#for the record i despise most characters these days

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy��s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

next >

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[box953]

your tags on your last ask have intrigued me, what are some Heiffel/Loveberg parallels??? I'd love to hear them

I've been a Heiffel truther since I first listened to w359 (the stripping scene really sold me on it too) but I've only started to get into Loveberg in the last couple days, so I haven't had the time to consider parallels between them yet

the tldr is that i think the personality similarities between Lovelace and Eiffel make for an interesting experience for Hilbert. Lovelace dies on the old mission and oh sad but it had to happen but then he meets his next crew and Eiffel reminds him just enough about Lovelace to make him squirm.

HOWEVER. I never get prompted to talk about my loveberg agenda or my loveberg to heiffel pipeline so im going to use this as an opportunity to go insane for a few paragraphs. Ok? Ok.

so maybe parallels isnt the best wording for it bc like . It is definitely kind of about the dynamic parallels i think they base-level play out very similarly due to Lovelace and Eiffel being similar in the ways they are. But also i think it’s just about. The coexistence of both relationships in the same timeline. The way they could bleed into each other.

so like. The personality parallels between Lovelace and Eiffel are pretty obvious in the beginning, right? When Eiffel and Minkowski first find her voice recordings and she sounds exactly like someone Eiffel would get along with and exactly like someone Minkowski would despise working with. You see that when Lovelace shows up, too, but she’s also an authority figure and also at the moment going through sooo much fucking trauma right now that it kind of puts a damper on that part of her personality, i feel. She’s a little busy surviving rn.

that is to say, i feel like a pre-canon Captain Lovelace would have been the most like Eiffel, personality wise. Which i think is important.

I enjoy Hilbert’s relationships with characters without any romance behind them. I think they stand really well as their own strange, convoluted narratives. However, when I am applying a lense of potential romance, a lot of the appeal to me comes from Hilbert fighting a losing battle against himself and the decades he’s spent devaluing human life. The way he talks about his relationship with the things he’s done and the people he hurts fascinates me. How conscious he is that he’s hurt people. Something something ‘Do not think this was easy for me. None of it was easy. None of it was nice.’ Some sort of implication that he still feels, he just doesn’t acknowledge it. There’s no space for that. Log it, move on, don’t dwell on it.

With Lovelace, I think it was just accidental. I think he doesn’t realize that he cares about her, values her, until it’s too late and he’s tripped and fell and gotten himself into a weird situationship with his commanding officer. The difference in their first meeting as shown in the final episode vs their relationship shown in Change of Mind is just so… ugh. He’s a part of her routine. He meets her at her room when she wakes up to update her when he was actively avoiding interacting with her during their first meetings. Something happened there. They fall into a routine, a dynamic, he respects her, she goes to him for advice, or to rant about her idiot subordinates. I’m just ranting about why i like them in this era atp ANYWAYS.

The point is. He stumbles into accidentally giving a fuck but then, obviously, everything that happens, happens. He respects her but only enough to think she’d be smart enough to see his perspective, never enough to change his mind on his life’s work.

and then the Alexander Hilbert grieving processes (and lack thereof) commences. He acknowledges that the loss of Isabel Lovelace is objectively unfortunate but that’s as far as it goes, as far as it’s ever gone for anyone since he was a child.

and then he meets his next crew, on the same ship he had just been on for years, and there’s Eiffel. And he’s… not Lovelace, obviously. He’s not even got a modicum of the competence she did, even if they’re both equally as obnoxious. But I still think there’s a level of that parallel between the two of them that kind of haunts him.

And it’s like, whatever, it doesn’t matter, he’s a better man than this. He’s killed before, experimented before, and he’s going to do it again. But what are the consequences of never grieving? What happens when you accidentally have some semblance of feelings for your old captain and then she dies and you just kind of go okay. And then try your best to move onto the next task.

i think it leaves him vulnerable to just having it happen all over again is what I’m saying. I think he has to monitor Eiffel and constantly keep an eye on him to observe the decima project in action and despite everything he’s doing to distance himself from this team (everything about his whole act in season 1. You know. The playing the mad scientist bit up to eleven.) he develops some kind of infatuation for Eiffel. Study your lab rat for too long you accidentally become bisexual. Whatever.

I just. Grips the sides of my chair. I just think it’s neat. I just find them interesting. I dont. Care. (I’m lying.)

[spiritsglade]

also 8, 12, 22, and 26 for Jason!

[character ask game]

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Oh dear. Hard to choose one thing. I think my least favorite is that progression where Jason sees proof that Bruce grieved him -> reconciliation immediately happens. The things Jason is upset about in Under the Hood go deeper than just "Bruce wasn't sad enough when I died :(" and I feel like going with that just... eh. It's not my thing. (Also it generally comes hand in hand with Talia was evilly manipulating him into hating Bruce narratives, which I fundamentally reject.)

Tangentially from this if we're gonna go with a story where Jason is angry about Bruce replacing him with Tim, I want to see Tim go 'no no I figured out his identity and made him make me Robin because he was borderline suicidal and Batman needed a Robin,' I want Jason to react to knowing this information like he did in canon. I want him to be like 'do you really think you figured it out on your own. Bruce doesn't make mistakes like that. He did this on purpose to drag you in.' I'M JUST SAYING, look at what he was saying in Teen Titans #29 (because he somehow knew that Tim figured out Bruce's identity):

You spent weeks tracking the Dark Knight. Solving a mystery no one else could. You discovered who he was behind that mask. […] If someone was really trying to find out who Batman really was. If someone was trailing him for weeks. He'd know about it. […] He let you find him."

Let Jason (incorrectly) call Tim a lying liar 2k25.

Anyway the writing where Jason is appeased by learning that (1) Tim figured out Batman's identity independently and convinced him to make him Robin, (2) Bruce did try to kill Joker but Superman stopped him, (not what happened in that comic, for the record,) and (3) Dick killed Joker temporarily that one time is just... not very interesting to me. To me, their conflict is not one that can be easily cleaned up by clearing up a couple misconceptions. And I feel like this reading also ignores the much more irreconcilable moral divide between what Jason and Bruce believe these days.

Of course this also ties in with the whole Lazarus Pit Madness headcanon which... I flop around how I feel about it but I don't like most depictions of it.

Speed round other things I don't like:

Making Jason a brawler or someone who acts before he thinks. He is a planner!!! Yes he gets angry and lashes out but let him premeditate the lashing out. He's honed it into something that will hurt the other person the most first.

Jane Austen is not his entire personality let him read other books let him enjoy other media let him have other interests. What happened to his love for Poison Idea.

Replacement <- stupid fucking nickname. Jason can do better.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

IF HE HAS PIT SIDE EFFECTS THEY ARE GOLD COLORED !! I AM A GOLD LAZARUS PIT TRUTHER AND WILL BE UNTIL THE END OF TIME

(ignore every time i've written a fic involving green pit water. i had yet to see the light, then)

I have can't shut up disease about Jason so hang on here's a list.

Hair: Black with white streak. Curly. I am anti-ginger Jason I'm sorry

Eyes: Sheila Haywood blue for the angst of it. Brown is a favorite for aesthetic reasons. Juni Ba white, normal UTRH movie green, and Lazarus Pit gold are acceptable. Lazarus Pit green... thin ice.

Scars: Batarang scar necessary and important he always has it UNLESS specifically fanon Lazarus Pit healing nonsense took it away, in which case the fact that it isn't there makes his mental health even worse. I reject the autopsy scar but I see the appeal of making it a vivisection scar. The J brand/scar on his face I also disagree with.

Lazarus Pit erases scars for me, so vivisection scar also wouldn't exist in my heart.

Jason being unable to die permanently is canon in my heart.

Okay bonus here's a silly headcanon that I think I discussed with you before but: a reading of Jason pre-Pit as a Hollow (a body without a soul,) similar to how Oliver Queen was during Quiver (the first arc of Green Arrow 2001). Since Oliver saw Robin in heaven... just saying. Jason's soul was there.

Jason post-Pit has a soul that the Lazarus Pit fabricated and gave him. Pit Madness episodes are actually just when his new Lazarus Pit soul being imperfect, thus allowing demons to temporarily possess his body. But also sometimes his real soul from before gets his turn with the Xbox. You can play this for comedy. You can play this for angst. I think I'm explaining it bad but I think of this concept often and one day I will do something with it.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

Honestly just see my answer for question 8 with regards to what I don't like, that still holds true here.

I like it when he's competent and smart and also when he gets to be a bit of an asshole as a treat. I really enjoy interpretations where he takes care of Crime Alley (I know it's a fanon thing). Him being able to flirt up until he actually likes someone, at which point he will forget every communication skill he has ever gained. His compassion esp for victims is the most important thing ever to me. I like when people remember that he was about two millimeters from blowing Bruce the fuck up in the Batmobile. Him believing in his own code of ethics separate from Bruce is also a very key part of who he is!!

LOVE IMMORTAL + ALL-CASTE + [SELECTIVELY] MUTE JASON TODD HEADCANONS. WRITE THEM MORE.

Okay hang on hot take: I don't really... agree? with how people usually write his death trauma flashbacks. Like I am very much an original Death in the Family comic arc truther with how everything went down there, which means:

He was not tied up. The Joker did not spend hours upon hours torturing him and verbally taunting him. (Sorry I am so sick of reading the words forehand or backhand?) Joker beat him up for like... 20 minutes at the very maximum and it's implied that he didn't even intend to kill Jason.

He was not alone when he died. Sheila was there. Even if you want him to hate Sheila forever and ever I think them dying together is soooo important. He wasn't alone.

Jason was not staring at that countdown. I don't think that would be a trigger for him. Even ignoring the fact that he was in and out of consciousness at that point, he spent those last few seconds launching himself to shield Sheila from the blast. Wasn't looking at the countdown.

Smoke inhalation didn't kill him I don't care what Mortimer Gunt's shitty incorrect death certificate says. It also says that he died in Bristol, Gotham. It also says that he was 4'6" (he was 5'4" according to NTT #55). The explosion murdered the fuck out of him. (The original comic says that his body was already cool when Bruce got there, which is nonsensical, but does imply to me that he was already dead dead in the explosion. It wasn't the smoke that got to him.)

I also don't like when fics reveal the Batarang Incident by having Jason use it as ammo when he's lashing out. He would not do that. That is a secret that would have be pried out of him with a crowbar.

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever?

THROWING A BOMB OFF THE WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. AND, WHILE HE WAS ACTIVELY TRYING TO DISARM IT BEFORE THEN, TAKING THE TIME TO MAKE FUN OF THE CONSTABLE'S BRITISH ACCENT FOR THREE PARAGRAPHS STRAIGHT.

"Hush up, Constable. Daddy's busy." "Bloody hell." "Yeah, 'bloody hell', 'bollocks' and 'bob's yer uncle.' Back the hell up twenty feet. I need both hands to do this and I can't keep the gun trained on you. Step up on me, I'll draw and you'll be having crumpits with Mary Queen of Scots." "What are you doin' there?" "Playing Mah Jong, Mary. Almost got me four melds here--aw, crap. I just found the timer. Looks like it's tea time."

^this entire exchange. I'm never recovering from it. Jason you are seventeen. (Red Hood: Lost Days Issue #5)

[technically-a-kiwi]

I humbly request some core information I must know before I start drawing the cosmic chars for the next 2-9 days

just so I don’t mischaracterize any of them cuz then I would cry and I cry glitter mixed with acid

hum… core info you say ? 🤔

it’s a little hard, there’s no wrong or right way to go with them

in general the cast is a mix of chaos, silliness, otherworldly and MESSED UP. If you keep that in mind you’re already off to a good start

for each character tho hum…

well for starters, C Pep is just regular Peppino really x), stressed out and very impulsive in his emotions and actions. The major difference is that he has a much bigger knowledge about pretty much everything, basically you can bet that if you’re looking for something, he knows what you’re talking about and can give you precise details about it. Oh and of course, he’s basically like a sun here, any strong emotion will make him shift and go up in flames, everything in him is flames, he's just a big ball of flames.

For C Noise, again, it's just The Noise, chaotic, over the top, witty, and INSANE, but with the host attribute very exaggerated, passive agressif with every sentence and not taking his guests too seriously, often destabilizing them for a good laugh. He barely has a moral compass, willing to do anything for a good scoop, for a good program, create a kaiju fight in the middle of a city ? Let's go ! Change the color of the sky just to record people's reaction? Roll the cameras. All there is to know is he's basically a chaos god who records his mischief, always a smile on his face, he loves to mess with people, even with his fellow cosmic entities (to Peppino's displeasure) .

C Noisette is still Noisette, kind, bubbly, head in the clouds. She loves to talk, basically being a chatterbox, a little annoying if you're not into long conversations. She'll talk to anybody but C Noise, why ? Nobody knows, she'll always make the " >:( " face when she sees him, and promptly leaves, even if she's in the middle of a conversation.

C Pepperman is kind of the same as Pepperman, the self absorbed artist, marginal and very peculiar. He just DESPISE Peppino for holding the power of creation, either gaslighting or acting passive agressif toward him. Other than that he just acts like THE scholar of art, always bragging about his work, how his powers allow him to do what is impossible for mortals or talking about random art stuff (like composition, the meaning of colors...) and if you dare think he's annoying, you can bet he'll give you a lecture... Or turn you into a pepper... It depends...

C Vigilante is kind of different, he's just a very chill cheeseslime living in the country side of a cheese village, being the tired old man on the swinging chair, telling stories to younger cheeseslimes about the cosmic realm, legendary creatures, he takes care of his little farm, just living life you know. Although he's VERY paranoid about the cast coming over one day, he's convinced that they want to destroy him or his world, he's chill... But with a hint of stress...

The Ticket booth is very... Strange... It's actions are very aleatory, but it's fairly tamed. What he wants the most is for people to have a ticket, if you don't have a ticket, it won't bother to talk to you, if you want a ticket maybe he'll address you. If it considers you as some kind of threat (scammer, stealer, someone trying to kill a possible clients) that's when he unravels the horrors

C Pizzahead is kind of like Pizzahead, he's wiser than his classic counterpart, keeping the silliness for the stage only, but that doesn't stop him from cracking a joke or two here, a little prank there, he found the right amount of balance to be loved and unravel pure silliness. He's REALLY chaotic on stage (dangerous too...), but kind of a funny clown outside of the stage.

C Mr Stick is not much like og Mr Stick, he's stern, concentrated on his book, not caring much about stuff around him, he's not as interested in money as his counterpart, but he does love collecting more riches "hey, you're gonna use that 5 dollars ?" You see ? He's almost constantly the nose down his book, keeping track of everything and anything, you can ask him about the state of a random graph and he'll tell you ! When he's not counting or keeping track of stuff, he's building some random object, like an automatic spoon or paint thinner brush...

This took some time to write down oh my... I fear it's a little too much for being just the core, but I hope this will help you

[thatwavephenomenon]

The concept of Inquisitor Anders (and Justice) is so special to me actually. Everyone agree that everything the "regular" Inquisitor goes through/accomplishes is already mind-blowing. But for Anders to be the Inquisitor? The stakes would be even more impossible.

Anders thought he was going to die for what he had done, but Hawke spared him. After that he has to go on with no plan whatsoever, as best as he can while on the run as one of the most wanted man in Thedas. The only thing that is clear to him is that he has to keep helping the mage rebellion until he is either caught and killed, or until his Calling. All he has is borrowed time. So even as a fugitive, Anders' story is likely already written and over.

And then the Conclave happens, and Anders not only has his eyes glow blue sometimes, but he now has an occasionally green glowy hand as well.

So here he is, Anders the apostate, Anders the Kirkwall Chantry criminal, who has nothing but with *everything* to prove.

Remember. This is the man that gave everything that he had, everything he was to his cause. He fought for *years* in Kirkwall with his clinic, his manifesto, with the Mages Underground and still things worsened, with barely anyone listening to him until he blew the Chantry up. And now he has to convince everyone that he isn't responsible for the explosion at the Conclave? Right, as if his track record would permit that. How could he possibly be able to close the breach in the sky when he was the one who started the war between the templars and the mages in the first place?

The regular Inquisitor already has trouble proving themselves trustworthy at the beginning of DAI, so imagine it now with Anders. People would literally be out for blood. The Chantry would not only discredit the Inquisition as heretics, it would call for his immediate dissolution/destruction. Anders would also try to help all the refugees just like before in Kirkwall, while being the very reason these people lost so much in the first place this time.

Now on to the advisors and companions. How would Leliana, who also walk the path of violence for her cause, who is pro-mages but also had great faith in Justinia, interact with Anders? Even if Cullen has left the templars, could he and Anders even manage to cooperate after everything? Especially considering that Cullen was Meredith's second and the one who dismantled Anders' Mages Underground? How would Josephine and Anders work together to promote their cause, with how Anders must regard nobility after living in Darktown for years or after watching Kirkwall nobles interact with Hawke?

After investigating what happened in Kirkwall, Cassandra would probably be more than wary of Anders. But at the same time in DAI she is among the first ones to believe that the character must be the Herald of Andraste. I imagine that Cassandra would be particularly conflicted on how to treat Anders because of this.

Varric. Anders was his friend. Anders is the one who set Kirkwall on fire. For all that they know each other, things would probably still be tense between them at first. Varric also followed Hawke to see him rise from having barely anything to his name to becoming the Champion of Kirkwall. What would he think about Anders, a companion of the initial protagonist (or even protagonists, if you take into account DA Awakening), when he's now taking a path that seems to lead him towards becoming so much more? Especially considering that in DAI Varric struggles with how to perceive the Inquisitor, having to juggle between seeing the character as his friend (if you have a good relationship with him) and seeing them as an icon, the Herald of Andraste.

Anders and Vivienne would absolutely despise each other and their snark matches would be the stuff of legends. The only reason those two could even work together is if they agree that closing the breach takes priority over everything else.

I imagine that Anders, Justice and Solas would have some interesting conversations about spirits and the Fade while also butting heads on a lot of things. Both would be convinced that they are the authority on these subjects. But perhaps they would learn to eventually concede on some things with time.

I think Sera would really like Anders for his continued dedication towards helping people and his insistance to give up what he has for others. Sera's fear of magic and Anders absolute pro-mages stance would definitely cause more than one row between them however. Not to mention Justice. Their relationship would be one of the most interesting there in my opinion.

Blackwall would also be another greatly interesting character to watch interact with Inquisitor Anders. Anders would be able to tell that Blackwall is bullshitting about being a Warden from the get-go, because he was one and can sense the taint. Those two would definitely have some interesting debates on justice (and with Justice), or talks about how to go on and do good after having committed an atrocious crime. Blackwall's admiration for the Grey Wardens versus Anders "Oh yeah, I was a Warden once, then I just quit" attitude would also result in some great banters I'm sure.

Anders would say to Iron Bull that he is very different from all the other Qunaris that were in Kirkwall, though I don't know how that conversation would go. Iron Bull would also definitely be afraid of Justice. I can see him adressing the question/problem of Anders being an "abomination" quite directly, because he is not comfortable with spirits/demons that are capable of taking over someone's mind, and Anders is a living proof of that fear. Despite this, I like to imagine that Justice would actually grow to respect the Iron Bull in some parts after hearing the Chargers' stories about him and seeing how protective of them Iron Bull is.

Despite their different upbringings, I think Dorian would somewhat remind Anders of himself when we was younger/before he merged with Justice. If Hawke isn't a mage, I can imagine Anders' relief and joy about finally being able to talk to someone about magic normally and openly. They would have conversations about Tevinter, politics, etc. In DAI, the Inquisitor can inspire Dorian and support him in his fight to change Tevinter. With Anders as the Inquisitor, this aspiration for social changes could be even more relevant.

Cole and Anders/Justice interactions would be another cool thing to see. Justice would recognize Cole as a spirit of Compassion right away. Despite their differences as spirits, I could see Justice becoming quite protective of Cole and defending him against people like Cassandra or Vivienne, having an unfortonate amount of experience being treated as a "demon" or "abomination". Cole would also try to help Anders with his guilt of course.

Discovering that Corypheus is their enemy would be less of a "oh it's him again/oh okay this is the villain" moment and become a lot more personal, with the worry that Anders could fall under his control if he is not strong enough.

Meeting Hawke once again in Skyhold would be An Event for sure, espeeecially if Hawke and Anders were (are?) in a romance. I'm letting everyone imagine how that would go with their own Hawke here.

And The Choice in the Fade, you know the one, would be even more heart-wrenching. Particularly if the Warden is someone that Anders knows, like Nathaniel Howe or even the Hero of Ferelden/Warden-Commander.

Bonus: Anders could also meet Fenris by chance during a mission to eliminate some Venatori.

Anyways. I really like the idea of Inquisitor Anders, yes.

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

wow you really love disney metafiction

Well yes Who Framed Roger Rabbit always fascinated me as a kid, what adaptions would our world have what would change if our characters really existed and lived beside us would Disney be as greedy as it is if Mickey Mouse was actually owner over it it instead of Bob Iger being CEO nd Investors having their claws in it? Would Bugs be the owner of Warner or would he be chilling as an A-list celebrity who is a known as a beloved LGBTQA Drag Queen and Genderfluid Veteran?

Mickey and Minnie married off screen and dating on screen?

Looney Tunes known as chaos incarnate but they're a giant family

Bugs and Daffy adopted the Animaniacs because they had no home

Are Bugs and Daffy together off screen?

What would shape each toon into their On Screen and off-screen selves creating that divide?

What would the huge differences be? Maybe some have kids others are married and some have entire seperate family?

How would humans react to these guys as a species that has a bad record of looking down upon people?

Mickey and Bob Iger having a I absolutely despise you but I have to tolerate you relationship

Off screen the Warner siblings are actually related to Oswald and Ortensia explaining the Animaniacs' strange unidentifiable appearances,

Like the possibilities are endless and vast, there's just so much unexplored due to the fact companies can't share at all anymore and they don't think live action hybrids are useful

Chip and Dale 2022 resparked it for me, a lot of ideas going a million miles, like if I had finances I'd be getting reference shots to use for test fan animation just for the fun of it, cause it fascinates me that much,

And while you call it metafiction it's actually just cartoons meeting our reality seriously go check out the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit that movie right there shows what exactly I'm talking about and here I'll even include some screenshots of a couple films that do this

Bugs Bunny Focus for Back in Action cuz honestly I think this is his most iconic look besides the Viking look when it comes to his drag and honestly the line normally I play the love interest is just amazing

Roger and Eddie(played by Bob Hoskins) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers 2022

This is the adaption I was talking about earlier look at Ellie next to the apartment building for small toons. She's as tall as it, while Chip and Dale are the perfect size for it, unlike Who Framed Roger rabbit Chip and Dale takes place in the modern day that's what hooked me to create a modern AU it's all so fascinating,

You can't see it in that shot but Dale is driving a full-blown human sized car that has been adapted for Chipmunks I'm not joking, however their movie shows how wildly different everybody can look from each other especially in the modern day when CG is a thing. Chip is still clearly 1990s 2D animated while Dale decided to get a CGI redesign

Like if Mickey and Minnie are only two feet tall and if he's the big boss on set yeah it's really funny to me to imagine him running around Disney and trying to picture every single Studio adapting to these Toons and their various size differences

Again there is just so so much that has been untapped with this genre, because Studios cannot get along long enough to tap into it

[astheworldgoesonitswickedway]

Count Olaf's best disguise?

Count Olaf had a large variety of disguises which came with varying degrees of success, as we all know. Which was the funniest, or the most unhinged, we could debate all day. But. I think there is a clear winner for which is the most effective, and it's not what you'd expect. Here's the lyrics to Smile! No One Cares How You Feel, by the Gothic Archies.

smile: no one cares how you feel be vicious, vain, and vile everything's yours to steal if you just smile have you no dignity? have you no sense of style? you'll never be pretty until you smile

smile: no one cares how you feel there's a world to be got you can make this world kneel if you'll just smile

ALWAYS THE BEST DISGUISE A LICENSE TO DEFILE everyone you despise will die so smile

Now, Count Olaf was vile before he ever put on an official disguise. But no one seemed to notice, did they. Even when the children clearly bore the marks of abuse. In a way, he was wearing a disguise the whole time. Everyone else was either genuinely blind to it, or willfully ignorant. It seemed he had the most success in the beginning, when he was closest to achieving his goal. When he didn't wear a costume at all. Arguably, fake kindness and a smile, were the real fuel behind each of his disguises anyway. We as the reader/viewer, see things objectively. We see the menace behind his "amiability" the manipulation behind his "compliments" and the threat behind his smile. But the characters don't. For the sake of metaphor, for the absurdist comedy, etc. But speaking in context, judging by the reaction of all these characters, Olaf appears to them as friendly and downright charismatic. And that is his best disguise, because time after time, people see his smile and let down their guard. For example, Dr. Mattathias Medicalschool would never have been able to exist if Babs hadn't fallen for that smile. While on the surface it may seem ridiculous amid all the comedy and exaggeration, the truth is that Olaf gets his way because he makes people WANT to do what he says. It is this power of manipulation that keeps his disguises intact and not the ridiculous boots and bald caps etc. And it's just so perfect how the song also represents Olaf's beliefs about himself and the world. "No one cares how he feels but he can still make the world kneel."

For the record though...Stephano is my favorite disguise.

[itsnotzka]

Fancy reading my original story? ;)

Without revealing too much, it's a very character-driven, slow-burn(ish), bitter-sweet romance story centered around self-discovery, with music and movies playing a significant role in the background :)

If you want to give it a go, you can read The Higher We Soar here (I'm currently sharing it on Wattpad, as I, unfortunately, haven't found a better alternative...). The first three chapters are already published (and it always will be free :))

You can also read the prologue below ⬇︎

You should never expect too much from Tuesdays. They're like the middle children of the week—less demanding than Mondays, less depressing than Wednesdays, but definitely not as fun as Fridays. Tuesdays quietly go about their business, neither imposing nor exhilarating.

As usual, I didn't have high hopes for that particular Tuesday either. It was one of those days that seemed to slip from memory almost as soon as it happened, no matter how much I wracked my brain to recall it.

The weather? If someone had told me there was the worst snowstorm of the century on that day, I would have readily accepted their claim without a single question. If I had read somewhere that it was the hottest day of the year, I would have simply nodded in agreement. I couldn't even tell you whether I decided to take a bus, a tram, or maybe I just, quite merrily, took a walk to the studio.

All those details somehow simply left my mind, overshadowed by one seemingly insignificant, and quite short encounter. Nothing remained the same after that fateful, yet somehow very ordinary, casual Tuesday morning.

Like a clueless fool, I failed to sense the impending, monumental shift in my life—a weird, terrifying, passionate avalanche that, in retrospect, seemed glaringly obvious and impossible to miss from the beginning, no matter how hard you might try... Yet, I did.

Before I delve further, you should know that I've never really liked interns.

It's not a sentiment I'm particularly proud of, as I despise prejudice in any form. My dislike isn't rooted in any of my antisocial tendencies; in fact, I generally find it quite easy to connect with people, especially in the music industry. 

But I never really liked interns.

Their enthusiasm often comes across as superficial, and I can't stand it when they ask what to do, only to neglect the tasks I give them. I don't don't like when they think they have it all, believing they are more knowledgeable than anyone else around the studio, despite never having composed a single piece of music in their lives. I don't like how, before I can even properly learn their names or discover their strengths, they vanish without a trace, leaving behind a mess of equipment they weren't supposed to touch in the first place.

I also don't like when interns assume I'm just one of them.

It's a frustrating realization, mainly because, begrudgingly, they have the right to do that. After all, most of them are just a tad younger than me. Who could blame them?

That seemed to be the case with most interns. Except for one notable exception.

It didn't take long for me to notice that one individual stood out from the rest of the pack. Slightly older than the typical interns we usually had, he possessed a remarkable ability to effortlessly connect with people of all ages and ranks—spanning from the youngest staff members to seasoned audio engineers and even the senior employees of our cleaning crew. He had this certain level of cheerfulness and genuine interest that set him apart, a stark contrast to the usual ennui seen among interns I knew.

Right. First things first, though.

The scene: Early spring. A typical Tuesday morning just a little past ten o'clock.

I found myself in the live room, brimming with anticipation to finally record the first version of my demo, or at least my initial idea for one. But as luck would have it, nothing seemed to align with my plans. True to form, the interns had left a chaotic mess in their wake, leaving me with the arduous task of tidying up before I could even begin to think about diving into my creative process.

I let out a sigh of frustration, futilely rummaging through the clutter in search of a balanced cable before all my inspiration gone to waste. And that's precisely when the blonde intern came into the room, flashing his straight, pearly white teeth at me.

"Oh, hey. Hand me that boom stand, eh?" I gestured towards the stand, hoping to deal the cleanup process faster.

Weirdly enough, he sauntered over to me joyfully, yet his hands were conspicuously empty. It took a few moments for the realization to dawn on me, and when I turned my head to him, there he was, meeting my gaze with a cheerful twinkle in his light brown eyes, smiling at me with the sincerity of a five-year-old child.

"Hello? The boom stand, please?" I reiterated, juggling a handful of cables, none of them the balanced one I desperately needed, and gesturing towards the frustratingly out-of-reach metal stand.

"Oh, you're talking about this thing!" he exclaimed, as if my words had just registered. With a sudden burst of energy, he hastily retrieved the boom stand and brought it over to me. "Here you go."

I shot him a skeptical look as he nonchalantly slipped his hands into the pockets of his well-worn cardigan—a piece of clothing that might have been deemed unwearable by most, yet it somehow suited him perfectly. In an oddly charming way, it emitted a subtle bohemian vibe, and I couldn't help but imagine it gracing the runway of some avant-garde fashion show, although my knowledge of fashion was rather limited.

"Do you want to tell me you didn't know what a boom stand is?" I dared to ask, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah, sorry..." he prudishly feigned embarrassment, though it was evident that he didn't feel particularly bad about it. "I had no clue what you were talking about."

I eyed him inquisitively, suspecting the worst but needing confirmation. "What about a shock mount? Can you pass me that, then?"

He tilted his head and subtly pursed his lips, as if I had switched to an entirely different, foreign language he couldn't comprehend. Utterly astonished, I pointed to the nearby, star-shaped object, and his eyes widened in realization.

"Oh... that's a shock mount? Well, I had no idea about that, either," he admitted, seemingly unfazed by his lack of knowledge, with no intention of handing me the item. In response, I spread my hands and cast him a puzzled, inquisitive look, to which he simply responded with another chuckle.

"Let me be honest with you, okay?" he shrugged once more, entirely at ease. "I know nothing about making music or any of this equipment..."

"Are you shitting me?" I blurted out, dropping the cables from my hands in sheer disbelief. "In that case, I have no idea why you're even here. How on earth did you manage to land this internship in a scoring studio?"

The smirk never left his lips, his eyes twinkling with joy, as if he wasn't even aware that I considered firing him during his very first week on the job. Well, I couldn't actually fire him. I could ask someone else to do it for me.

"What can I say?" he offered another smile, his eyes mirroring the same cheerfulness. Even his bohemian gray cardigan seemed uncharacteristically cheerful as he spoke. "I aced the job interview. Sophie, that gal who interviewed me, seemed to really like me. She was very sure I'd be a great fit here!"

"That gal?" I repeated with a scoff... and a smile. "You mean Sophie, the producer? One of the most important people around here? If not the most important one?"

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The very same."

"Right. Sophie and her desire to change the whole world for the better..." I remarked, my tone laced with sarcasm that he simply chose to ignore.

There. My proof. 

That was the reason why I never really liked interns. He should have said something to make me believe he was taking it seriously, shouldn't he? He should have been embarrassed, he should have shown me his willingness to learn everything as quickly as possible, he should have tried to help me set everything up faster. But he didn't. Instead, he didn't take his eyes off me for a second, making me uncomfortable. It was as if looking at me like that was the most normal and ordinary thing in the world for him — as if it was our hundredth talk. No shyness. No awkwardness on his part. No guilt whatsoever.

"I don't know if I have time for your incompetence, then. I have things to do here, and they have to be done well," I finally stated, trying hard to maintain eye contact.

After all, I was supposed to be the more competent one, not him. Yet, inexplicably, I suddenly felt as though I were the intern, and he was the one showing me the ropes, not the other way around.

He hummed, faintly amused, as if I had cracked a half-hearted joke. "Come on... you only need to be more specific about what you want me to do. I can handle anything with clear instructions. I'm a very quick learner, you know?"

I found myself smiling as he began to lecture me on how to handle an intern like him. In fact, I burst into unexpected laughter—not at his expense, but because I couldn't believe his extraordinary gullibility.

No, gullibility was definitely not the right word. It was more like... certainty. An unwavering, absolute conviction that everything, always, would unfold just as he anticipated, with ease, enjoyment, and no difficulties whatsoever. There was no room for doubt. Moreover, it felt as if it wasn't because he wanted it to be that way, but because the universe, it seemed, had an uncanny knack for bending space and time just to make him smile.

"Let's see. Do you even know what I do here?" I asked, not with impatience anymore, but with genuine curiosity.

"Hey, I'm not that dense," he scoffed, then added a bit unsure, "You're a composer, right? Or am I mixing something up..."

I laughed and nodded in confirmation. His smile held a touch of embarrassment, a genuine one this time.

"You're not. I am a composer. So tell me one more thing, if you don't know anything about making music, why do you even want to work here?" I asked, finally bringing the shock mount closer and starting to set the microphone next to the piano.

He sighed, falling into deep thought for a brief moment before finally responding, "I think you're asking the wrong questions here. Why wouldn't I want to give it a try? It's fascinating. Besides, I'm a huge movie buff and you're making scores. I feel like I can rest my case here."

"Oh, yeah? Your love for movies? You think that's enough?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, casually picking up the cables I dropped before, "Well, that would be more than enough if we were in an actual movie, wouldn't it?"

"Well, we're not, though," I chuckled, "We're not even in some poorly written novel. Life's quite different from the movies, especially if you know how they're made."

He hummed once more, a quiet laugh escaping his throat as he gave me another intrigued look.

"You think so? I think it all depends on your point of view..." he said with such conviction, as if everything really depended solely on that.

I shook my head in amusement and, unintentionally, found myself agreeing with him.

"Hey, I think I didn't catch your name before..." I said, a little troubled by the fact that despite Sophie repeating the names of all five interns for a week, I couldn't remember any of them.

"Oh, I'm Maddox. At your service!" he replied, his smile widening even further. "People usually call me Maddie, though."

"Really? Do they ever call you Madd?" I quipped. "Maybe that suits you better?"

A spark flickered in his eyes, then chuckled, "I've heard that one before... But sure. I can be Madd for you."

By then, I was laughing opelny, and I forgot about the mess around us.

It surprised me that he didn't ask for my name, and I decided not to give it away. I wasn't sure if he already knew it; he hadn't mentioned it even once that day. It seemed my name just... didn't matter to him back then. He struck me as someone very curious about the world and everything around him, yet for some reason, I didn't really seem to be one of those matters.

Like many things, it didn't bother me much, though.

After that Tuesday morning, marked by a string of mishaps that he effortlessly remedied with a perfect blend of enthusiasm, interest, and clever comments, a tad too clever for just an intern, we didn't teally talk for a few weeks.

Throughout the initial month of his three-month internship, our encounters were fleeting, lacking any real depth or substanc. Yet, I knew, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's presence that hung in the air, like a perfectly fitting soundtrack playing in the background—barely noticeable, yet undeniably there.

I was busy with my projects that weren't going as well as I wanted them to. He, on the other hand, was busy surpassing almost all expectations, learning things at an astonishing pace, and effortlessly charming everyone he encountered. At least that's what I had heard from my co-workers, and from Sophie. He worked mainly under her, after all.

Every now and then though, I'd catch a glimpse of his eyes, squarely directed at me, particularly when I was on my way to the break room in search of my caffeine salvation. Sometimes, amidst the chaos of the studio, I'd hear his laughter, his rather melodic voice rising above the cacophony of others, as I struggled to maintain my focus on the stubborn music sheets in front of me. I quickly noticed he was quite the conversationalist, engaging in lively discussions with anyone willing to participate. Yet, our interactions rarely extended beyond a simple exchange of greetings, such as a casual 'hello' or 'how are you?'

That didn't bother me, either. Well, it didn't bother me at the beginning.

Everything always seems different at the beginning, doesn't it?

[summerwritesfics]

🌎Mark My Words Retribution Will Never Come

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 2509 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Canon Divergence, Bad Guy Wins, Titan!Bi-Han, OOD!Bi-Han, Lin Kuei!Hanzo Hasashi, Assassination Attempt, Mystery, Hatred, Bi-Han is not a nice person, Referenced Kidnapping, Isolation, Codependency, Threats

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist

Notes: I debated for a while if this belongs in Meanwhile In Another Universe and I’ve eventually decided on yes, Canon Divergence are a type of AU, thus belong in it. 🫣 This is OOD Titan Sub Zero Bi-Han, but not specifically the one we saw in the Sub Zero invasions season, altho that did have some inspiration for this. The vibe I got from the whole pyramid scene was there were multiple universes with the same character as titan on both sides, so… yeah. I feel like at this point I can just go off with this shit lmao. Title is from General Of The Dark Army by Unleash The Archers.

Hanzo did not know what he had done to earn the Titan’s ire.

Lord Bi-Han ruled over everyone with an iron fist, and the elite of his forces were the Lin Kuei. Hanzo had joined their ranks when a particularly bad snowstorm killed his Mother and Father. Thanks to Bi-Han, it always snowed, but some days, the cold was worse than others.

Despite being welcomed amongst the Lin Kuei, and even earning the prestigious title of Scorpion, it was very clear to him that Bi-Han despised him. Constant berating, punishments that bordered on torture, and general insults was what he received for his loyalty. The best he ever seemed to hope for was to be ignored by the Titan.

The only comfort he found was that all within the walls of the Lin Kuei were subject to scrutiny. It just felt harsher towards him for some reason. Bi-Han looked at most of the clans members with complete indifference. But at Hanzo?

He could only describe it as pure hatred.

He walked down the corridors. Lord Bi-Han had called a meeting of the clans highest members, and despite the animosity, Hanzo qualified as one of them. As he came into the grand hall, he found it empty aside from General Tundra.

Tundra was… Strange. He barely interacted with others, even those within Lord Bi-Han’s inner circle. In fact, Hanzo thought they’d shared maybe 10 words tops in the entire time Hanzo had been with The Lin Kuei. And given that had been almost 15 years at this point, it was testament to how little they had to say to each other.

“General,” he greeted with a bow, despite knowing it would likely be ignored.

“At ease, Scorpion.” Wow, an entire three words to be added to the total. Actually that was probably a record for the most words used in a single sentence.

“I believed Lord Bi-Han was calling a meeting?” He questioned, glancing around, wondering just where the other high ranking members were. Usually, Smoke would be here, as would Sektor and Cyrax. Shang Tsung? Ugh, an awful man, but he was usually here early to suck up to Bi-Han as much as possible.

Where is everyone?

“He has,” Tundra confirmed, looking around himself. Compared to his usual indifference, there was a strange air of paranoia regarding it.

When Tundra didn’t say any more, Hanzo asked “so, where is everyone?”

Tundra looked away, merely shrugging in response. Ah, well, it looked like Hanzo had exhausted Tundra’s daily word count. He probably wasn’t going to get another word from the general. Maybe he’d add a few things here and there to the meeting, but other than that, nothing.

Hanzo felt a chill run down his spine, and he turned in place to find Lord Bi-Han storming into the room. A trail of jagged ice followed him, hands balled into fists. Hanzo couldn’t help the spike of anxiety. Generally, Bi-Han being angry around him meant pain.

Bi-Han slammed the doors shut behind him, before approaching the pair. Both Hanzo and Tundra straightened themselves out, holding their fists over their hearts and bowing.

“At ease,” Bi-Han snarled, seeming completely unimpressed by the display. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you both here.”

Both? So, this wasn’t a meeting between the higher ups of the clan? Hanzo knew better than to question that however. He didn’t really fancy another backhand.

“To put it simply, I have suspicion someone within the ranks is plotting to betray me,” Bi-han continued, and Hanzo couldn’t help but swallow. This was going to be a case where Bi-Han had tracked it down to being one of the two of them. And knowing Hanzo’s luck, he was going to get the blame.

“You… Think it’s one of us?” Tundra slowly questioned, almost sounding hurt by the prospect. Hanzo couldn’t help shooting him a look as if to question why he would ask that out loud. Hanzo was prepared for Tundra to get the slap he’d previously been fearful of.

It didn’t happen, however. If anything, Bi-Han’s gaze briefly softened when he looked at Tundra. Hanzo had never seen the man with anything other than a scowl. It was actually sort of unnerving.

“No. The opposite.” Bi-Han slowly began to pace back and forth in front of them. “You two are the only one’s I know aren’t a part of it.”

There was a strange amount of relief in that, even if Hanzo wondered how exactly Bi-Han had come to that conclusion. However, seeing as Tundra seemed to be able to address the Titan without incurring physical violence, Hanzo decided to leave any questions up to him.

“What makes you so certain of that?” Tundra asked, rubbing at his wrist. Seemingly, it didn't reassure him like it had Hanzo.

Bi-Han gave a bitter sounding laugh, before reaching into his robes and pulling out what looked like a letter. He gave it to Tundra, who opened it and scanned its contents. Hanzo was curious, shifting slightly to be able to read it too. He just skimmed it, but managed to pick up the majority. It was a letter detailing the assassination of Tundra, and how whomever was writing it was going to frame Scorpion for it.

Tundra didn’t say anything, silently putting the letter into his own pocket.

“As you can see, currently there is a plot to eliminate you.” Bi-Han’s gaze then pointedly landed on Hanzo, that look of pure disgust back on his face. Him not being a suspect wasn’t going to save him from Bi-Han’s resentment, apparently. “And as much of an idiot as you are, I doubt you are moronic enough to leave a letter that incriminates yourself.”

“No, my Lord,” Hanzo quietly agreed, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“Therefore, you both are the only ones I can trust right now, as much as that pains me.” Bi-Han turned his back to them, and Hanzo couldn’t help but briefly screw his face up in frustration.

“I assume you want us to find out who the unfaithful members are?” Tundra questioned, eyes flicking up to Hanzo. He looked unsure about something. “But… That would require… I mean… Your previous orders my Lord…”

Previous orders? What's that about?

“Yes, I’m aware that what I’m asking of you contradicts your previous orders, thank you very much Kuai Liang,” Bi-Han snapped in a harsh tone, causing Tundra to flinch away from him. “Forget what I asked of you previously.”

“But…”

“But what, Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han’s hand reached forward to grab Tundra’s chin. The sharp claws of his gauntlet dug into Tundra’s flesh, painfully, if the way his eyes screwed up was anything to go by. “I am giving you a new order that overrides your past ones, are you really so stupid as to not understand how that works?”

“N-No.” Tundra was trembling. Hanzo had to resist the urge to comfort him. “S-sorry my Lord.”

To Hanzo’s eternal surprise, Bi-Han’s eyes yet again softened, and he let go of Tundra’s jaw. There were small red puncture marks where the gauntlet had broken the skin. Bi-Han ran the back of his hand down Tundra’s cheek, an action far too gentle and caring for the cruel and calculated Ice Titan.

“You must understand, Kuai Liang, this plot to assassinate you is a direct attempt to anger me,” Bi-Han continued, and despite how kind he was now acting, Tundra continued to shudder like he was awaiting another outburst. “Me allowing you to investigate is a mercy. I could as easily take you back to the Temple of Elements. But I know how you so love your freedom.”

“I know, my Lord,” Tundra sighed in a defeated tone, looking down to the ground in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“You know everything I do is to keep you safe, little brother.”

Little brother?!?

Hanzo was amazed he didn’t accidentally shout that out aloud. How the hell is he Lord Bi-han’s brother? As far as he could tell, Tundra was a mortal. And while Tundra did tend to follow Bi-Han around like a silent shadow, until today, he would never have said they ever appeared to be close.

“If they are actually fool enough to try and harm you, I will bury this entire world in ice.” That was clearly not an empty threat. Hanzo didn’t doubt now that some of the worst of Earthrealm’s weather was because something had happened to Tundra. I wonder if that is what caused the snowstorm that day. “Just find out who is responsible for this. Then you won’t have to spend another decade trapped in that temple.”

Tundra winced, but eventually miserably replied with “yes, my Lord.”

“Good.” Bi-Han drew away, before pointedly looking towards Hanzo. Eyes swept him up and down, but somehow he didn’t look quite as pissed as he usually did. “As for you. Maybe if you actually accomplish something here, you will manage to get into my good graces.”

“I will do what I have to, my Lord.” He wasn’t entirely sure how sincere that statement was, but god did it sound good. To actually have Bi-Han’s approval for once, rather than his blistering hatred? He thought he’d do just about anything for that.

Bi-Han snorted, pulling away from both of them.

“Do not fail me.”

A sudden flurry of ice and snow had Hanzo holding his arms up to shield himself from the worst of it. By the time it stopped and Hanzo lowered his arms, Bi-Han was gone, leaving him alone with Tundra. Silence stretched out between them, neither seeming to want to start a conversation. Hanzo realised he was probably going to have to bite the bullet on that one.

“What were the orders he gave you that this conflicts with?” Hanzo questioned, although he wasn’t certain this was the wisest way to start a conversation. But given there were two things from the briefing he was curious about, this one seemed like the less touchy one.

“I-” Tundra paused, biting his lip and swallowing. “He ordered me to never speak to anyone else unless necessary.”

“Ah.” That made a really weird amount of sense. “That explains why you’ve only ever said 15 words to me in the entire time I’ve known you.”

Tundra screwed his face up and stared at Hanzo with an incredulous look. “You’ve been counting?”

“Well I’ve got to find some sort of entertainment around here,” he joked, unsure if it landed as Tundra remained deathly silent.

And then, just like that, a quiet giggle came from Tundra’s lips.

Hanzo wasn’t sure why that made his heart begin to race.

“Outside of training, there isn’t really much to do around here, huh?” Tundra sighed, and Hanzo realised this was the first time he’d ever seen the other man smile. “Sometimes I wish Bi-Han would actually make good on his threats of war just to have something to do.”

Hanzo chuckled, “well I suppose trying to find a potential assassin and betrayer is better than nothing.”

“I’m not entirely sure how we are supposed to do that, but…” Tundra pursed his lips, glancing towards the entrance to the hall. It was still iced over from Bi-Han’s entrance. “I know Bi-Han will be displeased if we fail.”

“Right. Like I need another reason for him to hate me.” Hanzo shook his head, remembering what Bi-Han had said. If he did good, he might get into Bi-Han’s good graces. And by the Gods he knew he wanted that. “You… Don’t happen to know why he despises me so much, do you? I’ve never been able to figure out what I did to earn his anger.”

Tundra shrugged and replied “I really don’t know. I know he’s holding a grudge against you, but over what, I can’t say.” One of his hands reached to rub at his wrist, and Hanzo wondered if that action was just some sort of self soothing method for when he was nervous. “I may be his ‘brother’, but he rarely talks to me about what’s going on in his head.”

The tone Tundra used on the word brother indicated that he may have had some doubts on their relation to one another. Hanzo opened his mouth to ask about it, when Tundra held a hand up to stop him.

“I don’t know why he calls me brother, either.” Tundra once more glanced around the room, as if he thought Bi-Han was about to show up behind him. “From what I understand, he appeared on the day I was born and demanded my parents hand me over to him. When raising me, he insisted he was my Elder Brother. I’ve just… Accepted it at this point.”

That was far more of Tundra’s backstory than he ever expected to get out of the man. And at this point he felt like asking more would be unfair. While he still had questions, he at the very least was sated for now. Maybe one day he’d know what was going on with Bi-Han and Tundra. One day he’d understand Bi-Han’s blind hatred for him.

But not today, I guess.

“We should probably come up with a plan to weed out the traitors,” Hanzo redirected the conversation, seeing how Tundra’s posture relaxed as he said it. He hadn’t noticed how tense he had been. “Although that is easier said than done, I suppose.”

“We need a list of suspects first,” Tundra suggested, although his mouth twitched a little afterwards. “Which at the moment is basically everyone except us.” He huffed, staring up at the ceiling. “And no idea where to start.”

The image of the letter came back into Hanzo’s mind.

“You still have the letter, right?” Hanzo asked, and Tundra raised an eyebrow, but pulled it out and passed it to Hanzo. As Hanzo opened it up and scanned it, he smirked when an idea came to him. “It’s handwritten.” He laughed, maybe it wasn’t going to be the easiest way, but it might narrow down the suspects a little. “If we can get samples of everyone’s handwriting, we can compare them to this.”

Tundra’s eyes lit up. “Oh! That’s brilliant!” He actually bounced on his tiptoes a little. “But where to get samples?” Almost as quickly as he’d asked that he snapped his fingers. “The mission archives! I have access to all the files and every member has written at least one report at some point.” Tundra actually clapped his hands a little in excitement. “Oh, for the first time in my life I thank Bi-Han’s obsessive need for a paper trail!”

Somehow, Tundra’s excitement was infectious, and Hanzo himself actually felt a little giddy at the fact they were about to basically play detective. Tundra reached forward, grabbing Hanzo’s hand as he began to pull on him, presumably guiding him to where the archives were kept. He squeezed the hand tight, not wanting to let go, hopeful that the pair of them would solve the case and save the day.

Blissfully unaware of omnipresent eyes watching their every move.

[lyndaris]

OC rambles:

Thinking about what Ophelia/Alec would be like as a companion in ESO.

About/Meet the Character:

“Alec, former agent of the Dominion. Supposedly a trusted Eye of the Queen as well, but that is just one of many rumors of that Mer…

Her appearance is unmistakable, being so short for a dunmer and the jagged scar that crosses her left cheek to the bridge of her nose. Those golden yellow eyes as sharp as her daggers… not to mention her gothic style of armor and that war paint. Does she ever wear any color?

Never mind, that’s not important. Anyways, she has said she’s an Ashlander of Vvardenfell but the natives claim to not know anything or refuse to speak to any outsiders in general. Some revere her, they call her a hero of the Ashlands. Most dark elves of the Houses despise her, even uttering her name will get you kicked out of a building. Or a city. Especially around the Tribunal temples.

There is little known about her, most is speculation or rumors. Some even dramatic as calling her a secret demiprince to the Prince Boethiah..! What we do know is she’s not an approachable person. Do not engage with her, don’t even look at her wrong or she might just slit your throat. I heard she’s been wanted for a number of crimes, mass murder. Arson. Defiling Shrines and Temples…

…potential criminal records aside. She is mostly known for being an antisocial mercenary these days. Who is very picky about the jobs she accepts so. Have fun and don’t turn your back on her. Might be your last mistake..!”

Character quest line:

Alec needs help in making peace with her past, which involves seeking out knowledge of the Good Daedra. Specifically, Boethiah. The Prince her parents worshiped. As well as shutting down the rumor of being a demiprince.

As she travels around and grows close with a companion, they have to visit places in Vvardenfell to learn and understand the Good Daedra and their followers.

Finally facing the Prince of Plots to shut down the famous rumor and she can also confront the Prince as she blames them for the loss of her parents. A bittersweet ending where Alec has lived up to the Prince of Plots teachings, a living legacy of her parents, learning they are at peace and reside in the Prince’s realm after their glorious deaths in battle.

Racial Skill: Decreases ability cooldown 3% and increases damage done by 3%.

Companion Perk: Alec’s Sight - See through the shadows and expose an invisible enemy so they can’t hide/escape. Enemies exposed cannot go invisible again for 10 seconds.

Default gear: medium armor and daggers,

Style: Ancient Daedric

Default mount: Midnight Steed, named “Shadow”

Rapport Status:

Positives

Cordial: Alec tolerates you.

Friendly: Alec thinks you’re a competent companion.

Close: Alec is glad you two met.

Allied: Alec would rather travel with you than alone.

Companion: Alec trusts you, one of few she can count on.

Negatives:

Wary: Alec is unsure about you.

Irritated: Alec wonders why she still bothers working with you.

Disdain: Alec wishes she never met you.

Negative rapport:

-25, taking her near the Tribunal or their Temples:

• “Really? You take an ashlander near a false god/Tribunal temple?”

• “next time, leave me out of Tribunal business.“

• “I question your decision to speak with that false god…”

• “I will defile their shrine/altar, I hope you know that.”

-5 - 10, intimidating merchants to pay gold / stealing kid’s toys / wearing Ordinator/Hand of Almalexia costumes:

• “why don’t you get your gold from a bandit, or a cultist instead?”

• “Merchants are making a living too, y’know.”

• “do you feel real tough? Threatening a civilian for a few gold?”

- “how heartless are you to steal from children?”

- “so you’re that kind of thief, huh?”

- “there are better things to steal…”

+ “I should kill you for wearing that around me.”

+ “this some kind of sick joke to you?”

+ “you are aware my people get killed by those House/Tribunal dogs, right?”

-1, getting a bounty/paying a guard, traveling to Coldharbour:

• “this is what happens when you get caught.”

• “you might as well have announced that you’re committing a crime.”

• “next time, watch for guards/witnesses.”

“Ugh, why are we here?”

“I hated it the first time I was here...”

“I should just leave you alone here.”

Positive Rapport:

+25 - 125, going near shrines to the Good Daedra, speaking to Azura & Mephala:

• “I may not pray to the Good Daedra, but I always pay my respects at their shrines.”

• “Do not believe all Daedra are evil, some view them as teachers. Like myself.”

• “Give me a moment, yeah? I want to think of my family while we’re here.”

- “Lady Azura, and all her beautiful glory actually spoke to us. May the Mother of the Rose guide us.”

- “My mother loved Lady Azura, as much as she prayed to Lord Boethiah…”

- “The Lady of Twilight among us…Do you feel overwhelmed? No? Just me? Huh.”

+ “Lady Mephala… bless us with shadows.”

+ “Do you feel like murdering someone in her name? Maybe we could gain her favor…”

+ “Did you mention me to her? Give a good word? Please tell me you didn’t embarrass us-“

+5 - 10, crafting dunmeri/ashlander foods & drinks, visiting Vvardenfell tribe camps, completing Ashlander dailies:

- “reminds me of what my mother used to make…”

- “we going to eat/drink that… or?”

- “if you need someone to sample that, I’m more than willing to.. give feedback.”

• “would you mind if we stay a few minutes? I just… want to imagine what it’s like having a tribe again.”

• “I wish I still had my tribe… exiled or not, they were my family.”

• “being a Clanfriend is bittersweet, getting to visit the tribes camps but never having my own to return to.”

+ “I appreciate you helping my people. Truly.”

+ “Even if it doesn’t mean something to you, it means something to me that you’re helping these Ashlanders. Thank you.”

+ “You’re proving to be a good Clanfriend. Maybe we can make a difference here together.”

Greetings:

Cordial, Friendly- “hm?” “Yeah?” “What do you need?”

Close, Allied, Companion- “Problem, Sera?” “Change of plans?” “You have my attention.” “Feeling chatty?”

Wary, Disdain- “what?” “Yes, s’wit?” “What now?” “Unless it’s getting us paid, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tell me something about yourself.”:

• “Vvardenfell is my homeland, no matter how many locals claim me to be an outsider… I still visit the tribes camps when I can.”

• “Daggers are my preferred choice of weapons, but I have spent time learning to wield other weapons too. Expand my knowledge and skills, train myself to be better.”

• “I lost my parents to Tribunal fanatics, and when I demanded justice I got turned away. Those false gods only care about themselves, their false godhood. I want nothing to do with them or their people.”

• “I pray to no divine or Daedric Prince. I have no connections to anyone, anywhere. I prefer to stay neutral, I hate picking sides.”

• “Murder, assassination, deceit, lies… all a part of me. What my parents and mentor taught me. I don’t care if you decide to stick a dagger into someone because you feel like it. Just don’t get caught.”

• “I admit, I proudly worked for Queen Ayrenn and her Dominion… when I was exiled from Vvardenfell and ended up in Auridon, Her Grace took a gamble with me. She didn’t have to trust an outlander, but she did. I owed her a debt.”

• “I don’t like alcoholic beverages, feeling drunk has never been a good experience for me. Feeling out of control… if you need a drinking buddy, ask someone else.”

• “Not that I assume you have heard the nonsense, but in case you have… No, I am not a demiprince. I am mortal, just like you. The tale spoken of me is greatly exaggerated and false.”

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #90

I'm not really sure what to write to you about today. I think I might have overextended myself in recent days, and once more I'm finding that my brain feels like soup. The sense of not really belonging in this place is hitting me kinda hard today, I guess. Suppose you would know a lot about what that's like.

Truth is, I struggle often enough with the way I perceive the world around me. I do it weirdly (much like how I do literally everything else... sigh...). I'm not gonna bother to articulate how, though; I doubt you'd be interested anyway. Fact remains that there ain't a whole lot of folks I can talk to about it; even if I could, most wouldn't understand, so why bother. Suppose it is what it is though; no sense in bellyaching. I just wish that it was a thing that could be measured, recorded, corroborated. Something that could be rationalized, explained, made logical. My mind tends to despise uncertainties; it likes everything to be concretized and nailed down.

…Ah well.

Like yesterday, today was busy, and also painful, thanks to Physical Therapy. There's weird stuff going on with the right side of my jaw, and the muscles holding it together needed to be mashed up with metal implements. I guess I'm gonna need braces sooner rather than later, because I really needed braces as a kid, but I didn't get 'em, and now my bite is all messed up, which means now my jaw is all messed up, and having the jaw messed up pulls on the neck, which then pulls on the ribs, and my ribs being weird is why I've been dealing with limited ability to use my right arm for the last almost two years to begin with, but I hesitate to get it fixed because braces cost a LOT of money, and I think most insurances won't cover the cost of it this late in life, so… it's a mess.

My whole existence is kind of a mess in a variety of respects, and… ya know. Sometimes I'm not sure why I bother persisting when all of it seems kind of like a farce; I live in a defective body on a dying planet where everyone is so traumatized that lots of 'em believe that killing each other is the answer to all their problems. Sometimes I just... don't wanna. Waking up in the morning in a world where there is no ethical way to maintain the integrity of my physical vessel seems like a chore.

…But then I remember that there are people who like having me around, even if I can't understand why most of the time. So I gotta believe that something good might come of my derping around on this mossy wet rock hurtling through space, even if I don't yet know what it is.

You ever get the feeling like there's something you're supposed to be doing, but you have no idea what it is, and you're running out of time? Feels like that almost constantly for me. If you know what that's like and know how to deal with it, lemme know, willya? I could use some pointers.

In the meantime… there's some stuff I've been meaning to learn how to do. I'm not gonna tell you what it is just yet, because it would ruin the surprise. But I hope the results will be good, if I can stop being intimidated long enough to get the gumption.

Anyway… Sephiroth. My brain continues to be soup. I think if I keep going, I'm just gonna keep rambling. I'm tired, but… I wanted to write anyway, because you're worth others' effort, even when they're feeling weird. But it's time to stop for today, because I'm having trouble staying on topic and stringing cohesive ideas together.

Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't wanna endure your absence, just like the folks who love me don't wanna endure mine. So let's both keep trying our best to keep our chins up and our eyes on the horizon, okay?

I'll leave you with this today:

I know you're not a little girl, so maybe you can think "little one" instead. Please take the overall message to heart. Please do your best to remain kind and gentle, no matter what tries to come along and break you.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[pokenoire]

What are some of your favorite episodes from the Pokémon series? Like from OS, JN, XY, etc.

Also do you play any of the Pokemon games? Or have? Or do you just watch the anime? : )

I was going to post it yesterday but I got very sleepy and the text was getting huge.

Well, let's take it one step at a time. My favorite XY is definitely 053 A Race for a Home. This episode has enormous importance for my emotional and personal life, it changed absolutely everything about me at the time of XY, Serena was already a favorite but this episode only consolidated my Kinnie even more.

OS - I can't really decide on favorites but I would definitely say the original Kanto trio, This saga was part of my childhood, so much so that's why I SIMPLY DEFEND IT WITH TOOTH AND NAILS. Wow it's just surreal how I can watch the original Kanto trio as many times as I can and still love them every time I rewatch each one. How much I admire the characters of Kanto-Jotho and Shudo's writing is some of the best in the show, I always say this but personally no one has written Pokemon like Shudo with such depth and such a world which I engaged so much, Of course it has its general flaws... but the world of Pokémon and humans was so palpable, so real, you could find ordinary people doing absurd things and still be the character of the day. They could be the vigilantes and help someone at the end of the day but not everyone had redemption or a reason behind it. I praise Shudo a lot for his writing 🥰

That said, if there wasn't Lucario movie 08, due to its themes, M01 would definitely take that podium.

We're not talking about the movies but I watched and repeated M03 on my old laptop like crazy on loop

Gotcha cath ya later definitely made me cry and still does for the farewell of the original trio, seeing them again in Alola and Mezase Pokemon Master was spectacular 🧡💚❤️ I MISSED THESE THREE TOGETHER SO MUCH

I Choose You marked my childhood a lot. I recorded and told all the references to this episode in Journeys while watching Journeys. It's simply special.

I can hear Rica San and Fábio Lucindo voice's when Ash saves Pikachu and Pikachu responds to this

Goodbye Pikachu THIS ONE MAKES ME TEARS TO THIS DAY, even though I know he's coming back, it still hits me SO DEEP.

I DESPISE THE MOVIE 20 sorry but even Masuda agreed (this movie totally disrespects my childhood)

LOL I SPENT A WHOLE THREAD PRAISING KANTO

I like the construction of Jotho I found out that people hate/don't likeJotho I was shocked 🤡💀

Well I like Charizard and Bayleaff despite the obvious jealousy towards Pikachu it never irritated me...One of the most important things about Jotho is that Ash trains his Pokemon in an unconventional way for the first time.

I have a whole blog about why Scraggy is my favorite BW Pokémon and this is one of my favorite ones:

https://www.tumblr.com/pokenoire/767063768884707328/i-will-never-understand-the-comparisons-between?source=share

Now we start with the peak: Diamond and Pearl

This saga is so complete, it has almost no flaws, it has exactly everything that I also love, the characters are captivating, the plot knew where it was working, and despite Torterra's arcs it will be my favorite starter despite people clearly having a fondness for infernape, i should really make a thread about how they had to be a dynamic duo

All Pokemon are captivating, they all have their screen space, they have their training spread throughout the complex plot that serves them.

Ash and Dawn have a group and duo dynamic that simply makes it clear how they are each other's co-progenitors.

TEARS OF CHINCHAR is another episode that brings rivers of tears

IRIS IS THE BEST OF BW AND HER HATERS CAN EXPLODE, I'm not a fan of Cillan unlike most, I don't hate him I just don't find him very interesting and neither do the episodes focused on him)

Hoeen - I have the same problem with OS, I can't decide on just one favorite episode, I love every part and character of this show with all my heart. However, I can say that it took me a month to rewatch Togetic's farewell. This broke my heart again, I like the conversation Max has with Misty in the battle frontier about siblings...I have nothing against Max, he's not bad as a character and people exaggerate because he's a kid. I like Torkal, no matter who says bad things about him, I think Pokemon with personality is wonderful.

Idk about SM I definitely get the whole Nebby arc, it's the first time I've JUST BEEN shocked by the deep relationship between Pokemon and legendary trainer after movie one and the special that absolutely no one saw it [this is hyperbole] (i was confused when people didn't know mewtho returns).

Anyway, I'll try to talk less lol, Journeys I love all the Goh episodes, I even rewatched some of the episodes I hate the most (Arceus and Sinnoh specials) just to remember Chloé/Koharu's development, I care about all the characters and don't want to go too far against their characterization in their specific series. Who knows when I'll need to defend Chloé lmao.

--

Answering your question yes I played emulated Pokemon on my PC in 2010, my cousin in particular is a genrwunner i'm not kidding lol so i made sure to learn how to play

Even though I love Kanto games I prefer GBC (Game by color) to Fire Red and Leaf Green

Even though I love generation 3 in the anime I HATE RSE GAMES SORRY HOEEN FANS.

Well my favorite region is Sinnoh in games, and my favorite games are BW and BW2

I finished the GSC - GBC but never did the HGSS Battle Frontier, only the Emerald one, ironically enough.

✨ One of my favorite things is that Pokemon Yellow was released in English in 1999, my birth year.

I have a game of Inazuma Eleven o 1 European It's funny how I got an NDS game of Ina11 before I got a Pokemon game

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

A Day in a Life

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF279 warm hands, thank you so much, this an alternate universe with sprinkled “Crows of Remembrance” spoilers (but not really). If you are reading this, please tread carefully like always. (For @ynxnyx this is not quite what you asked before but I am still on it.)

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Characters: Yukiya (Kitayama), an original character, mention of the Great Tengu

Words: 991

—

Summer, the 59th year of the Shōwa Era, Northern Territory, Yamauchi

It was already dusk when Yukiya, 10 years old, woke up.

Did he miss a full day? Was it all a dream when he met a beautiful boy in the woods after he and Yukichi got lost? Or was it a large raven, the largest he had ever seen? The strange boy’s hands were cold, but Yukiya felt the warm protective current surged through his body as soon as those fingers touched his face telling him everything would be all right. It was odd, as if this boy knew who he was. Yukiya did not know him, that was for sure, and yet he knew in his heart that this boy was kind, gentle, and he felt safe around him.

The moment Yukiya asked him to save them, the fear was gone. He did not know what happened next.

In the coming days, the memories of the boy, the large raven, and the strange meeting vanished from his mind.

2005, the Outside World

Music blasted from the loudspeakers. Bottles of European wine strewn on the table and on the carpet. The apartment, an extravagant loft in the middle of Tokyo, was more than modest that could accommodate a family of three. Instead, its owner, a certain Taigen Itoh, a 47-year-old bachelor and a supervisor from an international company lived there alone. He was celebrating the recruitment of Yukiya Kitayama in his department. Taken by his new younger colleague’s charisma, Taigen thought Yukiya’s strategy on management and leadership was impressive. He watched him intently for days now that when he had the opportunity to invite him at his home, he leaped in happiness after Yukiya said yes.

“It is not a big deal,” Yukiya assured him.

Recalling the Great Tengu’s advice that networking with the human beings was important, Yukiya dragged his feet to the loft.

The everyday after-work hours were unnerving, most of all they drained Yukiya’s heart. This charade was something he despised in Yamauchi where he had the habit of presenting the nobility a smile that did not even reach his eyes.

But in order to make the mission a success, it was detrimental that he had to endure for the sake of Yamauchi’s survival.

Learning the language was not particularly difficult. He found himself capable of interacting with the humans. It was not always easy, but he was coping. The hardest part was the moments when he missed his master, his friends, his mother, and brothers, even his hometown. There was no love lost between him and Yukimasa after the latter realised the deceptive act he played for many years. There was embarrassment there, a hint of betrayal too.

I don’t care what he thinks anymore.

Taigen loved to play music on his beautiful sound system. He showed Yukiya his collection. He was particularly proud of his Bruce Springsteen records that he bought.

“I saw him in ’97. He wowed the audience when he performed here for four days.”

“And you saw him in all those days?” Yukiya crossed his legs and spread his arms on the black leather couch making himself more comfortable.

Taigen giggled, feeling awkward. The blush on his cheeks highlighted the two dimples that appeared. It was charming.

“Y-yeshhh…”

The music was not at all bad. Not his type, but Yukiya found kinship surprisingly to one song after his colleague noticed that he could not stop listening to it.

It is alright… it is alright…it is alright, yeah. *

A warm hand snaked its way to his neck, then softly touched his face. The first instinct was to swat it away and leave the room, but Yukiya did not do any of those things. Instead, he found himself succumbing to it.

How lonely he must have felt.

“I am sorry.” Taigen got up, glanced at Yukiya whilst slowly gauging his reaction. He put another record after the last song played on “The Rising.”

You sit there in your heartache / Waiting on some beautiful boy to / To save you from your old ways / You play forgiveness / Watch it now, here he comes… **

When his supervisor sat next to Yukiya again, he found himself opening. This was not something he did not have any idea about. He was not a young child anymore. He knew where this would lead.

A pair of lips touched his own, but he did not recoil nor kiss back.

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus / But he talks like a gentleman / Like you imagined when you were young… **

When he decided to place his hand on Taigen’s shoulder, the latter looked him in the eye.

“Jeez, Yukiya, I think I’ll pass out.”

Just like that, his host began to snore. Yukiya was not even tipsy. You could not even be called a Northerner in Yamauchi, a region famous for its sake and warriors, if you were not able to hold your liquor.

Taigen’s flat was not so far away from where he was staying that he opted to walk to clear his head. Besides, the metro’s last trip was an hour ago. He was not in the mood to call a taxi.

The music stopped playing but the lyrics stayed on his head.

And sometimes you close your eyes And see the place where you used to live / When you were young…**

As soon as he got up, his boss occupied now the couch sleeping like a foetus. He searched for the off button and pressed it down, switched off the remaining lights and then closed the door behind him.

Half a kilometre more until he reached his apartment. The scarce lamp posts illuminated his pathway.

It began to drizzle. The gentle drops of rain caressed his cheeks, cold, refreshing in summer nights.

It is all right. Tomorrow is another day.

~ fin ~

—

* Lyrics taken from “Lonesome Day” by Bruce Springsteen

** Texts taken from The Killers’ song, “When You Were Young”

These songs appeared on the year or earlier when Yukiya went to the Outside World, i.e in Tokyo, Japan.

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 21: refinement & 22: fragile

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 21: refinement & 22: fragile

In which Iriel interacts with two Khajiiti women, who are both filled with skooma, but for very different reasons.

“Hold the fucking retort steady, you’re going to destabilise the solution!”

People tell me this section reminds them of Breaking Bad. For the record, I have never watched Breaking Bad. This chapter is based purely on my experience of school chemistry lessons, and people being total dicks to each other.

Iriel grabbed the vessel out of Tsiya’s unsafe claws.

The unsafest of all possible unsafe hands. When I called chapter 15 "claws", the scary-sounding title was undercut by all the physical claws Iriel encounters in the chapter offering sympathy and kindness. Having safe or unsafe hands is not about whether or not you have literal blades attached to them! Tsiya's claws are not what makes her unsafe, but she does also very much have deadly knife-hands.

“Tsiya doesn’t know what she’s fucking talking about!”

Iriel is fun to write when he's completely run out of fucks to give. When he's stopped trying to sheathe his own claws, for other people's benefit.

Still, no matter how many insults they hurled at each other during the day, they always had the drug to bond over every night before they passed out. 

We're about a week and a half on from when Ire got expelled, during which time he has embraced (OK, re-embraced) a life of drugs and crime. I made a timeline, later, and this part fell in mid-Frostfall, meaning Iriel has his 24th birthday about now, not that he registers it. Every night is skooma party night, at Tsiya's.

“Tsiya supposes that Iriel will go over to South Wall again this evening.”

At least Iriel is managing some kind of social life, now? Hanging out with the Balmora thieves, now he's got less to lose by risking it.

“It’s your own fault they don’t speak to you. And no, I won’t talk to Habasi again. It won’t work, and mentioning your name makes her tail start thrashing.”

Whatever Tsiya did to the Guild, it's still unforgivable, even by thief standards. Asking Iriel to talk to Habasi must have cost Tsiya her last shred of pride, and it didn't even make anything better. She's worse off, in fact, because now Iriel's seen her abject herself, he knows how much she's despised by someone who used to care for her. So don't be too hard on Tsiya. Remember Rat Park? She's been trapped, alone, in the bare metal cage with the drugs, for a very long time.

Iriel is perfectly happy to be hard on Tsiya. He ought to have more sympathy, given his history, but of course, it's the opposite. He almost seems to be enjoying the freedom of having someone he's allowed to be mean to, because she so clearly deserves it. After all, she's just like him! It's a nasty habit, to always be looking for people you're allowed to be mean to. And doing it out of reflected self hatred doesn't make it any better for the people you're doing it to. But this one of Iriel's worse traits: he likes to have a valid target. He gets it from his mother.

On to the Bitter Coast.

A Dwemer tube. Of course it would be a fucking Dwemer tube.

This is Habasi's third quest, but the first two are basic thefts within Balmora, and simple enough for Ire, so we skip over them. And yes, the timing of this particular theft was ironic, given his previous Mages' Guild quest. Turns out, Dwemer tubes pop up all over!

he slid the stolen artifact out of his shirtsleeve

On reflection, this raises difficult questions about where Iriel concealed the Dwemer bowl and goblet on his toast-rack of a person, but let's just move on.

“Useless s'wit! How am I supposed to get the blighted slave to Balmora then?

This is one of the most horrific and sad quests in Morrowind. Even if you complete it by saving Rabinna, the picture it paints of how slaves are treated by the Dunmer is unflinchingly bleak. This game pulls no punches in its portrayal of slavery, and it shouldn't.

The Khajiiti slave was tiny and poorly clothed, [...] and her fur felt thin and greasy over her bony ribs. She never complained - indeed, she spoke only to confirm her name: Rabinna.

Unless you can get her disposition to 50, Rabinna will be too frightened to ask you to help her, too scared even to talk to you at all. Iriel's principle reaction to this? Relief he doesn't have to try and make small talk. For fuck's sake, Ire.

Perhaps you should try to, you know, free her or something?

Is it worse, that it does occur to him that he ought to do something, but immediately talks himself out of it? Yes, yes it is.

These apathetic, self-absorbed thoughts came to haunt Iriel for a long time afterwards.

As well they should, because he's being a complete shit.

Vorar Helas lived east of the river, so they had to cross a bridge. Hearing her stumble, Ire turned just in time to catch Rabinna as she almost fell into the water. Touching her, he found she was trembling uncontrollably. “It’s all right,” he said, in what he hoped were encouraging tones. “We’re almost there.” She stared at him in wordless desperation and terror, but followed him to the other side.

I really did take every opportunity to make this worse, and I still didn't do justice to how fucking awful it is. In other circumstances, it might be funny that even when Iriel's trying to "be nice", he's only traumatising her further, but nothing about this is funny.

Ire hunched near the door, hands in his pockets. “I was told you’d pay me in moon sugar,” he said. “Ten units.” ugh this place smells like something fucking died in here, i hope sottilde’s on bar tonight she’s not going to believe the shit i have to put up with…

Ironically, it might be Iriel's authentic air of callous indifference that saves Rabinna, since that's what lets Helas assume it's fine to go ahead and stab her right in front of him.

While we're here, what the fuck is a "unit"? Clearly, I should have thought of something less obviously "I am stacking these items in my Videogame Inventory". But even now, I cannot remember what weights and measures are canon in Morrowind. @sunderlorn would know - actually, @sunderlorn would have headcanoned multiple competing systems of measurement, depending on whether the trader was Imperialised, an Ashlander, an alchemist, a Camonna Tong smuggler, etc etc. Alas, I am not @sunderlorn, and we get this sort of abject hackery. "Units". Fuck's sakes.

Pure horror flooded into him, but then the adrenaline hit. He hurled a Paralyze spell at Helas, who, taken by surprise, had no chance to resist. By the time it wore off, Iriel had cast enough frost spells to drop him lifeless to the floor. Next to Rabinna.

So, when I played it, I went into the climax of this quest completely terrified. Because I knew what would happen, but I was determined to follow Iriel's current point of view, and he hadn't got a word out of Rabinna, didn't see a strong enough reason not to deliver her to Helas. I knew he'd react to him stabbing her, but I had no idea if she'd live. She couldn't have much HP, what if she died in one hit? While I generally have a narrative plan, and often feel free to ignore gameplay and make things up, when it comes to critical life-or-death moments, I like to let the game decide. If she died, she died: that would be the story, and I'd just have to clear up the mess that would leave in Ire's psyche.

She made a faint gasp, and Ire dropped to his knees. In blind panic, he began casting healing spells, anything his meagre skill in Restoration could drag from his fingers.

IT WAS REAL CLOSE.

Only one in five succeeded, but he kept going anyway, forcing vitality into her frail body in weak, irregular jolts. Wrenching her soul back from the brink, inch by agonising inch, as she whimpered and twitched. He knew he did it far more for himself than for her, and it felt almost as violent an act as the stabbing she had already suffered.

In First Aid, I learned that CPR is messy, violent, exhausting, breaks people's ribs, causes organ damage, and barely ever works to actually save anyone's life. We still do it, because the 5% of people it does save make it all worth it. But it's an unpleasant business.

“Khenarthi… Khenarthi…” He leaned to catch her whispered words, cradling her head in his lap. “Rabinna… feels your holy breath, Khenarthi. Lift her… lift Rabinna, and fly her to the Sands Behind the Stars…”

Another thing first aid training does: it ruins you for death scenes. Someone will be splayed on the floor, gasping out a final monologue, their lover tearfully cradling their head in their lap, and I'll be there screaming at the screen: DO something, he's clearly still breathing! Apply compression to the wound!! Why are you not doing CPR?! Yes, I know she whispered something moving, and closed her eyes prettily, but you need to check her airway, she's not dead YET, but she WILL BE!!! Drama is anathema to proper first aid procedure.

Rabinna is praying to the Khajiiti version of Kynareth, who plays the role of a psychopomp, taking souls to heaven.

“No,” Ire pleaded with her. “No, not yet. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He repeated it over and over, each time less sure which action he was apologising for most.

Sometimes, I think I should have had Iriel fail to save Rabinna, being incapable of healing her. It would form a better contrast to his later successful healing of Julan, near the end of the fic. But perhaps this chapter is bleak enough, and it's not like Iriel needs the angst. At this point, his guilt was going to be critical-mass, regardless of whether she lived or died. And he deserves that, but what's actually going to matter is what he does with it. Guilt is useless on its own, if all it does is make you feel bad and hate yourself, but carry on acting in exactly the same shitty ways.

I have a lot of sympathy for how things like addiction and mental illness put people into psychological survival mode, where it's incredibly difficult to see far enough past your own immediate needs and suffering to care about other people's. I never wanted Iriel to be completely unsympathetic, but here, he totally fails at basic moral responsibility to others. There were things he was capable of doing, he recognised that fact, and then failed to even try to do those things until it was almost too late. He's been selfish and awful, and he knows it.

Knows it... because a helpless slave being stabbed in front of him is impossible to miss. He should get no credit for moral enlightenment, here. What about when the bar isn't on the floor, has Iriel learned to watch out for the needs and suffering of other people, maybe people who aren't obviously way more vulnerable than him?

So much of Iriel's character development, and the fic in general, ended up being about this, about caring for people, and what that means. Obviously it gets tangled up with his issues around giving and receiving love, but it's not a romantic theme at its core. It's about the terrifying fragility of life, and the depths of pain that exist within the people around us, all the time. And how hard it is not to look away from it, because if you see it, then you might have to do something, but what? What can any of us do about pain, when we're so weak and stupid and full of pain ourselves? How can you heal anyone when you're made out of knives?

next: 23: fix previous: 17: VCDRKAA & 18: language & 19: knowledge & 20: again

[owmylasagna-blog]

EDDY 1, 2, 3, 7, 8 (that's so many you don't have to answer all of them lol)

Heyyyy I’m happy to have a reason to talk about my boy!

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

I’ve come to appreciate Eddy so much! He reminds me of fire signs in my life: driven, passionate, not in total control of their emotions but they’ll tell it to you like it is, outgoing and adventurous! I like his dry humour in the earlier seasons and screwball antics in the later. I find his lines and Tony’s delivery of them to be soooo funny. I like his character design a lot, honestly it’s the most unique and interesting of the three eds. I like that he’s into retro fashion and music and movies.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

He’s the engine that runs the eene machine!! I think it’s really admirable that Eddy does everything for The Boys. It’s easy to see Eddy’s intentions as solely selfish and sometimes he is incredibly selfish but often he’s in it for the cash so he and his friends make out good at the end of the day. The guy wants them all to be accepted and not bullied or excluded. He’s just… been give the wrong instructions 👀

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

I like the bad things Eddy does (from a character perspective).

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

Making him very fruity and gaaaay. But in a nuanced way! I mean, I’d say a majority of us are also queer so it’s easy to imagine and sympathize with this aspect of his character. Folks write his identity journey following BPS in such rich ways, let him be himself with room for growth and the ability to unlearn harmful thinking. Yeah!

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Make him skinny. I sound like a fucking broken record but it’s never not true. I’ve seen some takes where fans envision him as a deadbeat right wing or libertarian hack or pyramid schemer or whatever when he’s older and I don’t personally care for that. Luckily both of these things are kinda old news 😉

[barfok]

Pls can we hear more about amun-shae and mordrin hanin the mehrunes dagon cultist ruining sotha sil's life? I always thought it was tragic we don't hear more about Almalexia's mother and her mortal upbringing considering she's literally a queen and part of a great goose like surely there'd be more historical records about her family and stuff

a great goose... amun-shae the poultry queen

amun-shae's a bit of a funny character for me because so much of her life is defined by the nordic occupation-- she was the ruler during the invasion, and "murdered" (allegedly) during the latter period of the occupation. so when someone goes 'tell me about amun-shae' my impulse is to start rattling off a list of major tragedies she lived through. husband killed by mem-yet chemua during the invasion, lived most her life as a puppet queen to the nords, was forced to flee mournhold during a reactionary backlash following the murder of a nord, accidentally had a bastard daughter to the man sheltering her during exile. died ignominiously of mysterious causes. but i feel like this also kinda does a disservice to her, so!

amun-shae was a prolific traveler in her youth-- she was the only daughter of the queen and heir to the throne, but back in those days it was a chimeri noble tradition to go cause trouble in mournhold as a youth, so she got to meet all the youngest and most bored nobles in the land and they went on a lot of stupid trips. she was good friends with both kronin ra'athim and thalthil dres and even had some encounters with mordrin hanin when hanin was likewise a young troublemaker.

during her adventures she fell in love with the son of the matriarch of one of the indoril clans, who were at that time busy schisming from the mournhold royal lineage to become Great House Indoril due to a massive fallout between amun-shae's incompetent mother and the overly ambitious aforementioned indoril matriarch. her and lexival aran's romance became a convenient way to reunite the new House Indoril and the disgraced mournim line, so amun-shae returned to mournhold and married lexival, then accepted her mother's abdication and assumed the throne herself.

as a person she was very serious, but definitely not without a humorous side-- strangers tended to be intimidated by her until they realised she had a very deadpan sense of humour, after which they'd find her hilarious. she also had a deathly serious sense of duty, which almalexia inherited-- she was very focused about doing "what's right for people" and saw virtue in sacrifice, to the point of having a bit of a martyr complex, if martyrs never received the relief of a glorious death and instead were forced to endure a horrible reality for centuries

the invasion and occupation changed her however. as i mentioned, lexival was murdered (gruesomely, publicly and spectacularly) by mem-yet chemua, and this prompted amun-shae to surrender mournhold in exchange for retaining her throne. living under occupation made her deeply paranoid and suspicious, which are also traits almalexia had drilled into her from early childhood. she remained a very good leader with a maniacal sense of duty to her city, and spent most of her rule playing the looooong game of earning the nords' trust to set up mournhold as a potential base from which a rebellion could eventually launch. so, nerevar has a lot to thank amun-shae for.

to finish off about almalexia's childhood and why we don't know anything about her backstory... i used to hate that (still do) but i've come to begrudgingly accept that annihilating any trace of her mortal existence is very in character for almalexia. almalexia despises the fact that she was ever mortal, it makes sense to me that she'd eradicate any evidence that she was once a little girl in a big castle with a haunted mother and a lot of scary men who wanted to hurt her. that is the last thing she wants anyone to know.

not that she didn't honour her mother in her own way. she's still a chimer, after all.

i feel like this is way too long to also get into mordrin fucking hanin (he is his own essay unfortunately) but. hey. there's way more amun-shae lore than you probably wanted. i've covered like 40% of her life. enjoy