#skyrim: so like. everyone is a man

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about Celann (when am I not?) Man drinks his respect women juice for 20+ years, steps foot in Skyrim, immediately gets culture shock. Wdym you don't respect women? Skill issue. Man wanted one (1) kid and he wanted a daughter. "Oh, but inheritance!" Yeah. To his single heiress. You're giving everything to his daughter or he's gonna haunt the shit out of you. "But women aren't equal to men!" What the fuck are you smoking

[littledragondork]

@the-elder-polls sharing a doodle I did of my LDB twins, Brigitte and Micah here!! Not telling you which is which lol

They are both Dragonborn, but only Brigitte is technically the one prophesied to kill Alduin but the two of them do it together in the end. They are both technically non-binary but like to go by gendered pronouns (partially for my own sanity when writing them).

They are are also mixed race by being 1/4 Nord, 1/4 High elf, 1/4 Imperial and 1/4 Khajiit all wrapped up in a nice little Daedric bow!!! Because I just liked the idea of the chaos :3

I really liked the idea of them being Demi princes and the Daedric part of them reacting strangely to the Dragonborn part, so they are fairly unstable and prone to magical mishaps (think wild magic in dnd) but more like the Waabajack than anything else, since they are Sheogorath Demi princes. So sometimes their magic will misfire and transform either themselves or whoever they are targeting temporarily.

They’re my little freaks and I love them very much.

Instead of doing anything productive with my OCs I just drew them as Autism creatues and nothing else

I could be drawing or writing things about their lore and story but no.

[biggaybunny]

I know it's already been talked about a lot, but I'm still thinking about that "wouldn't disco elysium be better if it were about a girl in the alps looking for her neighbor's lost cat" (paraphrasing) post. Because I think part of the problem is that it comes from a lack of understanding of videogames as a storytelling medium.

Not saying that anyone misunderstands that videogames have a story, but that's different. The story in a videogame is usually understood as something that contextualizes the player's environment and options for interacting with that environment. Even if the story is not about you the player as directly as something like, say, skyrim, but is instead about a character like Leon Kennedy in Resident Evil or something, the contract between player and game is that the player will assume the role of Leon Kennedy for the duration of the story.

You are not Harry Du Bois! You are not meant to assume the role of Harry. You can like him and even empathize him, I'm not saying any of that is wrong. But your role is very close to that as any other voice in his head. Honestly if anything I feel like Volition represents the player the best. You're basically picking this wet threadbare gym sock of a man and going "fuck's sake, I guess this is what I've got to work with".

The game tries to point this out to you, too. You are not Harry. It is Harry doing these things, saying these things. These are Harry's decisions. What happens if you try too hard to be reasonable and conciliatory and nothing like a Rechavolian cop in a backwater town? You get called the "sorry cop" and mocked for it. If you try too hard to play according to your personal politics? Everyone comments on your weird overzealous and out-of-the-blue "feminism", or you wind up pestering the queer characters in the game with out-of-place and clumsy mentions of their sexuality. What happens if you try not to be inflammatory and opinionated? "Say one of the communist or fascist things or fuck off".

The game doesn't stop you because that wouldn't get the message across. It's a very good game. It is, in my opinion, very possibly the best example of videogames as a storytelling medium we've ever seen. And it's willing to show you just how out of place you'll be if you try to put yourself into the crocodile-leather shoes of Harry Du Bois. In fact it can do that and still tell you the rest of the story it's trying to tell, because the writers were that damn good at their job.

And yeah, the game's going to make you uncomfortable. Harry himself is going to make you uncomfortable. He's supposed to. It's like Trant says near the end, Harry is like a magnetic tape, pressed against the world, recording everything. Even the ugly bits. Maybe especially the ugly bits. But you can't just throw out the ugly bits.

Sometimes you've got to work with something imperfect. Alongside imperfect people. And you can still accomplish amazing things with imperfect people. It doesn't mean accepting their imperfections or ignoring them. It just means knowing what's important to prioritize, and understanding that a good deed done by a not so good person is still a good deed.

But to understand that, you need to be able to look at Harry and recognize him as separate from you even as you go through the story. He's your point of view because he's the protagonist, and you have control over the narrative to an extent because a videogame is not one-to-one comparable to other forms of media like movies or books. But it's still a story you are experiencing, not partaking in. I don't think that's going to be revolutionary for most people, but I also think that most videogames blur that line enough that not everyone's going to innately recognize the difference. I hope I've done a good enough job explaining what I'm getting at.

Besides, Harry would be way better at finding a neighbor's missing cat.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Shangri-La Frontier mid-season review

This is by far the best fake video game I've ever seen written in fiction.

Most MMO-centric isekai stories have trouble with providing accurate and realistic depictions of the complexities and minutia that give MMOs the allure they have. I've seen so much handwavey bullshit tacked onto fake-games that introduce unrealistically overlooked mechanics for reasons like giving the protag immense power just because they're the protag and the story is about them. A good example of this is another MMO Isekai airing this season, "A Playthrough of a Certain Dude's VRMMO Life", wherein the main character becomes extremely rich, powerful, and famous by episode 2 because he stumbled into a stealth archer playstyle, a build which apparently no human in that universe had ever conceived of before, and then making a fortune by selling basic potions to everyone after NPCs stopped selling them (another thing he was uniquely able to do because not a single other player had the forethought to spec into alchemy). These lesser, dime-a-dozen isekai add up to be boring fantasy strories with gaming elements clumsily put in so that the author can demonstrate how powerful the world's inhabitants are by showing their stat allocation screen instead of, say, explaining anything about what they do that's so uniquely powerful and how they figured it out. Ya know, stuff you'd hope to hear about from any competent story.

Shangri-La Frontier is a breath of fresh air for anyone who, like me, is sick of authors ignoring the things that actually make video games compelling in service of creating a stock-standard narratives in fantasy worlds because it allows them to get away with bullshit. I've always found it very convenient that many isekai narratives indulge in things like chattel slavery, because it's societally normal enough for the protag to purchase a beautiful, vulnerable girl to add to his harem (dont worry, she is always inexplicably in love with him no matter what because he's SUCH a kind master). And it never really seems to go anywhere. Because the Video Game Isekai, while an interesting premise in theory, is more often than not used exclusively as a means to simplify the structure of a world's power scaling to abide by an arbitrary set of omnipresent universal rules (e.g. what people who have never cared to look into game development think of video games). This anime, by comparison, is VERY clearly authored by someone who plays a LOT of games.

Every piece of logic used to drive the plot forward, so far, is congruent to a real-world example of video game conventions, and I'm not just talking about levelling up and selling monster parts. Story elements that I've rarely (if ever) seen explored in other isekai are ever-present and genuinely clever and amusingly introduced. My favorite example of this so far has been the way the protagonist has been able to go head to head with so many overlevelled foes in the first 9 episodes. The story of course makes note of how good of a gamer Sanraku (our hero) is, but much like in real life games, being super duper good at dodging attacks doesn't really make up for a 70 level gap in items and learned skills. For that reason, he gets his ass whooped more often than he actually outsmarts others (so far he hasn't beaten a single player in pvp). So how is he getting out of these situations without dying so frequently? Simple: he got access to a later area too early relative to his level (sequence break) and got access to a high level follower NPC that's been carrying him. This is something he acknowledges directly several times, specifically using words like "Emul has been hard-carrying me for a while." This, to me, is extraordinarily meaningful. That's something you can exploit in Skyrim, man. That's REALISTIC CHEESE STRATS. The excitement and wonder I find in this show doesn't come from watching the protag do something unexpected, but by watching him do something that I would think to do.

This knowledge the author has demonstrated regarding modern gaming culture extends further into the actual realistic nature of game design and community. The story exists in a reality where full-dive VRMMOs are the be-all-end-all of gaming, and given the prohibitively expensive nature of developing and designing expansive, immersive worlds, most games are pretty shit. It's been hinted at so far that this is due to a monopolistic megacorp which is one of the only entities rich and powerful enough to make a good game (the game in question being the one that shares the title of the anime), but so far the strife of the characters have been pretty centralized to the happenings of the game world and its politics. By the way, lets talk about the game world's player base politics, which I'm also quite pleased with. It exists in the form of guilds and clans who struggle for power not by participating in seemingly random pvp with other powerful players to see who is the most epic and badass warrior (again, like many contemporary isekai typically opt for), but by gaining actual realistic support from a fictional playerbase with realistic desires and playstyles. Some guilds are interested in lore, some gather for alliance and boss raids, some for things like animal husbandry, and (naturally) at least one is dedicated to trolling and PKing. Each of these factions, through the very little that we've seen of them so far, communicate on forums and only know as much as is reasonable for them to know. The only reason they give a shit about the protagonist at all is because he gained access to a high-level unique scenario quest that they want information on how to access, and the only reason word of that got out in the first place was because someone posted a screenshot of him with a unique NPC onto a forum, asking about it as "where can i find this pet summon, its super cute!" That's real. That's video games, baby.

I like this show a lot so far. I like that it cares about video games, but I also like its writing. I like the main character and how hes less of an ultra badass super cool guy, and more of an earnest challenge-run lets player. Like, a lot of his dialogue straight up sounds strikingly similar to Japanese youtubers. And he's naturally always quick to point out inconsistencies in the game world's logic. I ALSO really like his community of pals from a janky old fighting game, and I ADORE the girl from his school who has a crush on him and also just so happens to be an exceptionally high level player from a top clan, and how she had to spend 9 episodes working up the courage to send him a friend request. I love that so, so much, dude.

I highly recommend this show if you're into a single thing I've mentioned. The animation is great. The world is beautiful. The character design is immaculate. And I'm looking forward to watching it continue.

[handsomeamoeba]

WRONG.

Try again.

Actually let's get into this. As someone who loves a great many fantasy RPGs including BG3, Skyrim, and Dragon Age, let me explain what BG3 gets that Skyrim misses, in my opinion.

And this is the big one: the characters in BG3 feel like real fucking people. They have backstories, demonstrable feelings about the events and the other characters, they react to the things you do and they develop as people as you further your relationships. Even minor NPCs often feel fleshed out with distinct personalities and opinions. Hell, going out of my way to cast Speak to Animals is usually rewarded with at least one charming remark. I have never given even a little bit of a shit about 99% of Bethesda NPCs. I usually choose to travel without a companion rather than with unless I need a pack mule to carry my stuff, because their primary function seems to be to get in my way, set off traps, or attract aggro. I can't remember most characters' names unless I'm actively playing. I'm more likely to casually murder people in Skyrim than I am in BG3 or DA because Bethesda hasn't really made any of their NPCs feel like real people, and consequentially I feel no guilt. By comparison I tried to do an evil run of DA:O and gave up the instant I had to kill Wynne (the grandmotherly spirit healer) when she refused to let me go through with my plans, because I hated doing it. Lydia will watch me gut an innocent man and do NOTHING because she has no life, existence, or personality outside of me, the player. This extends to romances, obviously. While optional in all the games, most people will pursue a romance path in BG3 or DA for the additional character arcs it brings to the characters, the emotional nuances they unlock. In Skyrim romance is a box you tick of tasks to complete. In fact, once you marry them, most marriage candidates personalities change *completely* because all spouses have the same few stock dialog lines. That is, if they had a personality to begin with (again, see Lydia). You know how everyone wants to romance unromanceable characters in Bethesda games? Like Brynjolf in Skyrim, or Nick Valentine in FO4? It's because Bethesda actually bothered to give them stories and opinions.

Honestly, this extends to the player character themselves. To a certain extent every player character is a blank slate, but in BG3 and DA it at least feels possible to develop a feeling about who that character is and what they would or would not say or do. I've tried to do that with the Dragonborn and rarely feel strong feelings about them or have strong opinions about what kind of person they are. The only one I've made who I have much of an idea about is my wood elf Parafina, who is Chaotic Evil. Which again is an option I only pick because no one in Skyrim feels real.

The stakes also feel more real in BG3, more personal. Obviously there's the central quest involving the tadpoles, but more than that, it is about a credible threat to your world and the people and communities in it and the people you love. There are tons of reasons to invest yourself emotionally in the narrative. I have never, ever completed the main storyline in Skyrim nor picked a side in Skyrim's civil war. Why would it? Basically nothing happens if I choose not to. Furthermore, if you're not playing as a Nord (which I usually don't), why would you care about Skyrim as a place? You are a faceless, voiceless (pun intended) outsider who gets microaggressed at every turn being asked to choose between two different flavors of fascist. Also dragons are back but like... listen, I don't care? They get pretty easy to pick off at a certain point, it's like swatting flies, they're just a nuisance on the way to my daily errands. And isn't that such a common story? Don't you know so many people who don't really bother with the main storylines of Skyrim? Yeah it's one of the bestselling games of all time but I feel like the fact that most people don't really care about its narrative should be a sign of failure. We all know it's mostly maintained its popularity due to the modding community.

Ultimately both games have rich worlds which reward exploration with little secrets and environmental storytelling. But BG3 feels more "meaningful" because they give me reasons to care about what happens. The writers worked hard to give the game emotional resonance. So I come to the two games for different experiences. I go to BG3 to engage with an interesting story. I go to Skyrim for the quick serotonin hit of completing tasks and hoarding items.

[moomine]

come with me | jesper the guard

author's note: psa! this is total self-indulgence... the jesper the guard follower mod/skyrim guard tales literally have me giggling and kicking my feet (cover image credit)

summary: (jespertheguard x dragonborn!reader) (she/her pronouns) After the reader discovers she's the Dragonborn she bonds with Jesper, a Whiterun guard that understands her. The Dragonborn returns to Whiterun after a long time of adventuring and convinces him to leave the city and come with her.

word count: 1,627

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodshed, trauma very briefly explored (mostly fluff here)! all characters are 18+

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As of late, Jesper’s watchful eye felt less and less inquisitive and more so on the side of admiration. Underneath the protective sheath of his helmet, the young guard watched as you walked throughout Whiterun in awe. Upon your initial arrival, he was unsure of you. Who wouldn’t have been off-put by a young woman —dressed in ill-fitting Imperial armor, covered in scrapes and bruises, approaching the city gates with a dire look in her eyes? Better yet, someone who claimed she had information about the dragon attack on Helgen.

Within a short period of time, your name began to carry weight around Whiterun, and the word of the last Dragonborn consumed the entirety of Skyrim. Everyone, man and beast alike, sang praise of the rise of a new hero. Nobody saw you as the woman you truly were, a woman thrusted into a life of adventure and risk without much experience with either. Other than Jesper.

He was used to being overlooked, and when he was noticed it was typically at his own expense. The rest of the Whiterun guard took pleasure in tormenting him. Most of the time they were harmless pranks, just enough to make poor Jesper uncomfortable and his comrades laugh. His experiences outside of the city walls were vastly different. Maybe it was because Jesper took the time to get to know you before you absorbed that dragon’s soul, and the first cry of the Greybeards in centuries could be heard. Maybe because he took great concern at the sight of your disheveled appearance and the obvious shellshock in your eyes when he first saw you. Whatever it may have been, Jesper saw you as more than a hero. He saw you as the woman you were before your legendary quest began.

It had been a number of days since Jesper had seen your return to Whiterun, and his normal anxiety seemed to grow astronomically with each sun that set. When he finally saw you enter the Bannered Mare, seemingly unscathed but clearly exhausted, he felt a weight immediately lift from his shoulders. He watched from afar as you approached Hulda, handed her a fist full of gold, and took a chilly bottle of mead into your gloved hand. He felt his heart begin to race as you turned around and looked about the room, scanning the crowd of merry men and women chatting amongst themselves and listening to the sound of Mikael’s famously sweet lute. As your eyes met his masked face, he felt a smile spread along his lips without his knowledge. It was like an impulse. The second you saw him he felt lighter, felt seen. Somehow you always knew it was him.

You approached, armor clanging against itself as you walked, and nodded to the empty seat across from him with that tired smile of yours. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Jesper said, almost too quickly, and sat up straight.

You didn’t hesitate, dropping your heavy satchel to the floor as you sunk into the rather uncomfortable chair. A long, drawn out sigh blew through your lips. The wooden chair creaked beneath you, warping from the weight of your armor. By your reaction, Jesper would have thought that was the most comfortable chair you had ever had the pleasure to sit in. Realistically, he realized that might have been the first time you sat in a chair at all in days. Ashen logs crackled as the fire ate away at their bark flesh, filling the inn with warmth and the haunting smell of smoke. It had been several months since what happened in Helgen, but you were still tense around fire and smoke.

“You must have had quite the adventure,” he remarked with an amused voice.

“You could say that.” You sighed, popping the cork from your mead before taking a long gulp of the crisp ale. “How’s Whiterun been treating you?”

Jesper grimaced under his helmet. “You really want to hear about how I’ve been? I’m worried I’d bore you to death if I told you.”

“You could never bore me. You have no idea how much I miss the simple life.”

By your expression alone, Jesper could tell you were being genuine. You looked as though you needed to hear about something other than dragons and bloodshed for once.

“They won’t let me take gate duty anymore,” he paused, turning his attention to the wooden sword sheathed at his hip. “And I’m not allowed to carry a blade either.”

Your brows furrowed instantaneously, and you sat up in your chair. “What? Why?” you asked, your gaze piercing and angry.

Jesper felt a shiver go down his spine. “I let a thief into the city. So, now I’m stuck with tavern watch. Making sure drunkards don’t break out into fist fights or harass the barmaids, and all that.”

“As if there aren’t already thieves in this city. That’s outrageous. I’ll talk to the Jarl, we’ll sort this out. I promise-”

“Don’t…” His voice was weak, quiet. “I prefer this. The other guards don’t bother me here, and Hulda’s letting me rent the attic room. It’s better this way.” His eyes fell almost shamefully back to the toy he was burdened with.

“Why do you stay here?” you asked bluntly.

“What do you mean?” he responded, taken aback by your question.

“Why stay in Whiterun? You deserve so much more than this, Jesper. You’re capable of so much more.” You placed an assertive hand on the table, an offering. An understanding. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Come with me.”

Jesper’s face softened as he looked back to you, although you couldn’t see it. “I shouldn’t… I-I mean I can’t. I have a responsibility here. My life is here, in Whiterun. If I go now I’ll be letting everyone down. My family, my brothers and sisters in arms, the Jarl, maybe even you. I can’t just give up because some of the men tease me.”

“They aren’t just teasing you, Jesper. They’re cruel.” Your tone was stern but not harsh. It held a softness you saved just for him, for the rare moments where the two of you could talk. Truly talk. “Come with me. We could go to Solitude, you could join the Bard’s College.”

Your honesty was hard for him to digest, getting stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow the bitter truth. There was little left for him in Whiterun, other than his career and barely notable status. What little he had to his name was either already on his person or overhead, tucked away in that small attic room he had come to call home. Beneath his helm, Jesper’s eyes wandered away from the intensity on your face and toward the fire as it popped, cinders rising from the flames like torchbugs in the night. Your hands tensed, fingers curling into your palms to form fists, as you suppressed a flinch.

“You remembered that?” he asked earnestly, his gaze still fixed on the flickering flames ahead.

A sweet smile crept onto your face as you leaned closer, resting your elbows on top of the table now. “How could I forget? It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s all it is,” he mumbled. “Just a dream.”

“Don’t you see? We could make it a reality. You can make it a reality,” you said gently.

“I don’t know. They’ll consider me a deserter, you know? I’ll never be allowed within the city walls again.” The discouragement in his tone was starting to become disappointingly familiar to you.

You reached across the table and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “You, my friend, are fortunate enough to know the Thane of Whiterun, remember? It pays off to have friends in high places, huh?” 

There was truth to what you were saying, but it was clear to Jesper that you were trying to ease his worries through humor. Since your arrival, he finally had a bit of influence in the city. Although, it was worthless without you physically there to back him up.

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared at one another. Mikael plucked the strings of his lute softly and the commotion of story-telling and conversation echoed throughout the room. Jesper weighed his options, grateful that the conflicted look that surely took over his face was hidden behind the veil of his helmet. After a long moment, he finally nodded, seeming far more sure of himself than before.

“Yeah, okay. If… if you’re certain, then I’ll come with you.” His voice was higher, more excited than before.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you replied. 

Your face was lit up like the nearby fire, spreading warmth to Jesper’s cheeks as they flushed. Almost reluctantly, you peeled your eyes away from his face as you took one last swig from your bottle. The chair beneath you croaked as you pushed it back, scratching against the stone below. You came to your feet swiftly, despite how clearly fatigued you were. Jesper couldn’t help but frown as he watched you stand.

“Where are you going? The… the night’s still young,” he questioned. He didn’t want the night to end, to stop talking to you.

You smiled tenderly as you looked down at him. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve had a proper night's sleep in days.” You bent over, grabbing your satchel and the rest of your equipment. “I expect to see you by the stables at sunrise. It’s a long ride to Solitude.”

“I’ll be there!” Jesper replied eagerly, watching as you walked away with a gleam in his eyes. You turned to him one last time with an affectionate smile, then closed the door to your room. “I promise,” he mumbled.

[whitegoldtower]

How the Skyrim NPCs Throw Hands:

Elenwen: grabs you by the hair and yanks you backwards. She’s gonna scalp you.

Ancano: starting off strong with an absolutely illegal backhanded slap. It does more psychological damage than physical damage but could 100% break your nose at the right angle.

Ondolemar: the ol wind up punch. He fully drops his stance and reels it back. Puts his whole pussy into it. Does a lot of damage.

Cicero: Can’t throw a punch to save his life but you know what he can throw? Knives. Just don’t tempt him to throw hands.

Serana: you won’t even see it coming and you won’t know what the fuck is happening until you’ve hit the floor like a sack of shit tied up in the middle.

Vingalmo: the most fantastic echo-chamber reverberating SLAP you’ve ever witnessed. Hits hard enough to knock you out, but the sound of it adds insult to injury.

Lydia: You hear the L4D hunter scream and see her launching herself across a table at someone. No holding back whatsoever, she’s an absolute animal.

Erandur: A gentle slap across the cheek. Hurts way more than being punched because of the disappointment in his expression and the knowledge that you’ve managed to upset the nicest man in Tamriel.

Maramal: fucking throws haymakers (I used to have this recording where I was getting married but everyone started fighting so I used the sexlab spells to try to get them to stop. It went wrong and one guy was viciously wanking as Maramal threw continuous haymakers at him, all while fire and shock spells were blasting around the temple. It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen and my wife was sat next to me absolutely scream laughing but I have unfortunately lost the recording, and it’s one of my biggest regrets to this day)

Teldryn Sero: Fast. Precise. Knocks all the air out of your body and keeps going. You’re gonna have broken ribs and possibly a rearranged face.

[dirty-bosmer]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @skyrim-forever and by @theoneandonlysemla @thequeenofthewinter @lady-iizsil last week. Thank you <3 As always I love seeing what everyone's working on :) posting before work and will catch up on lunch break heheh

Tagging: @justafoxhound @elavoria @ladytanithia @unironicallytes @gilgamish @tallmatcha @sheirukitriesfandom @lucien-lachance @stormbeyondreality @bostoniangirl21

Chipping away at chapter 2 of post-applewatch Lucien/Nim smutchaos. He's slowly discovering that his girlfriend is the Daedric Prince of Madness and he's uh... not happy about it :)

Mountain air and forest musk. Sharp sting of pine on wind-chafed skin. Past the battlements of Fort Farragut, the sunlight grasps at all it can touch, scours the world until it’s clean, gilded and glimmering. Lucien has seen enough of Tamriel to know that this is as close to paradise as he’ll ever be again, so he breathes it deep, permitting himself only a moment of idle fantasy, where alone, he dreams of the life that he’s since left behind. One with the security afforded by the familiar title of Speaker, one where he still knew with certainty what Sithis wanted of him. One where he didn’t question the power he’d rightfully earned. The life before he met her.  But now? Now as Listener, bearing the highest honor that can be bestowed, he’s become frayed, unfinished, a stranger to himself. Now when the Brotherhood needs him the most, doubt rots him at the root, hollows him out in the xylem. And it sickens him, revolts him, and he knows this isn’t him, knows in his bones that this weakness comes from powers beyond comprehension. Strange magic she's infected him with— she's changed. She changes him, for he has never been this man, and it’s her fault. Hers. The sin no prayer will deliver. The poison he’d have to let himself bloodless to relieve. Him and his Silencer who's no longer his Silencer, growing together like lichen, alike in that desire makes them even more frightening. How they want so completely. How their love consumes all. Even here, hundreds of miles from their home in Bravil, he can’t escape it. Trapped in the whirl of it, he watches himself orbit about her as if hovering a foot above his head. Lucien's fists strain against the railing, because he is the Listener; he is not this man. Duty comes before all and if she threatens it, she'll reap the consequence, and yet he knows, in his bones, that he'll return to her out of instinct, some animal inclination, by some foreign presence inside him. Inhuman and shapeless, unable to vanquish the final act of longing, he opens his heart to her like a fresh wound. Like something torn apart. 

It's them.

[dailynoodlezz24]

Ok, i had the thought (since i love werewolves and vampire stuff, liches, all that-- I blame Skyrim and its unhealthy amount of beautiful mods-- and Dungeon Meshi just seems so perfect about it with its races and stuff) what if Marcille's a dhampir, basically a human vampire crossbreed, who seeks to become fully vampiric in order to be able to sire in lieu of the dungeon lord/universal longevity plot. (Spoilers: she still doesn't get it in the end lmao) Falin is a longtime friend of hers through a backstory I still haven't made up yet, and Marcille's introduced as a new addition to the main cast, who are a party of hikers (or for some sort of venturing activity). Month in, Falin's gone and had herself eaten by some weird dog described in only folklore, which Laios would later excitedly incite as a "lycanthrope". (They tried to call emergencies for a missing person, but they came up with nothing. Everyone thinks Laios is going insane when he concludes that the sight they saw after Falin became officially missing, blood trails and offly wolfish tracks fading off to somewhere, was the work of a wolfman, or a werewolf, and suggested going to search for Falin themselves. Namari and Toshiro leave promptly) Chillchuck and Marcille stay with him, one determined with his navigational skills and the other fully believing in this supernatural theory. They decide it's best they start camping in the forest, deeper and closer to the wilderness, prompting them the idea: hunt for their share. Which may or may not be illegal :shrug They meet Senshi, one hell of a wildchef man. (Marcille's total disgust with the idea of eating out in the wild stems from the fact she doesn't want to survive off of squirrels again. But this food is pretty good, and she's eating other animals than small rodents this time. Chillchuck just doesn't want to hear about the weird ass facts about how skinwalkers might be related to humans and their horrific hunting tendencies while eating.) The deeper they go, the more strange and bizarre this forest becomes. First normal, unassuming, then the ravens start speaking and the rabbits have horns. And if you peer into it close enough, your eyes might just find company in where the campfire doesn't reach. So on and so on, they find Falin's bones in the corpse of the creature, and suddenly there's a little guy with white hair and crazed, purple eyes(thistle), who beats them all off with a stick(not actually lmao). Last they see is Falin's remains being reanimated with the dripping blood of the stranger. (Marcille had tried in desperate attempt to revive Falin with her own blood/bite, but to no avail, revealing herself in the process. The only thing she can note is the awful taste of something doglike, aka the lycanthrope disease circulating in Falin's bones-- since they were chomped before she died RIP.) Now they're against a highly aggressive abomination under the servitude of someone out to get them. And the opps are on them(canaries) Now I'm just thinking abt whether or not to make Marcille also a werepyre? Considering it would make sense for her to also get her human-half infected into something "full-fledged" in the way she hadn't intended, and still come up without the ability to sire(she wants to make a cauldron for company, a cauldron being like a vampire made family, due to the same motives of keeping her loved ones). Thank you for reading my ramblings, I am brimming with ideas for this AU.

[beestalesofarcadia]

Could I request some reactions from Draal, Blinky and Aargh on a teen human(gender neutral reader pls!) Who has the same personality as Marcy from Amphibia, showing them a bunch of video games they love please? Especially some being more gruesome then others, would love to read it! :D

Heck yeah dude!! I absolutely love Marcy <3 BTW this started off simple but I went off the rails completely lmao so sorry about that TwT

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You are a close friend of Jim and Toby, having grown up with them on the same block. You became a trio: inseparable. You were with Jim as he picked up the amulet, you were running beside Toby as Bular hunted you three down, and you were beside the two as you graced the grounds of Trollmarket. Your mind is completely blown by it. You were already off running around: taking notes in your math notebook of what you saw, the types of trolls that were around, facts Blinky spewed out, and even that big blue grumpy one that threatened Jim in front of you!

While your intellect proves to be insightful on the battlefield, your clumsiness also poses a potential threat to yourself and others. Regardless, you’re a valued member of the Trollhunters and have garnered respect from most of Trollmarket (and even Vendel himself). You have helped countless times, and even put your life on the line for others. Now… here are the thoughts of some specific residents of Trollmarket! >:]

Draal

Before the duel with Jim, your optimism confuses him, if not annoys him. He legit just threatened to kill your best friend, and all you can do is stare at him with stars in your eyes. Great to have admirers, he supposes. Even if they are some imposter, wannabe Trollhunter’s ally. As you walk away with the group, he can’t help but guffaw as you trip over your feet. If these were the Trollhunter’s allies- the supposed saviors of man and trollkind- then the world truly was doomed.

After getting humbled by Jim, his attitude begins to shift more. Yes, there are moments of annoyance (especially when you ask to measure his horns or teeth and ramble about things he doesn’t understand), but overall you’re strange, and it’s amusing. You are easily impressed by nearby anything he does, and that’s fine. It’ll start to fuel his ego again.

You start to hang around Jim’s more often than not and Draal enjoys having you around. The majority of the time you’re taking notes, and when you’re not, you’re geeking out about some vampire books and other fixations. He tells you he’s met a few, and when you ask if they’re anything like in the shows you watch (attractive, seductive), he hits you with a hard “no” and laughs at your disappointment. Human’s obsession with vampires was so strange.

Draal teases you a lot, and even if it’s mean-spirited you just go along with it the majority of the time. If you do mention something, he’ll back down from it. But it doesn’t stop him from occasionally knocking that new novel you got from the library out of your hand.

Video games are rather confusing to him. Not that he hates them of course! But he doesn’t quite enjoy them as much as Arrrgh does. Of course, he’ll play the more violent games you have, but he doesn’t care for the shooters. He’d much rather tear them apart with his bare hands, thank you very much. There was one time when you had to beg Draal to not destroy your TV the first time you introduced him to Skyrim.

Table-top games on the other hand? Absolutely! He loves playing DnD with you. He likes having more interaction and freedom with the choices he makes when compared to video games where you have to follow the plot. Blinky or Toby often narrates when you have game nights with the group. Out of everyone, you and Draal are the most competitive. You two both get into character and often come up with strategies. Sometimes a little too much for everyone’s liking. The table often gets crushed, and there have been times when you both were at each other’s throats. 

You’re now his little sibling. No questions asked. You jokingly mention something along the lines of a “found-family” trope, and after a brief explanation of it, he just subtly agrees with that being your relationship with him. Prepare for a protective big brother, even if you know your way around trouble. 

Arrrgh

You both are automatically besties. That’s it, I don’t make the rules. There’s no doubt about it that you’re all over him when you first get to meet Arrrgh. While Jim is stressed about trolls in his home and Toby is freaking out, you’re bombarding the giant, green ball of moss with millions of questions. He thinks it's adorable and while slightly overwhelmed, he doesn’t mind responding to them. His answers are short and vague though, and Blinky ends up intervening and answers with more detail. 

It honestly doesn’t take a lot for him to grow attached to you. He finds your energy very endearing, and you manage to light up the room with it even during the most hopeless times. You surprisingly don’t get as overwhelmed compared to everyone else in the group, though it doesn’t stop Arrrgh from checking up on you. You might wanna write down how much of a good comfort buddy he is.

Speaking of which! If you are down, he won’t hesitate to do what he can to comfort you. If you need to vent, he is all ears. He isn’t much of a talker, but by God, he is a good listener. His advice is short and simple: usually straight to the point. Regardless, it doesn’t undermine how sweet and thoughtful his words are. Most of the time you talk about how overwhelming your parents are, and often he assures you that only wants the best for you but doesn’t know how to show it. A part of you thinks otherwise, but you know that they do mean well. 

When you visit Toby’s house, the three of you have movie nights. A pillow fort is made in Toby’s room and you both bring all the movies you can. There’s finally the night when you manage to convince the two (mainly Toby) to binge-watch Twilight. You get so giddy it was hard not to laugh at your reaction for Arrrgh. He doesn’t understand the plot, but he’s interested in it. As much as Toby wanted to hate it, he couldn’t help but rant about Bella’s decisions with you and listening how she could’ve bettered herself. Arrrgh just nods, having been seated between the two of you and not able to escape the conversation. 

This troll is pretty protective of you. You’re very capable of yourself, there’s no doubt about it. But again, your clumsiness is what gets you into trouble the majority of the time. There have been instances where you indirectly killed a goblin leader. Taking them head-on during their frenzied state is near impossible, but for Arrrgh, he’s more than willing to take it as a means of defending you. Thankfully, you are pretty witty, so you do find ways to drive them away from you.

As seen in the show, Arrrgh does love video games! You have a considerable amount of video games, ranging from violent ones like Mortal Combat to non-violent ones like Animal Crossing (one of Arrrgh’s favs). Knowing his past, you tend to stray away from the more mature games and settle for the “kiddie” stuff. Arrrgh loves Cooking Mama and Little Friends. Just remind him to be gentle with your switch- sometimes he forgets his strength.

Blinky:

Blinky would not hesitate to admit it, but it’s nice having someone who shares the same enthusiasm as he does! Especially when it comes to learning. While the troll cares deeply for Jim, he can admit that when it comes to their lessons, his less than enthusiastic attitude towards it can be drab. If not, a bit discouraging. With you, however, it’s a complete 180. He always sees you taking notes, commenting on their cultures with genuine intellect, and your analysis is always endearing to listen to. Although you still have much to learn, you are on the right track.

Besides that, you’re always a delight to be around with! He can’t help but admire your charming nature, even if at times you are ditzy. He knows you always mean well, so he can’t hold it against you. He’s most definitely “Marcy-proofed” his library; AKA, he’s put his more “delicate” items in safer places, and the potentially dangerous ones are hidden away.

While Blinky teaches you all the ropes of troll culture, you return the favor by explaining human culture to him. It’s honestly a mix of easy, and difficult. It’s not that Blinky’s dumb (no, far from that actually) or that you’re a bad teacher, it’s just the fact that he’s misinterpreted human customs and inventions for so many years. 

When he turns human, you are most definitely the one teaching him how to drive… which was, all in all, a terrible idea. You knew how to drive. You had just gotten your permit for Pete’s sake! Blinky on the other hand? He’s a wild rider. You lost track of how many times you both almost crashed into a divider just because he assumed you were able to drive on it, or how many times you prayed he wouldn’t take the yellow light. When he finally stopped driving, you insisted you could both walk home.

Video games aren't his forte. The concept of them is interesting, especially with how much they are able to fit into a small disk! But alas, they are but treats to the normal troll. Although it doesn't stop him from being interested in what you have to show. The gruesome games intrigue him. Do humans really like violence that much? It doesn't really shock him that much. They haven't changed much even after centuries, have they?

Like Arrrgh, he’s a good listener. His advice is genuine too, especially when you run away to Trollmarket when things aren’t going well at home. You’ve come there an alarming amount of times to a point the conditions of your home were concerning him. Especially when you break in front of him, wailing about the pressures and stress you feel from your parents and the potential of moving out of Arcadia. At home, you feel unloved if you don’t achieve your parents' goals. They have given you so much, yet you feel you give so little in return. You love your parents, but being with them is draining.

Although Troll's culture is different when it comes to humans, he knows the burdens of expectations are all the same. That pressure of knowing that your best isn’t enough… he’s felt that. He assures you that you are doing your best, more than others could. He assures you that your tears are not a sign of weakness, but a glimpse of your strength. He assures you that you are enough. It surprises him when you suddenly hug him, though it doesn’t stop him from embracing you as well.

[crumkitty]

A/N: HI GUYS I cant believe I’m doing this, I haven’t written in for so long, but ima try my best 🐱 About!!:This is a Cicero X Listener! this is kinda like a slow burn with lots of yapping, so get ur reading glasses on 😭🙏

BTW! the white is the slow burn, and the pink is NSFW! for the people who just wanna get freaky😛 Warnings!!: NSFW, talk about death, bleeding

Cicero and his Skibidy

The Dragonbron, The listener, how many more names where you going to be taking!? Being both the Dragonborn and Listener was a stressful-- to say the least. You had to worry about Alduin, pleasing everyone in skyrim and worrying if you where enough for all of her. And joining the Dark Brotherhood wasn't any help with this stress AT ALL. you constantly got contracts from Nazir and Astrid, and now the Night Mother. it was all simply to much to bare. You needed a.. Distraction. somthing that could get your mind off your duitys even if it was just for a single moment.

"Oh listener!", that jesters voice rung through your bedroom. your perked your head up, looking to the doorway, finding Cicero with a grin on his face.

"you seem stressed! let sweet Cicero help!", he spoke, lifting a foot to step into your room.

"no! leave, i need time to think", You shouted out without thinking. The jester froze, but reluctently left you. You turned back to the fire, your mind was a mess, whirring around. you didn't understand it anymore. Soon enough, you had yet another annoying contract. but when you came back to report to Astrid, the Lizard was bleeding.

Cicero went bezerk, trying to kill Astrid. you couldn't help but put the blame on yourself, "maybe if I didn't snap, It wouldnt have brought him to this breaking point.". You ended up finding him in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. He cowered before you, blood pouring from his stomach. he was a mad man.

Cicero wheezed, gasping for breath. "You caught me! I surrender..", he laughed weakly.

"time to die, tratior!", you yelled back to him, unsheathing your sword.

"traitor? Me? silly assassin. so confused, so confused.. and they say im mad!", He continued with a gasp for breath, clutching onto his wound, "If im a tratior, so are you! have you not heard the maiden's voice? are you not the listener?", he questioned. Anger seeped into his tone as he sat up, that grin still on is face. even in the face of death, this jester is still.. grinning, has he no idea of what could happen to him? what could happen by your hand?

you left. going back to the Sanctuary, telling Astrid he is dead. everything after this went by a blur. nothing but that jester in your mind, was he still alive? would he attack again? You killed the emperor, Astrid died by your hand, and now you where the leader and listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Nothing made sense anymore. you sat in you masterbedroom, head in your hands when you heard Cicero's voice.

"Oh listener..", He hummed, "Cicero is back. what? you think i'd be grateful that you saved my life?! NO! Cicero wants to be Listener, Cicero deserves to be Listener!", He yelled. You stood up quickly, trying to unsheath your sword, but he got to you first, pinning you against the wall. You let out a yelp, looking into those dark brown eyes of his as he held his Ebony Dagger across your neck, that same insaine grin spread across his face. but he paused.

Cicero laughed, resting his head against your shoulder. "You should see the look on your face! Cicero was just kidding, oh great and powerful listener..", he breathed into your ear, his gaze becoming.. darker. You looked at him through the corner of your eye, watching him trace his blade down your neck and to your collerbone, a smirk on his lips. "My sweet listener.. Cicero.. finds himself captivated by you, by how you whimper to his touch", He hushed against your ear, warm breath tickling your neck. he pressed against you, the bulge in his pants growing more prominant. You found yourself unable to push him away, to be honest.. this was the exact thing you needed to get your mind off your duties.

"Your naughty", You spoke back, that siren gaze of yours peirceing into Cicero's own lustful gaze. your pushed your hips against his, Cicero whimpering. he pressed his forehead into your's, dropping hus dagger aside. Instead of him holding that evil grin, you held your own, now leaning more into Cicero, your breath becoming ragged. but Cicero placed a finger on your lips, standing up, glaring down at you.

"Imagine us, my listener. The Keeper and His Listener... Cicero likes this thought, and the sound of it.. turns him on", He giggled, now leaning in and claiming your lips as his. He moaned into the kiss, clutching your body close, his hands reaching down to your ass and grabbing it tightly, his bulge throbbing against your thighs. You shut your eyes, between every kiss taking a gasp of air before his tounge could plunge back into your mouth, swirling and dancing with your own. you pressed your hips against his harshly, causing him to let out a soft moan. he broke the kiss, his gaze filled with nothing but a primal instinct to take you, to love his listener.

"come on..", you taunted teasingly, reaching a hand down to his bulge, gently grasping and feeling, Cicero's own breath leaving him. "Just fuck me already. make me forget all the bad, all the good. I want to be seeing stars.", You begged, Cicero growling with need and roughly lifting up your shirt, revealing your beautiful chest to his gaze. his eyes widened and he couldnt help but lean in, taking one hardened peak into his mouth. looking up to you with dark brown eyes, he swirled his tongue aroun the peak, his eyes shutting as he nipped lightly against you, your body jolting slightly with pleasure.

"Oh.. my listener likes that, do they?", He whispered against your skin, now kneeling on his knees, kissing down your belly to your belt, he tugged at it. with a mocking look of innocents, he undid your belt, tossing it aside and pulling down your pants to his hungry gaze. he bit his bottom lip and couldn't tear his eyes away from your dripping arousal.

"Your amazing.", He breathed against heated skin. hesitantly, he stuck his tongue out, sliding between slick folds, a moan leaving his lips as he savored your salty sweet taste, causing you to shudder with pleasure, your hand instinctively reaching out to tangle fingers in his bright red hair. "you taste amazing too.." he added. he shut his eyes, taking that throbbing pearl into his mouth. he suckled, and flicked his tongue against it with need, a need to please his listener. he lapped and lapped at you for hours until you where nothing but a quivering soaked mess, your body left limp in his own. he moved to your bed, rocking you in his arms.

"Hush my sweet.. Cicero is here, to care and love you.", he whispered to you, pressing his lips that your release coated, to your brow.

"But after you have pleased poor aching Cicero..", He grinned once more as he looked down to you... what have you gotten yourself into?

Idk if I’ll do a pt 2 only if u guys are freaky deeky 🤤

[nejackdaw]

Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)

4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head

Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help

Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore) [Minor edits made 8/28/24 and 12/27/24 (spelling)]

Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, that none of them, would ever recover from.

It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.

Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.

Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.

An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.

Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.

It came only a month after the shadow appeared.

Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.

When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.

After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.

When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.

He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.

It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.

They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.

They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.

Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.

After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.

The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.

Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.

Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.

But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.

That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.

It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower.

It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.

Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.

Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.

The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.

A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.

Vampire.

Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.

He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–

He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.

His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.

Jehanne.

She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.

Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.

Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.

She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed

The world went quiet.

Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.

He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.

Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.

He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.

Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.

He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.

/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/~=~/-/

He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.

There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other daedra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.

He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.

His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.

They declined both times to stay for dinner.

Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.

Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.

It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.

Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.

It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.

He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.

Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.

A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.

"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."

[itsseohannbin]

• The Blackened Heart • Part One

A Han Jisung Mini Series

© itshannjisung, 2024

♡ itsseohannbins masterlist ♡

⚓️ Series Masterlist ⚓️

Genre: Pirate SKZ

Pairing: PirateThief!Jisung x Female Captain Reader x Ex-Bandit Lino

Summary: When Y/N, Captain of the Blackened Heart, gets offered a large sum of money to deliver a thief to the Jarl of Serpent Point, she and her crew greedily accept. But while spending time with the familiar thief during their long journey back home, she realizes just how important human connection can be, even for a pirate.

Warnings: Pirate SKZ. Swearing. Mentions of weapons. Violence. Mentions of brothels. Small mention of death.

** The author has left out some warnings to create an element of surprise with certain topics in/throughout this chapter. Reader discretion is advised. **

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I am aware that a lot of concepts and ideas throughout this fic will not be historically and biblically accurate. I've done my fair share of research about pirates of all kinds, from all different eras and countries, and I know pirates never lived lavishly; they didn't have proper tools for healthy hygiene, they never had 'fancy' meals, they never had access to first aid/doctors to help tend to their wounds after battle or when illness struck, their beds were often nothing but a wooden board and some thin cloth. I know not all dubloons rounded off to $16, and gems were rare to find. I know that in some eras, guns and bows didn't even exist, making combat difficult and more intense with only swords and daggers alike. I know chewing tobacco and pipes were commonly used, and STDs were common amongst the members of the crews.

Let me reinstate that.. **I AM AWARE OF ALL OF THIS AND SO MUCH MORE** 

However, for the sake of this fic and where I wanted it to go, I changed a lot of those things. I pulled a lot of inspiration for this fic not only from Lalalala MV and the Rockstar comeback, but from video games that I’ve played that had pirates and jarls and thieves alike in them as well (mostly ESO, Skyrim, Assassins Creed, ect.).

So, as I've said, I am aware not everything in this is accurate, a lot of the lore and concepts are farfetched and not entirely realistic, but at the end of the day, there is NOTHING realistic about Pirate SKZ 😋

Happy Reading Everyone! Your thoughts and feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy! ♡

Serpent Point was, by far, the most repulsive city you've ever set foot in, and you were ashamed that you had once called the place home.

The small city sprawled out like an ugly scar across the dirty coastline, barely protected by the dead and decaying trees of the forest surrounding it. With rusted hulls, scavenged scraps, and towering heaps of trash, it felt as though it was built by the vermin that scurried across the streets and flooded the docks. Salt and sweat hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sharp sting of tobacco smoke and the lingering fumes of the nearby fish-processing plant, making anybody who stepped foot on Serpent Point soil gag from its intensity.

As you walked towards the shore, your old, muddy boots click-clacked against the broken wooden dock, your quartermaster and personal guard flanking your sides. 

"I'll never understand how we always end up back here," Chan spoke with venom in his tone as he eyed the rickety old fort in the distance that was once his childhood home. Even from the shoreline, you could make out the large cracks stretching out across the stone structure, moss and mildew creeping from every fissure like an untreatable disease.

"I don't understand how the two of you even survived here," Lino commented shortly after, a shake of his head causing his chocolate-brown hair to sway back and forth. With a look of utter disgust, he side-stepped an old man who was sprawled on the dirt, hands reaching for Lino’s trousers with desperate, drunken eyes. It wasn't until the old man began shouting incessantly that the smell of alcohol wafted from his mouth straight to your nostrils, and you pinched your nose closed in revolt. 

"Believe me, it wasn't by choice," you murmured, pushing forward and ignoring the babbling drunk. "If it had been, I'd be born anywhere but here."

"Amen," Chan agreed under his breath.

The walk to Fort Foucher, the Jarl's residence, was quick—partially because the city was small, but mostly because the three of you had little patience for the staggering drunks and pitiful beggars who clogged the streets.

Once you reached the entrance to the Fort, the Jarl's guards welcomed you in with disgruntled noises and curses beneath their breaths. The Jarl may have been expecting you, requesting you specifically by name, but that didn't mean his men held any sort of respect towards females in power. They spat nasty remarks and looks of disapproval your way despite the two menacing men at your side, and their frowns deepened impossibly more when you walked past the group of them with a certain confidence in your stride. It took everything in you not to release your dagger from its scabbard and huck it their way.

You were here on special request from the Jarl himself, and if you didn't need the coin he hinted at in his letter, you would have yet to show up to this low-class city to begin with. Killing his men before meeting with the man himself was not the brightest idea, no matter how tempting it may be.

Thankfully, a short, stubby man in a dirty blue coat and off-white stockings signaled from the back of the main foyer, pulling you from your murderous thoughts. He was waiting patiently to guide you to the throne room himself as if you hadn't been inside the Fort countless times before.

After catching your attention, the pudgy male turned and began walking away. He didn't even bother to make sure you were following as he led you down the old, dilapidated hallway to the set of double wooden doors at the end, where the Jarl would be waiting for your arrival just beyond.

The man stopped short just before the entrance to the room, bowed lazily to you and your men, and then opened the doors, granting you access inside. You took a deep breath as the golden light spilt from the room, making the hallway's darkness seem all the more oppressive behind you.

"After you, Cap," Lino spoke in a hushed tone, one hand waving you into the room while the other sat dangerously on the sharp dagger at his hip. His brown eyes flickered around the room, silently scouting for danger before you took another deep, calming puff of air and stepped inwards.

You bowed formally to the man in blue before entering the throne room, nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

The first thing you noticed when you entered was the stench of old tobacco, worse than outside. That, mixed with the scent of wilting flowers and old wax, had you resisting the urge to scrunch your face up in disgust at the odor. It was an odd, unsettling combination, causing bile to rise up your throat that you had to push back down forcefully.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite buccaneer," Jarl Foucher’s voice scraped against your ears in the most unpleasant way. He struggled off of his raggedy old chair and opened his arms wide in welcome with a toothy grin on his face. His long, dirty grey hair was pulled back from his temples, allowing you a full view of his gross, scraggly beard. His teeth were yellow and chipped, his breath reeking of smoke and moonshine even from across the room, and his eyes were wrinkled and faded from their natural green into something almost stale and completely lifeless.

He looked exactly how you remembered him to be.

"Jarl Foucher," you smiled back, the action forced and not at all reaching your eyes. You lowered yourself respectfully to the floor before him, Chan following suit. Meanwhile, Lino remained still at your side, his eyes flittering over the guards cautiously. The raised pink scar that slashed over his left eye and down his cheekbone twitched in anticipation as his body tensed, his face hard as stone.

"Greetings Cristoff," Foucher barely spared his estranged son a glance before his attention was on Lino, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. You turned slightly to glare up at Lino, silently yelling at him to get on the ground and bow to the Jarl, but instead, Lino just stood unwavering, looking calm, cool and completely collected.

“And who may this gentleman be?” Foucher asked, his eyes lingering on the man, sharp and calculating. “I haven’t seen him amongst your crew before.”

“This is my guard, Lino Lee.” You spoke carefully, hoping to break some of the tension that was rolling off of Lino’s shoulders in waves as Foucher analyzed him. He seemed unbothered, but you know it was only an act he performed in the presence of authority figures. He hated Royals with a burning passion.

“The boys and I pulled him from the sea a while back after his boat up and sank, and he’s been indebted to us ever since. Rest assured, he poses you no harm.”

Foucher scrutinized Lino with curiosity, but his gaze eventually returned to you.

“A rogue bandit put in charge of keeping you safe? Surely you’re not that foolish, Captain.” The Jarl’s eyes gleamed with amusement as if he could tell what dirty things were going on between you and Lino behind closed doors. It was hard to resist Lino’s rogue image and impeccable charm, you had to admit that, and you hoped to god it wasn’t as obvious to the Jarl as it was to the rest of your crew.

Yes, you and Lino indulged in each other regularly while out at sea, you were only human after all, but everything that happened between the two of you was purely physical. There were no lingering feelings, second guesses or confusion as to what you two were to each other. You two had been clear and concise from the moment you first took that step only a few months prior, and you were determined to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Not that the Jarl needed to know any of that, but based on the look he was giving the two of you now, you knew he suspected romance was in play. You felt a sudden urge of determination to shut his suspicions down, but you didn’t want to draw any more attention to it than deemed necessary.

“I can assure you, Your Majesty, Lino is no longer a bandit, and as I’ve said, he is indebted to me.” You tried to assure him. “He has pledged himself in my honor and strayed from the path he once walked. I apologize for his defiance, he is still getting accustomed to life on Royal territory.” 

With a nod of his head, Foucher turned his body around to address his guards in a silent conversation, no doubt telling them to keep an eye on the young lad, and in that time, you reached over and punched Lino on his leather-clad arm.

“Ow! Why?” he hissed under his breath.

Ah yes, Lino Lee, the man of many words.

“Show some respect,” you growled in a low tone. “You’re in the presence of the leader of Serpent Point.”

Lino rolled his eyes, his fingers coming down to fiddle with the sheath that one of his two daggers rested in; the matching one sat on his opposite hip.

“After everything he’s done to Chan? To you? Not a chance.” Lino glowered back quietly. You raised your eyebrow and gave him a look of warning at his usual act of defiance. The two of you then stared off for a second, silently challenging one another, before Lino’s eyes fell from yours and he gave in like he always did when it came to you. He may have quickly established himself the title of the crew’s most lethal and loyal protector, but you were the one who had control of the leash.

“Fine,” he grumbled under his breath. “I’ll be as respectful as I need to be, but I’m not getting on this filthy floor to bow down to him.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at him again. As if he hadn’t lain on floors worse than this in his days of being a delinquent.

A smart-ass remark sat on the tip of your tongue, but before you could release it, Foucher turned back around and clapped his hands, capturing everyone's attention once again.

“Everything alright, Captain?” he asked with a smirk, staring at you as if to say ‘trouble in paradise already?’. You straightened your back and gave him an assured nod of your head.

“Everything is fine, Your Majesty. I do, however, have a lot of work to be done on my ship before our scheduled departure come morning. As much as I hate to cut our visit short, may I ask why you’ve called upon us today?”

The words rolled off your tongue with a bitter aftertaste, but Foucher barely registered the annoyance in your tone, his smile warm as he retreated to his seat.

“Of course,”

You, Chan and Lino, waited patiently in silence while Foucher settled back into the worn-out fabric. A couple of long seconds passed by before he spoke again, his fingers tapping against one another in boredom.

“Queen Aliyah of Cliffpoint Hollow has sent word that she has a criminal sitting in her jailhouse. The criminal in question is a thief who has been robbing me and my men for nearly a decade. He had escaped our jail unnoticed merely three years ago and he’s been evading us ever since.”

You gave Foucher an expressionless look while you waited for him to continue, wondering what any of this had to do with you and your crew. Meanwhile, Chan’s eyes practically bulged out of his face, his mouth open in surprise.

“Wait, the Queen Aliyah? As in-”

“The leader of the land, ruler of Fatewatch? Yes, indeed, the very one.” Foucher confirmed, cutting Chan off without a glance his way. His eyes stayed focused on you as he continued with his proposal.

“I have a chest in my treasury containing more than fifty thousand gold doubloons, alongside a large amount of stolen gems and jewelry. I cannot be bothered to take it all to a moving man, so the lot of it can be yours if you travel to Cliffpoint and bring that thief back to me.”

Your jaw dropped disrespectfully in utter shock, and you felt both boys tense up beside you at the offer. Fifty thousand gold was an unfathomable amount of money. If each of those coins was valued at sixteen dollars a piece like they usually were, you were looking at at least eight hundred thousand dollars in gold, not including the stolen goods.

You’d be stupid to turn that down.

However, if there was anything you learned from your time spent at sea, it was that everything came with a price.

Absolutely everything.

“Sir, I-”

Foucher cut you off abruptly with a raise of his hand.

“I would prefer him alive, but he is known to be quite cocky at times, so if it comes down to it, his dead body will do. Of course, it’ll dock your pay, but I’m sure you’d still have enough to cover the costs to get your beloved ship back in order.”

Foucher waited while you, Lino and Chan exchanged mixed looks of confusion, apprehension and disbelief. The room was silent for a few minutes as the three of you attempted to process the information.

That was until Lino opened his mouth.

“And what exactly is it that this thief stole from you?” Lino spoke suddenly, cocking his head to the side like a cat as he eyed Foucher as if he were merely a peasant and not the goddamn overseer of the entire northern point of Fatewatch. “How bad of a crime did he commit to justify us travelling across the globe to fetch him for you? Why not let the Queen kill him instead?”

“Lino!” you hissed between clenched teeth, seemingly having enough of his attitude. “Will you cu-”

“It’s alright Captain,” Foucher raised his hand to cut you off once more, a sly smile on his face. “The bandit has the right to ask, I suppose.”

Your fingers twitched as Foucher raised from his seat and walked towards the three of you again, his hands folded neatly behind his back. A sense of unease washed over you as you took in his calm and relaxed facade.

“You see when I was a young boy, my mother fell incredibly ill and passed away tragically. When she died, she left behind her ring, one that had been passed down through generations and generations of ancestors before me, and this criminal stole it from right under my nose. He now wears this ring on his pointer finger like some trophy he’s won for robbing me blind. I simply want it back.”

Lino scoffed as he crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest, raising an eyebrow in defiance. “You want us to travel halfway across the globe to fetch you a flimsy ring?”

Before anyone could say another word, Foucher’s hand retreated from behind his back, and in one swift motion, he backhanded Lino across the face. Foucher’s eyes burned hot as he smacked the younger man, and if it weren’t for Foucher then raising his hands to halt the guards behind him who were bustling for a fight, you would’ve run to Lino’s side.

However, shock rendered you stuck in place.

Lino stood in shock as well at the Jarl’s actions. A strand of hair fell into his face, but he didn’t bother trying to fix it. He simply stood there, eyes angry as he whipped his head back to glare at the Jarl, whose eyes widened in what you could only assume was a sliver of fear at the dangerous look now planted on Lino’s face. 

For a second, you worried for the Jarl’s life, but Lino didn’t move, for which you were thankful. He may have hated Royals with every fiber of his being, but he knew when to fight back and when not to. You silently thanked the gods that he didn’t retaliate.

“Watch your tongue, boy.” Foucher snapped, seemingly masking his terror behind his title of authority. Droplets of spit spewed from his mouth and into Lino’s face. “That ring is a family heirloom. Sixteenth-century gold, embedded with only the finest diamonds and rubies alike. You should be thankful a lowlife pillager like yourself will even be able to set his sights on something so magnificent.”

Without a second thought, Foucher stepped away from a now-fuming Lino and approached you with a wide, almost sadistic smile. The anger in his eyes had vanished so quickly it nearly gave you whiplash, and you had to slightly raise your fingers to stop Lino from rushing to your defense.

“So, Captain. Whaddya say?”

You opened your mouth to give him your answer, to tell him just exactly where he could shove his chest of treasure and stolen goods when Chan spoke up first, cutting you off. His tone was harsh and venomous, clearly pissed at Foucher’s assault on his crewmate.

“But Father,” he paused and corrected himself quickly with a smirk. “Sorry, Foucher. Why are you asking this of us? You have an entire army of men at your beck and call, as well as one of the best navigators in the country no doubt naked in your bed as we speak. Why do you need us to do this for you?”

Although it was meant as a dig at the Jarl and his piggish personality, Foucher laughed humorlessly at Chan’s words. The sound was like metal scraping metal, and it made all the hair on the back of your neck stick up.

“Well because, dear Cristoff,” Foucher spoke his name with a sneer. “Captain Y/N and the crew of the Blackened Heart have unfortunately become infamous across the country. Stories of your victories have been passed through taverns and inns alike for years. It’s the only reason I haven’t called on you to return to my side. If there’s anyone who could travel to Cliffpoint Hollow and bring this criminal back to me, it’s you guys.”

Your face reddened immensely at the Jarl's sudden praise.

“Cliffpoint is merely a few months or so away, and quite frankly, none of my men are trained and confident enough to make the trek themselves. As I said, do this and the three of you, alongside the other five, will be rewarded greatly for your service. We’ll provide you with enough supplies for you and your goons to make the journey there, as long as you bring that scum of a human being back to me so I can put an end to his pathetic life once and for all.”

It felt like a dream. Sure, Cliffpoint Hollow was a long journey from home, halfway across the globe as Lino had pointed out before, but if all you had to do to earn fifty thousand gold was deliver a thief to the Jarl’s doorstep, you’d be stupid not to say yes.

You looked at Lino, whose cheek was still burning red, silently asking for his opinion. He ignored the stinging in his face and shrugged at you nonchalantly, but the twinkle in his eyes showed he was anxious for the adventure.

Or maybe he was just anxious to get the hell away from Serpent Point once and for all before his annoyance took over and he beheaded the Jarl before anyone could blink an eye.

Chan gave you a nod of encouragement as well, clearly desperate to experience the world the way he said he wanted to when he walked out on his father and showed up at your ship all those years ago. This was a free ticket across the globe, something he never would’ve been granted if he still lived under Foucher’s watch. There was no way he was turning this down.

You cocked your head back to look at Foucher, rubbing your hands nervously against the black trousers you wore. You cleared your throat once, bringing yourself to ask the one question you were dying to know since the mission was brought upon you.

“What’s the thief's name?” you inquired with a raised brow. If Foucher was asking this of you, whoever it was had to be important. And transporting important prisoners usually came with enemies who would do anything to make sure the jailbird wouldn't make it back alive. If you were going to potentially put your men in danger, you needed details.

Foucher must’ve mistook your question as a ‘yes’, because he clapped his hands and opened his arms wide, a joyous victory on his lips. He smiled brightly at you and he came forward, wrapping his large, wrinkly hands around your face and holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The feeling made your gut twist uncomfortably.

“Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s Scout’s youngest boy. You know Scout, yes?”

Your teeth clenched tightly the second the name left his mouth. A burning coil of anger sparked in your stomach as you recognized the name of the leader of the Thieves Den. The one who took everything from you, including your family. The one who committed the bloodiest heist on Serpent Point soil and still somehow got away. The memory of it punched you in the chest, while the memory of his son nearly brought you to your knees completely.

This was why Foucher wanted you and your crew to do this. This was why he called upon you and your men to take on such a task, making such an unfathomable offer for the job.

Anybody in the world could do it. City patrons and pirates alike have been doing so for years with little to no payout as a reward.

This wasn’t just a delivery mission.

It was a test of loyalty.

One he was expecting you to fail if the sparkle in his eyes was anything to go by.

Fifty thousand gold hung in the balance, and you were determined to get it. Not only for you but for the seven men who happily followed you and worked for you as if you were their Queen.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood, but the Jarl continued to speak, completely unaware of the turmoil happening in your chest.

“He was the one who ambushed me and my men in Fogrush Bay. I believe he goes by -”

“Jisung fucking Han II.” you seethed.

“I’m just saying, if Queen Aliyah is the leader of all of Fatewatch, why does she live on a whole other continent instead of here?” Lino grumbled, trailing after you and Chan as the three of you made your way back to the docks. His confusion drew hearty laughs from you and Chan, echoing in the quiet dawn that settled over the town.

“Who knows, Li,” you shrugged, stepping aside to let a small carriage clatter past before falling back in line. “Maybe the rum is just better in Cliffpoint.”

Lino scowled, unimpressed. “Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense to me.”

You chuckled, enjoying how such a trivial mystery could get under his skin so easily. It was a welcome distraction from the anxiety that still swirled in your gut after that tense meeting with Foucher. Lino probably sensed it too; he had a knack for reading your mood without a word, one of the reasons why he was such a reliable guard—and an even better lover if you might add.

“Nothing ever makes sense to you, Lino. You’re about as dense as Paisley’s baking.” Chan’s grin was wide as he gave Lino a playful shove, making him stumble.

“Oh, shut it, Chan,” Lino muttered back, though a reluctant smile crept onto his face as he regained his footing.

“Just another one of life's greatest mysteries,” you teased.

Lino rolled his eyes, nose wrinkling in irritation. “Like the time you got all riled up about why cats stick their tongues out when they’re happy.” you then added with a grin.

Lino’s dark eyes slid to you, narrowing in a faux glare. “Yeah, well, at least felines are cute.” You snickered and patted him on the back in mock reassurance.

“Hey. I hear Queen Aliyah’s pretty cute too.” You winked, but Lino’s gaze darkened to a scowl, and for a moment, you caught the dangerous edge in his expression, sending goosebumps down your arms.

“As if I give a damn,” Lino sneered. “You know how much I despise royals.”

Chan clicked his tongue disapprovingly, bringing your attention back to him. “Listen, Lino,” he smirked, pink creeping up his cheeks. “You don’t have to fancy royals for them to be a good lay.”

His words made you scoff and cross your arms before granting him a bored look. “Oh, please Channie—you’re practically a virgin.”

Chan’s eyes widened, mouth gaping, too stunned to speak as he tripped over his own feet. Righting himself, he looked at you in betrayed disbelief.

“I am not!” he finally managed, clutching his chest dramatically. You ignored the strange looks the three of you were now receiving from passers-by and gave him a sly but interested smile in return.

“Oh, is that so? You’ve spent the last eight years at sea with me. When exactly would you have had a chance to ‘entertain’ a royal?”

The colour in Chan’s cheeks deepened, and suddenly, he looked like a man with a story to tell. He shrugged, straightening with a newfound confidence before Lino draped an arm over his shoulders in intrigue.

“Let’s just say, Jarl Alderidge’s daughter wasn’t the only woman I… indulged in back when I was set to court her,” he admitted. You and Lino both raised your eyebrows at him in question, trying to piece together his meaning.

Chan had left his father's side when he was barely eighteen years old. He was set to court and marry a royal from a few cities over, but he left shortly after the courting began.  You blinked a couple of times, thinking back to the awful family he was supposed to be wed into, and realisation finally dawned on you as the pieces fell into place. Your stomach turned in mock disgust as you reached out and gave him a light punch on the arm.

“Oh, for the love of—Jarl Alderidge’s wife?”

Chan blocked your half-hearted blow, laughing. “What? Lady Tatiana is a beautiful woman, and the opportunity presented itself. Who was I to deny her?”

You aimed another punch his way, but Lino quickly tugged you back with a laugh, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other clapped Chan on the shoulder. “Good grief, Channie, you should have been born in a brothel.”

The two of them snorted, and you rolled your eyes, suppressing the urge to smack the pride off their faces.

“Does Paisley know about this?” you asked, shaking off Lino’s arm and falling back into step beside them.

“Of course, she knows.” Chan’s expression softened at the mention of his soon-to-be wife. “I’d never keep anything from her. Paisley and I—there’s nothing we wouldn’t tell each other.”

You and Lino exchanged a look, simultaneously groaning in exaggerated disgust.

“Ew.”

“Gross.”

Chan shook his head and gave the two of you a pointed stare.

“What’s the matter with you two?” he asked, clearly offended by your reactions.

“Human connection is what’s the matter,” you answered with a shrug.

“It’s absolutely sickening,” Lino added with a cringe.

Chan's face fell. “What? What’s so gross and sickening about having an open and honest relationship with the one I love most? What is it about having someone to come home to after weeks at sea that makes the two of you so disgusted?”

You gagged theatrically. 

“Literally every part of what you just said.”

Chan then rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. 

“You two are closer than anyone else I know. Isn’t that deeper than what Paisley and I have? Seungmo and Millie? Jinn and Ophelia?”

You let out a long sigh as the three of you finally stepped back onto the old, decaying dock. The boards of wood groaned beneath your feet, some barely holding together. “Oh please, Channie. There is absolutely nothing romantic between Lino and me. We’re just… mutually beneficial.”

“Right,” Lino agreed as you squeezed past the rows of empty carts crowding the walkway. “I’d rather jab a dagger into my own eye than settle down.”

Chan shot the bandit a look of pure disbelief.

“And I’m the one who belongs in a brothel?”

Both you and Lino shared a final laugh as you approached your ship, anchored at the end of the dock like a beast at rest. Leading the way, you crossed the narrow plank that bridged the dock to your vessel, landing with a solid thud.

Jinn, your sharp-eyed sailing master, was leaning against the railing, chewing idly on tobacco, while Binni, your burly artilleryman, sat next to him on a creaky old stool, the two of them mid-conversation. Their words stopped short the instant you touched down.

“Welcome back, Cap.” Jinn greeted, flicking his head to the side as he spat overboard without care. “How did things go with the Jarl?”

You let out a heavy exhale, mind already on the meeting you’d be calling shortly with the rest of your crew. They wouldn’t be happy that you decided on this new job alone; normally, the entire crew weighs in before a vote is held. But today, your gut had already made the call.

“Went fine. Important business,” you replied with a curt nod of your head, watching as Jinn’s expression tightened slightly in response. You then turned to Chan, the light-hearted mood from earlier gone. As soon as your feet hit the surface of your ship, it was business as usual. “Get everyone together below deck. Crew meeting in ten.”

Chan nodded, the humour in his eyes vanishing as he took off to round up the others. You barely spared him a second glance as you turned back to Jinn, whose lounging posture now told you he had no intention of springing into action like his crewmate.

“Are the twins back yet?” you asked.

“Not last I saw,” Jinn replied. “They went down to the market.” He raised a brow and shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

You let out a quiet sigh and glanced at Binni, who only gave you a knowing smile in return.

“Go get them, Jinn. We’re in a hurry.” 

You watched with little patience as Jinn rolled his eyes with all the petulance of a bored child. “Why me? Binni’s been sitting here gnawing on jerky all day. Let him get off his ass for once.” he complained in his typical tone of defiance.

Binni raised his eyebrows, slowly standing as he glowered at the younger male. Although he was a head shorter than Jinn, his solid build made him all the more imposing. He loomed over Jinn with a look that would send most men scurrying away in fear, but Jinn, ever used to the infamous glower, held his ground unfazed.

Before either of them could escalate, you stepped in between them, pushing each back a step.

“Enough,” you snapped before turning your glare back to your navigator. “Jinn, unless you’ve suddenly developed a talent for taking stock and loading the armoury, I suggest you stop whining and get moving.”

Jinn's face turned red, and with a small bow of compliance, he brushed past you, grumbling as he left the ship.

“Move it!” you called after him. “We don’t have all day!”

“I know, Cap!” he yelled back, though he picked up the pace as he disappeared down the dock. You watched him go in the dying light of day, shaking your head. “One more comment like that, Jinn, and you’ll be scrubbing bird shit off this deck for a month!”

Jinn spun to bow quickly once more before breaking into a jog, knowing full well you meant it. With a sigh, you turned back to Binni, but he was already stowing the stool and heading off below deck, tossing a salute over his shoulder.

“Inventory check. I’ll meet you down there when I’m done.”

You gave Binni a thankful smile as he ran off, leaving you to stand in the light of the sunset alone. There was a light breeze coming off the ocean across from you, and you allowed yourself a brief moment of peace, watching the sky morph from blues and whites to purples and pinks and oranges.

The smell of saltine water, the cool breeze of the summer air, the soft sway of the ship, the caw of gulls wheeling overhead. It was moments like these, moments of complete serenity, that you enjoyed the most, that made you feel completely grounded. It made you feel sentimental, reminiscing back to when you began your life as the first female pirate in all of Fatewatch. It reminded you why you began adventuring in the first place.

You stood for what felt like hours, watching the sky morph and change with each passing second. You admired the way the sun lowered itself on the horizon, bright and satisfied at the day's end, and how the clouds and warmth seemed to chase it. And although you always found the rise and fall of the large orange star in the sky beautiful, you couldn’t deny that you were aching for nightfall.

“You’ve been staring at that horizon for a long time now, Y/N.”

A slow smile spread across your face at the sound of the wooden artificial leg being dragged against the surface of the ship. A wooden door closing against its hinges a second later had you popping your eyes away from the sky to come face-to-face with the blue-haired boy from across the way.

“The Captain won’t like you skipping important meetings.” Yongbok teased with a smile. You sent him a bright grin as your arms folded across your chest.

“Hello Yongbokki.” you greeted, bumping your shoulder with his when he stopped beside you. He took a moment to gracefully lean his body against the railing behind him, a small wince flashing quickly across his freckled face. He was still getting used to living with his new leg, and you reached a hand out instinctively help support him.

“You guys made it back just in time,” he spoke as if he wasn’t in any pain at all, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was no longer looking at you, but out across the ocean at the same horizon you were moments before, you would’ve scowled at him for trying to play it off.

“I think I finally perfected those salmon steaks I’ve been struggling with for the last month.” His eyes sparkled with pride and excitement at his small victory, meanwhile, your stomach growled loudly at the mention of food. You clapped him on the back with a pleased laugh. 

“Perfect timing, Yongbokki. We’ll have to set the table for everyone before the meeting starts. I have a feeling the boys will take my news better on full stomachs.”

Yongboks grin turned suspicious, one brow arched as you pushed yourself off the railing you were also leaning against and held a hand out to help him stand. 

“What did you do this time, Cap?” he teased. “Sold Binni to another cathouse I presume?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing once more as you took hold of his hand and headed towards the creaky old door that led below deck. “Will you let that go? That was one time!”

Yongbok’s laughter echoed as you entered the ship, veering down to the kitchen at the end of the corridor. “One time too many, Cap. If it happens again, I’m afraid Bin will be gone for good.”

Jinn returned moments after everyone else had settled at the dining table, Jeo and Seungmo trailing behind. The three of them exchanged quiet jokes as they hastily took their seats, their faces lighting up at the sight of the meal before them.

Fish steaks, steaming and fragrant, rested on thick wooden plates that Binni had crafted weeks prior. Cutlery was arranged meticulously beside them and metal tankards were filled to the brim with ale, allowing the table to be a testament to the care Yongbokki had poured into the preparation.

You leaned back slightly, observing your crew as they dug into the meal. Despite the unease swirling in your gut, you waited, letting them savour the peace of a shared dinner table before revealing the storm on the horizon.

You watched as Jinn, ever the orderly one, gestured for Seungmo to take the breadbasket from his hands, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he said, “You’ll thank me later for making sure you’re not just eating meat, Mo.”

Seungmo rolled his eyes, tearing into a piece of bread but muttering something about ‘overbearing mother hens.’ Jeo chuckled, his fox-like eyes catching yours briefly before he focused on his plate.

You felt the weight of the news pressing against your chest as you watched them—your crew, your family. The money Foucher offered was good, almost impossibly good, but there was that nagging whisper in the back of your mind, the one that suggested it might not be enough to sway them. Especially not Jinn and Seungmo.

When most of the plates were cleared, Jeo broke the casual hum of conversation. He wiped his mouth with a serviette and leaned forward slightly, his sharp, curious eyes locking onto yours.

“So, Cap,” he began, his tone light but pointed. “What’s this meeting for?”

Binni shifted, leaning back in his chair and tossing you a quizzical look, meanwhile, Seungmo perked up, his brows drawing together.

“Oh yeah! The meeting with Foucher. How’d it go?” his voice held a genuine curiosity, though you could see he was already trying to piece together why it needed to involve all of them.

Setting your fork down, you glanced at Lino and Chan, both of whom offered small, encouraging nods. That gave you just enough courage to speak.

“The meeting with Foucher went...well.” you began carefully, letting your words hang as you measured everyone's reactions. “He’s got another job for us.”

That caught their attention. Forks paused mid-air, and a hush settled over the surrounding tables where the two and a half dozen sailors under your command sat, waiting for you to finish. Jinn tilted his head slightly, studying you with a guarded expression as he began gathering a small stack of empty plates.

“What kind of job this time?” he asked, voice calm but curious.

You hesitated for a brief moment. “He wants us to travel to Cliffpoint Hollow,” you said finally, your voice firmer now. “We’re to escort a prisoner back to him.”

The impact of your words was immediate. Jeo, mid-drink, choked and nearly sent his ale spewing across the table, causing Lino to reach over and clap his back while he spluttered about.

“Cliffpoint Hollow?” Binni straightened abruptly, his easygoing demeanour gone. His wide eyes pinned you in place at your end of the table. “Did you just say Cliffpoint Hollow?”

“I did,” you confirmed with a single nod. Silence fell over the room again for a moment before Jeo spoke up once more.

“Captain, with all due respect,” he started in a gruff tone from his choking, his fingers now toying with the handle of the metal tankard in front of him. “We’re supposed to be on break right now. Seungmo’s dying to get home to see Millie, and Jinn still has yet to even meet his kid. I don’t think any of us could take on another adventure.”

Seungmo cast a glance towards you. Though he kept his expression neutral, the flicker of disappointment on his face was unmistakable. He was usually calm and composed, but even he had his limits.

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temple before clasping your hands together on the table before you. You watched as Chan began wiping the dirty surface with an old rag before you continued your plea.

“Look, guys, I understand.” you grimaced before meeting Seungmo’s gaze again. He was leaning against the archway to the kitchenette, waiting for whatever you were to say next. “I know we were all looking forward to this break. But Foucher offered us more money than we’ve ever seen for a single job before—and you know what that kind of coin could mean for all of us.”

“Enough for how long though?” Binni asked with a wary glance. “I mean, we risk our necks for him time and time again, and all he does is keep upping the stakes. First, it’s cargo runs, now prisoner escorts halfway across the globe?”

Yongbok nodded in agreement from where he was standing next to Seungmo with his arms folded across his chest. His usual smile was nowhere to be found. “Binni’s right. This isn’t just a supply run or a simple trade, Cap. Cliffpoint Hollow, as beautiful as it may be, is nearly six months away, and that's if the ship is sturdy enough to make it. There's no other towns and outposts across the open waters for miles. There’s nowhere to stop for resupply, and if the rumours are true, those waters are crawling with hostiles.”

Murmurs of concern spread throughout the dining room, each of your men weighing the risk in their minds, grumbling and conversing in distress. You had to raise a hand to quiet them all down once more.

“I hear you guys. Believe me, I do. Your concerns and uneasiness do not go unnoticed. But this is fifty thousand gold we’re talking about here.  That’s not counting the stolen jewellery and gems Foucher’s throwing in as part of the deal.”

Jeo’s eyes widened, his initial shock giving way to an almost childlike excitement. Yongbok, too, couldn’t hide his intrigue, though he tried to mask it. Even Binni, skeptical as ever, seemed to soften at the mention of the payout.

But Jinn and Seungmo remained unmoved. Jinn crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “How do we even know he’s good for it?” he asked. “Did you see the loot, or are we just taking his word?”

“I saw it,” you said sharply, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “I wouldn’t be here asking this if I wasn’t sure.”

You didn’t need to see the loot to know Foucher had it. The loot was rightfully yours after all, though you weren’t about to admit that to your crew. You’d been keeping your past a secret from them for years, and the less they knew about it, the better.

Everyone was silent for another moment before Binni set the feet of his chair down on the wooden floorboards and leaned forward, his interest piqued.

“When does he want us to leave?” He asked. His tone was casual, but the weight of the question hung heavy. You swallowed roughly and let out an exhale

“At dawn.”

Seungmo was the first one to crack under the pressure. He surged forward in annoyance, his feet scratching loudly against the floor. 

“Are you fucking mad?” His voice rang with frustration, his cheeks flushed. “Jinn and I are supposed to be home by the end of the week. Home, Cap. To our wives!” His hand hit the table with a dull thud, punctuating his words as he leaned over the table. “You promised us the summer to rest!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Seungmo was too far gone, his emotions taking over. “We just finished a brutal job from Hawthorne, and now you want us to play delivery boys for Foucher? Do you even hear yourself?”

Your jaw tightened. The reaction wasn’t unexpected, but the raw edge in Seungmo’s voice still cut deep. The room bristled with the tension of his outburst.

“Seung, sit down,” Lino said evenly, though his voice carried an edge of warning. His gaze darted briefly to you before returning to Seungmo. Seungmo, however, ignored Lino’s demand and hit the table again with another thud.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his laugh was bitter. “We were supposed to go home. I mean, did you even stop to consider Jinn and I? I have a wife at home waiting for me, fuck. Jinn has a wife and a newborn baby boy that he hasn’t even met yet! Are you trying to tell me we’re not allowed to go home and see them? That we have to stop our lives and do Foucher’s bidding once again?”

“Seungmo, that’s enough!” Lino growled, his eye calculating the younger male’s every move. He knew Seungmo would never outwardly hurt you, not intentionally anyway, but Seungmo’s temper was a force all its own.

You stood abruptly then, slamming your hand down on the table hard enough to rattle the few tankards that were still being used. The sound snapped the room’s attention back to you. Your blood was beginning to boil from his insinuation.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you snapped, your voice rising with authority. “You don’t think I took any of that into consideration when Foucher offered us the deal?” you nearly snarled at him. The room fell silent once more, every pair of eyes on you as you pushed forward, your voice shaking with conviction. 

“Of course, I want you two to go home and spend time with your family. I want all of us to have a break. But this isn’t just about today or tomorrow, Seungmo. This is about our future. All of ours. I want you and Yongbokki to have enough money to open the inn that you guys are always raving and ranting about in every goddamn city we stop in. I want Jinn to be able to afford a nursery for his son so the poor thing doesn’t have to room with them until he’s of age to leave home. I want Jeo to have enough money to open the orphanage he’s been planning out since he was thirteen, and I want Lino to start up the Fighter’s Guild in Eagles Bay. I want Chan and Binni to buy their own ship one day and continue on the legacy we started. I want all of us to be happy and content, and with the payout from this job, I know we can get all of that and more.”

You squeezed your hand into a fist and dug your nails into your skin, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down before finishing.

“I only want what’s best for all of you.” your voice ran with unyielding conviction, though a tremor of emotion lurked beneath the surface. You swept your gaze over the rest of your crew members once before landing back on Seungmo again. “Don’t you dare, for even a second, think I don’t put you guys first in every decision I make.”

The room fell eerily silent. The faint sound of waves lapping against the dock outside was the only movement in the air, the tension thick and palpable. Seungmo’s hard expression wavered, his eyes narrowing slightly as your words pierced through his frustration. The defiance that had lit his face moments before began to soften, replaced by the faint shine of regret.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.

“I-I’m sorry, Cap,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He dropped his head, the tips of his ears burning red. “I’m sorry for lashing out.” His hand moved quickly, swiping away at the corner of his eye before disappearing behind his messy brown hair.

The sight of Seungmo, the crews usually unshakable morale booster, humbled like this tugged at your chest. You leaned forward, reaching across the table to rest a hand on his shoulder. The fabric beneath your touch was worn but familiar, and you pressed your thumb into small circles, a gesture of quiet reassurance.

“It’s alright, Seung. Take a breath,” you said gently, the edge in your tone giving way to warmth.  You waited as he inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

“I understand your frustrations, and I’m sorry for not consulting with you guys first. If you truly want to go home, if any of you do…” you paused, letting your eyes sweep across the room. “We’ll drop you off on the way out. No hard feelings. Chan will keep your share safe until we return.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, a quiet reckoning passing through the room. Jeo fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his wide eyes darting nervously between Seungmo and Jinn, while Yongbok began chewing on the nail of his thumb, a nervous habit he picked up years ago. 

It was Binni who finally broke the tension, leaning back in his chair with his usual devilish grin. “I think I can speak for the majority of us when I say, we’re with you, Captain.” He let out a bark of laughter, his chair tilting precariously. “You’re a crazy sonofa bitch, but you’re our crazy sonofa bitch. I’m in.”

Jeo let out a breath of relief and nodded. “Me too,” he said, his voice lighter, though the faintest trace of unease lingered in his eyes.

“Aye,” Yongbok called out with glee.

You felt a swell of gratitude, but the real test lay in the two pairs of eyes that hadn’t yet confirmed their loyalty; Jinn and Seungmo. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as attention shifted toward them.

Jinn was the first to speak, his mouth quirking into a faint smile.

“I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to Cliffpoint,” he said, his voice rumbling through the stillness. “If Ophelia finds out I had the chance to see her homeland and didn’t take it, I’d never hear the end of it.” His grin widened as he glanced around at the rest of the crew. “Besides, it’s not a true journey without all of us. Eight makes fate.”

Your heart lifted at his words, and you gave him a grateful nod before turning to Seungmo. All eyes fell on the young man, who shifted uncomfortably under their weight. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications of the decision before him.

The silence stretched, almost unbearable, until Seungmo let out an exasperated huff of laughter. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head as a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth.

You didn’t wait for him to say more. You reached across the table, pulling him into a firm, grateful hug. His shoulders were tense for a moment before he relaxed. Letting out soft chuckles as you squeezed him.

“Oh, hush up,” you said with a laugh, releasing him and falling back in your chair with ease. “By this time next year, we’ll be the richest pirates in all of Fatewatch.”

Jinn ran a hand through his hair, leaning casually against the edge of the table. His easy smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of concern.

“I hope you’re right about this, Cap.” he said, his voice quieter now, though it held more warmth than doubt.

You felt that same unease twist in your gut but pushed it down, forcing a confident smile onto your face.

“I’m always right,” you replied, your voice steady. But as the room began to fill with the hum of conversation and plans for the journey ahead, that gnawing feeling in your gut refused to leave.

Because deep down, you knew this wasn't just another job. It wasn't just another risk.

This was a gamble with the stakes stacked so high that one wrong move could unravel everything you worked your ass off for—and not even fifty-thousand gold could buy your way out.

Tags: @moonlightndaydreams @collisvng @frequentlykit @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @n0y4 @chuuyaobsessed @newhope8 @palindrome969 @krayzieestay @lunearta @nightmarenyxx @queen-in-the-shadows

⚓️Next Part ⚓️

[seeker-ophelia]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Ophelia’s Review, Part 1: The Emotion

Like most people on tumblr, I went into Veilguard for Solavellan. I needed a happy ending for them. I had obsessed and freaked and theorized for years. But before I delve into VG I need to explain some backstory. This is going to be as much a biography of me as it is a tale of my rook. And its going to be long, so you know, heads up. And Veilguard Spoilers.

I have been really struggling to get my thoughts into a coherent string after act 2 of VG. I feel like I can’t even review the game because I’m so emotionally wrecked, all I can do is tell a story. If you want to read this, be forewarned, its long, also, obviously spoilers, Veilguard. But… holy god my Rook. 

[Part 2 is here]

My first Dragon Age game was Origins, in 2009. I torrented it off Pirate Bay and played on my aging laptop that could barely handle it. And I loved it. I had never played a game like this before and loved the emotional and story-telling aspects of the game. I played as a Dalish rogue, Lelianna and Zevran were my best friends. Morrigan was the awe-inspiring yet traumatized goth-girl, and I fell for the golden-retriever bastard king of Ferelden.

I did not only watch on in broken-hearted horror as he ascended to his throne beside Anora without me, but I had him lie with Morrigan, the weirdo-turned-friend, because I trusted her, and frankly, I didn’t want to die.

And it broke me in a way the fantasy books I inhaled like oxygen as a child never did.

Because I chose to do those things. I made the choice. For right or for wrong, I was the one who decided their fate, even if those choices came back to bite me in the ass later.

I played Origins three more times over the next 5 years, through what I now call my University Years. I was broke, stressed, and overworked, and Origins became a comfort to me. I even properly bought the game with the DLCs the last time, because I had a little more money, and I figured a game that I had played and loved so much deserved it. (Never played 2, and that was my own fault). I discovered Fan Fiction because of Origins.

Then… I did some life things that I’m not going to air into the internet, but I kind of got my life together around 2016/17. I had a good job, a career even, and while I was by no means wealthy, I was okay.

And I heard about Dragon Age Inquisition, and remembered my old love for Origins, and gave it a go. I’ve always been a fantasy stan (I grew up with LotR), if you give me the option to play as a mage or an elf I’m going to do it. I wanted to romance Leliana, especially after her bad-assery in Redcliffe, but that turned out to be impossible. Because I never played 2, I didn’t know who Cullen was, and I romanced him (my love letter to Alistair). And while I liked the game, loved it even, I didn’t feel that emotional pull that Origins made me feel, and I put it aside. I’ve played some other games I’ve liked throughout the years, Fable, Skyrim, The Witcher, and I liked them all, but none of them really gut-punched me like that first fated Origins playthrough.

Cut to 2020, covid, and fuck if I didn’t have anything better to do, so I played DA2.

Oh man, I laughed at the graphics, oh it was so bad after Inquisition, how did anyone play this? And then I walked Darktown with Anders, walked slaver dens with Fenris, helped my Merrill with her Eluvian, and Isabela with her relic. And I helped my friend Varric in the deep roads. And I began to feel a tendril again of what I had in Origins. Who cared about the graphics, the gameplay, the locations, these people’s stories were what was driving this tale, and that was amazing and rare.

And I went into Inquisition with new eyes. I could not touch Cullen again, not after how he acted in Kirkwall. I knew Solas left, so I wanted to try and romance Bull (I’ve seen the youtube videos; ‘So you want to ride The Bull’). But I slowed down my playthrough this time, talked to everyone, actually spoke to Solas over and over in Haven. Indominatable focus indeed, hahren. What a curiosity you are. And I fell for fucking Solas.

A bald fucking hobo apostate, are you for real? Brain, get your head in the game. And my heart said, wait.

But he leaves! You know he leaves!  

Well, maybe I’m just destined to fall in love with emotionally unavailable fictional people.

And I played Descent and Hakkon for the first time, which were fantastic. And then I played Trespasser.

And Trespasser broke me. Just like Origins did.

And my Casual Dragon Age Days were done. I was feral.

But I also had a very demanding job. I could not just play video games for large chunks of time. I worked. A lot. I mean a lot. And in the fall of this year, I burnt out. I quit. I’ve got Real Shit going on in my life right now, and I’ve worked so much I can afford to take some time off.

And Dragon Age was there to welcome me, arms open wide, with Escapism 4.0, AKA The Veilguard. I spent hours crafting theories, making connections, playing Inquisition again, playing DA2 again, writing, actually writing Fics again. I read the comics, read TN, watched Awakening (twice).

I joined tumblr to stop being a lurker and actually participate. Joined Caitie and Kala’s patreons, just loving the hype and the theory crafting and the love for Veilguard. I love the Dragon Age world. It has helped me through so many tough times in my life, and its going to get me through this one, too.

I found community online. In tumblr, in reddit, in discord.

And I breathed Dragon Age for almost 2 months before Halloween. Solas this and Lavellan that and Fade and Magic and Titans and Gods and Love. Remember this, don’t forget about that, did you hear this theory, well what about the connection between…

To quote myself, Like most people on tumblr, I went into Veilguard for Solavellan. The companions came out, and I didn’t feel super strongly about any of them. I didn’t even feel strongly about my Rook. I had a general idea, especially because of Trick’s IGN interview, Rook/Mirror/Solas, but nothing really concrete.

And then Nadas-Dirthalen asked me about my Rook a few days before Halloween, and I had to think about it. I had to put down Solas and Lavellan, I had to put down my theories, put down the lore, and pick up this new thing. This Rook.

And I looked at it.

What did I want her to act like? What did I want her to look like? How did I want her to be? What drives her? Where is she from? What are her goals? What does she like? What does she hate?

And I weaved a new friend. Danivas (Dani, for short). Escaped rabbit slave out of Minrathous, her magic the only thing that saved her from hard labor in Dock Town or the mines, and then it was the only thing that saved her from the unwanted advances of the Tevinter Nobility. Rescued by the Dragons in her teens, she sought connection to her elvhen heritage with the Veil Jumpers, falling hard (platonically) for her mentor, her sister, Bellara. Everything she hated about herself, Bellara loved, and Bellara was flighty enough to need protecting, especially after Cyrian, so that’s what she became. Bellara’s protector. Arlathan’s protector. Protector of the small, and defender of the powerless. She will never apologize for saving Varric and the others at the cost of some stupid magic map, she would pay that price a hundred times over to save living beings.

And I made her in CC, I walked her through the streets of Minrathous, through Solas’ ritual, through Arlathan forest. My heart sang when I saw Harding again, and knew that Rook and Harding would be best friends. And I began to fall for the characters.

My Veil Jumper sister Bellara, poised but wickedly intelligent Neve, violent and troubled Lucanis, steadfast and resolved Davrin with playful Assan, towering yet growing Taash, and mystifying, immortalizing Emmerich, with his weird but I guess acceptable Manfred.

I helped Harding, Paragon of her time, discover her new mystifying magic, to find peace through pain, just as Bellara had done for Dani.

I learned all their stories. Their loves. How to interact with them, what they liked and didn’t like. And I fell, for Assan. That fucking griffon. Is so cute. How can you not love him? He’s just like Dani. Forced through circumstance to fight terrible evil, not necessarily against their nature, but certainly not what they would prefer to be doing. They are powerful and special and fierce and playful.

And, like any child, rebellious.

Dani helped Davrin through parenthood. He was a soldier, a commander, not a father, or a teacher, and though she was brash and sarcastic, she had been Bellara’s protector, she knew honey over vinegar, and pushed him to be gentler with Assan. Watched them grow together and felt such unhinged joy through their path to tulum. And then she looked up from digging her fingers into the feathers in Assan’s neck one day to see Davrin staring down at her, and thought, oh.

Her heart stuttered. And they flitted about each other for a long time. Teasing and testing, flirting and ribbing.

As she walked the steps of the Cobbled Swan to meet Morrigan, she told herself she would bring Davrin to Arlathan again, without Assan, and without any gingerwort tea. Just the two of them, and she would tell him what he meant to her.

But the Gods had different plans.  

And they had to move, NOW.

Davrin, the Grey Warden constantly surrounded by death and destruction, tried to warn me.

What if one of us doesn’t come back?

I actually let myself imagine the future.

Our future.

With our half-bird, half-cat kid.

And Dani, who had never had much hope for anything before, brought her hand to Davrins face with a soft smile, and soothed her Griffon Daddy, Var Lath Vir Suledin, Davrin.

When we win, when we beat this thing, we will come back here, and I will show you how much I love you.

Every Solas fresco I uncovered, I cried. Every memory, every revenant, even the ones I saw coming. I felt so much emotion for Solas, even as my love for Rooks Companions grew. Dani’s love for Davrin grew, in a very real, fast, surprising way.

But the Gods Eclipsed the Sun, and we had to move, NOW.

Of course I chose the Grey Warden to lead the charge against the Antaam. I needed Taash and Harding with me, and he was better suited to the roll. Harding is a scout, not a commander, and Davrin would have Lucanis for any sneaky mischief he would need, with Emmerich for any quick heals.

Imagine my relief when we met up again. I made a choice and he didn’t die, thank you, BioWare.

No, Neve, Bellara is better suited to deal with old Elvhen Magic.

And then Elgar’nan took her from me. Dani’s sister. Her home.

And she blasted through darkspawn and Blight to get to Elgar’nan, to get to Bellara.

But they had to get through Ghilan’nain first.

Fuck you Ghilan’nain if you think I’m fighting alone, my strength is my team, and I will move Fade and Titan to get to them. And Dani frees them, only to have Lucanis foiled, again. How do we get out of this? What do we do?

Upside down, she watches Davrin scale a crumbling tower, and their eyes meet.

No.

Whatever it takes.

Davrin, No.

His voice is deep and commanding, resolute and resolved.

“Assan!”

And Dani’s scream tangles with Assans as her son smashes into Ghillan’nain’s back.

The Blighted Goddess stumbles, and Lucanis and Dani fall to the ground, but Ghilan’nain’s blight is lightening, and when Dani looks up at Davrin two tentacles have speared him, his eyes wide and unseeing into the dark sky.

She screams again, Ghilan’nain forgotten, and as she watches Assan dive to the aid of his fallen partner, Dani is knocked back by a concussive blue blast; the Crow has fulfilled his contract.

The air is charged, the veil tearing here, Emmerich is yelling something at her, she must remove the dagger or this world will be torn asunder.

And then there’s overpowering, pressured silence. Grey and fog and stone and loneliness surround her, and all she can see or hear is Solas.

You were never ready to make the sacrifices that leadership requires.

Davrin. Assan. Bellara. My family. Is GONE. Because of ME.

Well, shit, kid. Haven’t you learned anything from this place? I made the choice, even knowing the risks. My decision, my sacrifice, and you don’t get to take that from me.

And Emmerich and Lucanis pull her from her prison of regret, and she knows she can’t blame herself, that would be taking away Davrin and Bellara’s agency, but you know who she can blame?

Solas.

The man my Lavellan loves. The man I swore to save. The one I started this game for. The one who made me feral for Dragon Age.

He did this to me.

Solas took away my love. By not being able to face his regrets.

And Dani became Hardened.

“Are you certain you’re alright, Rook?”

“We’ve still got work to do. I can collapse when this is over.”

“You needn’t carry this burden on your own. The rest of us will send word to our allies. You must take care of yourself in the meantime. We’ll speak again soon.”

But she was fine. She would be fine. Had to be fine. They had a job to do. Gods to kill. People to save.

It was walking past Assan’s spot in the courtyard that broke her.

Mourn Davrin?

To the Void with that.

I will avenge him.

I will kill the Elf who started all of this, forget Mythal, forget Lavellan, forget the Blight.

Mirror.

Solas cannot blame himself, that would be taking away the agency of his friends, but you know what he can blame?

The Veil.

I will end the curse that started all of this, forget Mythal, forget Lavellan, forget the Blight.

Mirror.

I will defend the small.

Mirror.

I will free the enslaved.

Mirror. 

You were never ready to make the sacrifices that leadership requires.

Mirror.

Its easier to play the villain, because that means you didn’t fail, all the damage you’ve done, all the people you’ve hurt…

Mirror.

It becomes a choice.

Mirror.

Remind yourself who you really are.

Mirror.

But will you listen?

Mirror.

Rook lays on the cold cobblestone, eyes wide, fist white-knuckled around the lyrium dagger, a battered and bruised Solas standing behind her. Her anger got her through her battle with Elgar’nan, but it will not help her here.

Rook will have to live with the choices she made. The successes and the failures. She can’t blame Solas. It's easier to blame Solas. But that’s exactly what Solas did, place blame where it did not belong, and it destroyed the world.

And her anger and hate and grief and despair swallow and consume itself into the tiniest, smallest fleck of a wisp.

Of hope.

She rose slowly, meeting Solas’ gaze, and places the dagger in his outstretched, bloody hand.

I don’t want to see any more pain on top of what Elgar’nan has done.

(Hope)

Your prison is made of regrets, and you are trapped in yours.

(I’ll not be trapped in mine)

Destroying everything won’t erase your mistakes.

(Killing Solas won’t bring Davrin and Assan back)

You have the chance, right now, to save the world. Bind yourself to the veil and stop it from failing.

And it takes the Mother, the Maiden, and the Mirror, for Solas to accept his past.

As Lavellan walked the din’an shiral after Solas, Rook walked it for Davrin.

As Varric released Dani from her regret, Mythal released Solas from his.

As Solas turns to the Eluvian, the Magic Mirror named Rook, he is forced to see his faults, and how to fix them.

His corrupted purpose is repairable. And he passes his torch to the Mirror, vowing to seek atonement for the sins of his past, sins grown and amplified because he refused to face the truth of them.

And that will probably hit everyone, because I’d wager good coin that if you’re playing video games, or reading fantasy, you’ve used escapism before, but it hits especially hard for me. Right now. At this point in my life. When my own personal veil I’ve constructed to hold back my own evils is crumbling around me because I have not faced the truth of my own past sins, my memories as demons grown and amplified and slipping through cracks because I refused them for so long. My choice.

And when Solas and Ellana walked into the sunset, I cried. And cried. And cried. Because this whole time I thought I was my Inquisitor, bare your blade and raise it high, look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come, var lath vir suledin. Bellanaris. Perseverance, endurance, outlive, outlast, that is what you need.

When in reality I am my Rook. Let go of your regret. You don’t need to hold on to this, you need to let it go.

We all have to face our regrets. Accept them, and then let them go. Running from them only makes them worse.   

And I leave with the lyrics of the Veilguard Credits song, “Roll The Credits,” by Danielle Ponder:

I could feel it, I won't come down I could see it, oh, with all eyes Hold my head and saw the whole sky I never felt so damn alive And if there's smoke, then I'll be water If there's fire, I'll be rain

We were lost, but we weren't stranded We were dreamers on the run I gave my all, it was commanding And we just did this shit for fun I could feel it, I won't come down Found myself above the sky Tell my mama, tell my daddy That love is falling from the sky

Good God Almighty, I done opened my mind These holy waters left a chill down my spine

[yooniesim]

ok unfortunately for yall the dash made me have a thought so now I gotta ramble lol

but ya know. maybe it's bc I've had so much time away from here and all the bitching (/affectionate) but over the past couple years, I get less angry about this shit and more solution-minded. and I don't mean for the community as a whole (that's impossible lol) but in a sort of... personal circle/responsibility type of way. like what we can do among ourselves without the confrontation aspect bc, just being honest- from my perspective & experience, the anger and the bitching doesn't really accomplish shit. not to say it ain't justified, & it's important to raise awareness for sure, but i swear me & a lot of others that have been talking about this for a long time have just been barking in circles without anything budging one way or another. which leads to burnout/emotional exhaustion not just for the ppl in question but for followers/mutuals/friends. I spent far too long and waaaay too much mental energy thinking that being the loudest and the boldest would get something to change. but the scammers keep scamming and the shit just keeps going. and sure it's fun as hell to shoot the shit and pick and bitch and laugh with your mutuals. baby yall know I love a good simblr circlejerk. but ya know, when you sit down and think about it it's a lil depressing. and the ppl you're talking to/around are already Aware and eventually the anger wears off and they're just tired of hearing about it. you're preaching to the choir and everyone is just pissed and tired with no clear goal to work towards.

Part of that exhaustion is why i made @alwaysfreecc as a positive way to boost always free creators, without focusing on the paywallers. as well as always supporting alternate ways of getting paywalled cc. but I think it takes a lil more than just that. I think, like the post I just reblogged was saying, people need to learn how to make their own content too. I know there's a learning curve, but so many things paywallers make are outright easy to do yourself. Some aren't- there are paywall creators that put great effort into their content and make it worth your money- but a lot of them are. And that isn't to say you should make everything yourself, there's nothing wrong with supporting creators that make content you find interesting or wouldn't want to do yourself, but it can be really rewarding to learn how to make simple edits and recolors on your own. And, image editing and 3d modeling skills can also benefit you elsewhere in life! Whether professionally or when modding other games. Knowing how to make cc in sims helped me figure out how to make certain things for skyrim and fallout, for example. Hell, it's just plain FUN to figure out and do, and I think the community could always use more of that.

Also, sometimes it's freeing to just, stop using certain creators' content. Like, i used to be bitching yet downloading stuff off dhm and shit, out of spite mostly cos half the stuff I didn't even like. But since I cleared out a lot of paywallers' stuff, besides a few I think are worth it/doing things honestly, it just feels better. I don't even think about those mfs anymore until I see something about them on my dash and then I can barely remember who they are lol. You don't realize how much you really don't NEED any of that shit & how you were kinda just downloading it to be downloading it, until you toss it. AND it feels great to have mostly always free creators' content & support them. Liiike i feel proud of ppl i saw get started and are STILL FREE and making awesome stuff, it's exciting! even when I'm not playing the game, I see their posts and be like "dang I need to grab that when I update" or "man they've gotten so much better in so little time" or "wow I never thought of that idea/seen that before". Bc always free peeps get to be so damn creative bc they don't have deadlines or turning off their paying audience to worry about. Like it's so cool and positive and I love that.

idk, just. based on what I've experienced here, i feel like it's kinda time to focus less on what the assholes are doing now (aka the same exact thing they've been doing for years) and more on what to do to make our own personal experiences better. which I know a lot of us are doing! I just wish I personally had done it earlier lol so maybe someone else needs to hear that too. like toss these dummies to the curb and replace them is what I'm sayin. If not in the whole community but just your personal circle. raise awareness as needed sure but don't let em take any more of your energy. cos if you are petty like me (😂) it'll hurt em way more to cast em out than yell at em. all the ppl that have bitched at me yet still have my cc in their folders come to mind lmfao, cos personally that gives me more satisfaction than anything else so I know it's probably the same for the scammers! Like a "you hate me but you can't bear to not use my shit huh 😏" type of deal. Don't give em that sick pleasure! (/projecting) Just focus on you and yours and make some sick ass content for yourself, then share it to me thx 💅

[erika-xero]

REPOSTOBER, day 22: the Champion of Cyrodiil (2015-2017)

TW! this post has some TES-headcanons which might not be everyone's cup of tea, but please, don't judge a woman by her headcanons lmao

Here he is, my weird lil man. His mom worshipped Mephala and almost sacrifised her own newborn child to the Ebony Blade, but his father managed to steal the baby and hide him in Skyrim. Cero was raised in the orphanage (YES, THAT Orphanage) being bullied by the nord children for being, well, an elf. Many years later, Cero became a gladiator in the Imperial City Arena, and this is pretty much where his story begins.

He starts off as a man, who kill people for money at the start of the game, and being an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood doesn't seem any difference, so he joins in.

Lucien, being the one who brought him into the family, fascinates him. Cero soon develops feelings towards the Speaker, which he describes like some sort of a spiritual bond. He can't fully express what exactly he feels (because he is being in denial), so he keeps his feelings to himself, before it is too late.

This was a breaking point for Cero, who was already traumatized by the Purification, so he cut his ties with Dark Brotherhood and excapes, using the chaos of the Oblivion Crisis. After the series of unfortunate events he becomes the one, who carried the Amulet of Kings and the one, who saved Martin in Kvatch. They soon become friends and Martin is the one who actually tries to make Cero a better person. And then Martin dies too.

Being ceverely depressed and traumatized by losing all the people he loved and who were actually nice to him in a quite short period of time, Cero starts drowning himself in alcohol. And at that very moment, the Dark Brotherhood finally show up and capture the man and take him to Bravil for a trial. He manages to excape. And this is when the Shivering Isles storyline begins.

I wrote a bunch of fics (in russian) about Cero in the Shivering Isles, and in my AU he is literally possessed by Sheogorath who takes over his body and desperately try to fight back, and the main antagonist of the story is Haskill, who does everything so that Cero would lose himself and all his memories forever.

Eventually, he manages to take control of his own body for a few times, and one of them happened during the Skyrim timeline:

His body changed over time, he starts looking less than himself and more like Sheogorath: his hair and eyes gone white, his skin became pale and rosy, but he never actually ended up looking the way Haskill wanted him to look. Somewhere after the Skyrim timeline his former self gets in control of his body again and gets in a fight with Haskill. Cero uses the sword of Jyggalag to snap the Staff of Sheogorath in two parts and finally breaks free. He's memory is wague, his feelings are all messed up and he barely understand what is happening, the only thing that keeps him going is his lust for freedom. And this is the point when the events of my Champion/Nerevarine AU begin. Small bonus for everyone, who read it this far: Cero as Jyggalag.

And Cero with his lover - my Nerevarine Raelin, who was the first person he encountered when he finally broke free from the Shivering Isles, and the person who helped him regain all of his memories (she's also probably the only person in the universe who can handle this firce lil man).

And yes, Cero is actually his father's surname. The champion has a name, but the only person who knew his name was Martin.