytlock back. His weight shifted dangerously, hind claws struggling to find purchase. Green orbs shot wide open - he was exposed, and the dark blade was more than capable of ending him right then and there.

So he focused, a last ditch-effort; With a mighty beat, crystalline wings sprouted from his back - the Dragon Prophet's own visage bursting from the Mists to lend him her strength.

And then she just... stopped. The Commander - the stranger's free hand was outstretched, and he felt every nerve in his body refuse to listen. „What in the...” Some blasted chains - wrapped around him, wrapped around even Glint before her fleeting facet dissipated.

He felt familiar magic swallow him in rosy light and he was yanked back, appearing in a portal next to Kasmeer. Her and Canach had both stepped forward to shield him with their bodies, but made no move to advance. Hesitating? Now, of all times..?! He was about to tell them off before he noticed that very same spell binding them in place, every fibre of their bodies frozen and helpless to the fates.

„Burn me! Rrraahh!!” He raged against his restraints, soul reaching out through the Mists to call for aid. Any aid. What was a charr to do to get some fucking reinforcements around these parts?! Glint, Jalis, even the blasted Shiro Tagachi or Mallyx, it made no difference. The voices in his head fell silent, unwilling or unable to manifest his magic. He was stuck, and this monster was going to kill them all.

Balthazar didn't even have to get his hands any dirtier and come finish the job. Some random fucking demon was all it took. I'm sorry, Commander. It seems I can't stop messing up.

But the killing blow did not come. The blade that emerged out of the portal mouth upon the bastard's chest simply went right back in like his body was some twisted scabbard. Split open by a God's wrath and this demon was hell-bent on making a mockery of even the Commander's death. What a joke.

„...Rytlock...”

„Stop it. Just, get it over with. I've some dignity to keep.” His fur stood on end, hearing that voice when he knew it wasn't real.

„If I wanted to, I would have done so already. Pale fucking Mother, Rytlock.”

The Shroud relented, and the shadows fell away. And so, they got a chance to see him, really see him, for themselves. No anger nor malice contorted his features. Only sadness. A deep, profound sadness in haunted eyes that extinguished the blue flame within to once again welcome gold. Those eyes that had once fallen dim and unseeing weren't fully dead. There was no light inside, not anymore, but... there was a spark, nonetheless. A sliver of cerulean that danced inside his pupils - just like the color of his glow, a stark contrast against the crimson they had come to know. And above all, he just looked so... tired.

„What's going on?!” Taimi was almost going into hysteria on the channel.

The chain magic dissolved, sending Rytlock stumbling a few steps forward. Some animalistic side begged him to charge again, but the desolate look within the Commander's eyes gave him pause. Similarly, Kasmeer and Canach made no move, staring with fear and worry at the scene unfolding before them. Mael - no, he couldn't let it deceive - was he..? - opened his arms, palms facing the starlit sky. Exposing his chest. Clad in some strange, new armor, seemingly spawned from the Mists just like the one worn by the Blood Tribune. A circle of magic spun slowly upon his sternum, remnants of blue fire easing into necromantic green.

„ ...That's Grenth's regalia. Like those given to the Seven Reapers.” Kas observed.

„It's Grenth who let me go back.” Maelmordha nodded at the mesmer, gratitude in amber orbs. His voice somber, but so unmistakably his. „Even in this state.”

The asura finally managed to shove herself back into the center of attention. Her words shot forth like machine gun fire inbetween panicked breaths. „Wait, w-wait wait wait - I DEMAND an explanation right now! If this is some sick prank I- I...”

Mael reached for his own device. Luckily, it was still in one piece. His tired smile was evident in his tone. „Hi, Taimi.”

„...Hi, Taimi? You almost DIE and „hi, Taimi” is all I get?! What's going on! You all said the Commander was dead! I flipping told you! I told you to check you - you -”

„I... I was dead, Taimi. But now I'm back.”

„Yeah, but that's not how „dead” works.”

„She makes a good point. You don't just go back to being alive like you go back to being your usual cranky self after a night of drinking. Kind of defeats the definition of „dead”, if anyone wants my opinion.” Canach interjected, sword lowered but not holstered. Skepticism in a gaze of violet framed by thorns. But also hope, try as he might to hide it. „...We checked, Commander, and you were very much no longer with us.”

„Here's the catch. I'm not alive.” The Commander let out a forlorn sigh, arms crossed over his back as he turned back around and slowly walked over to where his veil lay. He bent, once again taking it in a gloved hand - feeling the weight of his lifeblood.

„You're not?” The Secondborn raised a ridged brow. „I'm getting confused here. Is this some sort of last visitation to collect the money I owe you? ...Do you still need the money?”

„You're not?” Taimi repeated. „B-but... but.. buh...”

„Oh no...” Kasmeer seemed to realize the implications first.

„Listen.” The necromancer was back to doing what he did best. The party fell silent and focused on his words. „...I'm... still me. I've got this. I'm still the Commander. Still -”

That's right. Remember your name. It may well be the last thing that remains of you. He shivered.

„...Still Maelmordha.” The sylvari finally discarded the bloodied cloth from his grasp.

„Those damn teeth dare to disagree.” Rytlock growled, frustration bleeding through his words. Had he no fur to hide them, his knuckles would have been white with how tightly he gripped Sohothin. And yet, despite the anger, all the chaos within him, he silently prayed to legends and gods he did not believe in. „...What are you, really?”

„A lich.” With revulsion in his tone, the Commander answered. Even now, he felt the true weight of it all was lost on him. Too much to process all at once, too little time - this was a wound which would open later.

He stepped forward, eyes trained on Rytlock with such intensity the charr seemed to shrink back, uncertain. With one finger, the sylvari lifted the very tip of Sohothin. Angling its blazing spikes to face his sternum, as though knowing it would not strike him. „Which means killing me isn't going to stick. And the fire that took my life? Don't plan to let it burn me twice.”

„A lich..? Like Palawa Joko...? That makes no sense.” Kasmeer spoke up, hesitant and afraid. Had Maelmordha still a heart of his own, it would have shattered against the terror in her words. „Grenth doesn't approve of breaking the balance of Death. He wouldn't have -”

„There's one thing Grenth approves of even less than me breaking his and my own moral code, and that is Balthazar ravaging the Mists and ripping the souls of the dead right out to fill his Forged quota.” The Commander's voice was laced with venom. Before the Watch could blather on in circles for even longer, the fallen necromancer growled. „Listen! The bastard has Aurene.”

„We know...” Kasmeer replied, gaze somber. „He was taking her south toward Kralkatorrik when we arrived. We tried to stop him, but there were too many Forged.” The sheer wall of steel and fire cordoning off passage into the Desolation prevented the slightest notion of following the fallen God. Otherwise, they would have already done so.

„And I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it appears that Balthazar has managed to build up quite a formidable army.” Canach added, swordwhip crackling as though on cue at his side. So eager for violence, but its owner was not as hasty to a grave of his own.

„He does seem to make 'em faster than we can break 'em.” Rytlock bared his fangs, fist hitting the palm of his opposite paw.

„That's why we need an army of our own.” His trademark smirk was back, a devilish spark already dancing in his eyes. „I met someone in the Domain of the Lost who told me where I can borrow one.”

„Borrow”... an army?”

„Domain of the Lost?” The elder sylvari questioned, knowing he would likely not get an answer. „My, my, Commander, back from the dead and already scheming. It really is you.”

The occasional sniffling on the channel gave way to a happy giggle. „Yay, we have a plan!”

„Kas, have you got anything that can change our appearances?” Mael continued casually, as though he hadn't just suggested the most ridiculous idea known to Tyria.

„Yes, but nothing that can make the four of us look like an army.” Naturally, she was skeptical, and yet only waiting to hear just what kind of deranged plot they were pulling off next.

„It doesn't have to.” The Commander gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug. „It just needs to disguise us as someone else... after I secure our cover story.”

„Okay. I'll be standing by.” Setting her doubts aside, Lady Meade took a breath - getting ready to place her trust in this new version of her guildmaster. She wiped off her makeup-stained face, making room for a small smile. Blue orbs met gold, and she could feel his relief and gratitude. The necromancer offered a nod, and the mesmer returned it. Finally, things were going somewhere.

„And I'll be at the casino in Amnoon. If you can come back from the dead, I want to double my wager on you.” Canach smirked, that same sly look on his face he so often shared with his Commander. Mael simply nodded again, and the elder headed for the airship.

„Fine. I'll get word to you all when the time is right. For now, let's get the ship moving somewhere safe.” A brief scowl shadowed his features when he considered having a repeat of the prior conversation with Fidus and his crew. A man was scarcely allowed to come back without being asked questions, after all.

For the last time, he went back to where he had fallen - collecting the singed Thorn. Its bark was charred, leaves burnt - but even now, the Mother's holy magic was regenerating it steadily. He felt it recoil at his touch. The last vestige of the Dream inside his thoughts, all because the sword had simply become a part of him in its own, strange way. I'm so sorry, Caladbolg. How dirty he felt, but he forced himself to focus on Aurene. Visualize. Think. Remember. Even now, Nenah's words were fresh inside his mind. Remember why you did this. For whom.

Blue flickered in his gaze, and a single covert tear fell upon the Thorn's cracked surface. He rose from his knees, greatsword in hand.

A gravelly grumble finally pried him from his thoughts. Rytlock cast a side glance in his direction - meeting his gaze - before groaning and looking away in an almost sheepish manner. If not for the circumstances, he might have considered it cute.

„Oh, hey, Commander...” The charr mumbled, scratching the back of his mane. „Good to have you back.”

Maelmordha only smiled in response. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but his comrade wasn't paying heed.

#gw2 fic #gw2 fanfic #Hounds to Hamartia #pof spoilers #self reblog #multi reblog #About the Commander #thank you so so much for the analysis omg!

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medicbrainrot · 2 years ago

Text

it all feels the same with your eyes closed (deep end, part 1)

A/N: This mini series needs a content warning for suicidal ideation, domestic violence, and excessive alcohol consumption. (I told y’all I was gonna throw some angst at ya.)

Things had been tense around base since the return of Task Force 141 after an unsuccessful mission. Mistakes had been made, resulting in the loss of personnel and vital intel.

The main core personnel of the Task Force were currently in a meeting, discussing information for an upcoming mission. The meeting was already tense, but it escalated as Simon and Juliana were arguing back and forth about protocols.

“I AM YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER. I’M THE ONE IN CHARGE HERE.” Simon yells at Juliana before backhanding her across the face so hard that she stumbles back.

The room goes silent, shock spreading among everyone as they stare at the couple.

Simon throws a vicious glare at Juliana before spitting out the final piece of the argument. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

She doesn’t bother to grab her things before sprinting out of the room.

Simon stares at the door she left through for a brief second, before turning to the rest of the room. Tensions were high, but he was trying to remain calm after his outburst. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’ll handle this. We’ll continue later.” He says gruffly.

He sighed internally. What was she so upset about anyway? Simon doesn’t like fighting with her, but lately it’s been happening more and more.

“Witness that? Simon, you just hit your girlfriend, not to mention you just assaulted a fellow soldier, IN FRONT OF WITNESSES.” Captain Price roars.

Simon flinches at Price’s reaction, and tries to defend his actions without being rude. “I wouldn’t have hit her without reason. I had to do what I did. It’s not like I’m proud of it. I’ll handle it, and apologize to her personally.”

“Good luck getting her to hold still long enough to do that.” Soap mutters under his breath.

“Soap!” Simon whirls on Johnny, glaring at him intensely. “Are you insinuating what I think you are right now?”

“It depends, sir,” Soap addressed him mockingly. “What is it you think I’m insinuating?”

Simon’s voice became harsh, as he spoke quickly. “I want a straight answer, Soap. Are you implying that she’s going to be so furious, that she’s going to fight me?”

“I’m implying, sir,” Soap mocks again, “That you’ll be hard pressed to even find her and get her to listen long enough for you to say the words ‘I’m sorry’, without her bolting. There’s a reason we call her Bambi.”

Simon sighed, he knew Johnny was right. She would disappear the minute she saw him. He had to do something.

His mind raced, trying to think of a plan. He didn’t know where she’d run off to, he just knew she was angry. Very angry.

“I’ll find her. I’ll make sure she hears me out.” Simon huffs.

“You’d better get this sorted out, and fast Simon. We’re getting deployed again in a few weeks, and we need this team 100% together.” Captain Price says sternly.

Simon nods, still pissed that this even became a fight in the first place. “She’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

He then turns to Johnny and Kyle. “You two keep your mouths shut about this. Especially you, Soap. We don’t need anymore drama. Are we clear?”

Johnny looks him squarely in the eye. “If she wants to fill out a SHARP violation report against you, I’ll happily sign as a witness.”

“Soap…” Simon sighs. He doesn’t want any more trouble. He just needs Juliana to understand her place in the chain of command. He needs her to understand why he did what he did. He can’t afford to lose his job because of one stupid mistake. He needs to not let his temper get the better of him. He needs a break.

He looked at Johnny, then Kyle, then Price, then back at Johnny. “Soap, don’t force me into doing something drastic over this. Understood?”

“What, are you gonna hit me too? Beat me into submission? No wonder Bambi is so banged up all the time.” Johnny spits venomously.

Simon growls angrily. He was already on edge, and now this? He had a serious urge to hit something, but he held it in.

“You think it’s funny, making jokes about this?” He clenches his fists, setting them down harshly on the table. He lets out a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. “I’m warning you, Soap. For the last time, keep your mouth shut, or I’ll make you. Got it?”

“It’s not a joke, not this time.” Johnny growls. “This had to have escalated from somewhere. You make a regular habit of hitting your girlfriend to get what you want?”

Simon’s mind goes blank. A regular habit of hitting her? A sense of shock went through his system. He didn’t know Johnny could think of him that way.

“Don’t assume you know anything, Soap.” He says coldly. “I don’t go around hitting her all the time. I’ve only done it once. Just this one time. One. Time.”

“That’s what they all say.” Johnny sneers at him.

Simon took a deep breath trying to keep everything under control. He couldn’t believe Johnny was saying all of this.

“Soap, I swear to God, I only hit her this once. It was my fault, but I’ve never done it, and I won’t do it again. You’re only making this worse. We are supposed to be a team. Remember?”

“Yeah. Teammates are supposed to protect each other. They don’t backhand each other during arguments.” Soap retorts.

Simon knew he was in the wrong for hitting Juliana. He felt bad for hitting her, but he felt like he couldn’t admit that in front of Johnny, he was already digging himself in way too deep.

“I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it, you’re right. I let my anger get the best of me. It won’t happen again.”

He stared at the floor while he tried to figure out what to say next.

“Please, let’s just try to work through this. Don’t go around telling anyone else about this.”

“Fine.” Soap scoffs. “I won’t say anything. But if I catch even a hint that something is off, I’ll file the damn SHARP report myself.” Johnny stands up to leave, pausing in the doorway. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was halfway through writing up a unit transfer request already.”

Simon watched as Johnny left the room. What had he done? How could he let his anger take control of him like that? Would Juliana really file a transfer request because of all this? Would he lose everything over this? And why was Johnny so defensive of her?

“Damnit.” He muttered. “I really need to talk to her. Now.”

Why had Johnny been so protective of Juliana? What is going on here?

Johnny must have known something Simon didn’t, something he wasn’t telling Simon. But that wasn’t important. He needs to go find Juliana and fix all of this.

Unless… unless Johnny really does know something. Maybe it will help Simon figure out where it all went wrong.

“Fucking hell.” Simon swore. Johnny might be the only one who might know something about what’s going on, or where Juliana went. As much as he hated the idea, asking Johnny was worth a shot.

He made his way to Johnny’s room, and knocked on the door. He just wanted to talk to the man and hear what he had to say himself.

Johnny opened the door. “Come to take a shot at another teammate?”

Simon glared at him. “You know what, Soap?” He growled. “Quit your bullshit. I know that you know where Bambi is, and I know you know why she’s mad. So tell me. Now.”

Johnny leveled him with a cool stare. “I don’t know where she is.” He said plainly.

“I don’t believe you. Why were you defending her so much?” Simon asks. He knew there was something happening that he didn’t know about. He could feel it, he just doesn’t know what it’s about. “I need the real reason, Soap.”

“Why wouldn’t I defend her!? I’ve had family go through what she has, and I’m not about to let her go through it alone again.”

‘Had family members go through….’? What the hell? Simon’s eyes widened a bit. When it clicked, Simon was surprised to hear that Johnny had a family history of domestic abuse. He hadn’t realized that that was the reason Johnny defended Juliana so much.

Johnny thought Simon was abusing her…

“So, you know something about her past, then?” He asks.

Johnny’s eyes widened. “You… you mean she hasn’t told… you?”

Simon frowned. Why hadn’t she told him anything about that part of her past? He was confused.

“No. She didn’t. And now I need to know, Soap. What happened?”

He ran his hands over his balaclava. Maybe this was the reason she got so upset? If this was the case, then he needed to tread very carefully, at least until he figured out more of what was going on.

“I don’t know the whole story, just bits and pieces, but enough to know that it was bad. Like, really bad. Almost career ending bad.” Johnny explained.

Simon was slightly disturbed by that description. He couldn’t imagine what might have happened for her to be reacting like this. He couldn’t imagine what she had gone through. What did Johnny mean by ‘almost career ending’?

“Can you at least give me some sort of basic idea? Anything, Soap, please.” Simon never pleads, ever, but right now he is. He looked at Johnny, worry and concern evident in his eyes.

“Juliana had gotten into a relationship of sorts with someone on her team, and when the guy got promoted, he outranked her, he became her superior officer.” Johnny begins. “He started getting violent with her behind closed doors, especially whenever she’d disagree with him about missions or protocols.” He pauses. “I know at one point, he hurt Jules so badly she was in the ICU for six days, and she almost got medically discharged from service. That’s when she finally put in for a transfer.”

Simon’s face paled under his mask. His hands shook slightly, but he wasn’t sure if it was from anger at himself or at the guy who hurt Juliana. This was too much for one person to carry alone.

“And… she went through all of that…. Alone? She never said anything to me, ever!” Simon sighed. “I need to find her and make sure she’s okay. I’ve fucked up, and I’m the only one who can fix this.”

Johnny shakes his head. “The only reason she told me was because she overheard me talking on the phone with my sister about a similar issue, and she offered her help. Otherwise, I don’t think she ever would have said anything.”

Simon ran his hands down his face. “So… if she hasn’t told me anything about it… I guess she doesn’t want me to know… Did she ever go into any detail about what happened, or about who this person might be?”

“She never specified, she just said someone from a previous unit. Refused to say when or where.” Johnny explains.

Simon nods. “Alright. Well… thank you for at least telling me this, Soap. I would’ve never known.”

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t ever noticed something like this. He had always known Juliana as one of the most gentle, kind-hearted people he had met. He would never have dreamt that she had gone through something like this before.

But it also made something clear. Simon could never allow anything like this to happen to her, ever again. He would have to protect Jules - no matter what it took.

Sometimes, the people with the brightest smiles are the ones who have gone through the most oppressive darkness.

“I need to find her. I have to make sure that her past won’t define who she is in the future.” Simon sighs deeply.

“It might already be too late for that, Simon.” Johnny says cautiously.

“Do not tell anyone else about this, Johnny. You got that? We can’t have rumors spreading around right now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“Good. I appreciate it.” Simon turns to leave, and makes his way across the base, going through different areas in search of Juliana. “God damnit” He swears. “Where in the hell is she?”

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #angst #there will be angst #'deep end' by i prevail #was the title inspo #and the song on repeat for this mini series #the original version i sketched out was way way darker than how im going to write this version #let me know what you guys think #pls #i dont think i could see simon being a toxic abusive boyfriend #considering his personal history and trauma #but its an interesting concept to explore some of the darker aspects of his personality #honestly im curious to see what happens #cod mw2 #simon riley angst #i feel like i can finally use that tag lmao

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morningmask27 · 4 months ago

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I'm going to be bitching about Star for a while now. I'll tag them all with #asc spoilers, but really what the fuck was this book?

#morningtalks #asc spoilers #The biggest flop I've ever seen in the history of everything #How could you even fail this so badly? Where did you think these were good ideas?#The Icestar thing I'm personally miffed about because I genuinely wanted Froststar. Not for her happiness but because she's the only cat #Who felt like she had a bit of a REASON to be leader #Look for the less obvious choices. Makes a senior warrior they ALREADY CONSIDERED leader #While she was off on a whole other adventure in Another Book You Gotta Buy Now To Know What Icewing Was Up To #While the Real Plot Was Happening #Splashtail is dead already when she arrives #Do these fucking morons really just sit on their asses AGAIN up until Icewing arrives/Frostpaw wakes up?#Timeskips of hell. I hate it here #Berryheart's death is also one I am FURIOUS about #Woman Died For Her Daughter So Now She's Good and All Her Family Mourns Her #They really had to go Redemption Death for the most radioactive piece of garbage in existence #She spent THE ENTIRE ARC being an absolute shithead berating her son/trying to KILL her own daughter-in-law #Manipulating (or at least trying to) Sunbeam. Plotting against Tigerstar within and outside of ShadowClan #Was fully into the plan to trap Tiger and co ''because then she could fix ShadowClan herself and get River out''#This fucking book I swear I hate it so deeply #How do you fail such an arc?#How idiotic do you have to be to not let Sunbeam (and Spireclaw) deal with their rancid mother once and for all?#Why does Sunbeam still Love Her So Much after everything?#(okay I know Trauma and Parents and growing up within odd situations and how you still kinda love them)#But Berryheart was a Problem the entire arc #Why?#It is really just because Berryheart is Mom and this Has The Mom Instinct still?#You let some rando horrendous man kill his own daughter in SkyClan's destiny by accident. Why can't Sun and Berry fight?#I wanted some horrific death for Berry. One that would haunt Sunbeam for a long time and maybe if needed cement her choice #To not return to ShadowClan because it hurts #Yes I wanted SUNBEAM to kill Berryheart (or at the very least Spireclaw)

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euniexenoblade · 4 months ago

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The Rocky Horror discourse is so annoying, upsetting, and transmisogynistic cuz it often starts off as trans women just honestly discussing how they have trauma related to it or how the film has all the classic transmisogynistic tropes of killer/rapist man crossdressing or how the creator has said some bigoted stuff, and the tme response to personal stories of trauma and actual media analysis is always the same cycle of responses.

"MY trans women friends love it!" Ok that doesn't matter to the point "It's important queer history!" That's why this discussion matters, we need people to understand that queer history can also be transmisogynistic "it's from 50 years ago society is DIFFERENT!" The world is not so different that transmisogyny doesn't exist "the creator is trans!" The creator has said transmisogynistic things and just because he himself might be tma doesn't mean he can't be transmisogynistic or that his transmisogyny doesn't actually influence his identity. "Rocky Horror is ONLY popular cuz transfems love it!" Spacelazar said this one in response to a post I made about actual trauma I have related to the movie, completely discarding my actual real trauma that's not saying you're not allowed to like or watch the movie, to claim that Rocky Horror is only popular cuz of transfems - that cis society isn't more why it's considered a cult classic.

And, tme people just refuse to empathize and often resort to name calling, memes, often times not just falling into misogynistic standards (hysterical women/trannies amiright guys) but also racist remarks (I saw a white tme person make a "woke" joke to mock a black person).

It's just completely dishonest and transmisogynistic. The discussion isn't "you're not allowed to watch Rocky Horror" or "you're a bad person for enjoying it" it's that it's a piece of problematic media that exhibits transmisogynistic bigotry and instead of using their big kid brains and acknowledging that and moving on, tme people really need Rocky Horror to be exonerated as this piece of perfection. (Tbf I think it's largely just cuz it's trans women having an issue, if cis men said Rocky Horror was offensive and misandric I'm sure people would be like oh yeah it is!).

#rh

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onthecrescentofthehill · 8 months ago

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it’s funny when ppl talk about the harpy omelet scene and say things like “why did he do all of that? he didn’t need to. JUST doing that for laios???” (seen these nearly verbatim on posts i’ve made.)

i don’t really get how you can hear his backstory & not understand that every decision he makes within the dungeon is fueled by a profound trauma borne out of horrific, structural negligence. of course he would do fucking anything to enact his plan? if he computes “getting in laios’s favor = proxy control of the dungeon” and he has very limited time to do so, he will jump at the chance. he’s already DIED for this.

kabru has maybe the clearest possible motivation that a character can have. he has a Protagonists Motivation, and it guides him forward in a very coherent way in the beginning of the story. things get more complicated in later acts that directly address how that motivation manifests itself/gets contradicted, bc ryoko kui is great at exploring this, but it’s still extremely present.

and as a labru fan i strongly dislike the implication i see from some ppl that his interest in laios is mostly personal or romantic (posts that range from pure joke to actual ship meta.) even when taking the “confession” at face value, where i think he was telling the truth, there’s still a lot more to it than that. i think at first kabru does see laios as a means to an end in a way that’s impersonal, partly because he tends to keep everyone in his life at arms length. but that “end” (preventing history from repeating itself) is something foundational to his psyche, and we should consider that potential sense of safety getting mixed in with his warring fascination/apprehension towards laios. he’s drawn to him for visceral reasons, and his stated motivations are so intertwined with his sense of self that untangling this push-pull is much more interesting than boilerplate Yearning, to me.

it’s just confusing when any meta or basic discussion of kabru diminishes the weight utaya has on his inner world and i’m really surprised every time i see it? like i understand that different types of meta will put other lenses on things intentionally, and in most cases i think it’s an interesting tool to work with. but it’s a massive disservice to his character to put the most foundational experience of his life on the back burner ESPECIALLY when it’s in favor of shipping. dissecting character relationships, romantic or otherwise, is at its best when you have their full personhood in mind!!

#dm txt #kabru #laios touden #labru #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers

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crookedteethed · 23 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 An Inconvenient Flat (or: How Not to Handle Your Best Friend's Hot Dad). • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- Rule #1 of having car trouble: Don't call your best friend's father for help when you've been secretly sleeping with him since her 21st birthday.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, smut with plot (unprotected piv), public sex, squirting, age gap relationship, sneaking around, angst, dilf!rafe, daddy issues (the regular kind AND the fun kind), cursing

bfd masterlist | main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 1.7k

The orange glow of your hazard lights bounced off the trees lining the empty road, creating an eerie disco effect that matched your current mood: somewhere between panic and hysteria.

Of course this would happen tonight, when you were already emotionally drained from watching Rafe flirt with some yacht club princess at your job at the Country Club all evening.

You'd been avoiding him since the disaster at his summer barbecue last month. Watching him with that woman – some elegant socialite who actually belonged in his world – had been the wake-up call you needed.

The way she'd laughed at his jokes, her manicured hand resting perfectly on his arm, looking every bit the sophisticated partner he deserved.

Not some twenty-three-year-old who still had pizza rolls for dinner and borrowed formal dresses from his daughter. When his hand settled on her lower back, so natural and public, something in you finally snapped.

You'd "accidentally" bumped into her by the grill, making sure your plate of barbecue sauce-drenched ribs landed exactly where it would do the most damage – all over her pristine Prada sandals. Her horrified gasp had been worth it, even if it was childish.

Your fingers hovered over your phone contacts. Mom would be asleep by now, and your father wasn't even worth considering as an option. With a sigh, you called the one person you could always count on.

"Come on, Bella, please?" you begged into your phone. "It's creepy out here!"

"I'm sorry!" Maribella's voice competed with thumping music in the background. "We're at The Wreck right now. Can't you call AAA?"

You slumped against your car, eyeing the very flat, very useless tire. "They said it'll be two hours. TWO. HOURS."

"Look, I can't come get you. I'm finally on a date with Preston, and I've been really wanting to fuck him for weeks!" Maribella whined over the music. "Remember when we made that pact in tenth grade that we'd never let a man interrupt our ho phase?"

"That was before you ditched me at parties to make out with random guys," you reminded her, grinning despite your situation.

"Oh my god, ancient history! And hey, at least I didn't get caught stealing my dad's expensive whiskey like SOMEONE did during senior year."

"I didn't steal it! I was… borrowing it. And may I remind you who drank most of it?"

"Speaking of dads…" Maribella's voice took on that tone she used when she thought she had a brilliant idea. "I could call mine?! He's literally ten minutes away and you know he's great with cars and all that manly stuff. You know, since you're so familiar with his… skills."

Your stomach dropped. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh come on! I'm still processing the trauma from when you confessed about hooking up with him at my birthday party. What's one more therapy session?" She cackled. "Besides, he's actually really helpful with cars!" she repeated. "Just try to keep it in your pants this time? I really don't need to add 'stepmom who used to braid my hair in middle school' to my list of emotional damages."

You winced, remembering how she'd spent weeks making daddy issue jokes and changing your contact name in her phone to "Dad's Type."

She'd even gotten you a "World's Okay-est Stepmom" mug for your birthday as a gag gift. The thought of giving her more ammunition made you want to crawl into a hole and die.

If only she knew just how many therapy sessions she'd actually need if she knew about all the other times her father had been helpful lately.

"Fine," you sighed. "I'll call him."

He answered on the second ring.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"My tire's flat. Maribella suggested—"

"Of course she did." His voice was sharp. "Where are you?"

Ten minutes later, the familiar rumble of his truck approached. He stepped out looking infuriatingly good in dark jeans and a light blue henley – probably the same outfit he'd worn to meet up with the woman you saw him with at the Country Club earlier.

"Well," he drawled, "this is familiar."

"Just fix the tire, Rafe."

"What, no small talk?" He crouched down to inspect the damage. "Haven't seen you around the house lately. I'm not the reason that is, is it?"

"Don't worry about it," you laughed bitterly. "I'm sure between the country club brunettes and the yoga instructors, you barely noticed I was gone. Your bed probably didn't even have time to get cold, did it, Rafe?"

You hated how bitter you sounded, hated even more that you cared at all. It shouldn't matter who your best friend's father was sleeping with – that thought alone should have been enough to make you cringe and run away. Instead, here you were, counting his conquests like some jealous ex when you had no right to be either jealous or an ex.

But something about seeing him with other women made your skin crawl, made you want to remind him of how well he knew your body, how perfectly you fit together. It was messed up, you knew that. You shouldn't care who Rafe Cameron took to his bed. You shouldn't, but god help you, you did.

His jaw tightened. "You don't get to play the jealous ex. You're the one who walked away."

"Ex?" You let out a harsh laugh. "Pretty sure we needed to actually date first, Rafe. But we couldn't exactly do that, could we? Because this was never going to work! You're my best friend's father, for god's sake. You practically watched me grow up."

"That's not—"

"And let's be honest, I've seen how you are with women. The yacht club brunette today? The woman at the barbecue? I'm not going to be another notch in your bedpost. What was it you used to say? That I'm 'practically family'? Funny how that worked out."

The air between you crackled with tension as he stood suddenly, his full height making your breath catch. He stepped closer, crowding you against your car until you could smell his cologne – that expensive scent that still lingered on your pillowcase no matter how many times you washed it.

The street was dead silent except for the distant chirp of crickets and your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. His proximity was dizzying, familiar in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"Is that what you think this was?" His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. The way he was looking at you – like he could devour you whole – made your knees weak, and you hated yourself for still wanting him this much.

"Wasn't it?" You meant it to sound defiant, but it came out breathy, betraying every ounce of want you were trying to hide.

The hazard lights kept casting orange shadows across his face, highlighting the dangerous glint in his eyes, the clench of his jaw. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, remembering all too well how that heat felt pressed against you, inside you.

"Christ, you're infuriating." His hands gripped your waist, pushing you against the car. "You think I sleep around because I enjoy it? I've been trying to get you out of my head since that night at Bella's party."

"By getting under every other woman in town?"

"By trying to convince myself I don't want you." His voice dropped lower, rough with confession. "It's not working."

Before you could respond, he surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His mouth moved against yours with desperate intensity, drawing a gasp from your throat that he swallowed eagerly.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, punctuated by heavy breaths and quiet groans. Your hands found his buzzed head, nails scraping against his scalp as he pressed you harder against the car, his body caging yours completely.

"Back seat," you panted against his mouth. "Now."

He pulled back just enough to smirk. "So much for being practically family."

"Shut up before I change my mind."

His eyes darkened as he pulled you into the back seat, the familiar electricity crackling between you. Every touch felt like coming home and burning alive at the same time.

You'd forgotten how perfectly you fit together, how he knew exactly where to kiss to make you gasp his name.

"I've missed you," he breathed against your neck, hands mapping the familiar territory of your body like he was afraid you'd disappear again. "Every single day."

You arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair. "Prove it."

The windows steamed up as clothing was hastily discarded, the small space of the back seat making everything more intense, more desperate.

Each touch, each kiss felt like a confession neither of you could say out loud. Your bodies remembered this dance well, finding their rhythm in the darkness.

Rafe groaned as he lined himself up with your soaking cunt, and slowly sank his thick cock deep inside of you, stretching you deliciously.

Your head fell back against the seat, lips parted in a silent moan. His hips rocked forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your slick heat.

"God, you feel amazing," he rasped, voice rough with desire.

You clenched around him in response, drawing a sharp intake of breath. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, perfect, your body struggling to adjust to his size.

Each small movement sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, making you forget everything except how perfectly he filled you. It was almost too much – the stretch, the pressure, the way he seemed to reach places no one else ever had.

Rafe began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you clinging to your legs around his waist.

His lips found your neck, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone. Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself as the coiling tension inside you built higher and higher, just as Rafe began to fuck you rougher.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Rafe's pace intensified. His powerful thrusts drove you higher, the friction delicious and maddening.

"That's it, baby," Rafe growled. "Take all of me."

He shifted the angle of his hips, bracing one hand on the window above you for leverage, and you gasped as he hit that perfect spot deep inside. His other hand gripped your hip possessively, guiding his movements as the heat between you became almost unbearable.

Your lips parted, too overwhelmed by sensation and cock drunk to form words. Understanding flickered in Rafe's eyes as he caught your silent request, his mouth claiming yours in a desperate, passionate kiss.

The intensity of the moment consumed you both as his movements grew more urgent, more demanding.

Everything else faded away until there was nothing but this—nothing but him.

In the confined space of the car, the sound of your heavy breathing and Rafe's grunts and groans filled the air. The creaking of the leather seats and the thumping of your bodies against them added to the erotic soundtrack of your lovemaking.

Stars began to burst behind your eyelids as the pressure reached an almost unbearable peak. Your body trembled beneath him, every muscle tightening as you drew closer to the edge. Rafe could feel you starting to unravel--the quick pulses of your pussy bringing him closer to his release-- your breathing becoming more erratic with each movement.

Rafe's movements became erratic, his own release near. "Scream my name when you cum for me," he commanded, voice rough. His thumb finding your most sensitive spot, circling relentlessly

"Rafe!" you gasped, the sound somewhere between a prayer and a curse. His name became your mantra as an unfamiliar pressure built low in your stomach.

You almost wanted to tell him to stop – the sensation was so intense, so foreign, like you needed to run to the bathroom – but the mounting pleasure was too overwhelming to even think about stopping. Every nerve ending was on fire as that strange feeling began to burst.

You let out a guttural scream as your body convulsed with pleasure. Rafe's thumb to your clit and his cock deep inside you pushed you over the edge with a loud wet "squelch!" causing you to squirt all over him and the back seat of your car.

Your whole body shuddered as waves of pleasure crashed over you, a cry of surprise escaping your lips as something entirely new overtook you. The intensity was overwhelming, leaving you breathless and trembling in the aftermath.

Wet sounds filled the car as Rafe continued to fuck into you, and soon after your release, with the overwhelming intensity building between you mixed with both your cries of pleasure, Rafe followed you over the edge, groaning your name as he came undone.

You felt the warmth of his release as his body trembled against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as you both fought to catch your breath in the aftermath of your shared pleasure.

Still trembling, the realization slowly dawning that Rafe Cameron had just made you squirt for the first time.

"Well," Rafe's voice was rough, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips despite the tension still crackling between you. "That's definitely a first." His eyes darkened with a mix of pride and something deeper as he watched you trying to catch your breath. "Didn't know you had that in you, sweetheart."

You couldn't look at him, the weight of what just happened – what always happened between you – settling heavily in your chest. "Don't."

"Don't what?" He brushed your hair back, his touch lingering longer than it should. "Don't point out how well I know your body? Or don't remind you why you keep coming back?"

"Neither," you said coldly, shoving his clothes against his chest. The warmth in his eyes flickered and died at your tone. "Fix my tire so I can go home, Rafe."

You watched something hard settle in his jaw as the reality of what you were – what you could never be – crashed back over both of you.

Later – when your clothes were mostly back on and the windows had started to defog – he finally fixed your tire in loaded silence. The tension between you was suffocating, heavier than before. You both knew this solved nothing; if anything, it just made everything more complicated.

"This doesn't change anything," you said, watching him work. "We still can't—"

"I know." He tightened the last bolt with more force than necessary, the smirk from making you squirt for the first time long gone. "Go home."

Your phone buzzed – Maribella: "Haven't heard back from you… should I be concerned you and daddy dearest are christening the backseat of your car rn? 💀 But seriously, did he fix your car tire yet?"

You watched Rafe's back as he checked the tire one final time, your chest aching with the weight of what could never be. The man who made your body sing was the same man who'd helped you with your college applications, who still had photos of you and Maribella at swim meets hanging in his hallway. Some lines weren't meant to be crossed – no matter how many times you'd already crossed them.

"Thanks for the help," you said quietly, getting into your car.

He just nodded, already walking back to his truck. The weight of what could've been hung heavy between you – if only he'd met you first, in another time, another life.

Not as his daughter's best friend who practically grew up in his house, but as someone he could love openly, someone he could choose without destroying everything else that mattered.

as always, reblogs, likes, and comments keeps me motivated. 🫶🏾

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vivacia-18 · 1 year ago

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This was getting to long for the tags, hope you don't mind me commenting directly!

asdlkjaada The freaking Dondon quest - I totally did that one by accident, and all of the reveal was totally overshadowed by the fact that I felt equal parts bad and annoyed finding out that they were unkillable NPCs when I just spent the last 10 minutes trying to murder the herd for meat X'D

But yeah, overall while I don't look for much depth in a video game (if I want it I'm cool to come with a shovel myself later) totk really lacked cohesion overall. Certain parts of the story and characters were enjoyable, but it definitely didn't pull itself together very well.

One thing I wanted to see way back in botw, and that I think could have tied in well to this game - and maybe even the Dondon quest! - was having the monsters actually be part of Hyrule. As in like, people that are meant to be there. Its stated multiple times that the blood moon summons lost spirits who are cursed to wander the land and fight and die in eternal cycles of damnation. We also know that dead/undead and transformation into other species is a thing in Zelda (the Stals in OOT anyone?) completely unrelated to Ganondorfs whole deal. What I wanted SO BAD was for post game after getting rid of the blood moon, the curse would be lifted and the monsters would be normal again. So you could barter for stuff (bokoblins, etc), or battle for prestige but not to the death (Lynels), or like sneakily harvest things (Hynox, Talus) but you wouldn't be killing them anymore - because they're among the people you were trying to save, they're a part of Hyrule too. And now the warrior dead can rest in peace once more.

Until we accidentally bring the blood back in totk and they're summoned/cursed again, whoops! But anyways, I felt like that would have been both good gameplay and good depth, and now I kinda like the tie in of the Dondons only being known as they were cursed under the blood moon, and it's only recently that they've shown to be naturally pretty docile, or something along those lines.

I also think that could have tied in well with explaining Gan too, and how the fuck he was still around when the Calamity was supposed to be banished and they made an explicit point of saying he had chosen to forgo the chance of reincarnation, so shouldn't he have been gone forever? Finally broken free of the cycle and allowed to rest?

I haven't thought this part through quite as much, so bear with me. The blood moon reads as a curse to me, but not so much one cast BY Ganondorf, so much as it is the manifestation of the curse UPON him. It truly seems like in this game duo especially Gan is destined to fall to madness, and one headcanon I've gotten rather fond of that ties into the Light and Darkness thing is that its because the power of Light is incompatible with him long term, just as the power of Dark is incompatible to Zelda (if we really want to reach we can link it back to the schism between Hylia and Demise in SS, but that's optional).

Any long term exposure to their opposite will have detrimental mental effects - basically a magical autoimmune reaction. I think he can interact with certain aspects - note that both he and Zelda seem compatible with Sheikah tech/magic, which is fun conceptually as they are a people/Sages of Shadow - but not pure Light. I think Zelda would go equally mad should she ever try to use Dark magics long term.

Fortunately for her and unfortunately for Gan, Light being the magic of the main ruling family makes it much more prominent and easy to find for someone who is naturally driven to seek Power. And when he does his magic becomes... sick, for a lack of better terms. This culminated into terminal illness upon bonding with the soul stone - cruel in the way of tuberculosis, granting a flush of power and vibrancy before death, this created the blood moon - a warped representation of death and rebirth, light and dark, twisted into something foul. And contaminated magic is what we see manifested as the blight/gloom in later years. The Calamity was his spirit, broken free of Rauru's seal, yearning to be reunited with its body. And in totk we see his flesh revived, though his spirit was thought slain and the curse of the blood moon broken. It wasn't though, just briefly contained once more, because the source of the blight - the soul stone - was still bonded to him, and he couldn't rest until it was removed.

...Wow, this got far longer than I was intending, guess I really brought that shovel afterall X'D

tldr; I agree with OP that totk had the potential to be much deeper and more narratively satisfying than it was, even within the realm of what one would generally expect from a mainstream video game (which is not too much). And a big part of that for me would be a tweak to the monster mechanics post-game, and a little more actual backstory to Ganondorfs backstory to they actually make narrative sense.

The Dondon Post (or: the bizarre TotK's side content counterpoints to its main quest's immuable binary morality)

Speaking of strange TotK Choices, I think I have one singe post left in me about this game; and it's about the Dondon quest, "The Beast and the Princess".

(and about other stuff too, you'll see, we'll get to them)

More specifically: about how... strange of a thematic point it feebly attemps to make in the larger context of the storyline, and how it seems to be yet another mark of a world that, perhaps, once tried to be more morally complex that it ended up becoming.

Buckle up: it's a long one, and it gets pretty conceptual.

(good gem boys notwhistanding)

The Princess and the Beast

So, a couple of things about the setup. We are investigating potential Princess sightings; but at this point, either because we have already completed a bunch and know the general gib, because we have met a couple of wild Fake Zelda shenanigans, or through the simple fact that we are completing a side quest, we know there's a good chance it won't lead to an actual Zelda information. So when we ask Penn about what is going on and he replies with the ominous "we saw the Princess riding some kind of beast --a frightening one with huge, brutal tusks-- that the princess seemed to control", we get Ideas. Then the sidequest is registered: "The Princess and the Beast".

So. You know me. And if you don't know me, here's what you should know: my brain immediately flared up with the thought there was no way in hell this wasn't some kind of wink towards Ganondorf's renowned boarish beast form, especially given tusks were given so much focus.

My first assumption was: that's a miniboss right? I will get to fight some small boar-like thing that Fake Zelda rides sometimes. Cool! I didn't hold too hard onto my hope that the relationship of Zelda and/or Ganondorf to the natural world, or to each other would be expanded upon, since I had already been burned before, but my interest was piqued.

You have to understand how starved I was for any hint of complexity or mystery or ambiguity at this point. I was extremely eager for the game to throw anything at me that would surprise me, enlighten something pre-established, make the exploration lead to a meaningful discovery or deepening of characters, world or themes (and not just slightly cooler loot, or a bossfight, or a puzzle devoid of emotional context --cohesion and depth is what motivates my play sessions, especially in an open world game that I want to believe is worth losing oneself into). This was about the most intriguing task on my to do list at the moment, and so I plunged in immediately.

After really REALLY misunderstanding what I was supposed to do (I stalked every corner of every forest surrounding the tropical area at night or during blood moons in hope to see something --which was very much the wrong call), I arrived to the other stable, then was guided to the other side of the river where Cima awaits and explains that these creatures are actually a new species discovered by Zelda; that they are gentle and kind and not at all scary ("Dondons aren't beastly, they're adorable!"), and even somehow digest luminous stones into gemstones. They like the company of people and liked Zelda in particular.

I was... I felt two different ways about this conclusion, and I think it's worth to explore both: disappointment and some sort of... "huh!" Hard to describe this emotion otherwise.

I'll get the disappointment out of the way first, because it's the least interesting of the two. While I think the little emotional arc I was taken on was not devoid of interest --I was indeed taken on by the rumor and intrigued by its implications-- I wanted, well. A little bit more. And if the creatures were to be Zelda's pet project, I would have loved for them to be actually terrifying and feisty, and for her to develop an interest for these creatures in particular regardless. It could have been very interesting characterization that veered out of the perfect princess loving the perfect world floundering around her, always bringing her clear, practical benefits from the interaction.

(I have made another post that speaks of my discomfort that Zelda does everything everywhere and everyone loves her for it --I get what they were trying to go for, but it either lacks conflict for me to buy into that dynamic at the scale of several regions, or they went on too hard for my taste, as she is, at once and in the span of a couple of years at most: a schoolteacher, a gardener, an animal researcher, a scholar, a traveler, a military expert, a knower of landscape, a painter, a horse rider, an infrastructure planner, a [...] princess --at some point it begins to sound made up, "Little Father of the people"-esque to rattle the hornet's nest a little bit, especially if it's not shown as either a clearly godly characteristic or, even more necessary imo, a negative trait; another expression of her killing herself at work to compensate for a perceived flaw she's trying to earn forgiveness for, like she did in BotW. But that's another topic, and the clumsiness of her character arc has been well threaded by basically everybody disappointed in the story already.)

But, if I decide to be a little graceful, I'd like to explore my "huh!" emotion, and take it apart a little bit.

I think there's something interesting to have such strong parallels to setting up a story about the relationship between Zelda and Ganondorf ("The Princess and the Beast", like come on guys that's the conflict of over half the series), or at least Zelda and the concept of Evil since Ganondorf pretty much represents it in this game, and then have it go: actually, there was a horrible monster that everyone was afraid of, but Zelda was wise and patient enough to approach it and realize its potential beyond the tusks, what beauty can be brought upon the world if one makes the effort to look for what exists underneath. It says something a bit deeper about the world and about Zelda in particular. It intrigues, at the very least.

Is it a reach? Probably! Is my first interpretation that the quest is actually about "eww you thought Zelda would be interested in *disgusting vile monsters* and not sweet and gentle and human-loving animals that literally shit jewlery when cared for? jokes on you, she never would feel any ounce of sympathy for anything that isn't Good and Deserving" uhhh definitively truer? Probably! But I also don't want to dismiss that the quest made me think about it. If I had completed it earlier, I might have even felt like it was (very clumsy, not gonna lie) setup about the main conflict.

But that's also a good segway into my next section: the arbitrary limitations between the animal and the creature, the monstrous and the human.

And the fact that TotK points directly at it.

A Monstrous Collection

(these two guys are just. doing So Much and being So Valid despite being massive weirdos the game wants us to be slightly repelled by. I, for one, respect the Monster kinning grind and their general Twilight Princess energy.)

So. These two guys. There is so much to say about these two guys. I don't think I have seen the Trans Perspective on Kolton on tumblr, and I would love to get it because. I feel like it's a worthwhile discussion (just, how gender and identity is handled in TotK overall, I feel like it's a very complicated conversation and I have not seen super deep dives and I'd be very interested in hearing more).

Beyond the throughline of voluntary consumption of magical objects to turn into less human creatures being a weirdly prevalent plot point in TotK (Zelda, Kolton and Ganondorf casually transing their entire species for funsies --Ganondorf being particularly relentless with Fake Zelda, mummy/phantom shenanigans, Demon King and then literal dragon), I want to focus on Kilton a little bit.

Kilton is genuinely the only NPC in the game willing to acknowledge the inherent personhood that monsters have (the game does showcase them picking up fruits, mourning their boss if you kill them, being cutesy and happy to identify you as one of their own if you wear the appropriate mask --and that's not even getting into creatures like the Lynels, who seem to really edge on the limit of being a conscious creature with a system of honor and property and many other things). He does encourage us to think of monsters as more than a species whose only worth lie in how fun it is to eradicate them; even more, gameplay-wise, he does give us a reason to interact with them in other ways than just our sword with his museum. He does encourage us to see that beauty for ourselves and then select what we think is coolest/most intimidating/cutest/eight billion ganondorfs in every pose imaginable

The fact that Ganondorf is considered a monster was a great win for this feature in particular, and is very funny, but it's also... A lot, if we dig at it a little more than warranted. Beyond all of the Implications and all of the things of representation and political conflict and values already discussed ad nauseum: when did he stop being considered a human? What does that mean about the flimsiness of what is a monster and what is a creature and what is an animal and what is a person and what is even a hylian, as sheikahs got absorbed into the definition in this game? Especially with the stones taken into account, how profound changes in nature are a huge part of the plot (even when reversed and ultimately pretty meaningless): how easy it is, to make that slip? Who decides when that slip has been made? What is acceptable to hurt without remorse? What is beautiful and worth preserving? What is both at once? What is neither?

And again, in a classic Zelda conundrum (appreciative(?)): who the fuck gets to decide that, when, and why?

The Bargainers and the Horned God

(major shoutout to these big guys for being the sole and only providers of actual depth to the Depths, and for looking cool as heck)

So. Let's move the conversation to the Depths.

Conceptually: what an interesting idea!! And so well executed (initially)!! A mirror world to the surface, dark and hushed and full of unknown creatures; haunted by gloom and sickness and the unknown. Not a first in the series, far from it: from ALTTP to ALBW, and even taking the Twilight world of TP into account, this idea of a Dark World acting as a deforming mirror to Hyrule and revealing many interesting aspects as we get to explore both is always a very interesting take on corruption and envy and fear/weakness and/or some sense of darkness looming under the perfect exterior. I'd argue even the Lens of Truth of both OoT and MM's serve a similar function, both gameplay-wise, but also in terms of theme: not everything is as it seems. In the world of Light, darkness must hide itself; but darkness also possess its own beauty, its own hardships, and will stare back at you without blinking if you go seek for it. It's, in my opinion, one of the series' most compelling conversation about the cyclical nature of fate, the coldness of godhood, and how small one feels in the face of a universe that is more complicated than it initially appears --which is why Courage must be invoked to push forward regardless.

The Depth's otherworldly ambiance is truy wonderful, whether in the plays of light and shadows, the creatures native to the environment we meet there (wish we met more!), the soundtrack, the strange aquatic/primordial plants, the fact that the dragons visit this place and connect them to the outside --invoking ideas of balance and interconnectivity, that the tree branches look like veins. The coliseums, the mines, the zonai facilities and the prisons do seem to poke at many things about what the relationship to the past was to this place; was it ever truly a place? Did it look like this back then? Why was it buried? Why did it come back? But in spite of it all, I think the Depths struggle overall to question or reveal anything about the surface that we couldn't already assume going in (that the only thing congealing there is Ganondorf's gloom, his lonely domain of Wrongness, only shared by Kohga and the yiga --the only naysayers of Goodness and Light, contemptful and blinded by self-importance and rage). The zonite is mined by gloomy monsters --why, what for?-- so any notion of greed and over-expansion that could have been associated to the zonai is now reabsorbed into Ganondorf's general evilness, since it needs to be reminded he is everything and anything bad with the world: darkness and conquest and greed and capitalism and pollution and bad weather and sickness and darkness and violence and war and death and betrayal and fakeness and lies and patriarchy and exploitation. No matter that he never does a single thing with zonite in the game; rather set up elements of conflict that never go anywhere than, for a second, let the foundations of absolute goodness and absolute evil risk becoming shaky --and you coming to this unwelcoming dark place that hates you, killing the miners and taking their resources for yourself is, on the other holy, royal fur-covered hand, utterly legitimate. The resources were once Rauru's after all, were they not?

And this is what I would say, except... except for the dead. The fallen warriors, the poes, and, most important of all: the Bargainer statues.

The Bargainers are, in-universe, godly creatures guiding the fallen to a place of final respite, regardless of moral alignment. The poes are all, fundamentally, cleansed of judgement: they are lost souls whose past reality does not matter anymore, and all deserve that peace regardless. In spite of the heavy paradise/hell parallels drawn in that game, with Rauru/Zelda/Sonia as the guardians of Light where Ganondorf gets to become a Devil-like figure, it is confirmed here that no such thing exists when you actually die in this universe.

It almost feels as if the fabric of Hyrule itself, in a brief moment that refuses to elaborate on its own point, goes: "yeah, whatever is happening here between Light and Darkness, it doesn't actually matter. This conflict is futile and doesn't understand the real nature of being alive, dead, a god, a person, a monster, an animal. The truth lies elsewhere --but you will never be told what it is."

It's: wild.

One of the game's most striking traits of narrative brilliance in my opinion --to the point where I'm wondering whether it's there on purpose or was effectively an oversight since every other aspect of reality breaks its own back trying to reassure us that everything is at its correct place, receiving the appropriate treatment by the universe in a way that is never to be questioned.

Another case of that ambiguity being allowed to exist without being immediately crushed and repressed is the case of the Horned God (interesting parallel to Ganon's actual horns that he develops in this game in case the hellish parallels weren't clear enough already): a demon Hylia sealed into stone and pushed far from humans in a clear case of questionable behavior since, while the Horned God isn't exactly nice, does propose a different philosophy you are not punished for exploring; and yet, a proposal that has seen itself persecuted in a very real sense by the goddess of absolute goodness, patron of hylians, Zelda, and many more. Pushed away from view.

Interesting.

And Yet, Light Must Prevail

Okay, so, after all of this, we're left to ask... What the fuck is up with morality in Tears of the Kingdom?!

What do we trust? These half-breaths in the occasional sidequests that Light and Darkness is just the wrong frame of reference, that nature cannot be this simple, is ever-shifting and can be recalled or reaffirmed by arbitrary forces, and might even not matter at all in the universe's fabric, despite having so much of its lore soaking in the dychotomy? Or... everything else about the game, this insistence that Good must not only be assumed as whatever tradition the kingdom has passed down for thousands upon thousands of years, but remain utterly unquestioned the entire time? That Bad is without cause, graceless and unworthy of investment?

Are the Bargainer's statues the only thing worth listening to, that morality is a fable the living tells themselves --or should we be moved when Darkness destroys Light, when Light suffers to preserve itself and the world --but not when the Other is rightfully slain?

Was Kilton correct to see beauty in the monstrous? Was Kolton onto something when he let go of his previous form because there is no clear distinction between what should receive an arrow to the face and what shouldn't? Or should we rather focus on Zelda losing her human form as a beautiful and tragic sacrifice --but something that never actually altered her nature as a hylian, the descendant of a lineage of Good Kings meant to rule forever?

Is the Dondon good because it always was, or was it worth Zelda's love in spite of the fear it initially provoked?

Either way, at the end of the game, evil is slain. Ganondorf is, not killed, but --like his angry BotW boar counterpart-- destroyed, as monsters tend to be. He explodes over the lands of Hyrule, freed from Darkness; freed from everything wrong, since the foreign menace that embodied it all was wiped out in one fateful sweep of a holy blade cradled in sacrificial love. Nothing wrong remains. The Sages reaffirm their vows to protect the kingdom forward, and a very human --hylian-- Zelda smiles: Hyrule now forever and ever basked in eternal Light.

#loz #meta #totk #man I really got into that #forgot how much thought and longing I've actually put into this #thats not even getting into how I would have liked the zonai thing to be handled #its so left field for us y'know?#considering all zelda could talk about before was the sheikah and now apparently she's always been into the zonai?#anyways I would have loved a couple moments where she paused and looked a bit confused talking about the zonai #and then later during her jaunt to the past it was revealed that she basically made them a Thing in the present #by dicking around with history or whatever #leaving it at that would be fine to tie the games togetehr #but bringing in the shovel again - to my own sandbox X'D #we could have her mourning that she basically erased an entire cultures history in order to pull off her plan #becuase that is exactly what she did to the sheikah and I think she's mourn it both on a personal level and as a scholar #but I also think she's be ruthless enought o do it #also I like to think that her bias against gan in the past is due to being stuck with the Calamity for a century #you don't just breeze past that kind of trauma #and that was defintiely Gan at his maddest #anyways wow I really need to get to bed

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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You ever fuck up so bad, you accidentally kidnap someone?

Imagine, if you will, the players of our scene. Young Justice. Perhaps the Teen Titans. It matters not, really, only that they are young. Too young, in fact, for the booze they have smuggled in, to celebrate still being ALIVE.

They didn't think they would be, approximately seven hours ago.

They didn't think ANYONE would be, by this time, seven hours later.

The world celebrates. Families hug, children cry and laugh, lovers desperately reunite. They did it. They saved the day. Survived.

With new wounds and some fresh new trauma to show for it, too. Perhaps... Perhaps it is that. And the looseness of alcohols effect on the tounge. Combined with their new closeness... that gets them talking. Sharing.

Talking of skills. Training. Histories normally not mentioned. Perhaps even bitching about this mentor or that old teacher, and OH, weren't they a NAG! "Fundamentals~!" The magic user mocks in drunkin parody of their old teacher. "it's all about the FUNDAMENTALS! Practice circles until you puke!"

But...

Oh? Oh DEAR~

Drunks have such POOR impulse control, don't they? The Speedster scoffs. He doesn't mean harm. Truely, he doesn't. But to him? It is a constant irritant against sore skin, that his team mates have access to such powerful and strange powers... yet choose not too study them at ALL! Ask questions. That they haven't considered the advancements humanity could make if they just TRIED.

Everything has an answer.

Just because you don't know what it IS yet, doesn't mean it doesn't EXSIST out there.

But this is an old argument. They ALSO a sore spot for the magic user and (by the many gods they know better then to swear by) they are SICK of it! You- *urk!* You think you can do BETTER? Explain it then, Mr. "Magic isn't real"!

And oh dear, oh dear~

The usual mitigator has already fallen asleep. Passed out, really, having amongst other things, texted their Ex and decided they NEEDED to dye their hair. Which leaves no one to stop what about to unfold. As the Speedster slams down his drink, his hyper accelerated metabolism leaving him, ironically, one of the LEAST drunk in the room.

But... sometimes all you NEED to royally fuck up?

Is to be just buzzed enough to ignore your better instincts.

And the argument kicks up. Again. Heats up. Again. But this time? Goes further. They are standing, yelling, in each other's faces. The Speedster certain they are just "making things up". The magic user hissing that the arcane is a field of STUDY. A SCIENCE and ART. Just because YOU don't-

But?

Well... One must ask. Have you ever FOUGHT a Speedster? Can you even conceive of what a pico-second FEELS like? What the Speedforce, once active, makes the world LOOK like? It is like statues. Silence. Calling a timeout on reality itself.

You can walk away.

No one can really stop you.

You can walk out the door, up the stairs, to your friends room, and grab books from their shelf. Sit and read them. ALL of them. The whole shelving unit. In the time it took a fraction of a second to pass. Then get up, put everything back, go back down stairs, search for supplies, find them, and return to your conversation. Having studied everything they have in the building.

And for them? It's like blinking. You just... have the supplies now. Air is displaced.

And you're ready to fuckin PROVE it.

You looked up all the symbols they used. So NOW? You can use nonsense. No chance that ANYTHING will happen, right? It's not "official magic"! He says, talking over a buzzed magic user. Who's staring at him blankly, mind churning as they try figure out why... why it sounds like he's saying he's about to do the One Thing they were... told.. to never...

Oh God.

WAIT!

DONT!

But it's too late. Our dear Speedster has made his "gibberish" circle. Chanted randomly strung together magically charged NONSENSE. Then? Let her rip! See? Nothing happ-

The world seems to suck in it's breath and wind up, as though preparing to PERSONALLY punish such hubris. The magic user us screaming. Back! Every GET BACK! Move, move, MOVE! Green hisses and crackles from the circle.

As.

Reality.

CRACKS.

!!!BOOM!!!

Glass shatters and electronics are beyond salvation. The couchs many dove behind are shredded, but hold. Sections of the ceiling and floor collapsing. The Radiation alarm deeper in the base kicks in with a clicking wail. There is SOMETHING casting a looming shadow... and it has a CROWN.

The air burns like arctic winter wind and ozone.

Before anyone can think of what to DO, a harsh golden light rips open reality and out steps most of JLA Dark. The are standing in front of the now completely trashed Zeta-tube. Which they could not USE. They do not look amused.

"What. Did you. DO!?" Snarls an exhausted John Constantine from the front of the line up, his normal rougish face is still half bruises and the cigarette he's holding looks like it's the only thing keeping him from strangling someone. "We could feel that from FUCKIN SPACE! We're you trying to blow up the PLANET?!"

"Good QUESTION!" snarls another voice, from the direction of where the circle should be "Here's another one! Where the HELL am I and who are you people?!"

Every spins to look.

There, floating above the green glowing circle, is a teen in a crown.

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @dcxdpdabbles @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @hdgnj @nerdpoe

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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gemsalive · 6 months ago

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re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #sniffrin #been trying to write this post for the past two days straight but it kept escaping me for some reason #luckily we got trapped in airport hell round 2 and apparently there’s just something about these spaces that gets the post juice flowing #& i wanted to be rid of it #shrug #i don’t think i’ve necessarily vocalized much that’s really new here but sniffrin poll just has me thinkinnnnn #also i am making an active effort to not apologize for writing words on the Writing Words website. thank u for ur understanding mwah #atlasisms

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hayatheauthor · 6 months ago

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How to Write Relatable Characters: A Writer’s Guide

Relatable characters are the lifeblood of any compelling story. They're the ones readers root for, cry with, and remember long after they've turned the last page. But what exactly makes a character relatable? Why do some characters feel like old friends, while others fall flat?

In this guide, I’ll walk you through the key elements that contribute to creating characters that resonate with readers on a personal level. From building a strong backstory to crafting authentic dialogue, this blog will equip you with the tools to create vivid, compelling, and believable characters that will captivate your readers and add depth to your narrative.

1. Understanding Relatability

Definition: What Makes a Character Relatable?

A relatable character is one that readers can connect with on a personal level. This connection might stem from shared experiences, emotions, values, or even flaws. Relatability is about creating a character who feels real—someone who could exist in the reader’s world, or even in their own life.

Importance: Why Relatable Characters Matter

Relatable characters are crucial because they engage the reader emotionally. When readers see a piece of themselves in a character, they become invested in that character’s journey. This investment is what drives readers to keep turning pages, eager to see how the character will overcome their challenges or achieve their goals.

Connection to Audience: How Relatability Creates Reader Engagement

Relatability bridges the gap between fiction and reality. When readers connect with a character, they experience the story on a deeper, more personal level. This connection makes the story more memorable and impactful, as readers are more likely to empathize with the character’s struggles and triumphs.

2. Building a Strong Backstory

Personal History: Adding Depth and Relatability

A well-crafted backstory is essential for creating depth in a character. It’s the foundation that shapes who they are, how they think, and how they react to the world around them. A character’s past experiences, upbringing, and the events that shaped their life provide context for their actions and decisions in the story.

Key Elements of a Backstory

Family and Upbringing: The influence of family, culture, and environment on the character’s development.

Past Traumas and Pivotal Events: Significant experiences that have left a lasting impact on the character.

Personal Motivations and Desires: The underlying drives that push the character forward.

Examples of Effective Backstories

Consider Harry Potter’s backstory: growing up as an orphan, mistreated by his aunt and uncle, and discovering he’s a wizard. This backstory not only explains his initial naivety and longing for acceptance but also makes his journey into the wizarding world all the more compelling.

3. Developing Flaws and Imperfections

Humanizing Characters Through Flaws

Perfect characters are boring. Flaws make characters human and relatable. They allow readers to see themselves in the character, imperfections and all. Flaws create tension and conflict, driving the character’s growth and development throughout the story.

Common Character Flaws

Insecurity: A character’s self-doubt can lead to relatable internal conflicts.

Fear: Whether it’s fear of failure, rejection, or the unknown, fear is a powerful motivator.

Pride: Excessive pride can lead to mistakes, making the character’s journey more complex.

Balancing Flaws with Strengths

While flaws are essential, it’s important to balance them with strengths to avoid making the character too unlikeable. A character’s strengths should complement their flaws, creating a well-rounded and realistic individual. For example, a character might be stubborn (a flaw) but also incredibly determined (a strength).

4. Creating Emotional Depth

Internal Conflicts and Emotional Complexity

Relatable characters often face internal struggles that mirror real-life emotions and dilemmas. These internal conflicts add layers to the character, making them more complex and interesting. Readers are drawn to characters who experience a range of emotions, from joy and love to anger and despair.

Techniques for Showing Emotional Journey

Dialogue: Use conversations to reveal a character’s feelings and thoughts.

Internal Monologue: Dive into the character’s mind to explore their inner turmoil.

Actions: Show emotions through the character’s reactions to situations.

Creating Reader Empathy

To create empathy, your character needs to be vulnerable. Show their fears, hopes, and insecurities. Let readers see the character at their lowest points, struggling to overcome challenges. This emotional journey is what will resonate with readers, making them feel invested in the character’s fate.

5. Crafting Authentic Dialogue

Realistic Speech Patterns

Authentic dialogue is crucial for making characters relatable. People don’t always speak in perfect sentences or with flawless grammar. They interrupt, hesitate, and sometimes say the wrong thing. Capturing these nuances in dialogue helps make your characters feel real.

Voice and Tone

Each character should have a unique voice that reflects their personality, background, and emotional state. A character’s tone can convey their attitude, whether they’re sarcastic, serious, or playful. Paying attention to how your characters speak can add depth and authenticity to their interactions.

Dialogue as a Window into Character

Dialogue is a powerful tool for revealing character traits, flaws, and emotions. For example, a character who speaks in short, clipped sentences might be guarded or angry, while one who rambles might be nervous or insecure. Use dialogue to show, rather than tell, what your characters are feeling and thinking.

6. Relating Through Common Experiences

Shared Struggles and Universal Experiences

One of the most effective ways to create relatable characters is by giving them experiences that resonate with readers. These can be universal struggles, such as dealing with loss, searching for identity, or falling in love. When readers see characters going through similar experiences, they’re more likely to connect with them.

Cultural and Social Touchpoints

Characters can also relate to readers through cultural references or social issues. This could be anything from navigating family traditions to dealing with societal expectations. Incorporating these elements into your character’s life can make them more relatable to readers from similar backgrounds.

Examples of Characters Relating Through Shared Experiences

Consider Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. Her experiences of navigating societal expectations and family pressures are relatable to readers, even centuries after the book was written. Her wit and independence make her a character that many can see themselves in, despite the historical setting.

7. Avoiding Stereotypes and Clichés

Unique Characterization

While some character traits may be common, it’s important to avoid reducing your characters to stereotypes or clichés. Stereotypes can make characters feel one-dimensional and unoriginal. Instead, aim to create characters with unique, multi-faceted personalities that go beyond surface-level traits.

Subverting Expectations

One way to avoid clichés is to subvert reader expectations. For example, instead of making the “tough” character emotionally distant, show their softer side. Or, instead of the “nerdy” character being socially awkward, make them confident and charismatic. Subverting these stereotypes can create more interesting and relatable characters.

Writing Diverse Characters with Authenticity

When writing characters from diverse backgrounds, it’s crucial to do so with respect and authenticity. Avoid relying on stereotypes and instead, research and understand the nuances of the culture, experiences, and perspectives you’re portraying. Diverse characters should be as complex and fully realized as any other character in your story.

8. Giving Characters Agency and Growth

Active vs. Passive Characters

Relatable characters are often those who take control of their own destinies. Active characters make decisions, face consequences, and drive the story forward. On the other hand, passive characters who simply react to events can feel less engaging and relatable.

Character Arcs

A well-developed character arc shows how a character changes over time. This growth can be in response to internal conflicts, external challenges, or both. A character who evolves in a believable way is more likely to resonate with readers.

Growth and Change

Show your character learning from their experiences, whether it’s overcoming a fear, letting go of pride, or learning to trust others. This growth makes characters more dynamic and relatable, as readers witness their journey from start to finish.

9. Testing Relatability: Beta Readers and Feedback

Beta Readers

Beta readers are an invaluable resource for testing the relatability of your characters. They can provide feedback on whether your characters feel authentic and engaging. They can also point out any areas where the character’s actions or dialogue might seem out of place or unrelatable.

Character Surveys

Consider creating character surveys or questionnaires for your beta readers. These can include questions about the character’s likability, believability, and relatability. The feedback you receive can help you refine your characters and ensure they resonate with your audience.

Revisions

Use the feedback from beta readers to make necessary revisions to your characters. This might involve tweaking dialogue, deepening backstory, or adjusting character arcs. Revising with a focus on enhancing relatability can significantly improve the impact of your story.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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galactic-rhea · 4 months ago

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you know, maybe I'm wrong, but my interpretation of Anakin/Vader and Redeemed Anakin is that he pretty much is aware he's terrible. He pretty much thinks of himself as a monster even before becoming Vader, he considers himself one as soon as he had to leave Shmi to survive as a slave alone while he got to become The Chosen One and travel the stars (his basic understanding of love is self-sacrifice), he knows the tusken massacre was bad, he knows murdering disarmed Dooku was bad; he knew turning against the jedi and helping Palpatine was bad; he's extremelly self aware of his violence and hates himself for it.

I think it's easy to think of him as nonchalant or as sort of a shameless dick about it all because his General At War Persona was to be jokey and pretend he's having fun. He's very confident on his ability for Murder (tm), he (tragically) became one of the Best general jedis in the order by becoming good at murder, he's useful when he's being murderous at the right people; so he has no doubts on his abilities on this regard; that doesn't mean he isn't aware of how fucked up and cruel it is, but he keeps doing it, and it's all he knows; he was born in violence, raised in violence, taught to yield a extremelly dangerous weapon, groomed into violence, rewarded for violence, cheered for violence, with Ahsoka then he had to teach violence, and then violence just became something that ran in his blood, it came to him easily, too easily because he was never given the means to deal with such a extreme hyperviolent paradigm. So yep, he knows he's good at murder and little self-preservation.

And he probably despised himself for it, he saw himself as less than a being with human rights, he saw himself as a weapon and he hated not being seen as a person, and at some point he became apathic about it, the fight left him as soon as he had no future with a family. As Vader his hate and anger is just cold fury, is mostly apathy and a void of emotions, there's just pain and self-disgust and regret and old anger, there's not even trying to be something else anymore, it's all he's ever been good at and all he's being asked to do.

So redeemed Anakin (which canonically just means Ghost Anakin lmao) acting oblivious or playing the dumb or victim card it's just something I can't even imagine him to do; like Anakin is aware of being violent and messed up and Bad, but he is completely unable to concieve the idea of having been a victim because besides violence, Anakin's other big trait is that he never ever processes trauma and he horrifically has a history of blaming himself instead of the people who owned him.

This guy, when he was at his best as a Jedi, was pathologically prone to suicidal missions even when it wasn't a necessity, he thinks he's an asset, a means for his superiors to impose their stance and chose to own it, instead of blaming his superiors he just hates himself because he can't stop pathetically reliving when he left his mom behind, when he carried her corpse, when he retaliated against even innocents including kids, when he hurt Padmé, all the times he failed, and the he lived in his personal, fitly created just for him, inferno and had no plans to escape it until one certain sunshine farmer showed up, and all because he thinks he deserves the torture and the abuse and being owned because he's just good at murder and nothing else.

So yeah, no one probably hates him more than himself. Someone could tell Ghost Anakin he's a monster, the worst thing that ever happened in the galaxy and he would say "Yes." And no attempts at arguing or whatsoever, his dignity couldn't be lower if he tried, he would half-heartly agree if someone like Luke said the emperor did him wrong by, y'know, torture him? But then he would also say something like "Well, yes, but cruelty is the way of the Sith, what else could be expected", he's just terribly messed up and couldn't stop himself from defending, at least a little, his literal groomer and abuser and master, and he certainly won't expect forgiveness, like,,,,at all. He can, and will, make excuses for people directly hurting him, but he also would retaliate in terrible ways against anyone, guilty or not, if it meant doing it for someone he cared about.

So Anakin is just...used to being used, and falls easily into being used because it's what he knows best, freedom feels useless and uncertain after he lost padmé.

It's an increíble vicious circle: He worked himself hard to be useful because being useful it's what makes people like him and a means of survival, he then hates himself for being just useful and loosing his personhood, and because he hates himself and thinks he doesn't deserve any sort of...human rights, he keeps on being a mere weapon, an object, but what a good and expensive weapon at least, repeat.

So nope, this guy would be completely unable to even dare to play the victim or excuse himself, even less act as if he doesn't understand he did wrong.

#anakin skywalker #darth vader #star wars #rambling #well that was a little longer than i expected #long post #rhea dissects the text

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dalishious · 5 months ago

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Zevran Arainai is an Underrated Delight

There is so much depth to Zevran Arainai’s writing that is often overlooked in favour of either sexually objectifying him or ignoring him altogether… which is kind of ironic, considering that’s how so many people in his life have treated him within universe. And then, of course, there’s the biphobia directed at his character back when Dragon Age: Origins first released. He was a joke in many Gamer Bro circles about how they killed him for flirting with their male protagonist. It’s such a shame, really. Because personally speaking, Zevran is one of my favourite characters in the entire Dragon Age franchise.

Zevran’s introduction to the game immediately sets him apart from every other character who is capable of joining the party. He first appears as an enemy; an assassin hired to kill the Warden by Loghain, the Warden’s political opponent. You immediately have the option to either kill him, or add him to the party roster. Zevran does not initially join the Warden’s cause out of the goodness of his heart; he does it because he knows that the Antivan Crows who essentially own him – which we’ll get to – will kill him for failing to assassinate your character. This really paints his original placement within the group’s dynamics in an interesting light. No one really trusts him; Alistair and Morrigan both outright voice this. Zevran himself believes he is only safe with the Warden so long as he makes himself useful, per how he sells his worthiness to the Warden when trying to convince them to let him join. There’s tension there that really makes getting to know him extra interesting, because before anything else, you need to build trust. So, when he’s finally ready to start revealing parts about his personal history, you the player really get to feel like you’ve earned something special from his character.

Zevran’s mother was Dalish, but fell in love with an elf from the city and left her clan behind. Unfortunately, Zevran’s father was assassinated, leaving her with nothing but his debts to pay. She turned to sex work, until she died giving birth to Zevran, and all that debt fell onto him in turn. Zevran was raised by the sex workers in the brothel his mother worked at, until the age of seven, when the Antivan Crow Guildmaster Talav Arainai bought him for seven sovereigns; one of eighteen children made into “compradi” (recruits) that year. In his training, Zevran was tortured in a variety of ways, and in his own words, “taught to know nothing else but murder”. Of those eighteen, Zevran was one of two who survived the training, the other being a human boy named Taliesen. Then, a woman named Rinnala (“Rinna”) was placed into House Arainai from the Azul Contract that dictated the Crows were to take in unwanted bastard children of the Antivan Crown. For a time being, Zevran, Taliesen, and Rinnala worked well together as a professional and romantic trio. But when Zevran and Taliesen were tricked into believing Rinnala betrayed the Crows in an internal Crow scheme, they killed her. When they learned otherwise, Zevran took it particularly rough, combined with the realization of how little he himself mattered, too.

The trauma that Zevran has experienced is something he often makes jokes about, or speaks detached from. I’ve been called out many times on doing the same thing with my own trauma, and I know it’s a pretty commonplace response in others as well. That makes it feel all the more real; his responses are so authentically relatable. It’s also in a way, I find a little therapeutic to get to comfort a character whose survival mechanism has been to downplay his trauma for so long. The Warden is able to tell Zevran that what he’s been through sounds horrible, and even though Zevran tries to excuse things as not being that bad, you gain significant approval from him, just for showing him sympathy. Sympathy is something he’s severely lacked in his life. For all Zevran jokes about his traumatizing experiences, they clearly left a mark on him. Zevran eventually admits to the Warden that he did not actually anticipate being able to kill them, and that what he really wanted in taking on the job was to die. Again, sorry to get personal here for a moment, but I too have attempted suicide, and honestly I still struggle with ideation sometimes. And yet again I must say that I find something really beautiful in a character like Zevran, who is able to find peace and happiness on the other side of surviving such a thing.

As for Zevran’s romance… oh, Zevran’s romance path is such a delight. He is so multidimensional in that he’s very flirtatious and fun, while also showing genuine vulnerability in time. He admits that his role as a Crow meant he was encouraged to use seduction as a tool. His only experience with a true relationship ended very poorly, with Rinna’s death and a wedge forming between him and Taliesen, who he is eventually forced to kill too in the game. One of my favourite moments in the entire game, is when you invite him to your tent and he says no… and if you accept his consensual rights, that is what changes everything for him and the Warden’s relationship. Zevran feels safe and loved, and he gets to be happy. As of Dragon Age: Inquisition, a romanced Zevran is still at the Warden’s side, too, if they’re alive.

I love Zevran Arainai so much. He truly is an amazingly well done character, and deserves so much more respect and interest than he gets.

*Sourced from in-game dialogue and World of Thedas vol. 2

#hand slipped and i wrote 1k about loving zevran sorry #zevran arainai #dragon age #dao #meta #suicide tw

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thewonandonly · 3 months ago

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BE MY MISTAKE

PLAYLIST : spotify

PAIRING : ghostface!lee jeno (nct) x afab!reader

GENRE : horror/thriller(?), fluff, smut, angst (hurtfic)

SYNOPSIS : "happy halloween! time to play one giant insensitive prank on you like the popular movie franchise "stab!" lol it'll be funny dw"

WC : 12,670 words

WARNINGS : heavily based on the scream franchise. established relationship, strong language, jeno = billy and reader = sydney essentially, jeno and reader have sexy time with the mask on, oral (f. receiving), p-in-v sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, um premeditation 😀, no happy ending. guys this is literally about a (fictional) murderer. there is a chasing scene. think scary movie 1 in the theater but more, like, serious.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : happy october :3 when you really think about it, isn't halloween time everyday? here's something i actually worked on bc im insane. also, there's a bit of an inconsistency with the writing; i said jeno already got tickets but obvi theyre seeing it at the theater party. i was already 3/4 of the way done writing it when i remembered so pls just ignore it plsplspls i beg. as always, please let me know if i forgot any warnings <3

DISCLAIMER : the characters in this story are to be allusions to real people, and none of the situations, personalities, and actions found here should reflect reality. i do not believe in any of the problematic actions displayed and mentioned. this story was created with zero intention to violate the images of the artists.

It was October, which meant another "Stab!" movie was going to be released within due time, which also meant, everyone was going to harp on about the events that happened last year; that happen every year. The "Stab!" movies that got rereleased in theaters every year for a week were really... not all that good, in your (unprofessional) opinion. They were poorly made "based-on-a-true-story" movies that influenced a worldwide prank across the world that caused a lot of actual real world deaths and trauma. But, your boyfriend, a film student, thought it was one of the best movies ever made! You remember you both started dating around this time almost three years ago and seeing the rerelease of the 1997 slasher film was quite unexpected. You didn't even know it existed until that time, when Jeno, your boyfriend, excitedly asked you out on that first date to see it.

You could remember your boyfriend shoveling buckets and tubs of popcorn into his mouth as you could barely stomach the thought of Sidney Prescott being harassed for years, decades. Your own judgement was being questioned that night and you ignored it.

Sitting at your laptop in the library, you let out a deep and long sigh as you stared at the blank word document. Given it was October and you were a criminal history student, it was only natural that you were given the assignment on criminal offenses that happened during the Halloween season. And of course, the first thing that popped up into your head was the Woodsboro Murders, after all the rewatches over the last year. The tabs open on your computer about the crime significantly slowed down your laptop that you were willing to opt for the books that rested on the library shelves.

And if it wasn't the cherry on top of your already obnoxious day, your computer crashed. Meaning, browsing the aisles for any information about your subject and writing the information down the classic "pen-to-paper" way was the only way you were going to get your work done, which was probably a blessing in disguise, considering you knew how easily you could get distracted.

You dropped your head to your hands, letting out a sigh before you lifted your head, your laptop slamming shut.

"I wanna play a game." Your boyfriend spoke in a sinister voice as he looked at you, holding a Billy the Puppet mask from the Saw films over his face, before he pulled it down to smile at you.

You sighed again, packing up the laptop, "Not funny." You grumbled.

Jeno laughed, turning his wrist to look at the mask, "What? Who doesn't love Billy the Puppet?"

You glanced at Jeno through your lashes and zipped up the bag you had, before walking over to the Windows Vista desktop your university refused to update and searched up your keyword: "Woodsboro." And you hoped your boyfriend wouldn't peek over your shoulder and-

"Woodsboro?" He perked up and looked at your face, "Are you studying about it?" He began to overload you with questions; "Why are you studying it?" or "How far are you along?" or "Can I help you with whatever you're studying this for?"

You couldn't blame him, you really couldn't. He was like a puppy who just found a stick in the yard. You knew that if you even slightly mentioned "Stab!" or the murders, you'd have to deal with your boyfriend bouncing off the walls. You were surprised he never decided to join your criminal history class, purely based on the fact he was the most knowledgeable person about the subject that you knew.

You looked at the top three recommended books, and erased the search from the results, wandering down to the section of the library. Jeno followed close behind. "It's for my criminal history class." Was all you said.

"I can help you!" He chuckled.

You stopped right at the final section pulling out the book titled "The Woodboro Murders" by Gale Weathers. It was a best seller, apparently, if the bright red font at the top of the book wasn't enough to tell you that. You held it in your arm before you pulled the second book out and placed in on top of the other. "Jeno, I know you're excited to help but it's history. This isn't some trashy movie about slashers."

Jeno winced as you criticized his favorite movie, holding his hand to his chest, "Come on, baby, you know I know better than anyone about this stuff." He smiled, "I can help you. I don't know just the trashy horror movie stuff. I know the psychology and the science behind it."

You attempted to walk away, but Jeno quickly pulled you back to smile at you, the Billy the Puppet mask still lingering in his hand.

Jeno was always handsome, and he knew it too. If there wasn't multiple times he was able to win you over with just his looks, you'd be lying. So, when he looks at you with his soft smile, and his soft eyes, you begin to fall all over again. You take in his features; the mole that sits under his right eye, his nose, how beautiful his eyes looked.

Fuck, you swore to yourself, here we go again. "Fine, you can help me." You almost grumbled. Almost. "But, I'm not using the movie as a source." You pointed at him, "Everything we include has to be in any of these books or reliable sources on the internet."

Jeno held his hands up once more, chuckling, "I got it. I got it. Consider the existence of Stab completely erased from my mind from this moment forward."

"Good." You continued down the middle of the book shelves, grabbing another book, your boyfriend following close behind, his hands brushing against the spine of the books.

Jeno perked up, "Hey, we've got a few days before our anniversary. I was thinking we could go see that rerelease on the day of."

You glanced at him once more, "I really need to keep a counter of how often you mention that movie."

As much as you hated the movie, and it's effects after the release, it was like you were reliving your first date with him. Last year, you guys went to the same theater, ordered the same snacks — a large popcorn with extra butter, gummy candy and one large soda you both shared — and you both were lucky to get the same exact seats as your first date. And you hoped that you could relive that day over and over again.

You glanced at Jeno, tilting your head to the side, "You already have the tickets, huh?" You asked.

"Yup." Jeno rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the tickets to show you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, "Same auditorium; same seats."

You smiled to yourself. Sure, he could tick you off mentioning "Stab!" ten to twelve times a day, but... you loved him. He was your boyfriend. And the attention to detail he always had was admirable.

You pecked his cheek, making his smile grow even wider, feeling your chest tighten as you admired his features silently once again, holding the books in your arm as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He was annoying, but he was also sweet. And he was all your own.

After a long and grueling study session, cramped hands, and an overwhelming amount of information that you weren't even aware of, it was now officially 8pm, and the university library was closing for the night, the librarian grabbing the books off your desk to add to the cart of growing stock. Despite Jeno's promise, he continued to cross reference "Stab!" while he read pieces from Gale Weathers' book. You swore, you couldn't get through a paragraph before your boyfriend said, "I remember that in the movie."

The sheet of paper that held your precious grade was zipped up into your bag, kept nice and neat in between your laptop and your textbook. Jeno held your hand as he walked you through the dark sidewalk down the University Road, where your shared apartment was located. Jeno and you have lived together since the second semester started in the last week of August.

The co-ed dorm you two lived in was fairly small — one floor and only 17 dorm rooms. It also happened to be the first place you met Jeno. Jeno originally stayed in the dorm room across from your own, which is the current one you both stayed in now. You remember him peeking out of his dorm room door with nothing on but a pair of grey sweatpants, shouting something at his friends as they ran down the hallway. You later found out they were his dorm mates — Mark and Donghyuck. When you stepped into the room, the striking contrast between the two sides of the room was nauseating. Jeno had action figures, replicas and movie posters decorating his side; something every movie buff held proud. Your side was almost empty. You barely had any decorations on the wall and the only decorated area was your desk. It wasn't much, but it was home, at least for now.

When the door to the room opened, you let out a sigh, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag on the couch, you fell onto your tiny dorm bed. "Finally, nap time." You mumble.

Jeno set his own items down and sighed, "You should relax for now and then we'll pick up where we left off."

You had a routine of coming home from either work or school; kick off shoes, set stuff down, nap. It was the same every single day. Jeno had a very opposite routine. He always kept his slippers on, he neatly placed his items beside his desk and then he sat down, and watched a movie off his scratch away chart of the one hundred highest rated movies of all time.

Yet, today, he seemed to be in a different mood. He hung up the Billy the Puppet mask next to the plethora of other horror movie icons, before his hand brushed along his prized possession, the killer from the Woodsboro murders. It was a little odd that his favorite mask would be one from actual real life cases, but you know it wasn't because of that. It was because of "Stab!" but, you know if you try to explain that to someone, they'd just give you a dirty look and silently judge you, or more rather, your boyfriend. Maybe a little bit of you, as well, for trying so hard to defend your boyfriend.

Grabbing the mask of the infamous double killers, Jeno pulled it over his head, looking at you through the mesh eyeholes, crawling his way across the impromptu king bed, leaning close over your shoulder as you laid on your stomach. The smooth pvc plastic and the polyester fiber brushed against your skin, and you turned your head to look at him. "What do you think you're doing?" You asked with a bite.

Jeno shrugged, "I don't know. Aren't girls into this type of stuff?" He whispered through the mask, slowly lifting it over his head to look at you, "I thought girls were into the, like, masked guys and shit."

You scoffed, laying on your hand, "Some girls. And I don't think it's actual killers they're into."

Jeno shrugged, pulling the mask down once more, running his hands against your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing against your shoulder blades, "I don't know. I've seen some people into some pretty messed up guys."

You rolled your eyes again, "Some people are into that stuff." You shrugged, turning your head to the side as he ran his hands over your skin, "Fuck, I don't know, Jen. I hardly even know if I like my school major."

"Fine, fine." He scoffed, "But you don't even wanna try it with the mask on once?"

You rolled your eyes, "Take the mask off, Jeno."

Jeno sighed, pulling the mask off before tossing it to his side of the makeshift bed, "You don't even wanna spice up our sex life a little bit?"

You rolled over so you were on your back, his legs straddling your hips in some type of sick power play. He looks amazing up there, you thought. Your fingers traced the curve of his thighs, "I think our sex life is perfectly fine, if you ask me." You shrugged playfully, "Maybe some other time?"

Jeno groaned, "You're ruining this marriage." He responded sarcastically, "It's someone else, isn't it?" He crossed his arms.

"Yes, oh, my god, I completely forgot I was having sex with your manager from the theater." You gasped.

"With Jaehyun?" Jeon gasped, "I don't blame you. How'd you pull him?" Much to your dismay, he climbed off from on top of you, laying his head on your shoulder as you both laid down.

You shrugged, "You know, same way I pulled you."

Jeno rolled his eyes, "Okay, quit it. I'm actually starting to think you're fucking Jaehyun." He grumbled, "Speaking of Jaehyun, the Halloween Party. Are we going or what?"

"Yeah, sure. We have nothing else going on." You sighed, "I'd much rather go to a Halloween party at the theater than here at one of the sororities or frats." You rolled onto your side so you were facing Jeno, smiling sweetly.

"Sounds like a plan to me." He gave a dorky smile, "We could probably even skip the date night and just go to the party."

"You don't wanna see the movie?" You mumbled, "Wait, let me guess..." You cleared your throat, putting on your best "Jeno" voice, "They're actually showing Stab for the party, oh my god!"

"I don't sound like that."

"Um, actually, you do." You teased, nudging his shoulder. "Did I get it right?"

Jeno chuckled, shrugging, "It's the theatre's most popular re-releases. So, for them to close down early just so we can watch the movie for a party is pretty amazing." He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, "Plus, Halloween is our anniversary. It can be a two-in-one celebration."

"I guess you're right." You mumbled, "Pretty amazing." You repeated, fighting back a yawn, "I'm sleepy." You whispered as you curled up close to Jeno, smiling to yourself as you feel him cup the back of your knee to bring your leg over his hip.

His fingers brushed against the skin of your cheek, laying his head on top of yours, something he normally did when you'd nap so you had complete darkness, "Go to sleep, babe. I'll be here when you wake up." He whispered in your ear, barely above a whisper.

Your heart fluttered at his soft voice, feeling yourself already starting to drift to sleep, relishing in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin, his other hand pinned against the bed as it was wrapped around your back and placed on your hip. While you pinned his arm down to keep him from moving, he had your head pinned down with his own. It was your preferred cuddling position; your own pretzel twist.

You woke up hours after you had fell asleep to a loud clatter from the window behind you. Jeno was no where to be seen, and you immediately tensed up at the sound. Laying perfectly still as if you were still sleeping, you didn't dare attempt to put your life on the line.

Oh, god, you thought, is this really happening right now? Your mind began to race with a million different thoughts, "I don't wanna end up on Cold Case Files," and "I don't want to go out this way."

"Shit." You heard in a familiar voice, turning around to see your boyfriend climbing in through the window.

You sat up straight, "Jeno?" You called out through your gravely and sleepy voice, squinting your eyes as your boyfriend shined the flashlight from his phone in your eyes, your hand shooting up to block the light from your eyes, "What are you doing?"

Jeno pointed to the door, "Locked myself out." He grumbled, stumbling as he finished climbing through the window, quickly bending down as a metal jingling echoed between the two of you.

You just glanced as Jeno quickly shoved the keys into his sweater pocket, too tired to care, "Hm..." You hummed as you laid back, "If you went out with Mark and Jaemin, I don't mind." You sighed.

Jeno chuckled as he made his way around the room to set down his items, "Heh, you caught me." He rubbed his neck, climbing into the bed beside you once more, "I snuck out an hour and a half ago to go out and eat."

You could tell he was just as tired as you were a few hours ago, but he was forcing himself awake, "What'd you guys eat?"

"Meat." Jeno shrugged, "Nothing exciting. You know those two." He buried his face further into the pillow, his eyes closing, "Did you sleep well, baby?"

You nodded, "Yeah." It's all you said, reaching your hand up to brush some of his hair from his eyes, your thumb brushing against his cheek, "As much as I'd love to stay here and cuddle, I should get that paper done."

Jeno hummed, peeking an eye open, "Did you want any help?"

Your heart warmed at the question; not because he asked, because he was willing to help you even though he was tired, "No," You whispered softly as you took into consideration his restlessness, shaking your head, "No, baby. Just rest. I can handle it." You placed a chaste kiss to his neck, slowly sitting up. You grabbed a plush blanket to wrap around your shoulders, making your way to your desk as you pushed yourself off the bed.

This was normally how you and Jeno both functioned; one was awake at the crack of dawn and asleep by 9pm, the other was asleep until noon and up until 3 in the morning. It's a miracle that the two of you found a way to be with one another.

Sitting at your desk, pulling out your Holy Grail of a assignment and set it neatly on the top, opening your laptop to look at the screen as you slowly booted it up. Seemed to be running fine, so you decided it should be okay to use, even if you had to keep it plugged in. The previous document saved just how you left it — empty and barren. You didn't even have a sentence on the screen.

Maybe technology wasn't the right move for schoolwork, you thought to yourself as you compared the two forms of documentation. The sheet of paper was a little more than halfway filled, and although the pen ink smudged from your hand swiping across the paper, it still looked pretty damn good. Compared to the digital sister, the paper seemed like the one who had everything all together.

You decided to pick up where you left off on the sheet of paper, using your laptop for music and the pdf of the books you used earlier open on each tab.

You looked up from the paper, squinting your eyes as you looked at the laptop screen, highlighting the words with the cursor.

"That's interesting." You titled your head to the side, reading the line of text in your head.

"Sydney Prescott was unaware at the moment, but she noticed when the killer attacked, her boyfriend, Billy Loomis, and his best friend, Stuart "Stu" Macher were no where to be seen."

The line made you uncomfortable, shifting in your seat at the thought, clearing your throat as you read the line over and over again. Gale Weathers then goes on to describe how significant it is that Sydney Prescott should've realized, but then again, you sympathized with Sydney. After all, she loved Billy.

God forbid Jeno did something like that, you'd probably have to be thrown into an asylum.

You decided procrastination was the best option for the evening, using the pen as a paperweight and closed the laptop screen. You stood up from the desk and sighed, scooting over to the bed before laying down beside the sleeping Jeno.

Despite your previous nap, you laid your head down on the pillow and felt yourself falling asleep.

That evening, you thought about Jeno and your upcoming date night/Halloween party. You opened your eyes through the night, glancing over to check on your boyfriend, going as far to adjust the blanket over his shoulder and brush hair from his eyes to just make sure it wasn't an illusion.

God, you just wished he wasn't a maniac like Billy Loomis.

Despite your best efforts to go to bed at an early time, you tossed and turned, you shivered, your legs grew restless. And then the sun peeked in through your window, and you only glared. 7 in the morning and you were awake even before your boyfriend. Your eyes burned from the lack of sleep and you couldn't help yourself but to curse the sun as it extended across the skyline. You sat up slowly from the bed, looking wistfully out the window of your dorm room, the blanket covering your legs.

The thoughts you had in the back of your mind from a few hours before still lingered in your head, because it's entirely possible for something like that to happen. It's entirely possible for a significant other to go off the bend and be a crazed murderer. And it's entirely possible that it can be the person you share a bed with.

You sighed softly as you pushed the thought away and stood from the bed, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You trudged along to the bathroom inside your dorm room, shutting the door behind you as you looked into the mirror. The eyebags were a dark grey, your eyes blood shot and your eyelids hung low. You looked like death to put it simply, and you felt it.

Turning on the sink and grabbing your toothbrush, you squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and began to brush your teeth. Although, you were sure you weren't really brushing as you felt your eyes struggle to open every time you blinked, your grip on the brush weakening every time your eyes weighed closed.

The bathroom door opened and Jeno stepped inside, placing a kiss on the side of your head, "Morning, baby." He whispered, grabbing his own toothbrush, "Stayed up all night again?"

You looked at him through the mirror, shaking your head before rinsing out your mouth, "No." You mumbled, clearly half asleep, "I was, like, half asleep, half awake the whole night."

Jeno chuckled, brushing his teeth, "You get anything else done on the paper?"

"Yeah, I got a lot done." You nodded, setting the toothbrush back in the drawer you kept it in, stepping off to the side, "There was a lot I learned."

"It's interesting, right?" He spit out a glob of toothpaste, scraping his tongue before starting to brush his teeth once more, leaning on his hand against the bathroom counter.

"Yeah. I didn't know it was that complex..." You mumbled, "Do you have work today?"

Jeno rinsed out his mouth, sighing, "Yeah, baby, I do." He placed his toothbrush next to yours, looking at you with a faux pout, "Unfortunately."

You nodded, pressing a small kiss to his lips, "Well, I'll be here when you get off." You grabbed his hands, squeezing them, "You should probably get ready to go."

Jeno chuckled, kissing your lips again, "You want me to go that badly?" He teased, "You inviting Jaehyun over or something?"

You laughed, "No. Just don't want you to be late."

Jeno's hands rested on your hips, smiling, "Don't worry about that." He kissed you again, lifting you in his arms to sit you on the bathroom counter, his hands brushing against your thighs, "I have plenty of time."

You pulled away from the kiss, smiling, "Do you though? You still have to shower, get dressed, and put gas in the car. Or were you just gonna make me pay for it again?" You teased, climbing off the counter, "Take your shower." You stepped out the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Jeno wasn't always the most punctual, which can be frustrating to you and to his co-workers. You wouldn't necessarily blame him, but you would blame his distractions. He has a lot on his plate; school, work, your relationship. He still needed to purchase a camera for his film class. He tries to act like it doesn't bother him, but you know on nights where he stays up a little later than usual, he's dwelling on it.

You sat down at your desk, trying to distract yourself from the exhaustion you felt by watching youtube videos your professor recommended and switching between that and writing your paper. Jeno stepped out from the bathroom and you felt the heat from the shower push into the room, and you smelt his conditioner in the air as he quickly got dressed for work.

"I'll be back later, baby." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, "Don't wait up, alright? Take a nap or something." He ran his fingers through your hair, and you turned to look at him.

"I hope you have a good day at work." You kissed his lips, smiling softly as he turned to walk out the door, "Why do you have that mask with you?"

Jeno paused, turning to look at his bag, "Chenle doesn't think it's an actual replica, so he said he wants to check it out on our break." He sighed, pushing his hair back with his hand, "I'll see you later baby." He smiled, stepping out the door and closed it behind him.

"Okay." You whispered, listening as his keys made a metallic sound down the hallway and the hydraulic door hinge squeaking as it closed shut.

Ever since last night, you actually sat down and read Gale Weathers' book, collecting the information from her eyes. Sure, she had a pretty shallow standpoint from it; This wasn't her trauma to write about. But, it was still pretty interesting as she pieced things together.

You were at least 5 chapters in, hunched over your laptop as you read, anxiously nibbling on your nails as Gale describes the beginning of the stressful months that were ready to approach them. Until, your phone rings. Of course it rings. First time you've actually read a book instead of skimmed the pages in months. You unlocked your phone, answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N, it's Jaehyun." You could hear the popcorn machine popping behind him, "Jeno's manager from the cinema."

You chuckled, "I know who you are." You smiled to yourself, wondering if Jaehyun even knew the running joke that you and your boyfriend had; prevailing him as a God, "What's up, Jaehyun?"

"Well, Jeno's running a bit late. It's nearly been an hour and I haven't gotten a call or a text or anything from him." Jaehyun's voice shrunk, "Is he there?"

"No, no, he left a while ago. I thought he was heading to work." You put Jaehyun on speaker phone, immediately clicking the Find My app, scrolling to find Jeno, "I'm looking at his location right now and it says no location found." You mumbled.

"Alright, well, I'll try to give him a call or two. You should try, too. He might have had something happen to the car." Jaehyun spoke, "Just let me know. You have my number, right?"

"Yeah, I do." You mumbled, "I'll call him right now and let you know what's up." You quickly hung up and called your boyfriend.

Okay, he had awful sense of time and he wasn't punctual in the slightest but he's never been this late to work, especially when it helps him pay his bills and pay for that new camera he needed. You pressed the phone to your ear before it immediately was sent to voicemail with the automated voice telling you what you already knew: The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time.

Seriously? You scratched the back of your head, setting your laptop to the side as you leaned against your elbows. There was one way to find him, something that he never left the dorm without.

You opened the Find My app once more, and scrolled to his AirPods. Or more rather, your AirPods that he's borrowed more than you used after you got them. If he opened them recently, you would've been able to find where exactly he was. So you did just that.

But, much to your dismay, he hasn't opened them since the night before, his location still reading as the restaurant he went to last night with Mark and Jaemin.

You called Jaehyun back, "He didn't answer the phone and I tried to see if I could see where he was from the AirPods he used, but no use."

Jaehyun sighed, "Alright, thank you, Y/N." He mumbled, "I hope he'll be able to get off the hook for this. He better have a damn good excuse."

"I hope he does." You whispered, "Sorry I wasn't much help, Jaehyun."

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. You did more work than I did." He gave a small "goodbye" and hung up the phone.

You really hoped he had an explanation for what's going on. You weren't the type of person to immediately jump to conclusions, saying that he cheated. You don't think he's stupid enough to pull something like that.

You sighed, laying your head down on the desk as you drowned in your thoughts, feeling the exhaustion take over your body as laid there.

There it was again. A clatter from the window being forcefully pulled up. You immediately perked up, the drowsiness from the nap you don't remember taking stuck to your body. Your back hurt from being hunched over the desk where you napped.

You leaned back in your chair to peek over at the window, ignoring your back begging for a little bit of leisure after you slept like a ball for the past 4 hours. It was a little after 11 o'clock, 18 minutes before it turned noon.

Standing from your desk, you approached the window and looked out the glass, shocked to find nothing, or no one. Just the dying bushes planted by the school's agricultural center, and some fucked up tanbark that kept the moisture in the dirt.

"Hey, baby."

You jumped, turning to find your boyfriend standing behind you with his prized possession covering his face. "Jesus christ, Jen." You swore, pushing at his shoulder, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got sent home." He shrugged, lifting the mask from his face with a smile, "The car ended up breaking down, my phone died and I had to walk 4 miles down the road to get there.” He dropped his bag on the footboard bench at the end of the bed frame, setting the mask on top of it.

"Jen, you really gotta start going to work in time." You sighed, "What if you get fired?"

"Come on, baby, it's just a part-time job." He chuckled, pulling you closer to him, "I can find something else."

"Fuck, Jen, do you know how bad that'll look if they call the theater and they have to tell them you're unreliable for calling out or for showing up late?" You ranted, letting go of his hands, "You know I can't afford to pay for this dorm by myself, let alone my school payments."

"Jeez, babe, relax." He chuckled, "Come on, why don't you take some of that aggression out another way?"

"Jeno," You sighed.

"Y/N," He responded, "When's the last time you and I had nasty, angry sex, huh?" He chuckled, grabbing your hands again, "I miss you, baby." He whispered, pulling you into a tight hug, squeezing you.

You hated to admit you missed it, too. Especially when you were this annoyed with Jeno, you hated that this was turning you on, listening to him talk about it.

"Come on, baby." He whispered in your ear, guiding your hand to the bulge in his pants, "Seeing you all angry gets me worked up, baby, I can't help it."

"Jeno." You rubbed him through his pants, "Jen,"

"Hm?" He pressed open mouthed kisses to your neck, his hands brushing against your skin in a desperate attempt to soothe his thoughts.

"Please, baby, just listen to me for 3 seconds."

Jeno pulled away from kissing your neck, humming, "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"Tomorrow, you're going into work and you're gonna be on time, with your phone charged and everything." You cupped his cheek, "I don't want you to lose your job because you're late."

"Okay, mistress." He teased, "You've have a little dominatrix hidden, don't you?" Jeno kissed at your cheeks, as he cupped them.

"Stop making it sexual."

He chuckled, "I can't help it, baby. I romanticize everything you do, babe." He whispered gently before he kissed you, sitting you down on the mattress of the bed, "It's cute seeing you act all tough and strict." He kissed at your skin, pressing you down against the mattress, straddling your hips.

His tongue brushed against your neck as he kissed you, his hands pushing your shirt over your head, letting your hands rest on his thighs.

Jeno pulled away from kissing at your neck, smiling down at you, "Do we have any condoms left?"

You sat up, looking at the bedside table, "Probably in the drawer."

Jeno crawled off of you to rummage through the drawer, clicking his tongue, "Damn." He mumbled, flitting through papers before he let out an exclamation, pulling out the foiled packaging from between the pages. "Got it."

"I knew you'd find it." You smiled, gasping as he pulled you closer to him on the edge of the bed by your ankles, watching him kneel down.

"Mmhmm," He hummed, pulling your bottoms down your legs, his lips kissing at your legs, "So pretty." He whispered, teasingly biting at your thigh, "Wanna taste you, baby."

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair, watching Jeno's finger tangle in the waistband of your panties.

"That okay, baby?" He whispered breathlessly, his lips swollen from kissing at your legs.

You nodded, "That's fine, baby."

Jeno smiled, pulling your bottoms and underwear down your legs, kissing up your legs, his lips hovering over your cunt and his breath fanning against your wetness, "Fuck, you're already wet, baby?" Jeno's thumb rubbed at your clit, licking his lips.

"Jen..."

Chuckling, Jeno smiled, flattening his tongue against your cunt, moaning lightly as you drooled against his tongue, "Fuck, baby..."

You moaned sharply, your fingers tightening on his hair, "Jeno..."

Jeno smiled, kissing at your pussy as he continued to lick at your clit, his fingers slowly pressing into your entrance, pumping his fingers into you, "So tight, baby. So sweet." He groans, "You're so perfect, princess."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your gummy wall, curling his fingers as his lips kissed your hip, a weak moan escaping your throat.

Jeno listened to your moans as he continued to pump his fingers inside you, sucking your clit and tasting you on his tongue. How sweet you tasted, how your slick drooled from the length of his fingers to knuckles, and how amazing your gasps and moans sounded to his ears; Like music, a symphony. If he could listen to your sounds on repeat, he would, over and over and over. He couldn't get enough, he wanted more, wanted you.

Giving a teasing peck to your slit, Jeno kissed your hip, your stomach and up your body until he stopped at your neck, taking in your scent as he struggled to unbuckle the belt he wore with his work pants. "Little help?"

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair once more before you moved your hands down to unbuckle his belt, the echo of the buckle settling around you both, letting Jeno's lips meet your own in a desperate kiss, his tongue pushing between to rub against yours, a deep growl escaping his throat as your thumbs hooked around his bottoms, helplessly attempting to tug them down his legs. Parting from your lips, Jeno gave a breathy chuckle, his breath fanning against your face. He grabbed the condom he set down on the bedside table, keeping his eyes torn from your own for no less than a second.

Tearing it open with his teeth, Jeno gently pulled the rubber from the packaging, rolling it along his length, “Fuckin’ finally.” He whispered to himself, “I missed feeling you." He pressed kissed along your jawline, listening to the gasp leave your lips as he slowly pressed into you. "Shit, you feel so good." He whispered.

Jeno slowly started moving, and you've been thinking — actually thinking about something he mentioned that you couldn't possibly know if it was a joke or if he was serious. You dug your nails into his arm, “Wait.”

His hips immediately stilled, and he looked down at you, “You okay, baby?”

You cleared your throat shyly, “I’m fine, I just—”

“What is it?” He chuckled, brushing hair behind your ear, “You can tell me, princess.”

You couldn’t believe you were saying this, and you couldn’t even believe you were considering it. But, you can’t knock something until you try it, “I was thinking we could try it with… the mask on…” You love looking at Jeno when you were having sex. You love seeing his expressions, looking into his eyes as he was buried into you and you loved watching his brows furrow together as he gets closer to cumming. But, there was something alluring behind the idea of the mask. Almost like it was a mystery to how he’s feeling. It was sounding more exciting as every second passed. And, you could see just how excited Jeno was as he reached over to where he set the mask down, smiling at you as he pulled it on. Attempting to move, you rested your hand on his chest, “Ah, first, some ground rules.”

Jeno moved the mask to the side, his eye peeking at you, “All ears.”

“First, keep the freaky murders out of this, okay?” You started, watching him nod, “Second, this is just to test it out. I didn’t wanna just immediately cross it off the list of freaky shit we’ve done if we don’t do it.”

“Understandable.”

“Third, Roleplay is optional. But, I’m keeping anything too crazy off the table.” You looked at him, “Got it?”

“Got it, baby.” He smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek, “I love you, princess.”

“I love you, too, Jen.” You cupped his cheek, kissing him on the lips, slipping your tongue along his own to reignite the fire that wasn’t completely snuffed. Jeno eagerly reciprocated, his moan vibrating against your lips.

“Damn, don’t know if I really wanna keep the mask on now.”

You giggled, pressing another kiss against his lips, “Better put it back on before I change my mind.”

Jeno placed the mask back against his face, his eyes showing the smile you couldn’t see through the barrier, “I’m gonna start moving, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” You nodded, biting your lips as you felt his hips moving at a slow pace, the moan caught in your throat bubbling over.

Jeno had some type of fixation with your hands, one hand tangling with your own as his other pinned yours against the mattress. He loved seeing your hands wrapped around his cock, his wrist, intertwined with his own. He loved feeling your hands tangled in his hair, grabbing his biceps and digging into his skin, sometimes around his neck, if you both felt that was the move. Your hands were his favorite part of you.

Jeno squeezed your hand in his own as his hips pressed into you deeper, swearing under his breath as he felt your pussy weep around his cock, “Feel so good, angel.” He groaned, throwing his head back, “Missed this pretty pussy.”

You whined, your chest heaving as you squeezed his hand in your own. Words attempted to escape, but only came out as gasps. Jeno always had a way of filling you to the brim, and bringing you to the edge quickly.

Jeno could feel how badly you missed his cock; squeezing around him, the choked moans and gasps, the way your body tensed, and how your eyes rolled behind your eyelids. Sweat lingered on his forehead behind the mask, his breath growing heavily as he watched you writhe in desperation, “Like that, baby?”

You nodded when your words betrayed you, feeling Jeno’s hands leave your own to grip your waist and move you along his length, “Fu-“ You moaned as his hips piston against your own, reaching your hand up to tangle in his hair under the fabric of the mask, “Just like that, Jeno.” You stuttered out to your best ability, the pleasure overwhelmingly covering your body in a sheen of sweat.

Jeno smirked under the mask, his thumb moving to rub at your clit to heighten your experience and bring you closer to the edge, “Such a good girl, telling me just how you want it.”

Every word Jeno said pushed you closer to the edge, your legs mindlessly wrapping around his hips, “Feels so good… I’m almost there, Jen.”

“Me too, princess.” He gasped, his eyes trained on where you two met, the white, creamy ring sitting at the base of his cock, “Fit together so perfectly.” He moaned out, his thumb continuing to rub harsh circles on your clit, “Feel it, baby? ’S like you were made for me. Such a pretty cunt for my cock.”

Your fingers tightened around his hair, tugging at the strands as he continued to speak, “Jen…”

“You cummin’ already, baby?” He chuckled, “Such a good girl, cumming on my cock. Wish I could fill you up and make you mine already. Wanna show everyone you’re my girl.”

As he continued his assault on your cunt, you hung onto his every word, your pussy clenching around him. The ability to form sentences with words and exclamation has long since been fucked out of your brain, the only thing repeating in your head was, “Jeno, Jeno, Jeno.”

Jeno let out a raspy moan, the mask brushing against your chest as you felt his cum fill the condom, the heat filling your belly with warmth. Your chests both raised in sync as you attempted to catch your breath. Pulling the mask off, Jeno stilled inside you, smiling down at you sweetly, "Good job, baby."

You smiled back, pecking his lips, "Good job to you, too." You hummed, leaning back on your elbows, "Okay, pull out. I gotta piss before I develop a UTI."

"I love when you talk dirty to me." He teased, pulling out of you slowly before he laid back on the bed, steadying his breathing. Laying his head on the arms he crossed behind his head, he glanced around the room while he waited for you to come back from the restroom, “Did you get any work done on your paper?”

Returning from the restroom, you laid down beside him, “No, because someone gave me a call saying some guy was missing and they didn’t know where they were.”

Jeno rolled his eyes, “Haha.” He laughed sarcastically, “I told you, the car broke down. I couldn’t do anything but walk there.”

“I’m just teasing.” You nudged him, curling against his side as he wrapped his arm around your waist, the both looking at one another sweetly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“For what?”

“I know I’m shitty with getting to places on time, and you have every right to be mad at me for this. You shouldn’t be the only one who needs to deal with this.” He brushed his fingers along your side, rubbing his thumb along your hip, “I’m gonna listen to you, okay? I know it seemed like I wasn’t paying attention but I was.”

You pressed your forehead against his, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, “I know, Jen. And, I appreciate you for everything you already do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Jeno.”

You both settled for relaxing and enjoying one another’s company, especially considering you both rarely got days off together. Jeno played a movie on his charged phone, which you both cuddled and watched. And it wasn’t Stab much to your surprise. It was something you suggested. You used that as proof that he loved you, even if it was something small like this; Cuddling, watching a movie together, sharing kisses and random thoughts either of you had about the film. You couldn’t wait for another day like this, even if it was years away.

You don’t remember falling asleep, and you don’t remember Jeno leaving for work that morning. You don’t even think he said goodbye, and it didn’t smell like his shampoo in the dorm room, nor his cologne. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced around the room, for any sign he left for work; a note, a text message on your phone screen, or even a Tupperware bin with some food he made or ordered in. And after a long look around the room, you found the post-it note stuck to the paper of your notebook with all the information you could think to include in your report of the Woodsboro murders that read; “Be back later. Went to work. Make sure to finish your paper. Love you.” And in smaller hand writing underneath his already small lettering, he wrote, “P.S. Left some dirty clothes on the floor. I’ll do the wash later.”

Setting the note down, you sighed, walking around the small dorm room to find said clothes he left on the floor, but you couldn't find it. You checked the back of his chair, the bathroom, by the dresser, but you couldn't find it. You squat down, looking underneath the bed to find, lo and behold, the dirty clothes he left on the floor. You wondered how much of a rush he could've been in to kick them under the bed.

You reached under the bed, grabbing the clothes only to immediately drop it as soon as you pull it out, your hands covered in red liquid. It covered the floor where you had dropped it, a "splat" echoed in your head after you'd done so. It wasn't as thick and red as blood, and it definitely wasn't as thin and clear as water. You couldn't decipher what it was. It dried down quickly on your hands and the floor.

Horror aside, you rised from the ground, and grabbed a brush to clean the mess off the floor — you'd interrogate Jeno later — and scrubbed the living hell out of the floor. You were sure the finish over the hardwood floors were coming off by how hard you were scrubbing. You had to get the deposit back for the dorm room, even if you had to scrub the floor on your hands and knees.

Kneeling there, you felt tears brim your eyes as you thought to yourself, "What exactly am I cleaning up?" You felt your arms burn with each motion you made, you felt your breathing grow heavy. You could count this as your workout for the week.

"Jeno, you idiot." You whispered to yourself, the tears rolling down your face, gasping for air. "God, this is so stupid." You used your sleeve to wipe at your cheeks, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

You tried to push the thought from your mind, deciding to just focus on your other preoccupation, which was sitting inside your laptop, begging for any type of attention from you divided brain. So, you did. Cross-referencing your notes, reading the PDF of the books on your laptop and then switching over to Microsoft Word to type anything that came to mind, as long as it's relevant.

Yet, you could feel your mind drifting.

You sat there, pausing as you thought about everything you've read as if you could even begin to connect it to your life. There's so much Sydney Prescott went through that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Rubbing your temples, you were reaching the final stretch of the paper, attempting to type out a conclusion that would make any type of sense for it.

The dorm room opened and you turned briefly to find your boyfriend walking in with the earbuds in his ears, "Hey, baby." He walked over, pecking your head, "How's the paper coming along?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook, "I'm stuck."

Jeno began to dress down from his work uniform, his eyes glancing at his side of the bed, the green and white heavy duty scrub brush laying on the ground, covered in the diluted red suds. "Did you grab the clothes?"

"I was trying to." You mumbled, "What was on them?"

"Why'd you do that?" Jeno voice was deeper and you can see his brows furrow as he looked at you.

You turned around in your seat, looking at him, "I was trying to help."

"I told you I'd do it." He shouted.

"Jen, I was just-"

"I said I'd pick them up and wash them."

You glanced down at the clothes on the floor, whatever was on them leaking between the floorboards and you winced at the thought of it staining the floor. "I just wanted to help! The laundry basket isn't far from where you put them."

"Well, I was in a rush. I didn't have time to throw them in the basket. That's why I left them on the floor."

You sighed, rubbing your eyes, "I just thought I was saving time by moving it to the basket."

Jeno pulled his work shirt off, groaning, "I didn't want to ruin the other clothes in there."

"And just leave it to soak into the flooring?"

"No— God, fuck." He threw his work shirt into the laundry basket before picking up the soiled clothes and placing them inside, "There, happy?"

You looked at him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" He grumbled, "Just wish you didn't have such lousy faith in me."

"I never said I did."

"You sure as hell implied it." He grabbed the basket and walked out the dorm room to the laundry room down the hall.

Your eyes narrowed at the back of his head before you went back to your paper, finishing it off in record time. It was finally time to prepare your paper to be printed, turned in and graded. You unplugged your laptop, making sure to save your finished paper before you shut it off and carried it out to the library.

You gave the two dollars and fifty cents to the librarian to use the printer, and stood by the machine to print out your report.

As the belt of the printer echoed through the library and watched each paper spit out after one another, the ink bleeding into the back, you were now preoccupied with everything you read about the Woodsboro murders, what exactly your boyfriend was upset about and whether or not, you should be the one to apologize. You didn't think you were doing anything wrong. You thought you were helping by grabbing the clothes. You really weren't concerned about whatever was on it anymore; all you know is you were happy it wasn't blood.

Maybe this whole report was getting to your head. You've read Sydney Prescott's encounters too much to the point you were scared what she went through was happening to you. How impossible is it?

You're just paranoid. You're being delusional and dramatic and you could only do your best to gaslight yourself into believing you're being a crazy girlfriend who had no reason to make your boyfriend feel like an idiot.

Drowning in your thoughts, you didn't draw your eyes away from the printer, unaware of the beeping it gave you to grab the papers it finished printing out.

Like you were a puppet, you grab the papers, tucking them under your arm with your laptop, and made your way to the hole puncher, pressing down on the lever after setting the papers inside.

Everything felt like ten tasks wrapped into one as you did them, like it was neverending.

You hole punched the papers, and placed them onto the counter, "Hi," you smiled to the librarian.

"Hi, what can I help you with?" She reciprocated the smile.

"I wanted to purchase one of the report covers." You nodded your head to the item, opening your wallet.

She rised from the chair, grabbing the cover.

You glanced down at the glass box you placed your laptop and papers on, eyeballing a newspaper that was displayed in the box. From what you could read through the glass, there seemed to have been some recent murders around the area. Jesus, you spent these last two days inside like some recluse and people have been dying.

“Can… Can I also get one of these papers?” You asked, pointing at it through the glass.

The librarian nodded her head as she set the items down, using the key on her keyring to open the glass case and grab a newspaper, setting it down beside the covers and your items, “All right, your total will be 5 dollars even.”

You dropped the bill onto the counter, grabbing your items and made your way out of the library. You anxiously hurried back to your dorm, opening the door to the room, setting the items down on your desk. The newspaper laid flat on your desk, your eyes reading over the article from a distance.

It was nauseating, reading over the details. Two people gone in two days… It was hard to stomach it.

You sat down on your chair, staring at the front page. To think you were perfectly fine while these people were living their last day being tortured. Obviously, you couldn’t have worn a cape and saved them, but, you wished there was something you could’ve done to prevent something like this from happening. The addresses seemed all too familiar. Like, you’ve seen them before. Somewhere familiar almost.

The door opened and you heard a sniffle from the doorway, “Oh, baby.” Jeno whispered, wandering over to you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “Baby, I’m so sorry. I-I had a rough day at work, hearing shit from Jaehyun and everyone about yesterday, and I took it out on you and I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be making a big deal over you helping, especially not since our anniversary is tomorrow.”

You rubbed his head as he nuzzled his nose against your neck, “It’s okay, baby.” You kissed his cheek, “Hey, have you heard about this?” You motioned to the newspaper.

“About what?” He lifted his head, looking at the front page of the newspaper, “Yeah… Yeah, I heard about it. Chenle was mentioning it at work today.”

“It’s sad.”

“It is.” He sighed, rubbing your shoulder with his hand, “All we can do right now is just be happy it wasn’t us.”

You felt the lump in your throat strain as you tried to keep your tears back, “I guess you’re right.”

Jeno pecked your cheek, glancing at the papers on your desk, “You finished the report?"

“Yeah.” You folded the newspaper up, setting it off to the side, flitting your fingers through the paper, “Wanna read it?”Jeno scoffed, “Uh, yeah.” He grabbed the paper, beginning to read through it in silence, as if he was absorbing the information. You sat there, waiting for his input, which was often accompanied by the mention of his favorite movie.

Jeno read the pages all too quickly, turning to look at you, “You always have such a way with words, baby.” He set them down beside you, “You’ll definitely get a high grade on it.”

You smiled, threading the paper through the loops, preparing it to be turned in, the cover with your name, title of the report, class, et cetera, et cetera at the top. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You put work into it. Compassion, care, intellect. You would deserve it.”

“How’d the wash go?”

“They’re in the dryer right now.” Jeno leaned back on the bed, pulling his phone out, “Should be done in 20 minutes. More or less.”

Your heart still ached from what Jeno said earlier, so you returned his answer with silence, not able to find words to express yourself. At least, not yet. You decided to keep it under wraps until after your anniversary tomorrow. After the party. After Halloween.

It was Halloween night. Jeno and you have spent the beginning of your anniversary cuddling in bed, whispering soft “Happy Anniversary”’s to one another. He took you out to breakfast, lunch and shopping. “Just to show you off,” Jeno tried to convince you. But, now, it was time to sit through the two hour long movie Jeno and you both shared every anniversary. Jeno thought it’d be funny to dress up in the Ghostface costume for the evening, since he was the “star” of the movie. He said that, “behind the mask, it wasn’t just Billy Loomis or Stu Macher. Together, they worked as one.”

“I got an A on my paper.” You briefly mentioned as Jeno drove you both to his work place. Turns out, his car just needed a jumpstart.

“That’s great, baby. I knew you’d get a good grade.” He chuckled, turning his head to look at you before looking at the road again, “What’d you get docked off?”

“Turns out, I was a bit too sympathetic in my writing. I got docked a few points for ‘appearing too biased’.” You shrugged, “It’s whatever.”

Jeno chuckled, “Well, I thought it was amazing.” He smiled as he pulled into the parking lot of the theater, “Just goes to show that you have a better point of view than other people. Not everyone will understand that.”

Unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your bag, you exited the car, “I guess, but I understand it from my professor’s perspective. It’s supposed to be an informational report, not an opinion discussion board.”

Jeno followed, locking the door behind you both, “Doesn’t mean you can’t share your opinion.” He grabbed your hand in his own and guided you to the front doors of the theater. The theater was covered in Halloween decorations, and it was unfortunate that it’d all have to come down after this evening.

Jaehyun and Jeno’s other managers were handing out drinks and popcorn to your boyfriend’s coworkers, who wandered off to the theater they were all familiar with. Approaching the counter, you heard a loud “Boo!’’ echo off the walls, causing you to jump and hold your hand to your chest.

“Chenle, what the fuck?” You scolded, glaring at him through your lashes.

“Dude, Chenle, I told you not to do that stuff tonight.” Jeno sighed, rubbing his temples, “I told you Y/N’s been freaked out cause of all the shit happening.”

“My bad. I meant to scare Jeno more than I did to you, Y/N.” Chenle chuckled, “Sorry.”

You sighed softly, “Doesn’t help that it already happened.”

Jeno wrapped his arm around your shoulder, silently comforting you as he spoke with Chenle, “We’re wearing the same costume.”

“We, indeed, are.” Chenle sighed, “You just can’t stop copying me.” He glanced down at the mask he held in his hand, “Is that the replica? Are you seriously wearing it to this?”

Jeno scoffed, “Where else am I gonna wear it?” He questioned, moving up in the line as it progressed, “I can’t keep it hanging up on my wall forever.”

Your heart settled in your chest as you walked up to the counter, looking at Jaehyun, mouthing a quiet, “Help.”

Jaehyun already knew the predicament you were in; forced to listen to the conversation of two movie buffs talking about “Stab!” He’s had to deal with it for the last 4 years the two had worked there. There was times he’s even had to apologize for interrupting their precious reminiscences of the movie. “Chenle, Jeno, Y/N, what can I get for you guys?”

“Jaehyun!” Chenle greeted him over the counter with open arms, “Be a doll and get the lady some Sour Patch. I scared her half to death trying to scare her boyfriend.”

Jaehyun sighed, glancing at you, “Freaked out about those things happening around town?”

“You could say so.” You accepted the candy the man offered, “Just found about it yesterday, too.”

“Yeah, she could hardly sleep last night.”

“Babe,”

“What?” Jeno shrugged, “Not saying it’s a bad thing. Just a little uncharacteristic of you.”

You sighed, letting Jeno grab the popcorn and the drinks for you two, “Thank you, Jaehyun.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He smiled, nodding his head to you.

Jeno guided both you and Chenle to the theater the movie was showing in, letting you take the lead up the stairs. There they were, the seats you both sat in 3 years ago, still in the condition you remember them in. So many people have sat in these chairs and would never understand just how much it has meant to you and your relationship. You sat in the aisle seat, gently taking the drinks in your hand as your boyfriend sat down beside you. He was quick to lift the arm rest between you two to pull you closer to him, his arm wrapped around your waist with the popcorn bucket sat in between you both. He accepted his drink and set it down in the cup holder.

“Just like all those years ago.” Jeno sighed, resting his head on top of yours.

You smiled to yourself, grabbing his hand in your own, “As much as I pretend to hate this movie, it still has a special place in my heart.”

Jeno kissed your knuckles, watching as his co-workers and plus one’s fill their seats. The smell of butter on popcorn filled the air, and the quiet chatter between everyone echoed off the wall.

Jaehyun entered the theater, standing at the front near the screen, “Happy Halloween, everyone!” He greeted, crossing his arms over his chest as everyone repeated the words, “Much to my reluctance, your coworkers requested this movie to be shown because of the connotation that it is the halloween movie to watch.”

Jeno and Chenle both gave hoots and hollers at the mention of their suggestion getting picked.

“It also happens to be the first movie our favorite visitor saw with her boyfriend here at the theater.” Jaehyun motioned to both you and Jeno, everyone turning to look at you, “This is also a token of our appreciation to our team for the close end-of-the-year. We would not be here without all of your guys help and hard-work.”

The theater filled with clapping, cheering and sweet words called out to everyone’s favorite manager.

“Settle down, everyone.” He chuckled, “Alright, everyone. Presenting this evening is Stab! Please silence your cell phones and enjoy the movie.”

The lights turned down and you watched the film light up the screen. No previews, no movie trailers, just pure film. It started out how it always did; Casey Becker popping popcorn on the stove, the harsh lighting of her house bringing out the color of her blonde hair.

Despite watching the movie multiple times, every fake jumpscare, every fake gore still made you jump and turn away from the screen. Jeno chuckled, comforting you as best he could, pecking your head.

"I've got to use the restroom." You whispered, attempting to stand up.

"Wait, you'll miss it." Jeno focused on the screen as he watched the movie intently, absorbing everything.

"Jen, we see the movie all the time. I'm sure I know what happens." You stood from the seat, glancing at the row behind you, gasping softly.

The row that was once filled with Jeno's coworkers was now empty with a horrific scene that you couldn't stomach.

Heads slumped forward, bodies slack, popcorn spilling out on the floor as the hands they had on the paper bucket were loosened.

You nudged Jeno's shoulder, unable to speak, who only glanced behind him, a sigh escaping his lips, "He always does this."

"What?" Your brows furrowed, "Jeno, what?"

Jeno set the popcorn down on the now empty seat beside him, where Chenle was.

"You... You—"

Jeno covered your mouth with his hand, covering his face with the mask, speaking through the mesh, "You're too trusting."

You felt your bottom lip quiver as he looked at you through the eyeholes, the tears rolling down your cheeks. You were an idiot, such an idiot. The sneaking out despite having his keys, the car "breaking" down, the dirty clothes, the disappearing. How didn't you see it? How didn't you see that he was the problem this whole time?

"You seriously believed I wasn't doing anything against your wishes?" He whispered, "You're such a dolt. You'd think reading all the books on criminal behavior would have made you more aware of what you were getting into."

"Jen..." You mumbled through his hand, "Please, ju-just let me go. I-I won't tell anyone."

Jeno clicked his tongue as he nodded his head towards Chenle wandering around the ground floor, holding Jaehyun by the back of his neck, bringing you both face to face, "You're too cute, thinking you'll be getting out of this."

The movie continued to play in the background and you couldn't help but repeat all the lines in your head.

Jaehyun struggled against Chenle's grip, his brows furrowed.

"For what it's worth, I actually was in love with you." Jeno whispered in your ear, "Every time I was with you, I felt butterflies in my stomach and my chest ached every time I thought about being apart from you." He rested his chin on your shoulder, "Consider this orientation."

He wrapped your hands around a clip pointed blade, one you didn't even know he owned, guiding it to point at Jaehyun's stomach, yet not piercing the skin just yet.

"All you have to do is push this blade into his belly. Kinda like gutting a pig."

You shook your head, your face contorting as he explained it to you. The tears continued to roll down your cheeks and over the black gloves Jeno wore.

"I told you she didn't have it in her, Jeno." Chenle chuckled, "She's too humanitarian."

"Shut up." Your boyfriend — or rather, at this point, your ex-boyfriend — glared, "She's gonna have to get some blood on her hands if we don't want to go down by ourselves."

Jaehyun attempted to yell, Chenle's hand covering his mouth quickly.

During the little squabble the two wannabe Ghostface's were having, your hand loosened on the knife that Jeno had released to point at Chenle.

Jaehyun and you both made eye contact, silently communicating with one another. He nodded his head to the knife in your hand, you shook yours, and he looked at Jeno, raising his eyebrows. You knew what he was telling you to do. "Use the knife on your boyfriend who was actually a homocidal maniac and planned this whole entire thing."

Using the knife Jeno planted in your hand was you accepting that everything you put in for the last 3 years was over. That despite all your efforts to put him up on a pedestal as the "best boyfriend who might have an odd obsession with this slasher film" was all for nothing. That all those things people have whispered about him was true and that you were nothing more than enabler. That you were none the wiser to all these strange behaviors coming from your boyfriend.

It made you nauseous to believe that were put into this situation and you dragged innocent people into it.

Jaehyun was almost begging you, pleading you, to set all those feelings aside and to get the upper hand in this situation. He wanted you to realize that this may be the end of 3 years but that you'll be free from the gossip, from the worry of what he was truly doing, from spending an extra 3 years trying to convince yourself that Jeno is a good guy and not some maniac under wraps.

You shook your head, feeling your bottom lip tremble as you considered the options. You could either let the two toy with Jaehyun and yourself like you guys were fashion dolls, or you could attempt to end this now and give them a taste of their own medicine. It was hard to detach yourself from Jeno — you had spent every day of your life with him after that first day. You both moved in, you adjusted your schedules for one another, you shared bills, you shared chores, you shared one another. You drag your eyes along the mask that Jeno wore, silently wishing it was just some big, giant cruel prank that would end with Ashton Kutcher coming out with a camera crew and a team telling you you had gotten punk'd in this day and age.

I can't, I can't, I can't, you whispered to yourself as the tears were pouring from your eyes, gripping the knife and turning in Jeno's arm; which seemed to loosen out of habit; the knife meeting his abdomen.

"Ow!" Jeno looked at you, glaring, "You stabbed me!"

You held the crimson-stained blade in your hand, sobbing, "Please, Jen... Please don't do this!"

He looked to Chenle, then back at you, "I've never been stabbed before."

Jaehyun used the distraction as a way to make his way out of Chenle's grasp, blocking you with his body, "Both of you, you can walk away from this."

You let Jaehyun block you, exchanging the knife between your hands, allowing him to hold it out in front of him.

"Walk away?" Jeno's gloved hand covered the wound, "It's too late for that." He chuckled darkly, "You know why other killers get caught so fast?"

"Jeno, please stop!" You screamed.

"Because they don't take the extra precautions; different sized shoes than regular ones, different cologne, different clothes than regular. They never take the time to make a whole new persona."

The two walked up the stairs, pushing you both into the back row, Jaehyun's hand holding your shaking one in his, "Jeno, Chenle, please. Let us go. You already got everyone else in the theater. What does it matter if there's 2 left?"

"Because if she lives," Chenle pointed, "We're suspects."

"And if you live," Jeno whispering almost sinisterly, "She has a witness."

"I won't say a word, please... please, Jeno, you know I won't. You know I won't say anything." Your bottom lip wobbled, "Just let us go."

The movie continued to play in the background, the contours of the mask illuminated by the scene on the screen, "Don't you remember this scene, Y/N?"

You glanced at the screen briefly, being reminded of the first date you both shared; It was when Billy confronted Sydney after being arrested. Jeno was holding you close to his chest that first day together, like he didn't have a care in the world that it was your guys first date.

You shut your eyes, squeezing Jaehyun's hand in your own, which he reciprocated in comfort. Jeno spoke, but you tuned it out, trying to calm down from the anxiety attack that rised in your chest.

Jaehyun, Jeno, Chenle. Chenle, Jeno, Jaehyun. The conversation continued on and on, each arguing with one another as if it was over the last slice of pizza.

You weren't a final girl, and never did you have it in you to be a final girl. Like Chenle said, you're too humanitarian. But, you stood against the wall, your heart thumping in your chest as Jaehyun defended you both with the knife.

Everything was a blur; Jeno and Chenle teaming up against Jaehyun, Jaehyun receiving a wound on his cheek, You couldn't move. You were frozen. This wasn't a movie, it wasn't a stupid sequel to "Stab!". You were forced to watch this go on, and you could barely move.

Jeno gave a final look at you through the mask, before a thud echoed across the theater, Chenle falling right after.

You sobbed silently as you looked at your boyfriend laying on the floor of the theater, annoyed to see the cold pvc plastic of the mask and not his handsome face that you grew so familiar to seeing.

Jaehyun kneeled beside you, grabbing your hand, "Come on. We've gotta get out of here." He helped you up, and you half expected for Jeno to follow after you, not as this monster he became, but as your boyfriend.

"Jeno..."

"No, come on." Jaehyun whispered, letting you continue to stare at him as he lead you down the hallway of the auditorium. "Last time I hire Stab fanatics." He grumbled to himself, sitting you down at a square table in the lobby as he called the police on the theater's phone.

You glanced at Jaehyun, noticing the blood seeping through his work shirt, his breathing heavy.

"You're hurt."

Jaehyun quickly gave as much information as he could to the police, before he hung up and looked at you, "I'll be fine. First responders should be here soon."

You sighed, "I'm half expecting Jeno to come through the door and tell me he's ready to go home."

"It'll be hard to get used to." Jaehyun winced, leaning against the concession counter.

"I don't know if I want to get used to it."

Jaehyun sighed, "He tried to kill you." He mumbled, "He tried to have you kill me." He looked at you, "He didn't know you. Someone who loves you would never subjugate you to that."

The shock was enough to force you to stop crying, rubbing your arm with your hand. Jaehyun was right; if Jeno truly loved you, he'd never put you into this situation. The sirens and lights reflected and echoed off the walls just as the first responders arrived.

Jaehyun offered his hand to you, which you kindly took as he led you out the door.

It's been weeks since everything at the theater went down. Jaehyun and you met up frequently for emotional support. You're in therapy after everything that happened. You'd still find yourself thinking about Jeno, waking up in the morning questioning where he was.

That evening at the theater, after the police arrived, Jaehyun was transported to the hospital for treatment. Leaving you alone outside the theater, sniffling to yourself. They exited just as quickly as they entered.

"Didn't see anything." One of the police officers said to another and you whipped your head towards them, making it completely obvious that you were listening.

"You telling me there wasn't two adults in hooded robes with those cheesy Ghostface masks?"

"Nope. Only those victims in the seats."

You moved back in with your mother after that. You spent more of your time looking over you shoulder, in fear you'd see your ex-boyfriend with a knife, rather than enjoying your life as it is now.

You could hardly settle in your bedroom, laying on your side watching the movie on your television screen. Nothing too exciting, just a re-run of Mrs. Doubtfire. With your head leaning on your hand and your blanket over your shoulders, you heard a creak behind you.

You didn't dare look, but from the mirror you had angled to face your bedroom door, you saw the same pvc plastic you see in your nightmares, and the shine of the blade.

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