#i wish we saw more of his apprenticeship

[lankylonglegs]

i will always say this, the apprentices were victims. amanda was a struggling junkie and every time john tested her, she got worse and more deranged. she was a junkie, then got tested and started cutting herself, then got tested again and started rigging her traps. hoffman wanted revenge for his sisters murder, and he also slowly slips further and further. john weaponised victims basically by manipulating them.

Hoffman grasping onto Angelina’s hand while hysterical vs taking Strahm’s hand with a smile… Much to think about

I find his reaction to each of their mangled corpses really interesting and it highlights his development for the worse. When he sees Angelina he’s distraught, incoherent, overcome with a cocktail of grief and rage. Compare this to how he reacts to Strahm’s crushed body: he’s nonplussed, if not overjoyed, upon seeing his adversary’s demise.

It shows his desensitization to violence and his death of humanity. Even when watching Seth’s death, there is conflict on his face. He’s doesn’t like the brutality but can’t bring himself to look away.

Yet both of them result in the same thing, they both push Hoffman to do things he never thought he could. Angelina’s driving him to kill Seth and Strahm’s leading him to comitting justiceless killings, no longer bound by Jigsaw’s rules.

[intermundia]

If you start with "I dont wish to be a hater or judge someone else's tastes but" I am sorry to inform you that you already are 🤷🏻‍♂️ Answering more seriously, ignoring all the canon examples that can be given for the appeal of this ship, let's address what could possibly motivate someone to consider it to begin with, regardless of the canon reasons. I assume you're implying some immoral issues that you personally take issue and cannot understand how we all just overlooked them, so— Historically, power dynamics between a Master and their Apprentice, would often include sexual tones and tensions that were explored or not. There's intrigue and interest in seeing how being raised in such an environment, when your main and closest bond, physical and mental, is also the one who raises and trains you, the one with whom you mature and develop (sometimes mutually, as one grows out of apprenticeship, and the other becomes a master). Some cultures saw this as being part of educating a young man to become a decent adult, showing them how to love and make love correctly, and modeling the correct behaviour. We can also address the fact that Anakin is a slave, phycologically, children with trauma tend to imprint on their saviors (hello Padme, hello Obi-Wan) and more than a few times, that leads to inappropriate and sometimes sexual fantasies, too. Not to mention that teens, even such without a trauma, but especially with one (those who lack one of the parents, double the chance) would develop a deep attachment, sexual fantasies and resentment and complex about their idol. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, only addressing Anakin's side. If we speak of Obi-Wan, a man raised in a cult-like organisation with strict codes, no modelling of healthy father-son relationships or any sort of real family structures and give him a boy who does not know how to not love with his whole ass heart--- anyways. It's interesting. It's intriguing. It's fun to explore and untangle. If you think that shipping Anakin with Padme is better by a lot, given their type of relationship and attachement style, as well as their communication and how anxious Anakin is-- well, you're just judging the ship based on the fact that it feels yucky for you to imagine irl. But well, isn't it lucky this is fictional? Anyways, if you don't want to be a hater-- just don't be. Plenty ships out there that are no everyone's cup of tea, what you do is block them and don't read them and forget about them, rather than come to ask someone a question under the guise of actually wanting to know the answer. If you have, you would have worded the question with a curiosity that would have prompted OP to give you a real answer. But you intent was not pure, therefore :)

thank you so much, i really did NOT have the spoons to put any of it into words today. usually i just block similar message but i really hated how that one was phrased in particular, like i really have always been happy to explain the million reasons why i think they love each other in every possible way... i've written so much meta and 750k words of stories about it. but they're just "asking" as a shame tool bc they think it's icky, and they don't want to actually consider the myriad complex reasons why people sometimes love each other in inappropriate situations and where those situations might arise inside the world of the gffa lmao

[ruiniel]

Hey ho! Love you blog and writing so much!!! I wish I could write as well as you. They way you write Alucard is just magic ✨

I saw that you had asks open for Alucard and if it’s not too late I had a suggestion, maybe there’s one you might like?

Lisa never dies AU Alucard x Fem Human who’s come to study under Lisa. She’s already betrothed and there’s a lot of moral conflict on Adrian’s side as to whether he should confess to her. Reader is clueless but suffering as she feels her love for Alucard is unrequited. Could be smutty if you feel like it?

You're kind, we all have our interpretations, glad you enjoy mine enough to send an ask! Tried to incorporate most of what you wrote. Will be a longer one, here's what I have for Part I. Next part will have an Alucard POV.

Hidden

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 2k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Romantic angst, Unresolved emotional tension, Second Person POV, Two people running from their feelings like their lives depend on it, for Reasons

I. Status quo

“Not yet. Wait five minutes longer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, placing the beaker back in its place. The laboratory is silent today, with only you and Lisa and the clink of glass and hiss of flame. You’re working together, aiding the head physician of Belmont in an experiment she sustains will bring forth a new type of medicine that might revolutionize the treatment of infection. 

Lisa smiles, always patient, and you feel all the more clumsy, and in all honesty rather useless.

Your mind’s just not in it today, and the reasons? Well.

There is no reason, there shouldn’t be. You’re content. You have someone by your side, to spend a life together. Your fleeting life, the thought beckons.

You bury down the thought of his voice, the patience he poured into teaching you the basics before his mother took you under her wing. It matters little now. You’ll pass this apprenticeship and you’ll always find work, in any place, away from the agony that takes hold whenever you meet his eyes lately.  

“Are you all right?” your tutor asks, and you shake your head, annoyed at yourself. 

“Yes, I...”

“Drifted away, I know what that’s like all too well,” Lisa adds with a smile, her attention back to her working table. “After all, we’re only human, aren’t we?”

“Yes...” Only human. 

How stupid is it to think he would ever look at you that way? Your friendship at least endures, and he does not know. 

“Mother?”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the voice, listening to the footsteps drawing near, the tread you’d recognize anywhere. 

“My dear?” Lisa asks.

Adrian pauses somewhere between your working stations. “I need a gauze and disinfectant. Sara fell during one of their usual games by the river and now sports a gash the size of Belmont’s ego.”

“Of course,” she turns to you. “Darling please will you show Adrian where we moved the supplies?”

You freeze, still with your back turned, wanting to appear busy. The dome is silent again, and the faraway laughter of children can be heard through the open windows.

He doesn’t say your name, merely waits as you face him, slowly. You’ve seen less and less of him in the past month, and you yearn to look. I have someone. Someone worthy. This would never work, him and I, even if he did... “This way,” you say, your manner betraying nothing as you disappear among the many stacked shelves of the laboratory storage area. You’ve had plenty of practice in that respect, after all.

You find the section hosting the necessary items and reach for the sliding stairs nearby while Adrian busies himself momentarily with an open tome lying on one of the tables.

“What are you doing?” comes the softly spoken question.

“I’m... retrieving what you asked for?” If there’s irritation in your tone, you can’t be bothered to hide it.

“That wasn’t necessary. After all, I could get them myself, without the use of—”

“Yes, I know, but now I’m already up here,” you say while struggling to reach for a roll of bandages.

“Careful!” Adrian warns, but your boot’s already slipped on the well-worn wood and for a second you feel the relentless pull of gravity, and your fall.

Next you know—

You’re held none-too-gently against Adrian, the grasp of his hold crushing your ribcage as you try to breathe. Without realizing you’re clutching at the folds of his loose cotton shirt, knuckles pressed into the bare skin below his collarbone. 

You dare not meet his eyes, struggling even as he places you on your feet, your heart a mess.

“I told you I can get them myself,” he says with due exasperation. His back is already turned, and he pushes the stairs aside, rising to the intended spot. 

You open your mouth to speak but can think of nothing to say that would be in any way useful. You should thank him, but decide against lingering. He seems to be in a strange mood today—better to retreat and so you do, finding your way back to the other side where his mother is still noting down proportions. Stiffly you walk, fingers curling against the imprint of familiar warmth at their tips. 

You wish it could be like before, between the two of you. Why does it feel like treason each time you meet his eyes, choking on your emotions like rags being forced down your throat? 

I shouldn’t be wasting time on this. 

And so you try to follow suit, heeding that sensible thought and smiling at Lisa as you reach her.

Two weeks prior

Your legs dangle in the air as you sit on the stony battlement with your gaze cast towards the forest beyond, sunken in thought. This is a time of celebration, but the reminder only makes you quirk your mouth tiredly and with some amount of distaste. It is a chilly night, made colder by the harsh winds reaching from the West. You’d forgotten to take your cloak, and now hug yourself to warm your prickling skin. Below, the townsfolk are steeped in song, drink, and merriment. 

You sigh. At least there is peace to be had up here. You’d left needing solitude, and so disappeared from the eyesight of any who might wonder. As luck has it, your friends, trapped in their own wiles and enjoyment, had scarcely noticed your departure. Things were already animated in the groves surrounding the village, and voices raised in joyous song dimly reach you from afar. Even Adrian had been indulging in the fragrant honey wine offered for the occasion, despite his otherwise restrained manner.

You frown. Yes, Adrian. Your friend, your dearest friend, with his sunset gaze aglow from the bonfires, cast on you like melting gold, and burning just as much. 

You wonder at these rather trying new thoughts, and why in recent years such things come to your notice as they had not in the past. He always held to himself and seems utterly disinterested in matters of the heart. Tonight, however, he’d been no less than gallant and, from what you could tell, eagerly inclined towards conversation. 

You bring your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, lost in the shy moon rays peeking from torn clouds streaking the sky. You don’t know how much time had passed, and late realize someone approaches. You don’t turn to see who it is, not until you hear a shift of material, and breathe the scent you know too well. 

Adrian fluidly sits down by your side, leaning back with his palms propped against the stone.

Your heartbeat is ruthless, but still you do not turn. He’s so near you feel a few gilded strands touch your cheek as the winds blow them in this direction and that.

He follows the sight of that same moon, now layering a silvery grin over castle and forest. “I’ve never known one to flee a festivity so early.”

You snort. “Some of us tire faster.” Odd, you’d been joyful indeed and eager as the day began, and now a ragged mood confuses you more than anything. 

When you should be happy.

You feel warmth, and realize Adrian’s undone his coat, placing it around your shoulders, over your hunched form. 

You don’t move, do nothing to fasten the material around yourself, either. It has something of him warming you from head to toe. What you fail to place is the sweet ache as you drink in his scent, nearly sighing aloud. “What are you doing here?” 

Adrian looks your way, an eyebrow raised. “You disappeared. I wanted to see that you were well.”

“But how did you know it was me?” You don’t usually come here, and had deliberately avoided any of the places he knows you frequent. 

Adrian stares long at the moonlit sky. “I would know you anywhere.” His voice holds that same unflinching honesty, a simple truth for him.

Rather dizzy, your words still come bitten at the edges. “I’m fine. Of course. Now I believe your curiosity is satisfied?” 

A gentle hand is placed on your arm, but immediately withdrawn. Somehow, the gesture angers you. It shouldn’t. 

“...what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you stare away, into the black horizon. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Adrian says nothing, and a part of you hopes he’d leave you to your misery. The other hopes he doesn’t. 

“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” he tilts his head to look at you. 

You grumble something unintelligible. 

“That is good to know,” he teases, while reaching inside his tunic to retrieve an object. “This, also, was part of the reason I was searching for you.”

Now you truly wish he would go, but you cannot see your days without him for a while now, and worry over what Adrian would think if he knew.

“Will you sulk or look?”

Annoyed, you set your gaze on his palm; your eyes go wide. “What... is this?”

Adrian holds the pendant up for you to see better. “A gift, for the sulky one. Did you think I’d forgotten today was your birthday?”

You stare at the piece, shining with a light of its own. The chain is so slight one could barely tell it was there, and a small, round pendant of iridescent moonstone glows against his pale hand.

“You mean, for...” Words fail as your eyes meet his. His smile is small and sweet, and you wonder what it would taste like before hot tingles creep up your neck, reaching all the way to your cheeks. “Thank you, this is... this is kind. You know I don’t…”

“May I?” 

You catch his meaning and so turn with your back to him, his coat falling from your shoulders, looking down to see the stone nestled in the hollow of your neck. You bite on the inside of your lip when his fingers touch your skin to fasten the pendant and when you turn to face him again, a smile beyond your will pulls at your lips. “I… it’s beautiful. Thank… you.”

His hands are curled in his lap as Adrian breaks your gaze. He shakes his head. “Listen, I—”

No. You can’t, you can’t hear whatever other pleasantries he has to say. What is this? Why is he doing this now, kindly gestures like crumbs to feed the thing within you that suddenly is ravening, yearning for something that frightens you, that you’ve finally set to rest?

“Adrian.”

He looks at you then, and you stare at each other for so long you don’t even know when you’d begun to shiver with the cold again.

“Yes?” 

“As of next week, I am betrothed. To Matei.”

He is still watching you, not a line changing on his face. “That is wonderful. Matei, is it?” A pondering smile. “I’ve seen the two of you together often, but did not want to presume.” Silence falls between you. The smile is frozen on his face. “Where is he, though?”

There used to be a time when there were no secrets, no strangeness. You look down, touching the gem at the base of your neck. “Still not returned from Brașov.” A change of topic is in order, though you know Adrian has never been one to pry, and so would not ask more. 

Yes, Matei is a good man. He’s kind and honorable, and has a knack for making one forget their woes. It’s a good decision. It has to be. “It feels right,” you murmur anyway. Then why does this hurt? 

“Are you happy?” Adrian asks, rising and leaning on the stone edge with his elbows. The question is soft, but his voice lacks the warmth from earlier—maybe it’s your imagination. 

A stray cloud mists over the moon, and the night grows darker around you. “It feels right,” you repeat stupidly, suddenly needing to be away as you rise from your place. “I should go inside, it’s gotten so much colder…” You drop his coat. “Again, I thank you for your gift.”

Adrian does not move from his place, his loose hair shielding his expression. “It was gladly given. And—congratulations.”

You nod in thanks though he does not see it, wait for a moment longer. He sketches nothing, having fallen into a reverie it seems, and everyone has the right to solitude. “Good night, Adrian,” you turn on your heel and walk briskly to reach the door, not looking back. 

Part II

[lostinforestbound]

OH GOD I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR REQUESTS OPENING!!

Okay, so- I would love to read your thoughts on healer Tav with Rolan! Could be HCs, or a blurb, whatever you prefer^^ if you decide to make it a blurb, perhaps Tav could be patching Rolan up after the fight with Lorroakan?

This was so fun, I haven't written about the aftermath of Lorroakan's battle much! I hope you're okay with Tav as a cleric?? It's what I immediately thought of!

Rolan and Healer!Tav in the Aftermath of Lorroakan

Tav and their companions are absolutely exhausted. The fight with Lorroakan was nothing short of difficult, how were they supposed to know he had some elemental reaction? Karlach took plenty of hard hits because of it.

And then there was Rolan.

When they saw his bruises, they felt nothing short of anger. He was so excited for this apprenticeship, and Lorroakan twisted it into a punishment. He was a sick man, who now laid dead near Dame Aylin's feet after shattering his spine.

"Soldier," Karlach starts, putting a hand on their shoulder, "We're going to head back. Gale looks ready to collapse."

"Ah...yes. Of course." They say, eyes trailing to Rolan who has already grabbed a mop, "I'll catch up later. If not, I'll be here."

She gives a knowing smile before picking up Gale, throwing him over her shoulder despite his startled protest.

Dame Aylin gave the courtesy of disposing the body, so there is no worry there. They are worried about Rolan.

After promising to help in any way he can, it seems that he just started to...clean. Mindlessly. He's already mopping the floor of all the blood that was spilled, even as his muscles spasm from electrocution. He was almost killed, they all were, yet here he is, fucking cleaning.

They don't know whether to be more worried or pissed off.

"Rolan," they call, "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. I do not want the blood to dry, it'll stick and be impossible to clean out."

"Did you even heal yourself?" They ask, marching up to him. "You got the worst of it all."

"I'm fine. Lorroakan is dead, the tower is mine. I do need to contact Lia and Cal-"

They snatch the mop out of his hand, and before he could argue they put a finger up. "Don't. Let me heal you."

"Tav-"

"You took a beating! We all did, and you shouldn't worry about cleaning! I'll help you with that later." They sigh, summoning their magic. "Rolan, please, I care about you and I know you're hurting."

He sighs heavily and relents, annoyed. "Just make it quick. I have a lot to do."

They ignore his sass, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and mutter their incantation. It's not nearly enough, but they feel Rolan slowly relax. A low level cure wounds is not what he needs through.

"It's not nearly enough. I'll patch you up. Now, take off your robes."

If they were paying attention, the could see how flustered Rolan's face went. "Tav, this is not necessary. You've done more than enough-"

"You are limping and I see the blood under your robes. Sit. Down." They demand.

He huffs incredulously and plops down on the book throne, slowly taking off his robes and under shirt. Those don't go without a few winces though.

Bruises, scars, and dried blood coat his body. The bastard seemed to be have beating him for a while, longer than Tav thought. It makes their blood boil, but now is not the time for anger.

They take out salves, bandages, and ointments from out of their pack and start working on the wounds quietly. Rolan suddenly looks extremely bitter, probably noticing that they had a question on the tip of their tongue. "I know that look, don't you dare judge me for sticking around even after the first hit."

"I would never judge. I don't understand it all, but...I want to."

He looks away, and Tav spots his eyes getting watery. "I don't wish to speak on it, today. I've done enough of that."

"Of course."

They finally manage to wrap up his more major injuries, which were at least sealed thanks to their spell. These are mostly to protect the more tender areas and prevent more injury. They know Rolan has been keeping it together in front of them, but he looks so tired.

When they open their arms up in offering, he carefully pulls them in for a hug. It's tight, it's crushing, but also secure. They don't say a word when they feel his body shake, or when their shoulder starts to feel wet, only pecking his temple as the man silently weeps. "I'm here."

[redux-iterum]

Rosey, hunny, it’s tragic but you literally/gave away your kit and any rights to it/ to grow up clan born. You don’t get to be shitty when you knew the risks you repeatedly saw how lean Fire was, and he told you the risks over and over.

Cloudpaw, hun, what about your sister man? Stop going to the houses! You already know better. Poor Aspenpaw.

Rosey is going to give damn good emotional fight over Cloudpaw. I do wish she would respect his name change though :( it’s a darn good achievement to make it to apprenticeship especially with everything going on.

See, this is the kind of ask I love, where we can start a conversation about situations with complicated sides to them. Some will see Rosy's plight and sympathize, others will be less empathetic and more frustrated with her. It's fun!

[tealfling]

RolanWeek

Day 3: Fight or Forgiveness

Both? It's Act 2 y'all. Coren did not have a good time.

“Thank you,” Cal’s gentle voice once again interjected his siblings arguing. “For saving me. And these two idiots.”

Coren turned to him. Trying to give him a side smile even though her every muscle screamed. They were safe in Last Light. And that’s all that mattered. “There's no need to thank me, Cal. It was the least I could do after–”

“And humble, too?” Lia interrupted. Coren hugged her arms tighter around her shoulders. No. She was glad they seemed to be in such high spirits after just being released from the Moonrise dungeon. But she couldn’t say her mood reflected theirs. Her head pounded. Feeling light-headed and nauseous. And her neck…

“She has no cause to be humble,” Rolan announced. The sound of his voice cut through her making her recoil. They hadn’t spoken to each other since her party stumbled upon him in the midst of the Shadow Cursed Lands. “She’s brought us back together,” Rolan professed, “a task I failed miserably at.” Coren sunk into herself more, guilt sitting uneasy in her stomach. “You went out of your way to help us, it’s only right you get something in return.” Rolan reached into his side pouch. When Coren dared to look up, to her utter disgust, saw a coin purse in Rolan’s hand. “Here,” he said thankfully, “I hope it helps.”

Bile churned within Coren. “I don't want your coin, Rolan,” she sighed. Her voice raspy and with no energy to argue with Rolan anymore. “You'll need it in Baldur's Gate anyway. Good luck with your apprenticeship. Sorry for all the trouble,” she added, turning away defeated.

“Hey, soldier,” Karlach called. As Coren’s head turned back to look over her shoulder, her hair slipped back revealing an angry purple bruise in the perfect shape of a hand around her throat. Rolan's jaw clenched. “I’ve got Halsin,” Karlach continued, “let him take a look at you.”

Coren turned to face her two approaching companions fully, leaving the siblings to stare at her back and exchange worried glances. “I'm fine, really, Karlach. There's no need to waste your spells on me, Halsin. I'll just sleep it off.”

Halsin’s brow knit with concern. “No doubt you know how to weather the worst storms, little Lightning Bug, but you are looking worse for wear. If you don’t mind my saying.” Coren nodded, she knew she looked like shit.  “I think we would all feel a little better if you allowed someone to assess your injuries. At least allow me to alleviate the pain.” His large hand tenderly swept back more of her navy hair further revealing the deep bruise on her throat. Even Halsin's gentlest touch made Coren hiss in pain. 

Rolan was struck with guilt, but something else knotted inside him when the large druid ran his thumb along the sorceress’ jaw.

“Serves me right for picking a fight with the Warden in her office. Turns out, I've been letting myself get rusty at close quarters combat.” Coren shrugged, waving Halsin off dismissively. “Lesson learned. Next time I feel like being choked out and tossed around by a big, angry tiefling woman, I'll ask Karlach to do it,” she forced a laugh looking up at her fiery friend. “Can I go sleep off my shame now?”

Karlach shuffled closer, “Come on, soldier, don't be like. She cracked your head on the dungeon wall. I’m surprised you're not down to one horn like me. Come on, let Halsin make sure you aren't any more scrambled than the worm has us.”

Beside Rolan, both Cal and Lia tensed. Cal leaned over to Lia, “I thought that sound was the gnome’s hammer.”

“Astarion gave me a potion. I'll live. It's fine,” Coren said flippantly, “I just really want a bath and some sleep now.” 

“As you wish,” Halsin lamented. “But I would prefer you spend the night here. In one of the room’s Jahira offered while I tend to Art’s wounds.”

Coren sighed. “Fine.” She pushed past her companions as the two of them and the tiefling siblings watched her ascend to the second floor of the inn.

There was almost no wind here. No comforting up draft. Only darkness and despair. The wood of the railing of Last Light Inn’s balcony creaked beneath Coren’s feet. A second healing potion and bath had helped her body feel better, but sleep still eluded her. 

Rolan was right. All of this was her fault. If she hadn’t said anything. If she had traveled with the refugees. Her people. If she hadn’t gone to the creche. If she had been with them instead of cowering away from the Shadow Curse by playing around in the Underdark. How many lives would have been spared? This was all her fault. Their deaths. Their blood, was on her hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Coren might have saved the few from Moonrise, but that would never–

“Zurgan!”

A hand warm gripped Coren’s wrist, jerking her off the balcony. She couldn’t catch herself and landed face first in someone’s chest wrapped in their arms.

“What in the damned Hells do you think you're doing?” Rolan gripped her shoulder’s angrily, shaking her.

Coren hissed in pain causing Rolan to release her, but not drop the accusing glare from his face.

“Nothing!” she bit.

“That didn’t look like nothing! People do not stand on balconies to do nothing!”

Coren stood there flabbergasted. “What? Did you think I would jump? Seriously? I’m not sure if I’m more offended that you thought I would jump off a shitty two story balcony or that I would be injured from a fall from a shitty two story balcony! I can Fly you dumbass,” she spat.

“Well-I,” he stammered.

Coren realized her hands were still supporting her on his chest and quickly shoved herself off him. “What the fuck do you even care? You hate me.” That probably wasn’t true and she knew it But she was so angry. And so hurt. And she could never hate him. But maybe her heart would hurt less he hated her.

“What?! No- I,” Rolan started.

“What? Like it isn’t true?” she scoffed.

“It’s not!” Rolan shot.

“Yeah, okay. You don’t have to pretend-”

Rolan growled, then threw his hands up in frustration. “You infuriating little witch! Would you just allow me to speak?”

“Why!?” Coren snapped. “What more could you possibly have to say to me, Rolan? You were right. This is all my fault. Cal and Lia were captured because of me! The other’s died! Because of ME!” She exploded. Distant sounds of thunder echoed overhead. “So you don’t have to say anything. I-” her eyes stung as she tried to hold back the tears.

For a moment, neither said anything. Rolan closed the gap between them again, slowly reaching to take her hand in his.

“But I do have something to say,” he said gently, “Something very important, you need to hear.” “Coren, please look at me,” Rolan tugged her hand up so she turned. “Firstly, I’m sorry. So sorry. I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped us anyway. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Rolan,” Coren began to protest.

“No, you went out of your way to help us. I have Cal and Lia back because of you, Coren. For that, I am truly grateful.” He cupped her smaller hand in both of his. “And if my attempt at monetary thanks offended you, I meant no disrespect,” Rolan insisted. “Please forgive my earlier behavior. It -uh- it seems to have given you the impression that I hate you, and that is not the case. You are, however, insufferable.” 

Coren rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it that way,” she teased. “How could I refuse your apology?”

[jacky-rubou]

Planning to write an essay on the limited Ford and Mabel bonding in the show and well, I thought of approaching you if you have any pointers. Especially dispelling any misconceptions by the fandom whether Ford overlooked Mabel or the bond she shared with her brother.

I think the main misconception I see is that Ford didn't care about Mabel at all in comparison to Dipper. Or, in some ridiculously extreme cases, that he hates her.

People forget that Mabel was the first twin he interacted with, and it was largely positive. Ford laughed and said he liked her when she stated that his six fingered handshake was one finger friendlier than normal.

The Last Mabelcorn being the episode where Ford interacted with Mabel the most gives a big insight into how he feels about her. First, he agreed with Mabel when she stated she was probably the most pure of heart in the room (i forget the exact phrasing but same difference). He trusted her with the unicorn mission, even knowing that the unicorns were difficult. And last of all, he directly tells her that she is a good person without even knowing the struggle she went through with her morality moments prior.

Dipper and Mabel vs The Future is contentious in this regard, fans often using it as proof that Ford doesn't care about Mabel just because he asked Dipper to stay in Gravity Falls. But honestly, Ford cared enough to observe Mabel's social skills with the pizza delivery guy, plus probably witnessing plenty of instances of Mabel handling herself without Dipper's help. He genuinely believed that Mabel could handle being without her brother outside of the summers.

Plus, it isn't like Mabel was forthright about her feelings about leaving Gravity Falls and growing up until she blew up at the end of the episode. Obviously there are things to be said about Ford taking Dipper on as an apprenticeship being a good or a bad idea depending on who you ask, but Ford didn't know how badly Mabel would take it. He thought he was doing Dipper a favor by giving him a head start on his studies and, as I previously mentioned, that Mabel would be fine at home. That the two could reach a compromise if needed.

Ford isn't perfect though, he does tend to project himself onto Dipper after finding out how similar he thinks he is to him. That might've affected how often he spends with either twin or how he saw their bond, but to say that he doesn't care about Mabel at all is simply misguided. He cares about them both so much. His traumatic experience with his own twin just tainted how he saw the twins' bond being something that could be potentially suffocating. He does sorta have a point though, Dipper and Mabel can't force each other to stay glued at the hip forever or it could potentially stifle their individual dreams if handled badly. But that's just my 'controversial' opinion right there i guess, so take it with a grain of salt if you wish.

And besides, if we were gonna get upset at Ford for favoring Dipper over Mabel, you might as well also get upset at Stan for favoring Mabel over Dipper in some honestly worse ways than Ford ever did to Mabel. Stan literally projected his father's abusive ways onto Dipper and justified being hard on him with 'toughening him up'. Not to mention how he made Dipper the butt of his jokes so often it drove Dipper to seek out time with Ford over him because Ford never made fun of him like that. Obviously Stan does care about Dipper too, but the double standards in this fandom when it comes to how the grunkles treat the twins is honestly flabbergasting. Neither grunkle is perfect in how they handle the twins, neither are 'better' in their methods, and I think that's the point.

it doesn't help that Ford doesn't get a lot of screentime compared to Stan, as i'm sure you're already aware.

anyway, if you have any more questions, feel free to let me know. hope this was a good insight into all this Ford and Mabel business.

[venus-haze]

Why Don't You Do Right (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: You’d known him as Ben, the asshole rich boy whose family employed your parents on their estate just outside of Philadelphia, the mean streets that you grew up on, not him. When he returns from Europe to adulation and ticker tape parades in response to his heroic exploits during the war, he’s not happy when you echo his father’s sentiments about his praise being unearned. As time goes on, you find your own professional exploits make you begrudgingly more sympathetic to him, especially when you unexpectedly run into him again before the 24th Academy Awards.

Note: Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I don’t know how I feel about this fic, I guess I kind of left it open to another part. Soldier Boy’s background is so interesting even though we get so little of it in the show, I wanted to go ahead and explore it more from the perspective of someone who knew him back then. I decided to go with the last name Conway since as far as I know, the show doesn’t give Soldier Boy a canon last name. Feel free to picture any DILF of your choice as Ben’s briefly appearing father. Do not interact if you post thinspo/ED content or are under 18.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period typical (and Soldier Boy typical) misogyny. Morally gray reader. Dacryphilia, slapping, spitting. Some dubcon elements. Complicated and toxic relationships. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Over two decades’ worth of catharsis rushed through your veins as you eavesdropped on the heated conversation taking place in Cliff Conway’s office, his son’s voice steadily rising while his own remained cool and nonplussed. The steel magnate wasn’t your favorite person, but he kept your parents employed during the depression when so many of your classmates’ families were out of work. Your father worked as one of half a dozen chauffeurs on staff, your mother a cook, though you didn’t see much of either of them growing up, as they spent most of the week living in the servant’s quarters on the estate while you lived with your grandparents in their small South Philly apartment. 

It never failed to make your blood boil that Ben saw more of your parents than you did. You could remember taking a swing at him when he called your mother “mom” not long after he got kicked out of boarding school. You had made the trek to the Conways’ estate after a long day of your apprenticeship with a local seamstress, enraged to see Ben sitting in the kitchen, joking with your mom who you got to see twice a week if you were lucky. Though it was years ago, the betrayal when she angrily shooed you out of the kitchen still felt fresh.

When you were older, you discovered that Ben clung to your parents since his own were unimpressed and disinterested in him. In contrast, Cliff lauded your ingenuity in working hard at your apprenticeship, building up clientele, and opening your own shop. Of course, it helped that he would drum up business for you among his wealthy friends, having you custom-make his suits and his estranged wife’s evening gowns for the high society events they masqueraded as a happy couple at.

In fact, you’d been in the man’s office for a fitting when he received a call that Ben had shown up unannounced, wishing to speak to him. He had shaken his head as he dismissed you with a wave, instructing you to stick around the mansion until his conversation with his son was over. ‘It won’t be long. I don’t have anything to say to him,’ he had assured you.

So you stood with your ear pressed against the door, the men’s muffled voices traveling through the expensive wood grain, a thick, dark mahogany that turned visitors into vampires seeking permission to enter, impossible to sneak in or out of without concerted effort. Being his father’s only child didn’t make Ben exempt this unspoken social ritual that Cliff enforced. Perhaps he thought things would be different for Soldier Boy.

“What do you want me to do? Congratulate you for taking a shortcut?” Cliff said, his tone even. “A real man doesn’t take shortcuts.”

“Compound V isn’t a shortcut—“

“I tried with you, Ben. I really did, and somehow you ended up with no work ethic, no sense of purpose. Instead, you think you can cheat your way to greatness.”

“I signed up to fight, and I did,” Ben retorted, his voice wavering, “in Normandy, in Belgium—“

“On Hollywood sets where you fool around with movie stars and play pretend. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of starlets, but I didn’t get ticker tape parades or national holidays for it.”

Ben scoffed. “President Truman said I’m a hero—“

“No, the boys who came back and haven’t had a good night’s sleep since, the ones who didn’t come back at all, they’re heroes,” he said. “You, Ben? You’re a disappointment. I’m ashamed to even call you a Conway.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. In your dealings with Cliff, you had an idea about his feelings on his son’s fabricated exploits, noticing the newspaper pages with photographs or even mere mentions of ‘Soldier Boy’ crumpled in his wastebin. You knew none of the stories were true, anyway, not when Ben’s anecdotes about growing up in Philly were almost carbon copies of yours, from the fights to the laughter. It was all a lie, and no one would back you up even if you went public with it. No one but Cliff, anyway.

The whole situation had been odd from the moment you saw Soldier Boy in a newsreel before a Gary Cooper movie. Despite the helmet and mask that obscured his features, you’d recognize Ben anywhere. As much resentment as you harbored toward him, you’d have to be blind to ignore how attractive he was, thinking it was a shame that his striking green eyes and pouty pink lips were imprisoned in black and white. He spoke to the camera, proud and confident, the hot-blooded, all-American hero with the strength of a hundred men. The living, breathing embodiment of the American spirit was nothing if not an excellent liar, willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. 

What really threw you for a loop, however, was the lie whose tendrils arrested the minds of your fellow countrymen. Soldier Boy was born great, blessed by god with these superhuman abilities that he used in the fight against evil and anything that threatened the American way of life. His very existence proof of divine intervention in the land of the free. No, you’d wanted to argue, he’s just Ben, and he cheated.

As you heard shuffling in the office, you slipped away from the door and into one of the nearby parlors. Despite spending so much time in the Conways’ mansion in your youth and then in a professional capacity as an adult, it never ceased to amaze you how many rooms were in the place. Some of which, like the one you decided to lay low in, served no other purpose than to display the family’s ornate possessions—Persian rugs, imported chaise lounges, commissioned artwork, vases and statues from places you weren’t even sure you could point out on a map. It was almost sick how the objects in that room alone were worth more than what you’d ever make in your life.

You couldn’t privately lament your financial woes for long, as despite your efforts, Ben noticed you ambling around the room as he stormed out of his father’s office. He stopped in his tracks, rerouting his direction to join you. The costume he wore certainly wasn’t awful, and from a quick glance you could admire the effort that went into putting together such a vital aspect of his persona. Still, it wasn’t him, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mused, his voice low as he took you in.

You gave him a curt nod. “Ben.”

“You and my old man are the only ones who call me that anymore.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing about you that’s real.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, I understand the ‘scrappy young fighter from the rough streets of Philly’ is a lot more sympathetic than ‘spoiled rich boy who wants to feel special.’ It’s the part where you stole my life that really gets me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ben,” you said. “You’re a fraud, even your father says so.”

“I’m a fucking hero, sweetheart. You’re a washed up old maid who’s lucky I’m even looking in her direction,” he said, shooting his insult back at you.

It stung every time you were reminded of how many people thought there was something wrong with you for choosing your career over marriage. You’d have been offended by his words if it weren’t for the cheek twitch that gave away just how bothered he was by your statement. His tells were few, but they were distinctly his, and in the years you’d spent orbiting the spoiled brat turned man-child, you’d learned to recognize all of them. He was fundamentally insecure, always trying to prove himself to his unimpressed father and failing every single time. It seemed Soldier Boy was no exception.

Before you could respond, he grabbed your face, backing you into a wall. You knew whatever he’d been shot up with had made him strong, but you weren’t expecting the steel grip that encased your jaw, one squeeze away from turning it to dust. He could do it, and probably would if you pushed him enough. 

“What’re you doing here anyway? Don’t think I didn’t see you slinking out of my father’s office like a fucking whore,” he asked, releasing your jaw to drag his fingers across your lips, smearing your lipstick onto your cheek.

“I was in the middle of fitting Cliff for a new suit before you showed up,” you said, your voice quivering as you tried to compose yourself.

“Cliff? My mother hasn’t even called him Cliff in years,” he scoffed. “Jesus, the old man gets on me for taking a shortcut, but you’re just fucking your way up to the top, aren’t you?”

Impulse overtook your reasoning as you spat in his face, an acidic combination of satisfaction and terror wrestling in your gut as he stood frozen in shock, your saliva dribbling from just below his eye down to his chin. It wasn’t like you’d justify his insinuation with an answer, regardless of its validity. 

Suddenly, you felt stupid for taking the bait. Ben’s bite was always worse than his bark, practically trained by his father’s neglect to be desperate and snarling so that it was impossible to be near him without his foaming mouth claiming his pound of flesh. He had been jilted by his father yet again, becoming the world’s first superhero only to be told he was a failure for it. You, on the other hand, received his father’s praise and approval in kind, the street dog treated as pedigree. 

He wiped away the spit with an open hand, and in the same instance landed a harsh slap across your face, leaving your cheek stinging with the force he used. Fat tears clouded your vision and rolled down your cheeks as you trembled under his unrelenting gaze.

“I fucked every USO broad I could get my hands on, and none of ‘em could cry as pretty as you can,” he whispered, the barbs of his taunt cushioned by the cruelest lilt of nostalgia.

You’d seen how you looked when you cried before, having locked yourself in your fair share of bathrooms after being brought to tears by his words growing up. Your face always contorted, pained and puffy as tears fell from your red eyes, snot dripping from your nose. You never cried neatly, it was always raw and painful, your grief clawing its way out from deep within you. He liked that, though, the mess, the tangible evidence of how sensitive and vulnerable you were compared to him. 

How greedy, to have the adoration of the American public and it still not be enough, to trek to Philadelphia just to get affirmation from his father and now, you–as if you mattered, as if Vought and the military gave a shit what you thought of Soldier Boy. He cared, though, enough to take out his anger twofold on you for having the audacity to be favored by his father. 

“No one can make me cry like you can,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your tears.

You had fucked him once, or more like he fucked you, a few days after he got drafted and his parents unexpectedly threw him a farewell party. People are creatures of habit, and the circumstances, even the room were almost identical to that night you stumbled back into the party–mascara absolutely ruined, your legs too weak to dance, and the taste of his cum spoiling the expensive wine that was being served. You didn’t have illusions of any sentimentality behind the encounter. There was a decent chance he wasn’t going to make it back home, so you both seemed to figure ‘why not.’ With the self-loathing that had crept up on you as the night went on, you almost hoped he wouldn’t.

That didn’t stop you this time from letting yourself kiss him back when he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were soft, his hands too as he cradled the cheek he smacked, the contact causing you to gasp in pain. His other hand was on your waist, holding you steady in place. You were sure you couldn’t move if you tried, but you didn’t bother, allowing his tongue in your mouth. Part of you wanted to bite him, for spite and to see what would happen, if he could even feel something like that, but you decided against it when he brushed his thumb against your sore cheek again. He’d use any excuse to pull more tears from you.

You put your hands on his, hoping he could at least feel you trying to push them away. “He’s waiting for me.”

“‘Course he is,” he sneered, gripping your waist a bit tighter before releasing you.

The room was silent for a few moments before you said, “See you around.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bet on it, sweetheart.”

As soon as he stormed out of the room, you could feel yourself breathe better. You hurriedly ran into a nearby bathroom to straighten out your appearance before returning to his father’s office, giving a courteous knock before hearing a muffled ‘Come in!’

The ashtray was considerably more full than when you’d left, and the cigarette between Cliff’s fingers was steadily smoldering down to a nub. You figured it best not to ask him about it.

“What took you so long?” Cliff asked.

“Ben and I were just catching up.”

His eyes landed on your bruised cheek, and his tongue darted out from between his lips. “Alright. I suppose we should get back to it, then.”

Nodding, you went over to your bag in the corner of the room, searching for the measuring tape you’d been using while trying to ignore your patron’s burning gaze you felt on your back. The irony wasn’t lost on you that like your parents, your livelihood depended on him. You wondered why Ben so desperately wanted that same fate.

By 1952 you’d gotten married and promptly divorced after less than a year and a half of marriage, moving to Los Angeles and setting up shop there not long after the deaths of your father and mother in quick succession. Both decisions took you out of Cliff Conway’s good graces, though your reputation and talent preceded you. Within a few months of opening your new shop, your clientele had expanded to Hollywood stars, and you had to hire a handful of employees to help run the front end of things while you toiled away at your sewing machine most days. As awards season rolled around, you found yourself turning away customers as you simply didn’t have the time or resources to handle them all.

Plenty of people you’d never expected to see in person came into your shop, but you were particularly taken aback a week before the Oscars when a no-name starlet bleached hair and what you could assume was equally bleached teeth came ambling in with Ben–no, Soldier Boy, right behind her in the same costume he had been wearing the last time you saw him in 1945. The two of you made eye contact, and though he gave you the slightest smile, he made no other effort to indicate he knew you. Discretion, she was the jealous type.

You’d found the starlet’s dress, pointing out the customizations you’d done based on her request. She beamed at you before disappearing into one of the dressing rooms with it.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said.

“Me either, ‘til Darlene mentioned the shop name, same one as back in Philly.”

You shrugged. “Things aren’t so bad out here. Fresh start after the divorce, ya know?”

“You seeing anyone?”

“No, but you are.”

He scoffed. “She’s an easy fuck, besides MGM is paying me out the ass to bring her as my date to the Oscars.”

“Congratulations on the Best Picture nomination, by the way,” you said.

You had seen the movie, his fabricated life story, but the rage you felt upon seeing him seven years prior was no longer existent. He’d cemented his place in American history on lies, and there was nothing you could do about it. Besides, you felt too old and far too busy to let yourself get mad about things like that the way you used to.

“I think we got a pretty good shot of winning,” he said. “It’s all about who you schmooze, and I doubt Gene Kelly’s got a company like Vought sending blank checks and gift baskets to the Academy.”

“You never know.”

His response was interrupted by a squeal, though you couldn’t tell until the girl shuffled out of the dressing room whether it was in horror or delight. To your relief, it was the latter, an almost painful looking smile plastered across her face as she posed in her dress for Ben.

“So? Isn’t it perfect?” she asked, nearly glaring at Ben for not complimenting her quickly enough for her liking.

“Goddamn honey, you look like a million bucks. They’ll start casting you instead of that Marilyn Monroe girl.”

You nearly snorted. Marilyn wasn’t all that well known, but she had the makings of a star, and the kindness that made her one of your favorite customers as opposed to the more demanding clients that would come in and expect you to drop everything for them. It was almost painful watching the starlet fawn over herself while trying to pull as many compliments from Ben as she could. What a floozy. Then again, you hadn’t done much different when you were first starting out in your own career.

Finally, when it seemed like she had enough of herself, she retreated back into the dressing room to change.

“You know, I’m staying at the Roosevelt.”

“That’s nice. They have a great bar.”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink later, then?”

You nodded your head toward the dressing room. “She won’t have a fit?”

“She’s got a place with half a dozen other MGM broads,” he said. “She can cry on cue, but it’s still not as pretty as when you do it.”

You narrowed your eyes a bit, considering the implications of his proposal. The judgment you’d made on him years ago came back to you, he’s just Ben, and he cheated. Though not on the same scale, you supposed you had too. Besides, Los Angeles wasn’t Philadelphia, both of you could get away with a lot more here than under the watchful eye of his father. 

Grabbing the nearby receipt book, you handed him a pencil and pointed to a blank receipt, his conspiratorial tone rubbing off on you. It was odd, him speaking to you as if you were old friends or partners in crime, even. You’d never considered him like that, the differences in status made apparent to you from an early age. Even still, you certainly weren’t America’s hero.

He scribbled the room number and reservation onto the paper. “It’s under a fake name.”

“Alright, maybe I can get there before midnight. No promises,” you said, flipping to a new page just as his date emerged from the dressing room, her Oscar-night gown back in the protective bag you’d provided.

The dress had already been billed to MGM, though you knew by now it came out of whatever stipend the production company gave her, a move meant to make up-and-coming stars seem more important than they were in hopes of catching the attention of the right people. She had to know her chances were slim to none on her own, it was for everyone. For a moment you felt a bit bad for being so quick to judge earlier, even if you didn’t particularly like her attitude, she wasn’t the only one trying to claw her way to top billing in a uniquely cannibalistic city. In the nearly two years since you’d opened the shop, it stopped surprising you when certain clients wouldn’t come in anymore or would come in months after whatever event you’d styled them for to sell their dresses back to you to make rent. 

Ben glanced at you one more time before the starlet eagerly dragged him out of the shop, onto the next pre-Oscars errand. Funny, him putting up with a day of bullshit just to see if you’d be here. Maybe he’d find an excuse to blow her off now that he did what he’d set out to do. You looked at the clock on the wall and then to the unfinished orders laying on your sewing machine or draped over mannequins. There was no way you’d make it to the Roosevelt before midnight, and you weren’t sentimental enough to feel particularly bad about it.

[basilthesnakingthing]

Gravity Falls Rant

Look, l don’t dislike Mabel because heaven forbid a twelve year old make an irrational decision while under distress while working with incomplete information. I dislike Mabel because she’s a hypocrite in a way that the narrative demonstrates but tries to guilt you into overlooking instead of addressing it, and uses her as an excuse not to end Dipper’s plot in a satisfying way in several episodes.

In the episode The Time Travelers Pig Alex Hirsch said that Dipper was supposed to learn that you . . can’t force someone to love you? In retrospect I can see that the conclusion of the episode was him giving up (what he saw as) the chance to date Wendy. But he never came to the conclusion that he shouldn't’ve been doing that in the first place. Mabel was sad, so he didn’t anymore. There was nothing in the episode about the mindset of “winning Wendy’s love” being wrong. So the whole episode happens and it’s not, “Dipper tries to achieve a goal, and he succeeds!” Or, “he fails.” Or, “he realized that he had the wrong goal.” It’s just, “Mabel’s was more important, so actually he can’t have his goal now.” There are no consequences if Mabel doesn’t get what she wants besides, ‘oh, she would be so disappointed!’ And there are no consequences if Dipper doesn’t get what he wants . . except he would be really disappointed. And the show has this dynamic throughout where Mabel’s needs and emotions are just more important and significant than Dipper’s for whatever reason. Just because he’s more willing to sacrifice I guess.

The narrative even gives us a Robbie who whines and tries to make other people feel bad when he doesn’t get what he wants, a Pacifica who is about as talented at all Mabel’s interests as she is but gets special preference ‘cause she’s rich, and a Gideon who’s wants (being in a relationship with Mabel) directly oppose hers but who continues to insist on getting it because he’s charming and cute and spoiled. But we never get an episode where she realizes “Oh . . I kind of do that a little bit . . ” Like?? Can you introspect? Just a little bit?

I don’t even think it would’ve been good for Dipper to have accepted Ford’s apprenticeship, but I still wish he had taken it because in the show we were never really allowed to entertain the possibility. It got shut down immediately because Mabel was sad. Dipper was never able to come to the conclusion that it would’ve been bad for him because as soon as it came up, it was all about how it had offended Mabel and nothing to do with what was good for Dipper. Let the boy have a coherent arc. Please. Just address his stuff. For once. Let Mabel face some hard truths. Stop letting her steal his climaxes. I’m begging you.

[laurelwen]

Texts in Like Minds: Compulsory Miseducation

Seen on a shelf in Nigel's room is the book Compulsory Miseducation, by Paul Goodman, first published in 1964. It's an odd book to appear here, being a critique of the American public school system. According to Wikipedia:

Goodman argues in Compulsory Miseducation against the necessity of schools for the socialization of youth and recommends their abolition. He suggests that formal education lasts too long, teaches the wrong social class values, and increasingly damages students over time. Goodman writes that the school reflects the misguided and insincere values of its society and thus school reformers should focus on these values before schools. He proposes a variety of alternatives to school including no school, the city or farm as school, apprenticeships, guided travel, and youth organizations.

I haven't read through the full text of the book, but from a brief skim, there seem to be some good points mixed in with some weird takes regarding social class as it relates to how students should be educated.

I suspect that on a Doylian level, no one dressing that set expected viewers to screenshot their film and deep dive into the actual text of the books they used. It's more likely that someone chose the book for the title alone, because it suggests or underlines a certain rebellious, questioning nature--a rejection of imposed expectations.

The Watsonian level is much more fun to consider. Nigel having this book set aside on a shelf with his specimens (apart from the other books grouped together) seems to indicate it had some special significance for him. We know he was an excellent student, but perhaps he still felt that the structure of his education was too limiting. Perhaps he felt constricted by the finite range of knowledge he was expected to acquire and would have preferred a more open-ended approach in which he could explore as he wished into the dark, weird corners that drew his interest. Did he imagine creating his own curriculum to include taxidermy and Templar history? Did he feel he could have directed his own education much more efficiently and thoroughly?

Did he feel that his elite education was instilling the wrong class values? We know he felt that the Order of his father was misguided and insincere; perhaps he also felt this way about his own education and his larger society as a whole. No class politics are ever addressed in the film, but it's fun to speculate on what Nigel's beliefs might have been. Without a doubt, his personal value system was drastically different from the social norms of his world. I can believe that he saw a certain hypocrisy between the rules and laws imposed by society and the true nature of those who claimed to abide by such rules.

If you want to read the book, the full text is here, but be aware there were some OCR errors when they digitized the book.

[Like Minds Masterpost]

[void-damned]

Thoughts on the marking process. When do you think the other marked except Corvo and Emily got the mark of the outsider?

Thoughts? I have a lot of those!

First of all, the Outsider gives his Mark to people who seem to be at a low point in their life and who possess the drive and the opportunity to cause change in the world. But not all live up to those expectations - the Outsider seeks interest but as we all know, the paths are endless and they are not linear. Where Fate shall ultimately take his Marked is unknown. And he seems quite fond of gambling with that, high risk-high reward style.

We know of Marked like Corvo, Emily, Daud, and Delilah, all who caused great ruckus in the world, whose paths diverge and converge, change with the slightest actions. But their impact is felt heavily.

We know of Marked, who merely are, who might have had potential but became quite dull or too much, such as Granny Rags.

But we also know of Marked who had barely stirred much talk if any at all. I would say that the Lonely Rat Boy is one of them but I also like to think that he might have contributed to the spread of the plague. Others are barely mentioned.

Chronologically, we can speak of an almost clear timeline, actually:

(Potentially Daud's mother, who would have been marked circa 1790 before Daud's birth)

The Unknown rune-carving woman, marked c. 1800—3

Vera Moray, neé Dbhghoill, marked c. 1807—10

Daud, marked c. 1820

Delilah Kaldwin, born Copperspoon, marked 1831

The Lonely Rat Boy, marked 1835

Corvo Attano, marked 1837

Emily Kaldwin, marked 1852

Another potentially marked person, who'd have been marked around the same time as either Corvo or the Lonely Rat Boy, is one of the noble attendees of the Boyle party in DH1. If you point the Heart at the woman (chosen at random by RNG, I believe), the Heart tells you this:

"She had to dismiss the maid-servant who saw the Mark of the Outsider, branded on her back."

Either we are talking about the real thing or perhaps, as the gossip around the party went, someone who'd worshipped and prayed to the Outsider, enough to brand themselves as Zhukov and the Cultists did.

In any case, all years are more or less confirmed - however, we do not have much info on the when-circumstances other than Corvo and Emily. Vera, according to the Dunwall Archives, had been marked on her journey to Pandyssia, seeking the occult and religious practices native to the lands. We can only wonder just what she had witnessed and how the Outsider eventually approached her but whatever she went through, and whatever she saw, came at the cost of her vision and kickstarted her instability and steady decline into madness. With how men had begged for her, she might have had the potential to unmake the entire Empire. And wouldn't that be fun to watch? (But Vera had strayed from her path.)

Daud is said to have been marked after scouring the Isles and seeking out the Outsider's shrines. If there was ever any obsession, I would say it was the yearning for power and wishing for survival, yet with craving for blood - Daud had been a mercenary for hire since his young age. Who's to say that what ultimately lead to Jessamine's death wasn't a part of his resentment and thirst for revenge after what had been done to him as a child? He had inadvertently set things into motion but came to regret his actions - maybe he had realised he had become someone who he had fought his whole life against.

Delilah was at her worst. Young and so full of anger and despair. 'He came to us in 1831,' she whispers to you. She begun her apprenticeship under Sokolov in 1828 but perhaps the Outsider's Mark was the last push she needed (or maybe he merely wanted to spite Sokolov by marking her, who knows) - she learnt how to weave the Void into her art to get what she wants. The life she was always promised. And one she would make real one day, through the blood of her blood and flesh of her flesh. Even if it meant destroying everything in her path.

The Lonely Rat Boy was marked at the beginning of the plague. Of course he would be the target of all the adults who had immediately written him off for death. Another case of being wronged and being angry, of seeing revenge. And survival. But the boy had burned through his gifts immediately and paid the price too soon.

And the rest, we can only hypothetise as there are no accounts other than the bone-carving woman whose son's journal we get to read. Her story was of survival too, of running away from the Abbeymen that had pursued them.

The Outsider really is just someone tapping at the glass surface separating the waking world and the Void, like it is merely water surface and he (and his Marked) is creating ripples. To see what will happen and what people are capable of. Whatever happens, happens. He's there just to observe the human nature and how power shapes men when they are given access to it.

(And what of Morris Sullivan, you might ask? I believe his teacher, Vera, had merely shared some power with him in the same way Daud shared his through an Arcane Bond or Delilah had. But we can see him being immune to Bend Time, which oof.)

[phantomdoofer]

Chapter 15: First Impressions

Brando carefully checked himself in the mirror. As far as he could tell, his appearance was immaculate. He twitched his mustache nervously. Today would be the first day of his apprenticeship. Peppino had only agreed a few days prior. I must make a good impression.

He stepped out of his bedroom. His Mama was sitting, watching TV. She looked up at him - lately she'd started to come out of her reveries more often, and sometimes he could hold entire conversations with her without Bruno coming up. Inwardly, he sighed. Will we never be out of your shadow?

She scowled at him. "So you are off to your first day?" She snorted. "It's a shame you could not manage a better master than that Spaghetti character."

He bristled. She'd adopted his father's distaste for the man, even though she had no reason to dislike him. "Nonno Alphonso vouched for him, Mama. I trust his word. I wish you wouldn't parrot everything Father said."

She stood up. "You insolent bambino, your Papa would be ashamed of you, hearing you speak to me thus."

He laughed. "Father only cared for two things - himself and his reputation. I wish you would understand how little we mattered to him." He turned and walked to the door. "I don't know when I'll be home, Mama. Please be careful."

She sat back down, scowling. "All right. I'll see you tonight."

As he close the door, he sighed again. I hope this day goes better than it's started.

~~~~

As Brando parked his scooter, he saw Gustavo riding up on a giant rat. That gave Brando pause. He'd seen Giant Rats before, but never like this. "Mio Dio, Signore Gustavo! Did you tame that?"

Gustavo jumped off and grinned. "Nah, we came to an understanding. This is my friend Brick." The rat stood on its back legs and held out a paw.

Bemused, Brando shook it.

Gustavo and Brick both grinned. "If Brick doesn't bother you much, you shouldn't have much trouble today. Come on, let's get something to eat while we wait for Peppino." They walked across the street to Noisette's.

Being midmorning, the cafe was a raucous cacophony of people. Music played, TVs blasted, and a dozen different conversations were ongoing. Behind the counter, Brando was surprised to see a woman in a pink bunny hood hopping around, singing to herself while simultaneously appearing to be doing thirteen things at once. As Gustavo approached the counter, she spun and landed on a stool so she could see over the counter. "Hiii, Gus! Your usual today?"

Gus laughed. "Sì, a double cream cappuccino, a large water, and five cream cheese danishes."

As the woman spun away, Brando cleared his throat. "Ah... a little hungry today, signore?"

Gus laughed again. "No, three of them are for Brick. In case you're wondering, this is normal for Noisette's. She seems weird, but she's a tesoro. You getting anything?"

Brando looked at the menu. Gus waved to him, and he bent over. "Stick to the coffee and pastries. Trust me."

Brando nodded. When she came back, she turned to him. "Oooh, new guy! Who's this, Gus?"

Gus patted his back. "This here's Brando, Noisette. He'll be apprenticing under Peppino for a while."

"Oooh, how exciting!" Noisette did a little dance. I hope it goes well, Mr. Brando! What a pretty name!"

Brando blushed. He had mixed feelings about his name; it came from his father, after all. But it was hard to stay angry around the little bunny woman. "G-grazie, signora. Could-could I get a coffee and cream and a cream cheese bagel?"

As the two walked out, Brando stared into the void for a bit. "She, uh, she's..."

Gustavo laughed. "She's an experience, all right. Her husband is moreso." His face grew dark. "If you see a little gremlin man in a yellow outfit come in, let me or Peppino know immediately. He will cause trouble."

Brando looked shocked. "Should I be armed?"

Gus chuckled. "Ah, ragazzo, let us handle it. The Noise usually doesn't cause real harm, but I think it does Peppino good to vent every so often." He reached up and unlocked the door. "Come on, Brando, we'll eat and I'll start showing you our startup. Once Peppino gets here, your training will begin in earnest." He looked Brando up and down. Brando stood straight - he felt this evaluation was as important as any one he'd gotten in school. "A word of advice, ragazzo. Get some less fancy clothing. Presenting a good image is fine, but cooking can be messy work. This isn't a Five-Star restaurant. We'll keep you out of the mess today, but starting tomorrow, be prepared to get those hands dirty." He rubbed his hands together. "Time to learn real cooking."

Brando blinked and nodded. What have I gotten myself into?

~~~~

Peppino was nervous as he scooted down the road towards the pizzeria. Today was the day Brando began his apprenticeship. Everyone had been encouraging him...

"Come on, Pep, you're the best chef I know!" Gustavo had said. "You just have to believe!"

"Pino, you are your father's son," his Mama had said, "and he was best in his class. I've seen what you can do. You'll be fine."

"Look, I've seen you work, and you're better than you think you are," Giuseppe had said, "just relax."

He wished he believed it.

He'd had a long talk with Fake before he'd made up his mind. It wouldn't have been fair to simply bring in Brando without asking. The being had been torn about it - curling their arms around themselves, making strange noises, pacing everywhere - even walking up the wall and across the ceiling once, something Peppino thought he'd never get used to - until finally they had sat down in front of him. They had obviously been arguing with themselves - in Fake's case, quite literally. Finally they nodded. "We think you would be the best choice for them. Despite how we acted... before..." they looked down, clearly contrite, "you are a superior chef. Brando could learn much from you. More than at school, certainly."

Peppino nodded. "But, I-I know it will-a be hard for you. Are you sure you're-a OK with this?"

Fake nodded again. "We do not look like we did. We will not reveal who part of us is. We can help, as well. But if it becomes too much..."

Peppino nodded. "I understand. You'll-a hide for a bit. It shouldn't-a be a problem."

Flashing back from his reverie, Peppino sighed. I just hope I don't regret this.

~~~~

Brando was just finishing his coffee when Peppino walked in. He stood up straight. "Hello, signore!"

Peppino was a little taken aback. "Scialla, ragazzo! I told you, we won't-a be standing in ceremony here."

Brando made a conscious effort to unclench his shoulders. "Mi dispiace, insegnante. I forgot. I just..." he shook himself. "My insegnante at school taught us to be respectful."

Peppino clapped his hand on Brando's shoulder. "Respect is all-a well and good, ragazzo, but too much will make you too stiff. Loosen up." He walked towards the kitchen door, motioning for Brando to follow.

Gustavo was already inside, getting materials out to start the day. Gustavo looked oddly pensive. Is there something I should be worried about? Brando wasn't sure what was going on.

Peppino moved towards the basement door. "Before-a we start, there's... someone you should meet." He grabbed the doorknob, then turned. "I'll warn-a you now, they will look very strange, perhaps even scary. But they have proven themselves here, and might even help you learn-a things even I wouldn't know."

Brando nodded, and Peppino opened the door and walked down the stairs, Brando close behind.

The basement was cool and dry, and unusually clean. Only a single light in the middle illuminated the room; the rest was full of shadows.

Even if Peppino hadn't already told him, somehow Brando would have known he and Peppino weren't alone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up a bit. "Why does he stay down here?"

Peppino shrugged. "They prefer "they." And I think they just like-a the quiet and the dark. Fake? Are you-a ready to come out?"

From out of the shadows came a tall, lanky creature. Brando started. It looked vaguely like Peppino, but the mustache was curlier, it's shirt was green, and it's legs bent the wrong way. Are those frog feet?? It's skin looked wrong, and it moved like it had no bones. Despite the strangeness of its eyes, which sat in sockets far too large for them, there was a look of odd intelligence in them. And... sadness?

Before he could run, Peppino grabbed his shoulder. "It's OK, ragazzo. They won't hurt you. Fake? This is our new apprentice, the one I told you about, Brando Tagliatelle."

The thing loped forward and held out a hand. Brando cautiously shook it - it felt somehow dry and wet at the same time. "I-uh, n-nice to, meet you?"

It shook his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you. You can call us Fake. Before you ask, we were created by Pizzahead. We are five personalities working together in a body made of dough."

Brando coughed. "That's er, quite the story." He looked at Peppino. "Why, why do look sort of like Signore Peppino?"

Fake shrugged. "Pizzahead wished to torment Peppino, so we were given some of Peppino's DNA, and took on a facsimile of his appearance. We thought we were Peppino, for a time." They shook their head. "A story for another time."

Peppino nodded. "Sì. You will-a see Fake around the shop sometimes, and they will be willing to assist if-a you ask. They are quite knowledgeable. Now come. Let-a me show you how we get started."

As the two walked up the stairs, Fake sighed and sat down on the floor. Cheese crawled up onto their lap. "OK, Fake?" Cheese said in its squeaky voice.

Fake petted the little Toppin. "We will be, formaggio. We just... mourn for what we lost."

~~~~

As the day went on, Brando came to a conclusion: the real world is a very different place.

Both Peppino and Gustavo were excellent chefs. They were tossing little hints and tricks in at every opportunity. In fact, Brando was feeling a little overwhelmed. Much of it was similar to what he'd learned in school, but subtly different. When he'd asked Peppino about this, the man had chuckled. "Ah, Brando, what-a you learn in school is only fundamentals! It never-a survives in the real world."

Then he'd left Gustavo in the kitchen and taken Brando to the counter to show him customer service. Peppino's clientele was as varied as a bag of mixed vegetables.

"Signore," he asked, "while I'm no stranger to other races, you seem to have a huge variation in clients. Why is that?"

"Well, for one-a thing, ragazzo, most of Tower Town is populated by former Tower refugees." He shook his head. "Noise built-a NTV and bought the land around here, and Noisette saw that Tower Town was-a born." He grinned. "Another thing, we cater to a wide variety of palates. So we're popular." He shrugged. "Also, apparently our-a reputation got around."

"Your... reputation?"

The bell jingled, and a large man walked in, followed by... a cheeseslime in a cowboy hat? Brando wasn't sure how to respond. Peppino greeted them. "Ay, fratello, Vigi, what bring you in today?"

The large man smiled, his mustache bristling with the motion. "Pizza, of course. Vigi here challenged me to a marksmanship contest. Winner got to choose lunch."

Vigi grunted amusedly. "You only won because I'm more used to sidearms, you bastard." He punched the other one in the leg. He held out a hand. "Vigert L. Lantte, youngster, I go by Vigilante. I'm the sheriff around here."

It finally hit Brando why the man seemed so familiar. "Signore, are you Signore Peppino's brother?"

The man laughed. "Good eye, kid. I am. My name's Giuseppe." He leaned over. "Actually, there more to it than that, but I'll explain that another time. Or ask Peppino about it. It's a hell of a story." He leaned back. "Anyway, let's see what we've got on the menu today."

As they bickered over toppings, Brando chewed on Giuseppe's words. What more could there be to two people being brothers? This whole situation gets stranger and stranger.

Peppino poked him in the side, breaking his reverie. "Brando, try-a to focus. You will need to remember each customer's order, which can-a get complex. I-a hope you have a good memory."

Brando nodded. Carefully memorizing their order, he repeated it back. Giuseppe nodded.

"All right, Brando, take it back to Gustavo and he'll-a show you the ropes." The boy nodded and retreated.

After the door closed, Giuseppe pointed a thumb at the door. "New kid's a bit uptight, Pino. Think you can shape him up?"

Peppino sighed. "It will take-a some time, but I think he's got-a the spirit. He is-a Bruno's son, after all."

Vigi's eyes narrowed. "Bruno's? Bet Fake didn't take that well."

Peppino shrugged. "He agreed to let it-a happen. I just-a hope I'm good enough for-a Brando to think it's worth it."

~~~~

Brando carefully repeated the order to Gustavo, who nodded, spun, picked up a wad of dough, and tossed it into the air. Brando was mesmerized. The gnome twirled the stuff around like magic. He'd seen it in movies, but never in real life. "Can... can you teach me to do that?"

Gustavo laughed. "It'll take time, Brando, but yes, we'll teach you to do this." He plopped the dough down and started applying sauce. "Did your teacher never show you this?"

Brando scratched his arm. "My insegnante at school said such things were beneath us. That it was... unbecoming a chef."

Gustavo turned and glared. "Sounds like a right pene. Being a chef isn't just a job, ragazzo, it's a calling. It's art. You have to love what you do, and put your heart into it. Such arrogance will just make you hate it." He grabbed cheese and spread it around the pizza. "While we mainly do pizza here, Peppino is a master of a lot of different styles, though he'll never admit it. You should have seen the spread he cooked for our Christmas dinner." Gustavo patted his ample belly appreciatively. "Once you get the basics down, he'll expand on that. Fake can show you, too, if he wants to." Gustavo's smile fell.

Brando had to ask. "Signore Gustavo, why is everyone so apprehensive about Fake?"

"Ah, ragazzo, you had to ask that." He started spreading toppings. "I'm not at liberty to say, but... Fake's life has been tragic. You remind them of... something they lost." He turned and looked Brando in the eye. "I know you're curious, giovanotto, but for now, let it drop. It's Fake's life, and they'll tell you if they decide to."

Brando nodded. He felt like he'd made a mistake, but he wasn't being punished for it. "I'm sorry, signore. It won't happen again."

Gustavo quickly scooped the pizza up on a paddle and dropped it in an oven. "No, Brando, it's good you ask questions. That's how you learn. But... some things, personal things... are best left alone." He dusted his hands, and smiled. "Now, let's teach you how to toss a crust."

~~~~

Several hours and a few dropped crusts later, Brando finally felt he was getting the hang of it. He smiled. So simple, yet so satisfying! His outfit, so carefully maintained, was covered in flour, but he didn't mind much. He felt happier than he had in ages.

Peppino came though the doors just as Brando tossed a crust into the air. The man smiled. "Ah, I-a see Gustavo has been keeping you busy. All right, Gus, let's switch. I'll take back here for now."

The gnome nodded. "All right Pep. If you need me Brando, I'll be out here."

As the door closed, Peppino looked Brando over and laughed. Brando blushed and tried to brush some of the flour off himself, but Peppino shook his head. "No, Brando, leave it! I'm-a glad to see you enjoying yourself. And being less stiff. It shows you're-a willing to learn."

Brando blushed harder at the praise. "I... I refuse to be my father, signore. I want to be the best... but..."

Peppino's face fell. "Don't sell your father short, young Brando. Whatever else he was, he was an excellent chef." Peppino grabbed a wad of dough, tossing and spinning it even more vigorously than Gustavo had.

Brando tried not to gawp. He does it so casually. "Sì, signore, but... he ignored us. Abused us. We meant nothing to him." Brando fought not to cry.

Peppino looked at him. "Don't take me wrong, ragazzo. Bruno Tagliatelle had his faults, too. He was-a my nemesis in school. I-a threatened to knock his teeth in more than once. Your Nonno Alphonso had to watch us like a hawk to keep us from killing each other. But I-a never once doubted his skill. I think-a the only one who did... was Bruno himself." He smiled at Brando. "I'm-a glad to see you have a brighter outlook than he did."

Brando brightened up. "Sì, signore. I'll do my best."

"Bene. Now, let's-a see if I can teach you anything Gustavo hasn't already, eh?"

~~~~

Fake sat in the basement, stroking the Toppins. They hadn't been able to muster the courage to approach Brando today. They had listened to the conversations in the kitchen. He hates us. Hates us. And yet they felt a little better. Peppino's words had hit surprisingly hard. We treated him so horribly. Even before we became Fake. But still he is nice to us. Why?

In a rare display, one of the personalities spoke independently. A voice that almost never spoke.

Because, despite everything he's been through, despite his anger, his faults, his rage, he's still a good person.

The rest of Fake considered this. We do not deserve such kindness. But we will repay it.

~~~~

That night, Brando laid in bed. His mind swam with knowledge. Not huge, world-shaking knowledge, but hundreds of little bits that changed his whole view of cooking. I feel like I learned more today than I did in all of my schooling.

He rolled over, unable to sleep. He was happier than he'd been since... he couldn't remember when. Even his mother's barbed comments about Peppino had seemed to bounce off him.

He smiled. I made the right choice. This is what I want.

~~~~

Miles away, on top of Peppino's, Fake climbed out of a vent, reformed, and sat. They looked up, staring at the stars. We never looked at them before. We were too busy looking at ourselves. But, since moving into the pizzeria, they'd found peace in the night sky.

So much of our life wasted. Now that we are free, we see how much he is like you, Papa. Proud, skilled, but with a heart. A heart we forgot we had.

Eventually they began to shiver - it was still the dead of winter, and they didn't want to risk freezing up. They moved towards the vent, back to their warm lair.

We did not know what you meant to us until it was too late, Brando. But we will do what we can to help you achieve your dream now.

[shatteredclangen]

Welcome to ShatteredClan.

It's an uncertain world, but by StarClan, we're gonna survive out here.

See more info below!

Halvedstar - When no one else would step up to take the mantle of leader, Halvedstar gladly took the position herself. She wasn't going to let these sniveling, weak-willed cats be the reason her kit suffered the same fate as her mate... as well as the rest of her former clan. She is most definitely fronting strength and stubbornness to mask the crushing horror of what preceded this clan's formation, but you didn't hear that from me.

Owlgleam - Our poor, very young deputy. Didn't really ask for this position and certainly doesn't feel qualified for it. But when this crowd of shaken-up cats was all Halvedstar had to work with, she pointed at the least likely to have a mid-life crisis and said "you. Deputy." So, here he is. Doing his best!

Shadowfruit - An older cat who took the medicine cat role because nobody else could name five herbs off the top of their head. She claims she saw horrible, burning visions prior to the Destruction, and has been muttering "I knew it, I knew this would happen" over and over again. Halvedstar went "visions and you know that plant stuff? Awesome. Med cat for you."

Wormthistle - Oh she's 100% heading for the elder's den the moment she has the opportunity. As great as she is at sorting out disputes between other cats, she has no ability to calm herself down in a scary situation. Of which we are in. So, she might just be a tiny bit hysterical at the events of recent.

Longchirp - One of the few cats managing to keep his head straight. While the rest are reasonably upset at the devastation surrounding them, Longchirp is more busy giving Halvedstar glares from across their new camp. He does not like her, and honestly, wishes he had spoken up sooner when they were figuring out who the leader would be. Or the deputy, for that matter. Hopefully this won't turn into anything worse than petty arguments.

Badgerspots - Big boy. Big man. Large, powerful man. Could pick me up and throw me. Not much of a talker, Badgerspots tends to simply grunt in response to situations, much preferring to use brawn instead of brain. Not to say he hasn't any brain, though... He's actually pretty smart, knowing how to choose his battles, and when to back down. Unfortunately, this means he is not a himbo. But it's not too late.

Waterpaw - A scrawny little thing who is not happy about anything that's happening. When Halvedstar chose to be his mentor, he should've been honored to have the leader's approval!... But he was not. He was more frightened than anything. But at the very least, he has another apprentice to keep him company...

Cinnamonpaw - Apparently, this cat has decided to cling to his optimism despite the dire circumstances. Always keeping a wary smile on his face, Cinnamonpaw seems to know just what to say to lift the spirits of his solemn clanmates, maintaining a happy hop to his step that most older cats would envy. Let's hope he stays that way.

Weevilkit - Horrible, evil little child. The first thing this child did when I opened the game was make fun of Longchirp, and I'm choosing to believe he's doing it because he knows Longchirp wanted to have his mother's position. This fluffy thing can and will be a menace. I feel it.

Sparrowkit - Separated from his family after The Horrors, Sparrowkit was soon adopted by Badgerspots. He appreciates that, but... he misses his family. He misses home. He worries he won't make it to apprenticeship. None of his littermates did. What makes him think he'd be different?

Well... Let's see what happens, yeah?

[adrianicsea]

I saw your tags, you can’t hide from me. So who’s the knight and who’s the lord in chainshipping?

lawrence is the knight, and adam is the lord!! it might be easy to assume the opposite (lawrence has wealth, status, and conventionally good looks, not to mention he's played by literal blueblood cary elwes; meanwhile, adam is broke and living on the outskirts of society, both geographically and socially)...

HOWEVER!! we see lawrence equated with knighthood in the original screenplay for the first movie, when john taunts adam for killing zep with the line, "the pawn has done what the knight couldn't do. you've killed an innocent man." referring to lawrence's failure to kill adam, and by extension equating adam with the pawn. (more on that in a minute.) when we think of knights today, beyond the armor and swords of it all, we tend to think of the knight's sworn duty and devotion to their lord/cause of choice. lawrence throughout saw 1 is married to his work, and he's also sworn to the duty of protecting and upholding his family, even though we gradually learn that he's grown dispassionate in his marriage. but it's still his duty to be a good husband and a good father, no matter how he personally feels about it!

when we see him again in saw 7, lawrence has lost his family, but in exchange, he's sworn fealty to jigsaw-- and he proves himself to be jigsaw's best apprentice by being the only one to unfailingly carry out john's orders and wishes, never disobeying him or seeking more power or freedom for himself. as profoundly sad as that is, it's also another example of lawrence's duty-oriented, knightlike mindset. (a final note on lawrence and knights, going back to the chess metaphors-- when a knight moves on the board, it must always move in the shape of a capital L. just like lawrence!)

now, with adam, it's a little harder to read him as a lord, because he doesn't have any sort of noble bearing or status; actually, the movie goes pretty far out of its way to show us that adam is broke and on the social margins. and, again, john compares him to a pawn in the original screenplay.

BUT!! the thing that makes pawns special in chess is that they're the only piece that can be promoted, all the way up to a king or a queen. and looking back at lawrence and adam-- a knight needs a lord to swear fealty to, a set of ideals or an inspirational figure. arguably, lawrence finds this in adam, after adam's death; lawrence has lost his family, and though he has his work as an apprentice, he's only doing it because he has nothing else to live for at that point. or, if you love reading too much into things (like me), because he started his apprenticeship to try and get closer to adam, and kept going until he passed that point of no return. even once lawrence had to have known or suspected that adam was dead, that no amount of atrocities lawrence committed would bring adam back to him, he still had to keep going.

all of lawrence's relationship with adam (or with the idea of adam) is predicated on this idea of atonement and dedication that is destined to go unrequited and unseen. like a knight to their lord, lawrence can never touch or embrace adam again, not unless it's to protect and soothe him, and then he's not even able to do THAT. but lawrence keeps going anyway, in adam's memory if not in his honor.

[talldarkandroguesome]

4th of Rain’s Hand, Tirdas

We have seen all the properties now. The one in Ebonheart was well maintained, but it is not a particularly suitable abode for Sildras with the arcane interest that he bears. It is designed far more for leisure and luxury than for anything practical.

Uncle Urnel’s home was, as I had suspected, the one that SIldras was the most delighted with. He had been there before, of course, though it has been nearly a year since last visit. He was excited when he saw the stores for arcane ingredients and the vast library. Uncle Urnel was never much for dicing into the reading side of things and he kept the alchemical stores mostly for a friend of his, who has recently passed.

The whole place is spectacularly furnished, but practical. It is not as though uncle Urnel was the consummate socialite, he kept to himself for the most part. He is very good with numbers and has always helped with maintaining the House treasury. As such, he tried to minimize his own spending. He keeps his staff well and his home besides, but does little for himself unless it is necessary.

The home itself reflects this attitude, and knowing Sildras as I do, I believe it shall be kept in a similar manner. Sildras will, I am sure, be putting most of his personal funds into books and spell components.

His sisters ran around the house and climbed the pillars and shelves in various rooms, as is their habit. And, as I am growing used to, I went behind the anxious staff to reassure them that the girls were natural climbers and that unless they were in danger of harming something, to simply let them have their fun.

Later that night I met with uncle Urnel. It was so good to see him. I fear for his health, though. He has lost quite a bit of weight. He seems to have aged a century since our last meeting. He does not seem to be sleeping.

Of course he dismissed my concerns, saying it was just the weight of being Grandmaster in such a political climate. I feared for what that truly might mean. My plump, jolly uncle was now lean and worn, as though he had been left too long in the sun and dried up. Deep wrinkles have formed above his brow that I cannot recall being there before.

We met by the lake outside of the Temple where we went fishing. I know that he must miss being able to go fishing whenever he had a moment free. The meeting was as much an excuse to fish as it was to discuss the deed and title. He had a solicitor along with him and an order was drawn up for the delivery of title upon Sildras’ completion of his apprenticeship and his official presentation into adult society.

I know that uncle Urnel wants to share the news sooner, but I asked that he present this gift upon Sildras’ nameday. He is turning twelve, after all. It is a bigger birthday and it will be such a joyous gift. I only wish that Sildras could have all of his siblings there. Perhaps I could try to persuade Nabine to let the girls come. If I gain some grand blessing, perhaps I could even persuade the Clan Mother to allow Qau-dar to bring Little Khes, well, she is likely to be all grown up by then. But if they could come, and any of the other of the spouses and children who would be interested. I know it would be a great gift for Sidlras to be able to see them all.

Besides, the House wants me to get Qau-dar and our spouses’ permission regarding this mistress nonsense, it would be the perfect time to take care of all of that. I will have to submit my request in writing.

I shall do this immediately. I have precious little time to be able to find the clan, who will soon be to the gathering place of the clans. Yes, I imagine they are already traveling there now. It is my chance to find them. This is not something to chance at a letter that may only reach them every month or few months. This has a time pressure upon it.

There is still some time before the Council closes its session, I need to get this request to them today. It would be the greatest gift I can provide my son.

[celestialevie]

Sunshine // Charlie Weasley x Healer! reader

(Not my GIF, credit goes to the creator) Genre: fluff with tiny bit of angst words: 1.7k warnings: cursing, like one sentence of smut (so 16+ please), kissing, idiots being oblivious about their feelings, mentions of second degree burn, mentions of broken ankles etc. Summary: Being in love with your childhood best friend is never easy, no matter how much love there is. A/N: This is gender-neutral fic don't mind the gif also, please keep in mind English is not my first language. If there are any mistakes, please let me know. And also thank you so much again for the 100 followers!! Hope you enjoy the fic

Working at your dream job with your childhood best friend has been the absolute dream. Even though you just started working at the sanctuary recently, you’re already loving it. And how could you not when Charlie Weasley has been nothing but supportive and making sure you’re comfortable with everything. Until very recently, you’ve been working at St. Mungo’s since your apprenticeship ended, when Charlie told you that people at the sanctuary are looking for another healer to work in case something happens with the wizards working there. While it did break your heart to leave your two other best friends, Tonks and Penny, you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to be even closer to Charlie. Everyone around you two knew your feelings for each other, while the two of you kept being oblivious to each other's feelings, not wanting to ruin your friendship. Doing this job wasn’t that hard, healing a few burns here and there, twisted ankles etc. Charlie would find excuses to go and see you, even if it wasn’t actually anything wrong with him. You’ve known Charlie since the first year of Hogwarts, when you ran into him on the train. And honestly, seeing him then, you should’ve known you would’ve caught feelings for him. Red hair and blue eyes, freckles all over his face. Who can blame you? Your thoughts have been interrupted when you heard a knock on your office door. ‘’ Come in! ‘’ you yelled as Charlie opened the door. ‘’ Hi sunshine ‘’ he smiled at you. ‘’ Should’ve known it was you. Are you injured, or did you just come to bother me? ‘’ You ask him with a smile on your face.’’ Actually injured. Baby dragon decided to give me attitude by breathing fire on my hand. ‘’ he approaches you and places himself on a bed meant for patients. Taking his hand in yours, you see the very much visible burn marks on his hand. ‘’ It’s only a second degree burn, thankfully, nothing a little of burn-healing paste can’t cure. I’ll apply it and then wrap it up so that it doesn’t accidentally budge or wipe off. In no matter of time, your hand will be as good as knew and ready for another baby dragon or maybe even mother dragon to burn it again. But please don’t actually get burnt again on that hand if possible or anywhere. Molly would throw a fit if she knew how much of your scars and injuries I heal. ‘’ You say as you grab the burn-healing paste and apply it to his hand and finish it off with wrapping a bandage around his hand. Gently tapping his cheek, he sighs and gets up. ‘’ Thank you sunshine, you’re my saviour. ‘’ he exaggerates while kissing your cheek, and he’s on his way out of your office. What you didn’t know is while healing and inspecting his wound, he finally decided he’ll act up on his feelings. But for that, he’ll need help from one person who’s been helping him ignore his feelings for you. Going back to his place, he quickly wrote a note and sent his owl to that person letting them know to come over to his place asap. A couple of hours have passed before he heard knocking on his door. Opening his door, he saw that they were wearing the same outfit they usually did when they were meeting up. ‘’ Sorry it took me a while to come over, I was at work. ‘’ Charlie gulped and let them in. ‘’ It’s no problem, let’s get this over with and honestly this will probably be the last time we meet up like this, Anna… I decided to stop being a coward and acknowledge my feeling for y/n and do something about them. ‘’ he smiled and at his words Anna’s lips stretched into a wide smile. ‘’ Charlie, that’s amazing! I’m happy for you, god, I wish I could do the same about my feelings for Peter. ‘’ her smile faded a bit and a frown replaced it. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her passionately, leading her towards the couch and slowly lowering her down on it while not breaking the kiss. Pulling off the coat, he knew she had only underwear underneath it. Slowly kissing down her neck and gently biting into it, wanting to hear her moans, he knew he pulled out of her every time they meet up like this. Lowering himself and kissing down her chest, sucking on

her sweet skin he’s got so familiar with recently. As he took of her bra, and started sucking on her nipples, the door of his cabin opened, and he swears the time stopped for him when he heard y/n’s voice when they interrupted something. ‘’ Hey Charlie….oh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please continue, I’m going to go…’’ before he could even muster up a word, they apparated away somewhere. ‘’ FUCK! ‘’ He yelled as he got off of Anna and helped her get dressed. ‘’ Go find her, you idiot! Don’t just scream and shout! You should go find her and tell her everything. I’ll go home. ‘’ Anna yelled at him Giving Anna a small kiss on the cheek as an apology, he quickly tried to think of a place y/n could’ve gone to. The first thing he did was run to her house and started knocking on their door. When they didn’t answer the door, he went to their office. When he tried to enter it, the door was locked, so he knocked a couple of times before moving on to a different location. He remembered showing her a special spot by the lake, which he accidentally found when he first moved to Romania. Quickly imagining that place in his head, he apparated there, and that’s when he spotted them. Sitting by the lake and throwing small rocks at it. Taking a deep breath, he approached them.

‘’ Hey sunshine. ‘’ at the sound of his voice, they raised their head and looked behind them. ‘’ Charlie, hey…’’ clearing his throat, he slowly approached them. ‘’ Mind if I sit down next to you? Been looking around to find you. Just want to explain something to you and then after that I can leave you alone if that’s what you wish for. ‘’ they nodded their head and gently patted a spot next to them. Charlie sat down. ‘’ Can I just say before you start, I’m sorry for walking in your house without knocking or even letting you know I’ll stop by. Didn’t mean to interrupt you and Anna in your private business.’’ their voice was on the verge of breaking because god-damn did their heart break when they saw Charlie and Anna in the middle of whatever they were doing. ‘’ Oh god no sunshine, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, it’s me who needs to apologize to you. I am so fucking sorry you saw that. But I need to explain that whole situation and for you to understand it I need you to listen to every word I say. Anna and I were nothing more than just fuck buddies. To just try and forget about all the pain in our hearts that we both felt. We never saw each other as more than occasional fuck buddies who were looking to feel something. Her heart is longing for someone else, and so does mine. Sunshine, I know that what you saw probably hurt you more than you’d like to admit to yourself and to me. God, I wish you didn’t see me and her, but….’’ he stops, taking your hands into his and looking into your eyes. My heart only longs and wishes for you, sunshine. God, I’ve never been more in love with someone more than I am in you. If you’re in love with me too or at least have some romantic feelings for me, it would make me the happiest man in the world. If you wish to stay only friends with me, I completely understand, I promise I won’t let my feelings for you ruin our friendship. You mean way too much to me for me to only ruin it because of some stupid feelings. You’re the most important person in my life. You can say what you wish to say now. ‘’ Charlie was preparing for the worse, but what he didn’t expect is for you to start crying. Noticing the panicking look in his eyes, you quickly reassure him. ‘’ No, no, don’t panic, these are the happy and frustrated tears. Penny and Tonks will be over the moon once I let them know they were right about the two of us all this time. ‘’ A small laugh escapes your lips. ‘’ I’ve been in love with you, Charlie, probably since the moment I first met you on the train. All these times I’ve told myself you only saw me as your best friend, how could you ever see me romantically. But I guess I was wrong. ‘’ you wipe away your tears as Charlie looks at you with so much love in his eyes. ‘’ Oh sunshine, I’ve never been happier to see someone laugh. ‘’ you pull him into a hug, never wanting to let him go. He pulls a little away only to press him lips onto yours. The kiss was never sweeter, wanting to keep kissing you for the rest of his life.

BONUS:

When both Penny and Tonks received a letter from you, they didn’t expect anything unusual. But what they received was the happiest news they’ve been wanting to hear since probably fifth year of Hogwarts. Charlie and you were officially together. Just like you expected, you received one big howler from them. ‘’ CHARLES WEASLEY AND Y/F/N L/N HOW DARE YOU ANNOUNCE THE NEWS WE’VE BEEN WANTING TO HEAR JUST CASUALLY IN THE LETTER. I EXPECTED BETTER FROM YOU TWO!! ‘’ Penny screamed, but Tonks was only laughing in the background. ‘’ As soon as we can, Penny and I will come over to the Romania and keep telling y/n ‘ I told you so ‘’ because I TOLD YOU SO YOU DUMB IDIOT! ‘’ Tonks yelled, and all you could do was laugh at Charlie’s shocked and kind of terrified face. Penny can be a bit scary when she wanted to be, and he definitely experienced Penny’s wrath back in Hogwarts. ‘’ Well, they seem to like the news. ‘’ you laughed as you pulled Charlie into a kiss.