#he doesn't think of letting link do the work for him until the exact single moment where he's about to pursue zelda and impa

[rawliverandgoronspice]

tbh oot ganondorf's stupid ass clothes are to me yet another argument in my grand thesis that he's basically just having the worst manic episode of his life with zero concrete plan to follow through with anything

[according2thelore]

Love potion no. 9

1, 3, 4, 9(haha), and 11

Literally the 1st fic that introduced me to yall and probably my favorite!(though you have so many good ones, especially when combined with the art🤌🤌)

hi!! :) EEP thank you so much, i'm so glad you like it! i agree--charlotte's art immediately elevates anything it's accompanying into an S-tier item

here's the link to love potion no. 9 on ao3! (quick recap: it's the love potion one, lol)

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

i LOVE love potion fics, especially subversive love potion fics where they don't work how they're supposed to, or work in opposite ways. love potion fic (not sex pollen fics (which are also v fun but mostly don't deal w the icky gross guilty emotions of being in love w someone)) are pretty rare generally, but oooooh i eat them up when i find them.

in this case, i chose dean because a sam who found out he was bewitched would probably avoid dean as much as possible as to not make dean uncomfortable, and i think sam would have the most guilt about taking away/infringing upon someone else's autonomy/true wants. and i loveeee writing angsting winchester narration. it's delicious 2 me.

i also wanted it to feel kinda rom-commy? third act conflict, miscommunication, and all.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

It’s exactly what he had thought it would be, when he still let himself think about it. He had shared this man’s toothbrush, had shared his bed, had shared his clothes. This isn’t anything foreign, this is Dean. It's the rush of the Impala’s wheels underneath him, the adrenaline of a fight, the spark of Roman candles, the salt of sweat and tang of blood and the depthless, endless night.

this one, i think! i think i have some really solid lines in this fic, but this one makes my chest fuzzy. or this one (also solid!):

Dean’s eyes are soft, and his mouth is pulled into a hesitant smile. He looks exhausted, suddenly. He looks…In his pajamas and bare feet and toast crumbs on his shirt, Sam doesn’t think he’s ever loved anything more. Sam’s throat closes. This is so unfair. This is so fucked.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

“Well, you went on that huge rant about those kudzu-eating goats last month and invasive species blah blah blah. So wildflowers. Y’know.” Dean trails off, and looks at Sam over his shoulder as he wads the empty paper bag into a ball. “They’re wild.”

i don't know! i think this one is fun bc it kinda captures the dean i'm going for in this fic: very purposefully blasé. he cares but he can't let you know, until it all bubbles over. he listens to sam's dorky rants, but cannot tell him that outright lol--what if sam finds out he cares?? no shot.

bonus: i don't know which one to count this as (dialogue or narration), but i like this line because dean's trying to do the math on the acceptable brother-to-woman ratio for sam to have sex with him, which i thought was pretty funny

Dean had been coming around by then, muttering “S’mmy? ‘f there’re two of ‘em…would you do it then? ‘ow many—how many do I have to get?” as Sam hauled him to his feet.

9 (lol): Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

originally (to the surprise of no one, lol) this fic was longer! i had a couple of scenes included in the "montage" in the middle, about an early kiss (in which dean decides to go for it and sam thinks he just assaulted his brother), and a couple other i forget now! i am terrible about wanting to do every single idea a have for a fic, even when they don't fit as well.

i also was originally going to have the potion work the entire time, but it plays out the exact same. dean doesn't feel any more in love w sam than he already is, bc he is already in love with him, and thinks the potion didn't work. he does all the shenanigans anyway, bc like hey why the fuck not? but then it became tricky when it came to how sam finds out that this is genuine emotion from dean and not the potion actually working.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

i think it's fun! besides the end, it's mostly ridiculous and fluffy, and i think i got sam's brain pretty okay! which is not my usual forté. i like the balance it strikes between being fluffy (the flowers, the bar, etc.) and agonizing (sam's running narration abt this being real). i was genuinely shocked that this is one of my more popular fics, but i'm so glad it is! it makes me happy! :)

(send me one of my fics and i'll answer some questions!)

[commiemartyrshighschool]

When I was on the fence right before I took this job a seasoned older writer with a great voice said to me "you don't need a mentor, you need an editor."

The reason I was on the fence is because when I had just a couple technical questions before accepting the job offer the guy I had interviewed with and built a little rapport with responded by saying he had put in his two weeks notice, and that I should get in touch with the person taking over the role. His last day was also my first day.

That should've been ample warning.

Because not only did I not get a mentor (which as an early career journalist I'm now realizing I do in fact need!), I didn't get an editor either. After that meeting I've been in the same room as him five, maybe six times, almost always involving him either telling me a story about looking up his third grade teacher's skirt or telling me a young girl "deserved" a concussion for being at a Boy Scout camp.

And as much as I started dreading those conversations and found the handful of perfunctory zoom calls useless, I've been reduced to single line emails as a sole mode of communication. I know for a fact he will not read the second line of emails in most cases, because when he asks me for the information contained there-in and I copy and past the exact same line in reply it is the first time he has ever seen it.

If I insist on getting acknowledgement or approval of a story (he's furious when I pursue a topic without letting him know or if it changes focus away from his own bias, so I am reluctant to even lay groundwork for stories that might get canned) he'll get annoyed that I've sent so many emails.

Given how poorly we are communicating I looked into his twitter to find out a bit more about the guy, and apart from his obsession with prop comics who didn't even think their own work was that funny it's mainly his work moonlighting elsewhere that skirts conflict of interest and features shittily written op-eds espousing worse opinions, spreading anti-vax conspiracy theories, claiming that Patriot Front is a "Soros funded false flag," all leavened with a weird mixture of Anglophillia and thirsty replies to well muscled conservative men and male fetish models, on what was until recently a bluechecked account explicitly linking him to our publication

I could probably tolerate a handful of these things, particularly him telling dudes to take their shirts off, but it's crossed the line into repeated and dangerous disinformation spreading that I think reflects negatively on the publication.

He's done almost nothing to show me the ropes or teach me about the beat, in fact actively discourages me from developing a beat by rejecting any topic that's too "similar" to one recently covered at the start of the week and then assigning me coverage of something exactly the same by the end of it. When I do get introduced to anybody through him it's a persistent PR flack he's just tired of dealing with.

And you know what it's all made me paranoid. I totally AM reading too much into every email and overthinking them. But while my insane reads have turned out right on occasion the bigger issue is I'm worried I'm slowly losing my ability to interpret other people's messages.

I could kvetch about the rest of the company too, but I don't see the point. The department that makes money is the event planning portion of the business that massages local egos with awards ceremonies. I'm not sure why but people keep buying ads that go into a PDF only print newspaper as well too. A lot of that is just small biz/media bullshit, but it doesn't help that there's this nexus of dysfunction and fascism that's the majority of my dealings with my coworkers.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

you stress me.

HAPPY LOWMAN.

SOA. ┃ USEFUL LINKS.

❝ request by @mrsmarvelous1995: Hey Aurora, I would love you to death if you would write a random prompt nr. 7 with Happy for me 🥰. Pretty please 🥺 🙏

❝ request by @aimkatsz: Oh sorry I think I forgot to put the person haha. Could you do promot number 8 from the 'random prompts' list with Happy Lowman please and thank you 😅

❝ request by anon: Hola cariño! Can I please have from random prompt, 13 with Happy 😃? Gracias preciosa!

❝ prompts: “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” / “Please, stop getting shot, it stresses me out”. / “You’re a psychopath”. “I prefer creative”.

❝ words: about 700.

❝ a / n: don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it, i’d really appreciate it!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Take it easy, darling”.

As soon as you step out of your car, Chibs and Jax stop you to let you come inside the clubhouse. Saying that you're furious… isn't exact. It is not enough. You have been working for more than ten hours without having a damn break, and all you wanted was to go home and eat a bowl of Chinese noodles in the bathtub. But, no. Happy had other plans.

“Are you SURE I can't punch him in the face?”

The Sons look at each other with lips puckered, evaluating the situation. Maybe. Maybe he could be punched, but you just turn things worse. They finally nod their heads, although not very convinced.

“You should wait till tomorrow. What happens outside the club? We don't care”. Jax opines then, raising his hands from you and tilting his head to the side.

“Ye', take't ease', lass. He didn' wan's to call ye”.

“Of course, he didn't, you Scottish prick”. You grunt before passing them away, carrying the medical kit to heal your crazy husband.

Rubbing your forehead with your free hand, you roll your eyes when Tig welcomes you on the door. But one of your dangerous gazes is enough for him to not say anything, hearing in the background Happy complaining. As his orbs land on yours, he shuts up. You watch him licking his bottom lip, anxious to find any excuse to calm you down.

“Please, stop getting shot, I fucking beg you… It stresses me out”.

You roll your eyes when he pouts at you, trying to feel sorry for him. But you don't. He's an idiot. He has always been. He thinks he's immortal and that there's not a single person insane enough to mess with him. But again, he's wrong. In silence, you kneel near to him, placing the kit on the ground to open it. And you're not going to take care, you're going to punish him.

Grabbing a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect the open wound, when Juice puts his hand away with a cloth covered in blood, you squirt the cold liquid straight to it. Happy has to swallow a painful grunt, just to not give you the pleasure, stirring over the leather sofa. Wearing two gloves and holding the tweezers to spill some peroxide on them, you raise your eyes to your husband. He's about to cry for the first time in your relationship. Rolling them, you focus on the next task before he loses more blood.

Slowly, you slide the tweezers inside the wound, slightly opening it, until they touch the metal under his skin. Carefully, you separate both extremes to grip the bullet and pull your hand back from it. Happy doesn't utter a single sound, keeping his abdomen tensed and his gaze away from your fingers, while having another sip of whisky.

It takes you a little more time to stitch him up, being assisted by Chibs to clean as you use the surgical thread to close the small hole. But as soon as you can remove the gloves from your hands and the guys decide to give you some intimacy, you grab your husband's chin to force him to look at you whilst pointing at him with the other forefinger.

“Next time… I'll shoot you twice, you hear me?”

“You're a psychopath”. He breathes through his parted lips, really enjoying that you camouflage your worry and how scared you are behind a threat.

“I prefer creative like you usually say”. Heavily snorting, you sit on the edge of the sofa, leaning your head on his chest. “Just… fucking take care, Hap. It's not th—”.

“Sorry, love”. Your husband interrupts you, placing a weak arm over your back as you slide yours under his neck. “I wanted a little of your attention”.

“You… asshole”. You growl in soft giggles, raising your head looking for his tired eyes. “Don't. Do. That. Again. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear, love”.

“And stop calling me love. It's not gonna work this time, Lowman. I'm really angry”.

“Baby”.

Squinting at him, you can't help but hit his shoulder; regretting it the second his laughs turn into a painful complaint.

“You've earned it…”

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221

SOA: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @encounterthepast @aphroditeandheraweremarried @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @meteora-fc @arveeee @joupym @missswritings @hanster1998 @cubblycie @arana-alpha @kid-from-new-zealand @lucillewinchester @pedritomando @mariska0610 @telfordlowmans @tclaerh

[andromourir]

let me go, go, go

ao3 link

There were excuses. There were always excuses as to why the photos on his girlfriend’s walls weren’t of him, but someone else.

'It's for fashion, Luka, you know this- anyways here I've been working on something new-'

Or the:

'Oh did you see the new pictures I posted of us? They're really cute and I even printed some, oh where did they go, shoot-'

Or worse, when she saw him glancing at them and would just grow silent. The silence was always worse.

Luka was, to put it simply, tired.

He'd been tired for a while, actually. Minutes bled into hours that bled into days and he couldn't seem to tell the difference. His routine would continue on repeat, his body going through the motions until he found himself laying on his bed once again.

Occasionally, his eyes would drift towards his closet, hoodies thrown haphazardly across hangers or slowly making their way into a pile.

A pile Marinette left behind.

One that he still had yet to go through.

Their breakup wasn't particularly difficult, no shouting or crying (he doesn't think his breakdown after she left counts) and they were still technically friends.

Friends.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Luka sighed. He was still tired. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, and the ship needed a clean anyway. Grabbing his headphones out of his pocket, he shoved the chord into his phone and immediately shuffled through his newly-made break-up playlist (private of course).

"At least I got my hoodies back At least you still live in my head At least now he can make you laugh I miss your presence in my bed"

Great.

A song about the exact thing he had to through.

He stood up, joints sounding in protest as he made his way across the room. He stared at the pile for a few moments before deciding to grab everything out and lay it out on his bed. Almost methodically, Luka grabbed the hoodies one by one, hanging them up in no particular order as his mind wandered.

“Dress up pretty for those pictures but your smiles fake Took your pictures off my wall, heard you just did the same”

They used to take pictures on the dates they went on. Pictures of them at the ice rink, getting ice cream at Andre's, in front of movie theatres, Kitty Section band rehearsals. Looking back on it, it almost seemed like she was trying to prove a point. He had nothing to gain from pictures other than fond memories, but she would. She did. Picture after picture was posted on Instagram after, or even during, every single date. She had made sure to dress up for their dates even when there was no need to: they never went anywhere fancy.

Frowning, his head turned to where their pictures used to hang upon his wall, where they surround his guitar pick collection. The images were still burned into his mind even though the wall was bare. Were her smiles always strained, or was it more towards their split that she had to try?

“Said you love me but you lyin' What's it like to let me go?”

And let him go she did. For Adrien. Everything always led back to him - them getting together and for them growing apart. He had accepted since they met that he would never come first. He never really cared, either. Sure it was awkward when she accidentally called him “Adrien!” over the phone, or when he was in her room months after they got together. There were excuses. There were always excuses as to why the photos on his girlfriend’s walls weren’t him, but of someone else.

'It's for fashion, Luka, you know this- anyways here I've been working on something new-'

Or

'Oh did you see the new pictures I posted of us? They're really cute and I even printed some, oh where did they go, shoot-'

or worse, when she saw him glancing at them and would just grow silent. The silence was always worse.

“Now why, am I drivin' you home cryin'? Can't you see I'm tryin'? You just say it hurts And why, is it toxic to say I'm dyin'? Skydivin' without flyin' Without you by my side”

He loved her though. He loved her with every fibre of his being. Every second he got to be around her was just..pure joy. Emotions would well in his mind to a crescendo whenever she would speak, sometimes to where he couldn't even think. Now she was around less; the noise decreased in his head, but the hoodies in his closet increased tenfold.

He remembers the one-sided argument they got into when he dropped her off just last week. She had called him, quiet sobs coming across to him in static, and all he did was ask where she was. So there they were, her, clutching his jacket as they rode through the city in silence, her bare arms now covered with his hoodie that he always wore. Then they were in the park across from the bakery, her ranting and gradually shifting from sobs to angry rants until she was pointing at him, accusing him of not being supportive in her new relationship. He hadn't said a word, just stared at the skyline in silence until she had enough of taking her anger out on him, ripping his hoodie off her and tossing it at him before storming into her house. He came to when the hoodie fell into his hands, the bike dripping to the ground. The clang rang into his ears as he watched the wheels spin, eventually coming to a stop.

He went home that night, tossed the hoodie in his closet, and proceeded to stare out at the moonlight wishing it would give him answers or a second chance to relive better memories.

“Now my heart been torn to pieces And my days are moving slow, slow, slow You've been moving on for months so let me go, go, go”

The song faded into silence. Reality slowly poured back into his vision as he unplugged his headphones. A glance around his room told him that he finished with all but one hoodie, and apparently had stood there for the rest of the time.

His gaze lowered.

Blue.

He snorted. Of course.

Footsteps fell quietly as he made his way to the deck, across the plank, and towards the city.

The next day, his friends questioned where his classic blue hoodie was. He didn't answer.

At the same time, a truck made its route, a blue hoodie in a garbage bag, making its way to be dumped.

[robotslenderman]

Ok, so I've played VTMNR a few times now, and I've noticed something which I think is interesting. Near the end of the book, if you've romanced Lettow and choose to fight the SI with him, you'll have the opportunity to kiss him in the hallway. If you decide to kiss him again, or just return to the room with him, there will be one retainer left. Depending on your relationship with Lettow, he'll act differently here. If your Lettow/Camarilla relationship is moderate (3 dots), he'll become cool and composed in front of the retainer. Additionally, he'll touch your wrist in a lingering way, which you realize he's doing in order to check your watch. If your Camarilla relationship is high (5 dots), the part about about him being "cool and collected, even in the presence of a single retainer he is the Eagle Prince" is not mentioned, and Lettow will touch your face instead. In my opinion, the nature of the relationship is more unclear in the 3dot interaction. Personally, I find that it feels more manipulative (though I'm probably not clever enough to explain why). With 5 dots, I follow him to Egypt everytime, but with 3 dots I still follow him. I'm just much more wary about how "happy" their relationship will be. Will he sacrifice my character to the Sabbat if needed? Who knows! Although, really, who's to say you're not being played by him the entire story, even with a full relationship meter.

Another variation I've noticed is during the confrontation with Donati when Lettow flutters up the steps, he will A) see you and force himself to stand, B) stand (because he's an elder), or C) rise to his hands and knees, but is too weak to get up more. I'm not sure what the trigger is for whichever action he takes (or if there are more variants of this), but my more moderate relationship characters got either scenario A or B, while my high relationship character got scenario C. When I played through it, I personally liked scenario C the best because to me, it feels like he trusts the main character enough that he's willing to afford a moment of weakness around them. Afterall, he's still able to attack Donati no matter if you get A, B, or C, so he's clearly not that close to the brink of death.

While I love Lettow and his romance, I'm pretty confused by it all. First of all, I don't really understand his character or ambitions too well. Despite how friendly and trusting he seems in the the first chapter (showing you Jasper's death? Why?), he's suspicious of the courier from the start (if you spy on Carlos in the parking garage, he'll reveal that Lettow thinks you might be an SI agent). And I don't think that suspicion ever goes away, it just evolves. He dismisses the idea that you're SI, but then he thinks you're allied with *potential diablerist* Julian (even if you aren't) then quickly seems to realize it's you (maybe by sensing her in your blood?). He continues to suspect you, until he seems to REALIZE realize that you diablerized Aila. Before the final confrontation between you, Julian, and Lettow, there's a moment where Lettow is reading his book and asks you in a tired, soft voice "I need to know why you--". He never gets to finish that thought, but I'm pretty sure he's asking why you killed her. However, after the warehouse meeting, Lettow decides to spare both you and Julian?? Because he's tired and lonely?? I dont get it, what's his agenda? Why spare them? From what I know, the traditions say that killing/diablerizing a fellow vampire is punishable by death, so isn't Lettow actively going against the Camarilla? I can kinda understand if he doesn't want to kill the player character, since he thinks Aila is in our veins, and he's potentially formed some sort of attachment to us (though I think at this point, Julian's formula has completely eradicated any traces of Aila from our blood, so surely Lettow can detect that?). However, I can't really understand why he spares Julian. Maybe he does it because the author wants to highlight that Lettow is a rare breed of kindred, one that's truly benevolent with a high humanity, but that's the only reason I can think of. Really, I'm just not sure what type of person Lettow is, or what his game is. Julian is clearly depicted as being pretty manipulative and as having these huge ambitions that he needs the courier to help him achieve, but I don't think that's true for Lettow. Asides from running packages, he doesn't really benefit from them (asides from the whole "maybe Aila's reincarnated" thing). So maybe he's manipulating the player at this super high level, but you know, maybe he's just actually a great, merciful person (except he did actually kill a ventrue in his court for having conspired to diablerize Invidia Caul. So what's up with that?)

Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this monster of an ask, and please let me know what you think!

THANK YOU ANON FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL ASK.

TL;DR at the bottom!

If your Lettow/Camarilla relationship is moderate (3 dots), he'll become cool and composed in front of the retainer. Additionally, he'll touch your wrist in a lingering way, which you realize he's doing in order to check your watch. If your Camarilla relationship is high (5 dots), the part about about him being "cool and collected, even in the presence of a single retainer he is the Eagle Prince" is not mentioned, and Lettow will touch your face instead. In my opinion, the nature of the relationship is more unclear in the 3dot interaction.

Honestly, personally? I just write this off as him not trusting you nearly as well. "Lingering" suggests he *wants* to touch you, but the biggest giveaway is that he doesn't seem to have the need to check your watch at all in the five dot one (if I’m understanding you correctly). That tells me that with five dots, he just openly wants to touch you and isn't afraid to show it (aww), but with three dots he's a little more reluctant and is just *pretending* to check your watch.

He's got walls up in three dots he doesn't in five.

Another variation I've noticed is during the confrontation with Donati when Lettow flutters up the steps, he will A) see you and force himself to stand, B) stand (because he's an elder), or C) rise to his hands and knees, but is too weak to get up more. I'm not sure what the trigger is for whichever action he takes (or if there are more variants of this), but my more moderate relationship characters got either scenario A or B, while my high relationship character got scenario C. When I played through it, I personally liked scenario C the best because to me, it feels like he trusts the main character enough that he's willing to afford a moment of weakness around them.

That's my exact same impression too -- there's trust with five dots that doesn't exist with three.

Despite how friendly and trusting he seems in the the first chapter (showing you Jasper's death? Why?), he's suspicious of the courier from the start (if you spy on Carlos in the parking garage, he'll reveal that Lettow thinks you might be an SI agent).

Okay I actually do have thoughts on this.This gets a little bit beside the point of your ask, so bear with me.

Regarding Jasper -- all I can say is, "Why NOT show you Jasper's death"? He doesn't have any reason NOT to show you. It doesn't make him vulnerable for you to know that Jasper is dead, or how he died. It doesn’t give the Courier any kind of edge against him. So Lettow has nothing to lose and everything to gain (your trust) by making you think you’re important enough that you get to watch the video.

Regarding Lettow thinking you're an SI agent -- I know this isn't the point of your ask but I do have thoughts on that, so please humour me for a moment before I go back to your point --

There's something very subtle in VTMNR that is never shown outright. It's very, very subtle but if you think about it, there's a really big reason why Lettow could think you're an SI agent despite being a vampire.

Think about it. Lettow himself points out that he's the only Prince that is as paranoid as he is about the SI, and yet Tucson is swarming with their agents. All the other Princes are emailing and texting and they're not dealing with the SI to nearly the degree Lettow has.

So what's the difference between Lettow and those Princes?

Lettow has an Autarkis in his Domain who's constantly blowing the Masquerade, that's why!

Who keeps calling you and speaking openly about being Kindred?

Julian.

Who keeps pinging the SI in his phone calls, forcing you to switch phones over and over?

Julian.

Who keeps loudly saying things like "WE CAN'T LET ANYONE KNOW WE'RE VAMPIRES" potentially in earshot of the SI, who you KNOW are watching you?

Julian.

Julian flaunts the Masquerade CONSTANTLY. And in doing so, he makes Lettow a target, because Lettow’s the guy in charge of the area!

So what has this got to do with Lettow thinking you're an agent of the SI? I have to admit, I can't quite connect the dots here, but I think it goes back to Julian once again. Julian's operating under his nose. Julian doesn't give a fuck about the Masquerade. Julian has links to you. I wouldn't be surprised if those factors, combined perhaps with stuff happening behind the scenes that the Courier never sees, is why Lettow at first believes you're an agent of the SI.

Basically -- Lettow sees Julian pulling shit, and at first thinks it’s because he’s part of the SI. Lettow sees you have connections to Julian (or perhaps the other way around) and thinks that because of that you have connections to the SI as well.

Later, Lettow does admit the idea is ridiculous, because he sarcastically tells Dove (paraphrased) “why yes, I’m sure that this vampire isn’t helping the vampire hunters.”

(I also believe that Julian is the one that actually SENT the video of Jasper's death to Lettow. I honestly can't think of any other explanation as to who it can be from. Obfuscate doesn't work with electronic devices, indicating the video has been doctored to hide Julian, and who would do that except Julian himself, especially since he tells us that he has video editing skills? Julian knew that Jasper was recording, but didn't wipe the video or take the camera to erase evidence of his crime. So who else but Julian sent that video?)

Anyway, moving on --

Before the final confrontation between you, Julian, and Lettow, there's a moment where Lettow is reading his book and asks you in a tired, soft voice "I need to know why you--". He never gets to finish that thought, but I'm pretty sure he's asking why you killed her. However, after the warehouse meeting, Lettow decides to spare both you and Julian?? Because he's tired and lonely?? I dont get it, what's his agenda? Why spare them?

My impression is that it was just that -- because he was tired and lonely.

At first he lets you live because his couriers are dropping like flies and he needs every one he can get. And as the story goes on, he gets tireder and tireder until he seems on the brink of succumbing to torpor himself. (Bitch is 200 years old and whining about how old he is even though he had an 800YO girlfriend!) At the end of the story, he's exhausted.

And he's also quite clearly severely depressed. And apathy is a strong symptom of depression.

So yeah. I think he spares both the courier and Julian simply because he's too tired and depressed to give a flying fuck any more. Aila's gone, killing the courier won't bring her back. What's the point in killing them? What's the point in killing Julian, when he demonstrates several times he thinks Julian is no threat? (He's wrong, but he clearly underestimates Julian -- he tells Julian that the Masquerade will survive Julian, and he tells Dove that Julian is "just an Anarch.")

I also think his feelings regarding Aila herself are complicated -- it must HURT to survive someone who died via what's essentially suicide. He knows Aila was suicidal. He must have complicated feelings regarding that -- feelings like he wasn't enough, feelings like maybe she didn't love him as much as he loved her.

So yeah. I think he was too tired and lonely and too devastated to care about enacting justice against either of them. I think he just wanted to put it behind him. Run away to the Middle East, let it go, put it behind him, never think about it again.

As for Lettow’s agenda itself?

I’m not going to say he can’t be manipulative. But I do believe he isn’t as manipulative as the other Princes, and that he sincerely does want to do better than they do.

The biggest evidence in support of this, if nothing else, is that Lettow is Gangrel. Gangrel, as a rule, don’t do political bullshit. They tend not to participate in the Jyhad. They tend to be loners, and they often don’t raise their own childer -- so they (often) lack a mentor/mentee relationship that other clans have, meaning that nobody was there to mentor them in ways to survive, let alone thrive, in political bullshit.

So that means Lettow would be drastically inexperienced in manipulation and bullshit outside of what he’d have seen as a mortal aristocrat, and would also probably be way less tolerant of political bullshit than other Kindred. He doesn’t have Dominate to help him. He doesn’t have Presence to help him. Just a magic bird, his own shapeshifting skills and what his friends can give him.

Remember that Lettow became Prince because there was literally nobody else available. He said so himself that he basically stepped into the job because there was nobody else -- he was the one that killed the old Prince (and in a rather extra way, no less) and there were no other Elders in the area.

Plus, by this stage, Aila was dead and he wanted to hunt down her murderers. Or, if I have my timelines incorrect, she was in torpor and therefore vulnerable and in need of protection.

What better way to do that than with the resources a Prince had at his disposal?

I don’t think it’s a complete coincidence that he stopped being a Prince on the same night that he finally confronted her killer.

TL;DR --

Lettow doesn't trust the Courier as much if their relationship with the Camarilla isn't great.

Lettow underestimates Julian, and doesn't think he's a threat at all, even though it's almost certainly Julian that drew the SI to Tucson like flies to honey.

By the end of the story, Lettow is deeply depressed, apathetic, and on the border of succumbing to torpor and ennui himself because of that, and so literally doesn't care enough any more about bringing Julian and the Courier to justice.

Unlike other Princes, Lettow is from a clan that typically is separate from all this political bullshit, has no social Disciplines, and had a motive to be Prince in that his lover was dead and he wanted to find her killer with any resources he could get to be at his disposal. So I truly believe that while he may feel the need to be manipulative from time to time, he truly did want just what was best for the Kindred around him.

[kaz3313]

Meeting with the Opposition

Chapter Two; Chapter One is below (previous link wasn't working) Chapter 3 is in the makings

@artthingymabob is who inspired me!

@dystopianinterstellar @azirafuck (also ask if youd like to be on the tag list!)

I honestly thought this would be a one off thing but oopsie daisy I got inspiration big time! Hope everyone enjoys 😊 Reblogs super appreciated

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  Azriphale doesn't mean to be late yet here he is running through a crowded sidewalk people giving him nasty sideways glances. He isn't technically late but he isn't early; everyone in Heaven is slightly early as the term "fashionably late" was made by a demon and no angel wants to be associated with one of those. Well besides two; one of which is dubbed a traitor and the other is desperately weaving through crowds and could be considered a hypocrite if anyone is to find out why.

  The reason he is running late is because of Heaven; an angel gone off the deep end. They created quite a ruckus- shouting threats at everyone, causing damage to walls, and pulling up several plants from a garden. It was a fit not tolerated in Heaven and so it ended with them being locked in a room until further notice. He being the one to find an unoccupied room as well as having to catch them. Aziraphale is almost positive they'd have to put them through a trial (and he'd have to organize it) but when is still in the unforeseeable future. Even if he does calm down in that time period they is no possible way of getting out of a punishment.

   The angel arrives just on time but his face falls at the sight of the demon, Crowely, has already nabbed a table. An odd feeling, that isn't embarrassing, arises in him at the thought of the demon sitting at the table, awaiting his arrival. An odd tingly half familiar feeling he shoves down while approaching the demon in wait.

   "I would usually apologize for being late but l, since you are a demon and I don't dare say sorry to your kind, I won't," Azriphale states sitting down not daring to make eye contact with the other.

   "You aren't late, really you're perfectly on time. But our kind don't take well to apologies anyhow; anyone who tries we throw into the hell hound pit and bet on how long they will last," Crowely says and Azriphale looks up; the most horrific look plastered on his face. "I'm joking! I'm joking! Thought a being from Heaven could take a joke!" He lets out a hearty chuckle and Azriphale gives a forced smile in return.

  Crowely is only half-way being truthful in this, as he is with most things, as demons tend to throw each other in hell hound cages all the time. The difference being from what he said is that apologies don't cause such a reaction; it really is just a sporadic action done whenever something mildly inconvenient but thoroughly irritating happens. He doesn't explain the logistics though as he can clearly see the angel is troubled.

   Why he cares is a completely different story that Crowley will rather not want to think about. If he did try to explain though the conversation that followed would contain lots of half truths, hissing, stuttering, made up words (which if you mention that they are made up he will snarkily reply with "well all languages are made up) and end with someone getting stabbed in a major artery. So it's best to leave him be with his unusual consideration.

  "I suppose we should get right on to business since the jokes have ceased?" 'And proven to be unfunny' but Azriphale only adds that on in silence. He doesn't want to push any buttons he doesn't have to today.

  "Thinking 'bout ordering drinks first; Hell has been a bitch like usual and I've needed something to take my mind off it. So drinks first, work talk after," 

  "Drinks don't sound half bad," He momentarily massages his temples before picking up the drink menu "With no war I'm assuming Hell's been rowdy?"

  "Rowdy is a group of bratty teens whose equally bratty parents are going out for a month. Hell is a barnyard that has no food,drink, or cages and several exotic animals. Everyone is ravenous. Demons are thirsting for bloodshed so much we've had to bust several groups trying to form secret strikes to Heaven that would not only fail miserably but be embarrassing to see play out. One guy thought he could do a solo mission- and I have little respect for your army but I'm also not stupid and would send a single low ranking demon against God's army," Crowley rants and if not for the waitress' arrival he would've gone on a tangent. He orders the drinks flatly and expects Azriphale to follow suit immediately.

  The angel however is smiling at him which led to a flick of rage ignite. What had he to smile about? That hell was hellish and chaotic? He should know that just because everything is a shit-show they were not to be reckoned with. 

  "Same wine as his, dear," Azriphale addresses to the waitress and she smiles politely before heading back to the kitchen. "I find it amusing; the angels above are getting antsy themselves. Today actually one of them was found flinging a sword around wildly yelling about how they would deliver "divine justice" to anyone in their path. Of course angels aren't as cruel as demons but...the war not happening has thrown everyone off course. Even the most mild mannered".

  That's why he was smiling- a light weight lifts off Crowley's shoulders. "This is exactly why the two traitors need to be dealt with soon- I feel it would bring ease to everyone. Including, the eventual, second Armageddon," The waitress returns a smile of ignorance on her face. She didn't understand how weeks ago she should've perished nor does she know what these "fine" gentlemen are discussing. All she knows is what wine and food they order and all she hopes is that they give her a significant tip.

  "No doubt; those trouble makers will be given proper justice," Azriphale says picking up his glass of Chardonnay.

  "And no mercy," Crowely adds on, raising his own glass "Toast for the second Armageddon that-is-hopefully-soon-to-come, Angel?"

   "To a successful second apocalypse!" The two clink glasses both wearing uncharacteristic smiles and having found a new sense of determination.

  "Ssso you're ssaying?" Crowely slurs out, its blurred whether alcohol or his snake side were responsible for his long s'. Many drinks are shared between the two and many more were to come. Business is attempting to be addressed but as neither has the gull, or maybe the relaxation is a tad addictive, to sober up halfway thought up plans were being discovered.

   "I say that- well I think anyway. Why not just, we'll just watch the two! Eventually they'll bl-blab out something of importance! How they- how they gone- they gone to go be naive,"

 "Native, you ssstupid Angel,"

   "Oh, same difference! It doesn't matter exact terminology. All that matters is...well is the- the plan," Azriphale waves his hands around before returning to his empty glass. Instead of flagging down the waitress, they had the poor girl running back and forth like mad, he flicks his fingers and both glasses fill up. Crowley opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and sips the wine. "Whether its the Great Plan or Ineffable Plan or might as well be Plan B, I really don't care. We just need a plan,"

   "We have our plan," Crowley says with a slight huff.

   "Our plan?" The words our, referring to him and Crowely feel so foreign, scandalous even, but fit on his tongue like a well tailored outfit.

  "Yeah- Watch Gabriel and Beelzebub until they fuck up again. Y'know feel too safe let some information slip. Maybe we'll learn a weakness or two-whatever. And once we know all the right sstuff we crush them!" Crowley slams his fist on the table to reiterate his point.

  "Our plan," Azriphale still echoes quietly as if it is a secret to keep. Which in a way it is; if the other Archangels knew what he's up too, even under the sake of serving retribution, he could get in big trouble. Consorting with Demons led to well... he looks up at Crowley whom he's had two meetings with so far and more to come...apparently it led to professionals getting involved to track you down to find your weaknesses.

  Sure maybe the other Angels wouldn't understand and take what he's doing a completely wrong way but he is doing what is good! Surely if he wasn't God would punish him, right?

  "I'd say let's get dessssert before we head out our separate ways, eh?" Crowely says bringing the fretting Angel out of his worries (or at least creating a temporary distraction from them).

  "Dessert sounds lovely. I heard the creme brulee is to die for,".