#it would give mercer more time to plan and pace things and would give both cast and crew more time to prepare things

[herenvibing]

cr3 is gonna end and the pc’s still feel like the same people to me :|

(crcritical content in the tags feel free to skip)

[badtothebonespears]

Wretch, a na'vi's story parts 1-5

Birth

-

"Kä'ärip ma'tìyawn" said the Na'vi male to his mate.

It was deep into the night, music and laughter all around. The Sarentu moot had always been time for a joyous celebration, but this night was particularly special for these two. It was the night the female was giving birth to their first (and only) child.

The young couple had been bonded the year before. Both born Sarentu and had known each other their whole lives. The female had always doted on him, while the male sought to impress her. They had awaited this night for a long time.

The two breathed through the labor, sharing each other's pain, awaiting the arival. From the moment he had let out his first mewling cry, they had thought him perfect.

They couldn't wait to show off their beautiful baby boy. To their friends, their family, their bonded. Thoughts, smiles, laughter filled their hearts.

Delight however was short lived, when soon the babies cries and whimpers were drowned out by gunfire and screaming. RDA soldiers had rushed into the camp from all sides, killing every adult Na'vi they saw. Children weren't shot, but taken prisoner, eperated into groups. The pair weren't even able to name their child before they were shot down and he was ripped from their arms.

"Hey Mercer, we got a fresh one over here!" shouted one of the AMP suited soldiers, grabbing the infant by the scruff of his neck, still covered in amniotic fluid and his mother's blood.

"I'll take it from here, the boys down at the lab will love this", stated Mercer.

Death

-

The boy wasn't the only child taken to SciOps for testing. For the most part they kept all the subjects separated, to avoid conflict. The youngest, the one they called Wretch, was their favorite to test on.

His kuru was severed the day after his birth, as they had to process him first. Measuring and weighing their prize. From the beginning, he would become anxious, chewing and scratching at his skin. It became worse when his teeth grew in and he would chew his tail bloody. The next thing they cut off. At three they broke his arm, trying to get him to behave. When he was four they rebroke it without sedative as it set incorrectly.

He was rather stunted his entire life. The scientists all had their theories. Being taken from his mother could have caused him to miss key nutrients as an infant. It could have been the trauma all the surgery and injury at such a young age. They didn't care much other than speculation, as long as he cooperated

There were various tests and experiments they planned for and ran on the boy. The intent for him was similar to that of the other stolen children. Cut off from eywa, just in a more literal sense. And instead of an ambassador, they thought they could make him a weapon. His build wasn't as muscular as they had hoped, due to his stunted growth, but thought he could work well for covert operation. The thought behind making Wretch was simple, a Na'vi who could never connect to eywa, would be the least likely to leave the rda for her. The scientists who started the severed program, believed the removal of kuru would make Pandoran life easier to control. Many years later, they would learn that wasn't the case.

Growing up without a kuru, Wretch knew little of how different he was from others, he only knew he was alone. No parents, or even the other children to comfort him. The scientists and lab techs offered no comfort and were in most instances cruel to him. It wouldn't be until he was imprisoned in the facility for four years when he finally made a friend.

☆

Friend?

-

He was around the age of four when Hajir was assigned to study his behavior. He was already mimicking speech, and recognizing patterns when he began. It didn't take long for the boy to pick up on reading, and speaking for himself, after Hajir had taken the time to show him.

Hajir would note how he would pace back and forth, like a caged animal. How he would chew and scratch at himself. How his favorite words were "out", "stop" and "please". It made him sad to listen to the cries of help from a toddler, but it was his job. Although, his anxiety seemed to lessen, at least in Hajir's presence.

Hajir didn't care for how the others had treated and talked to the boy. "We're following the guidelines", they would tell him, "everything is ethical". Many times he would attempt to call the boy something else, but nothing stuck like Wretch, it was all he would respond to. The boy didn't truly understand the meaning behind his name, it was simply familiar. He knew that word meant him and nothing more than that.

Wretch grew relaxed when Hajir would watch him through the viewing glass. No hissing, his ears would sit in relaxed positions. Perhaps it was since he was the only empathetic soul employed there. Either way, everyone was pleased in Wretch hurting himself less. After only a few months, the child's self harm lessened to only chewing his nails too far.

Few were permitted to enter the child's enclosure while he was sedated, even fewer unarmed. Hajir was one of those few, as he was one of the few Wretch had warmed up to. The scientist had even gone as far as helping with general maintenance like trimming the boy's hair and nails. Wretch had a bad habit of biting his fingers raw otherwise.

The job was rough on Hajir, but it was hell to the little Wretch. Everyday that wasn't sedated with the medical staff, was exactly the same. The same flavorless rations in the same bare room with minimal contact with anyone but Hajir. He wasn't allowed to interact with the other subjects, save a few rare occasions, usually resulting in injuries.

After a particularly nasty interaction with a viperwolf when he was seven. He had lost a large chunk of his right ear, and cuts crossed his left eye, causing damage to his vision.

"Hajir, out, please," Wretch mumbled as Hajir helped redressing his wounds. The boy was lightly sedated as per the rules, to which Hajir was no exception.

"I am sorry my friend, but you know if I let you out, they would end us both", it broke Hajir's heart every time he had to deny the boy's freedom.

"Out", Wretch pouted, rightfully so.

"I promise you, one day, both of us will see the sun. I don't know when, but you were never meant to rot here", he meant what he said, but it would take much longer than imagined.

"Mean it? Promise?", his ears perked up.

Hajir smiled, "Yes my friend, me and you. We will one day be free."

The words brought comfort to them both, but it would be anothernine years before the day would come.

☆

Growing Pains

-

Throughout the years as Wretch had changed and grew, Hajir told him what other Na'vi were like and how they lived.

A strange people, who lived off the land, in trees, and connected with creatures. The thought of animals not wanting to hurt you was strange to Wretch, with his experience with viperwolves.

"Why would they want to be friends with the animals?", He asked through the viewing area where Hajir was meant to study him, rather than teach. "Don't animals just want to hunt?"

"Not all animals hunt Na'vi," Hajir spoke in reply. "Some animals are hunted by Na'vi, others help them. Like the ikran..." his voice trailed off.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's just...I don't think...even if you got out...you could ever bond like the others."

"What? Why not?"

It was at that point, at nine years old Wretch learned what made him so different, why he never seen another of his kind. He learned of the other children, kept together in a school. Learned they weren't cut and broken. He was devastated.

It would be a while before he would talk again after the new was broken to him. He wasn't upset that they weren't going through what he had, but he was jealous. Jealous they got to live more normal than him.

He knew the events of the moot, based off of whispering from the techs. They weren't as careful about the information there as they were at the school. He thought that the only remaining children were the few at the facility with him. He had never met any of them or know if they were cut like him, but he had heard of other children being tested.

Thinking about them now made him feel more alone than ever, even with Hajir as company.

After this he fell into a depression over the next two years, becoming less cooperative and more combative with handlers, even Hajir at times. They had to resort to more forceful tactics with him as his behavior continued. It had gotten to a point they regularly used cattle prods on the boy.

The higher-ups of the facility took notice of Wretch's regression and transferred Hajir. He had tried to argue, saying the boy just needed time, but in the end he was forced to focus on the thanators. Wretch didn't see much of him after that. Eleven years old and again without a friend.

His anxiety worsened again. He went the back to old childhood behaviors, scratching his skin raw, biting at his fingers. He would even chew his tail again if he could reach. The boy regressed further and further. He would refuse to talk, days he would refuse to eat. He would cry himself to sleep at night, wishing he was one of the sarentu children who had a friend again and again, missing Hajir.

The few occasions Hajir was able to visit were brief and far between. Their contact mostly consisted of Hajir tapping the door in a pattern as he walked by, or sneaking a snack or other care items through the slot meant for meals. Though thankful his friend still cared, he despised the rest of the staff.

With the regression in demeanor and skills, the scientists of SciOps began to ignore Wretch, which he didn't mind one bit. Less prodding, less blood draws and sedations. There were a few times they had forgotten to feed him, but he always had one or two protein bars from Hajir stashed away. He was always thin, and that didn't change as he aged.

The neglect got to a point where he had to cut his own hair with nail clippers, the only sharp item they allowed him. It was part of a little set Hajir had slipped him. Nobody took it, as they thought it not worth the trouble. He had given himself his haircut shortly before his 15th birthday, when he had his last picture taken for his profile.

☆

Birthday

-

"Alright, you can return it to its cell, we're done here," ordered the lab tech who was inputting the boy's newest data into the computer.

They all knew, from reading the data, that the na'vi children grew quickly. However, Wretch was always just a little behind. He was shorter and skinnier than the boys from the school. Everyone assumed it would help him be more agile and quiet during exercises, but he proved to be clumsy. Whether it was one purpose or not was up to debate.

The scientists had also thought the non-sentient ferals would react well to him. Most of his interactions with the animals ended in injury. The creatures were defensive at best, violent at worst.

There was a lot of talk surrounding what they planned to do with the child. He wasn't on track with their projections for espionage training, the animals didn't seem to like him and he was too poorly socialized and educated to introduce to the diplomat program. Some had considered simply leaving him to rot in a cell, while others had gone as far as suggest elimination.

Hajir had been deep into planning his escape by the time he had heard of the scientists contemplating putting an end to his friend. He knew the time to act was fast approaching, as he did not want any harm to come to the boy.

His plan was plain and simple. He would wait until the lab techs locked up and went to the barracks at night and wait for everyone to go to sleep. Once he was the last one up, he would take a higher access keycard than what he was permitted and open the door for his friend.

Wretch had been less lonely, after being introduced to the few other children, in an attempt to get his behavior under control. Namely Mìfkeyk, an older Sarentu child who had also been taken for testing, rather than diplomatic purposes. They were one of the few things Wretch liked in that place. Even if their encounters were mostly silent, due to a language barrier, it was good company.

Wretch would spend many days of his early teenage years either with Mìfkeyk in the same room, or separated by a see-through barrier. They were both often treated like animals who couldn't be trusted with one another, due to how the feral animals acted. The two would prove them wrong though, as they had never cause the other harm. Wretch had even felt safe enough to nap around them from time to time.

It was during one of these encounters that Hajir had gone to Wretch's viewing door to get his attention."My friend, my friend! We must speak!"

Wretch could sense the urgency in his voice, so he put his ear to the door slot.

"The time is near," Hajir whispered intensely, "you must be ready when I call for you, do you understand?"

Wretch nodded, "Yes Hajir I-" he was cut off.

"I mean it, boy, do you understand!?"

He took a moment to respond, he couldn't remember a time he heard his friend in such a panic. "Hajir? What's wrong?"

Hajir himself paused before answering. "The others, they don't like your progress...we just need to leave, before they hurt any of you anymore."

The boy nodded again "Yes Hajir...". Feeling the weight of the situation, he sat contemplating. He knew he couldn't leave the others behind, but he didn't know what he could do, if he could do anything at all.

That night he dreamed of one of the thanators. An older female who had mostly lost the fight in her. He wasn't familiar with all the animals at the facilities, but he had met her. She was one of the animals he was forced contact with some years ago, luckily at the time she was disinterested. But not now, not in the dream. She had her full attention on him, staring into his eyes as if saying "I see you".

☆

Out

-

Days would go by before he would hear from Hajir again. As he waited with his ears perked, he could hear the grumblings and growlings of the captive creatures. Viperwolves and thanators, but there was humming as well. The other children perhaps. He also heard faint whispers. Words like "terminate" or "decommission", but he did understand "waste of space" and "wretch".

He knew the name they had dubbed him was an insult in their tongue. He also knew that's why Hajir never liked to call him that. After hearing what the scientists had muttered about him, he understood why Hajir sounded so frantic. He had to leave, as he was of no further use.

Time would be spent with his ear to the door, pacing, or with one of the other children. Those days felt restless and he had much difficulty sleeping. He had to mentally prepare himself to escape, but what did that mean?

He had such limited information on the outside. He knew of the weird people who bond with the scary animals, he knew he came from out there, and he knew he wasn't the same as them.

He thought about how difficult it would be to adjust to the outside, until he heard the familiar slide of the slot on his door.

"My friend," came the voice of Hajir.

"Is it time?" Wretch dashed to the door, almost stumbling into it.

"Soon, we have to wait until everyone is asleep, then you shall be free." Relief was audible in his voice. So much that Wretch could feel the muscles that have been tensed for the last 15 years finally relax, even if for a moment.

The rest of that day he was nearly shaking with excitement. He was most eager to breathe the air. The atmosphere in the lab was stuffy and still, even with the filtration systems. Hajir breathed through a mask, he had said he needed "different air", whatever that meant. He felt like he needed different air too. He was also thrilled at the idea of sunlight on his pale ashy blue skin.

It had nearly seemed like no time at all when he had heard a beep and the click of his door latch open. He gave it a slight push and opened. Wretch felt surprised, like it wasn't real, but it was real.

"Come, quietly, we mustn't make too much noise."

Wretch listened, being much more careful than he did during exercises. He knew he had to ask though.

"The others, they free too?"

Hajir sighed. He did not want to tell the boy no, but he worried freeing them all may be too noisy. In the end he relented and handed him the key card.

Wretch hurried, looking through the glass on the doors. He did his very best to move as quickly and quietly as he could, but several of the doors creaked as they went. Many of the few na'vi had been freed when a noise could be heard from the direction of the barracks.

"Find Beshara and that missing keycard!"

☆

[grimmywrites]

So, about Infinite Darkness...

I’m gonna try to be as succinct as I can (I failed) about all the problems I had with it, but my list is pretty long... Yes, this has spoilers. Let me state upfront: if you’re not a hardcore RE fan, you can skip the show. Below I’ll tell you why.

Story: What a mess. Honestly, they turned me off right at the beginning with all the military stuff. It’s the same reason people didn’t like Chris’ campaign in 6; didn’t they learn anything from that? So, the story wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever seen. Honestly, it had more plot holes than anything and so many points where I went: “I don’t care about this.” Again, it was a jumbled mess. Capcom, hire me and I’ll do better, I swear. Let’s just sum it up by saying it’s a rehash of things we’ve seen SEVERAL times in the series before. If you’re gonna do it AGAIN let’s make the story unique and interesting. Oh, there are shady people in the military that want to use bioweapons in war? Okay, we’ve known that since the first game. We’ve seen it time and time again. Look to re8′s ending for example: the BSAA are now starting to use engineered soldiers - THAT was a reveal that was far more interesting. The way it was addressed and overcome in this show was just... so lackluster. Ultimately, it just felt like this entire thing didn’t need to happen. It changed nothing, it impacted nothing, and I’m aware that it really couldn’t since it was after re4 and before re5. There was just no lasting point and all the ‘themes’ (if you can call them that) made absolutely no sense, but I guess I’ll get into that with the characters? Pacing: Absolutely god awful. One minute we’re in the White House fighting zombies then I blink and it’s over and I’m like: Oh, we’re done? Another we’re in a sub and then I blink. Oh, that’s over, too. Also, the creators must’ve taken a page from the last couple of seasons of Game of Thrones (which is an abysmal idea, don’t fucking do that) because with a few cuts here and there we went from Guam to China back to DC. Guess everybody learned how to teleport so they got exactly where we needed them to for the “climax”. Let’s talk about that climax: There was none. Let’s look at Degeneration and Damnation (no I won’t talk about Vendetta). Both had their weaknesses but Leon and the climaxes were BADASS. Leon doing parkour in Degeneration? Leon going against Lickers and the huge Tyrants in Damnation? Those were amazing scenes. He did a few cool things here and there but nothing that got more of a laugh out of me. My man is coming off re4 where he rampaged through a village, a castle, and an island of mutated creatures to save one girl. C’mon now. Characters: By now (if anybody is even reading this rant), you’ve noticed that I’ve talked a lot about Leon. But what about Claire? Yeah, they lied to us about them working together. She got sidelined again. A lot of people are upset about this -- and yeah, it sucks because I do love Claire. Leon has just happened to be my favorite since 1998 so I wasn’t as heartbroken. That doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed, I’m just not very surprised. Leon - My main problem with Leon is Nick, his voice actor. I’m so sorry for all those who like him, but he just isn’t good enough for me. Paul Mercier (re4, Degeneration, Darkside Chronicles) and Matt Mercer (Damnation, Re6, Vendetta) would have been more appropriate. Nick tries his best, but he’s just too soft sounding to be post-re4 Leon. This is a man who is quipping one-liners left and right a couple of years ago. Now he’s barely smiling and doesn’t feel confident at all, and I think a lot of that is because of his portrayal. There are times where the lines hit, but more often than not they fall flat. I never felt that way with Paul who is my favorite Leon or Matt who gave emotional performances every time. Also, his decision at the end? I can understand it, but explain to Claire! Claire - I like Stephanie as Claire, I have no problems with her. She makes her sound tough and ready to do what she thinks is right. Unfortunately, the story completely sidelines her and makes her role obsolete. Everything she uncovers (because that’s her role apparently, just there to Nancy Drew) is already told to us through flashbacks and other characters. Why even have her? Was it just to show us WHY her and Leon don’t talk often? A waste. Shen Mei - I don’t care. I felt nothing for her. They tried really hard, but they just failed to flesh these new characters out and when her time was up I once again went: Oh? That’s it, then. ‘Kay. I think I laughed a bit, sorry girl. Her whole plotline was to get that chip in Leon’s hand, nothing more. Jason -  I don’t care. A character I thought I felt sorry for with his ptsd but nope. Once his story unfolded - messily, I might add (I hate the REPEATED flashback shit. Tell me once and stop teasing me.) I just went... okay, what the hell is your plan? To spread fear? ‘Kay. It was dumb and made no sense. What, he wants everyone to feel terror so they know? It needed to be clarified. It’s like they couldn’t figure out more synonyms for fear and terror. So, what? It helps keep Leon from going public with the chip and that information? Because he knows it’ll just cause mass hysteria? And then you’ve got Claire’s side - she’s not an agent and she believes the people have a right to know. They’re both right, but there’s no goddamn communication between ANYONE in this show. I just felt exhausted by it, nothing else. Not to mention it’s useless angst because of the plot of Degeneration. Wilson - Our bad guy. Let’s just sum up really quickly in case people were confused by the plot: He was putting infected soldiers into war zones so that even after they died they’d kill anybody involved, then he’d bomb the area and clean up the evidence. These soldiers didn’t show any symptoms because they had inhibitors that kept the virus at bay until they died, so they had to take regular shots to stay human. He’s the one who gets the zombies into the white house so that he could blame it on China and get the US into a war with them. That way he could send in his soldiers and infect the populace. From there, he’s the only one with the cure so he could rake in LOTS of money selling it to the world. AKA: he wants to use the US military to infect everyone so he can make a profit. He gets infected by Jason and gets away... then meets up with someone who gives him an inhibitor. This someone is working for Tricell, the big bads of re5 who work under Wesker. So it leads right into the fifth game. That’s all he is, a tie in and yet another example of someone in power trying to profit off the viruses of the RE world. Honestly, nobody else is worth mentioning. Animation: They’re getting better at it. Leon and Claire looked especially pretty, but there’s still a stiffness here and an issue with everyone’s mouths while they talk. I want to praise how different SOME of the characters look - the president and his aides all look appropriately aged and grizzled and distinct. Same with Jason. Other characters (side characters mainly) kinda look generic. Shen Mei for example isn’t very distinct. I mean, her grandpa and brother (both one scene wonders) were more realistic looking than she was. Even Claire - they gave her a bigger nose and made her look more in line with her Revelations 2 model (thank god I love that model). Movement was pretty fluid, I wish we’d seen more fighting and cool action -- though not to the extent of Vendetta. Maybe that’s what they were trying to avoid, but it didn’t make it any fun to watch. Enemies: This is the last thing I’ll comment on. The zombies were fine - they always are. I heard a ton of reused sounds from remake2, as well, but I thought of it as an Easter Egg more than anything. They looked good, their gore was good, all set there. Problem was, they were basically the only bad guys. That’s a huge fucking disappointment. I know people recognize this series as ‘the one with the zombies’ but that’s not true. Every game (save 7) had MULTIPLE enemy types all created through bio engineering. In this show we see three types. THREE. Zombies. Zombie rats - a one-scene wonder that Leon dispatches fast and easy. I’ll admit, they looked cool but there was nothing else to them. “They’re a bioweapon” and then Leon fries them all with some electricity and we’re done. Jason’s mutated form. Okay, I have to admit, I really loved his design. He was cool, I liked that he could talk and emote. But, other than that? He didn’t DO anything cool. He mutated once and hopped around a lot. That’s it. I mean, a bioweapon that keeps his mental capacities? C’MON! We could’ve done so much more with him. Again, this goes back to why the climax was so bad -- he and Leon didn’t fight. One jumped, the other ran around to catch up and fired a few bullets and a rocket at him. Then he used an acid bath to finish the job. (Also, explain to me WHY he mutated into a tyrant-like creature while everyone else with that specific virus was another form of zombie? We see Jun (Shen’s brother) mutating almost crystal-like at one point but... what? You leave them off for a while and they turn into crystal zombies? Make it make sense.) I’m sure there’s more to say, but honestly, unless you’re a hardcore RE fan like me, I’d say you can skip it. It wasn’t a fun ride, there weren’t any stakes, it wasn’t emotional... it just... was. I will end on one good note that made me smile, though: I loved seeing the Ashley Easter Egg.

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

Stand and Deliver (Your Money or Your Life)

A historical, highwayman Willex oneshot for Willex day of Willie Appreciation Week! I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3 here!

'Sir, by my account we'll be approaching Winchester on the hour,' the carriage driver announced from his perch out front, guiding the horses to continue at their steady pace.

'Punctual, as is favourable,' Alexander remarked from within the vessel, checking his pocket watch to note that it was currently quarter of. 'Thank you, as always.'

'Mr Mercer.' Alexander's advisor spoke from next to him, looking over a well-kept leatherbound journal. 'A reminder of your schedule, if I may.'

'You may, indeed.'

Read the rest under the cut!

'Thank you, Sir.' He cleared his throat lightly. 'Once in Winchester, you are to depart the carriage at the estate of a Mr Peters and join Mr Shaw and himself for the Whig Party function-'

'Thankfully, I have prepared for the occasion.' Alexander laughed and nodded to the navy tricorner hat currently sat across from him on its own seat within the carriage.

'Indeed, Sir.' His advisor chuckled lightly, before a short silence fell over the carriage. Then, clearing his throat once more, Alexander's advisor continued, '-wherein you will deliver a short speech to the benefits of said party's policy as it pertains to personal liberties, before then enjoying a short performance by a Mr Patterson-'

'Oh I do wonder what otherworldly piece he has managed to engender for the event,' Alexander joked, looking to his advisor. 'Sometimes, I tell you- and you shan't repeat this, mind- I come close to convinced he may perform a fugue all alone on the harpsichord. Jove be with us when that fateful day arrives!'

'Indeed, Sir, Jove be with us all, every one!' The advisor laughed fully this time, face shrouded somewhat by the journal he kept well within view. Composing himself, he then finished, '-which will conclude in the early evening-' he smiled cheekily towards Alexander- 'Jove willing-' Alexander gave a sharp bark of a laugh at the unexpected comedy- 'and then, Sir, you shall be headed to the cathedral to give a recital of your own to-' He flipped to the back of the journal, paused, turned it upside-down, and began reading once more '-yes, that's it, an audience of three hundred. The historic building shall be at full capacity.' He closed the journal with a thump, punctuating his point, and looked once more towards Alexander.

'Yes, I shall be glad to finally debut my first solo concerto.' Alexander looked over to where his sheet music sat next to the tricorner hat. 'With hindsight as my advantage, I truly view this composition as a labour of love.'

'Why, of course, Sir,' his advisor responded, then allowing a light silence to fall over the carriage.

'Well, how very exciting, how very anticipatory!' Alexander replied after a moment, instinctively grabbing the tricorner hat sat across from him, as though it might embody a reminder of what was to come. 'It has been far too long since I last had the pleasure of visiting Hampshire. A life in the city is one of energy and vibrancy, certainly.' He paused, feeling the leather of the hat as he ran his hand over it, and thought for a moment. 'However, as the seasons turn I cannot help but yearn for the countryside. Wouldn't you find it so?' Alexander asked both his advisor and the carriage driver, raising the volume at which he spoke to do so.

'Quite, Sir,' his advisor responded, at the same time as his driver shouted back a "Without a doubt!".

At this point the carriage became silent once more. Alexander checked his pocket watch a second time, and, seeing that it was now ten of and that their arrival was imminent, chose to admire the view of the thick forest they were currently travelling through before it fell away to the more urban setting of Winchester proper. Glancing out, his gaze became fixed on an enchanting patch of bluebells that seemed to have sprung up among the brush, their bright blue colour in stark contrast to the muted greens, browns and greys of most other plants around. As the carriage pulled in front of them, however, and Alexander was forced to shift his gaze, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Only visible to him for a second, Alexander had only been able to make out a large black mass in the far distance. Thinking it potentially a rolling chalk hill, Alexander looked out again, hoping to catch sight of it once more.

Through the window, somewhere deep within the shrubland, obscured in turns by the tall oak and birch, Alexander was just able to make out the same black mass. However, one additional thing became immediately apparent upon this viewing: it was keeping pace.

'Have you eyes on the movement to our left?' Alexander asked the driver, his nerves beginning to heighten.

'Nay, Sir, I can't say I see to what you are referring,' the driver responded, sounding bewildered.

'Well I assure you there is something,' Alexander retorted, tone sharper than he had planned.

'Would you have us pull over?' the driver asked genuinely in return.

'No, no. There's no use in making the carriage tardy due to a...' Alexander struggled to reason what it might be. '... a woodland creature.'

'As you wish, Sir.'

The carriage continued at its original pace, and Alexander returned his focus to the forest, deciding he might attempt to distract from the recent happenings with more pleasant viewings of the woods before him. However, upon looking out once more, Alexander noticed several things: the mass was still keeping pace; Alexander could now parse out the distinct shapes of a horse and a man, both figures appearing pitch black, atop, his cape billowing out behind him lightly and a tricorner hat, not unlike Alexander's own, sat angularly on his head, and whoever this pair were had come closer to the carriage, now only twenty feet to its left, presumably on a neighbouring path.

'I have eyes on the movement now, Sir,' the driver commented.

'Yes, thank you kindly,' Alexander replied, now much more intent on keeping an eye on the two for himself. Keeping his attention on the mysterious rider, Alexander watched as he straifed directly across the thick woodland separating the two paths until his horse was almost flush against the carriage. Now granted a better view of the man, Alexander could see he was of an age similar to his own, with tan, warm skin and long, dark, hair, perhaps his own, pulled into a single plait, as had been the fashion not long ago. The lower half of his face was hidden by a black piece of fabric that may at one point have been a handkerchief, however his deep eyes were expressive enough that Alexander was swiftly made aware that his party were in danger. A glint of light coming from somewhere on the man's form then took Alexander's focus from his face, though not for long, as it was quickly proceeded by two sharp noises in quick succession that left Alexander's ears ringing.

Warning shots.

'Order your horses to halt!' the figure demanded, moving to cut across in front of the carriage. In response, the driver made quick work of guiding the carriage over to the side of the path and instructing the horses to heal. The carriage soon came to a stop, verging on the trench that signified the boundary between road and private property. The mysterious figure, whom Alexander was beginning to realise was in fact one of the notorious highwaymen of which he had heard unparalleled legend, pointed his pistol at leisure to each of Alexander's party: his driver, his advisor, and then himself, then beginning to speak his demands.

'Stand and deliver!' the thief barked, disembarking from his steed and tying it to one of Alexander's own, continuing to cycle through at whom the pistol was pointed the entire time. Once on the ground, he rounded again and, approaching the carriage door on foot, rapped roughly on the window with his pistol- twice again. 'Your money or your life!'

At this second threat, Alexander and his advisor both raised their hands and, lowering a hand only to open the carriage door, descended to meet the highwayman. Now on the rough gravel path, the two were able to observe that the driver had disembarked as well, and all three were now practically lined up in front of the highwayman for target practice, defenceless.

'Now I am certain that you would much rather have this done with,' Alexander's advisor began from beside him, attempting to mediate, 'Mr...?'

'It matters not one modicum what my family name is,' the thief responded, disgust in his tone, 'just that I am given, without trouble, what now belongs to me.'

'Sir, I think you will find we have but the bare essentials with us at this time,' Alexander's advisor retorted, despite how unwise Alexander himself thought it.

'That much is true,' Alexander added, hoping to move an amount of the attention off of his advisor. 'I have nought but my sheet music, a hat, and several bouquets of flowers not on my person.'

The highwayman looked as though in thought, one of his full eyebrows raised. '... And on your person?'

'Only enough change for a tankard, I assure you.' Alexander slowly lowered one hand to dig around in one of his waistcoat pockets before procuring a blush-coloured pouch, and shaking it once to indicate how much empty space was within.

'And what of the sheet music?' the highwayman then asked, his pistol still raised, evidently unimpressed by Alexander's show.

'An original composition, not yet known.' Alexander instinctively stole a look to the body of the carriage, wherein the sheet music had been laying across from his advisor. 'Until it is played it is worthless.'

'And when shall it be played?'

'Tonight at Winchester cathedral.' Then, thinking he may have found a way in, Alexander raised an eyebrow of his own. 'If we are to be left alive.'

At this the thief took two quick strides up to Alexander, keeping the pistol fixed on his chest.

'Well, then I shall hope to be there.' The highwayman dragged his pistol up Alexander's torso until it lightly thudded against the underside of his chin, and continued to drag, forcing Alexander to arch his head back lightly.

'It shall be my greatest pleasure to have you in the audience.' Alexander gulped. 'Might there be a name which I may relay to the clergy?'

The thief paused for only a moment, cocking his head slightly to his left. 'Fitzwilliam.'

-

Alex shot awake and, blinking the remaining slumber from his eyes, realised he was in the studio, tucked away on a bean bag chair in the loft.

'What the fuck...' Sitting up, he found the setting Los Feliz sun, just visible through the windows on the garage doors, cast a significantly dimmer light than the almost too bright Hampshire sun of what must have been his dream, and this coupled with the fact that no one had turned the studio lights on, made it obvious that it was late, and that although Alex hadn't remembered falling asleep, he must have been so for a while.

Now looking almost frantically around for any sign of what he'd been doing before he'd drifted off, his eyes immediately locked onto an imposing stack of thick, well-bound hardback books on one side of him, and an equally impressive stack of vinyl records on his other side.

Right, he thought, I was helping Julie spring clean.

Only a little offended at having been left to sleep, Alex leaned over to each side at a time to see where he'd left off in two of Rose's fairly many collections. The classic novel to his right currently staring back at him was "Rockwood", and the vinyl to his left, which was more literally staring at him, given there was a man on the cover, was "Prince Charming". Carefully picking both up, he turned the two over, hoping to gain more information on them. At the top of the blurb for "Rockwood" in block letters was "The Beginning of the Legend of Dick Turpin", and featured about halfway down the tracklist for "Prince Charming" sat "Stand and Deliver".

Well, yes, that would explain why his dream had been about... what, exactly? Had it really been about Dick Turpin, an infamous criminal that Alex had never, not ever, expressed even a slight interest in?

Closing his eyes again, Alex concentrated hard in an effort to conjure up any remaining images he had stolen away into his waking memory. The navy tricorner hat, him imagining Reggie and Bobby running a Whig Party meeting, his fictional advisor's journal, an image of Winchester cathedral that Alex had seemingly just made up, Luke going ham on a harpsichord, an unintelligible stack of sheet music, and- There. The highwayman.

All in black, the bottom half of his face obscured, it was near impossible for Alex to tell who he'd been inspired by. He'd read somewhere that every face that appeared in a dream was one you'd seen in real life, but he had no one to compare this man to. Mysterious, brooding, mischevious, and... admittedly, highly attractive. Focusing almost desperately on the top half of the thief's face, Alex turned over each feature: the tan, warm, rich skin; the long, sleek, dark hair; the deep, endless, expressive eyes...

Alex felt a heavy warmth rush to his cheeks before he'd even fully comprehended he'd made Willie his own personal dangerous historical rendezvous. Scrunching his eyes even further closed and dropping his head into his hands, Alex let out a squeal as his feet stomped rapidly and lightly on the hollow, wooden loft floor, embarrassed at himself but at the same time almost giddy with how head-over-heels he was for the other ghost.

There was, of course, absolutely no way Willie could ever find out.

[eeveevie]

after the storm

The Guild is still reeling from Mercer's betrayal. There's work to be done, and questions to be answered and all Brynjolf wants to do is kiss Fiona again. 

Takes place after Betrayal and Forgiveness, and is totally a self-gratifying comfort fluff fest I wrote just for kicks. 

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn 

3862 words | Ao3

Brynjolf watched as Delvin paced in front of the Guildmaster’s desk, brows furrowed in deep thought as he explained the situation.  

“Riftweald Manor is still crawling with goons,” he spoke, turning on his heel. “How much coin did Mercer have to pay those brutes to keep the place on lockdown while he hides away?”

Brynjolf shrugged. “He was hardly there to begin with. That oaf Vald still roams the gardens, eh?”

“Pfft, that bastard is loyal to whoever is paying the most,” Delvin spat. He finally stopped pacing long enough to peer at Brynjolf from across the desk. “We could try bribing him. There’s just got to be somethin’ in that house that Mercer left behind.”

“With what coin do you suppose we bribe him with?” Brynjolf asked, crossing his arms. He was sympathetic to Delvin’s anger, but they were getting nowhere. As much as he despised the idea, they would most likely need to resort to bloodshed. Brynjolf shuddered to think he’d stoop to Mercer’s level.  

He rubbed at his jaw, wondering about other possibilities. “There’s the balcony ramp,” he considered. “It would take a well-placed shot to bring it down.”

“Well, well,” Delvin’s tone perked up. “Lucky for us we know a beaut’ that’s handy with a bow.”  

Brynjolf frowned, knowing it was out of question. Fiona was not ready for a mission right now—especially this. She had barely just returned to the Guild with the news of Mercer’s betrayal—with the news of her survival. It hadn’t even been a full day, and Brynjolf still hadn’t had the chance to speak with her about the details of what occurred. What she needed was time, and he was giving it to her.

As if Delvin could read Brynjolf’s mind, he sighed, posture wilting as he leaned against the Guildmaster’s desk. “Poor girl,” he lamented. His eyes flicked up, remembering. “Didn’t mean ta’ interrupt the two of you earlier.”

Brynjolf attempted to feign ignorance, but his friend saw right through the façade. Still, Brynjolf perked his brow up, pursing his lips in a tight line as he dared Delvin to tease him about his relationship with Fiona. However undefined that relationship might have been. A part of him—perhaps more than rational given current circumstances—was annoyed that Delvin had managed to interrupt the moment of solace he had found with Fiona since her return. Or maybe it was a good thing the Breton had disturbed them before Brynjolf got carried away by his baser desires, or worse, his emotions. But—by the Gods—he wanted to kiss Fiona again, and it was Delvin’s bloody fault that he hadn’t had the chance to do so yet.

“Didn’t realize you were so sweet on each other,” his friend spoke in a calmer, less playful tone. “Figured it was all a game for you, like always.”

Brynjolf relaxed, despite the fact he was betraying the carefully perfected persona he had crafted after all his time in the Guild. Delvin didn’t seem to mind, or care, or had seen through it long ago. “Is it really that difficult to believe that it’s not a game with Fiona?” he asked. “That I’ve changed? That I might actually lo—”

The words stalled on his tongue, prompting Delvin’s eyes to widen in alarm. He grinned like a madman, and stood up straight. “Oh I definitely shouldn’t have interrupted you two.”

“No,” Brynjolf agreed, moving to place his hands on his hips. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Delvin waved his hand as if to dismiss the entire disagreement. “I can help play Lady Mara later,” he joked. “Right now there are more pressing issues.”

Regardless of Brynjolf’s irritation, Delvin was right. But he was also right about his earlier point. He needed to talk to Fiona about breaking into Riftweald Manor. It wouldn’t be an easy ask—but since when had anything in Brynjolf’s life been so simple?

He kneaded at the tension he felt at his shoulders. “Where’s the lass now?”

“So it’s my plan after all, eh?” Delivn chortled, before shrugging as he peered over his shoulder. “Last I saw her, she was in the Flaggon.”

It was all Brynjolf needed to hear to start moving across the Cistern, ignoring the little smirk Delvin flashed as he walked away. “Try to keep your hands to yourself this time!”

Being that it was already well past midnight, the Flaggon was devoid of its usual Guild members, most likely out scraping together what coin they could thanks to Mercer’s treachery. Brynjolf spotted who he was searching for at the bar, Fiona perched on a barstool at the corner nearest to the fire where Vekel was absentmindedly stirring a pot of stew. Her back was to him, so it was difficult to discern her current mood. Judging by the idle conversation she was keeping with Vekel, he felt comfortable enough to approach.

“There you are,” he called, pressing one hand to her back as he sat on the stool next to her. He faltered when she flinched away from his touch, startled by his sudden appearance. “Sorry lass, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Fiona relaxed when she glanced at him, managing the tiniest of smiles. Her hood was pulled down, most of her blonde hair pulled over one shoulder—clearly in an attempt to hide the still healing scar that Mercer had inflicted. Brynjolf had seen a glimpse of it earlier when they had been alone in the back of the Cistern. A part of him hoped she trusted him enough to let him see it again. He hoped she knew it wasn’t necessary to cover it like a mark of shame, but for now, he understood.

Vekel served them both tankards of ale alongside a bowl of stew, smiling as he offered Fiona a plate of fresh bread. Brynjolf watched as she eagerly took the food, steam rising from the bread as she tore it apart with her fingers. She allowed it to soak up some of the soup before quickly bringing it to her mouth. The sight made Brynjolf grin, but also wonder just how long she had gone without a proper meal.

Fiona seemed to notice he was watching, and slowed her movements. “How was your chat with Delvin?”

“Hmm,” Brynjolf contemplated answering her question as he took a bite of his own food. “Another dead end, it seems.”

“You can tell me the truth,” she said flatly. “You were with him for a while. Must’ve been more than just that.”

Brynjolf softly laughed, nodding as Fiona saw through his badly formed lie. “Aye, we…have a plan to find Mercer.”

Fiona only nodded, waiting for Brynjolf to continue. He hesitated, thinking back to their earlier conversation, or rather, lack thereof. He wanted to be patient with her and tread carefully. Despite the heartfelt reunion, the ache of how tumultuous their fight before her disappearance was still lingered. There were so many unanswered questions, and it was taking everything in him not to blurt them out at her in interrogation. As if she could tell he was lost in his thoughts, Fiona paused in her eating, idly pushing her spoon around the edge of the bowl.  

“I should tell you what happened at Snowveil Sanctum,” she said. “I owe you some answers.”

“You owe me nothing,” he tried to counter, but she shook her head. He looked up, eyeing Vekel in a way that had the Flaggon barkeep taking the hint to hide himself away and give the two some privacy. Brynjolf nodded then, allowing her to continue on her own time.

“The ruins were just like any other Nord tomb I’ve been to in my travels outside the Guild,” she started in a low voice. “Mercer glided through that place—he knew every trap, every trick that awaited us.”

“I knew something was wrong the moment we approached the puzzle door and Mercer was unable to unlock it without a dragon claw.” Fiona paused when she noted Brynjolf’s brows knit in confusion. “You need to do more grave robbing,” she tried to joke with a grim smile. “It’s a puzzle door, impossible to open otherwise. But Mercer unlocked it like it was a rusty padlock on a shed.”

“How?” Brynjolf asked.

Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Two eagles and a snake,” she mumbled—Brynjolf wasn’t sure of the meaning. “Beyond the door was only darkness. Mercer practically pushed me to go first, where Karliah ambushed us, well, shot me with a paralyzing arrow.”

“She shot you?” his alarm calmed as Fiona reached over to rest one hand over his.

“She saved my life,” she reminded him. “It was a neutralizer of some sort, to keep me alive after Mercer…slit my throat.”

Fiona instinctively reached for her neck, but Brynjolf grabbed at her hand, tightening her fingers in his own. Again, the rage bubbled within—Mercer had returned to the Cistern with lies of Fiona’s death, and used it against Brynjolf as a cruel form of punishment. In a way, he still felt guilty for ever letting her leave with the former Guildmaster.

“Whatever he told you I said in the end—”

“Aye Fiona,” he cut her off, squeezing her hand and scooting closer. “I know. I’m not that big a fool to believe a spiteful lie when I hear one.”

“We know Mercer is a murderer,” she continued. “Gallus’ journal also spoke of Nightingales. It’s likely why he killed Gallus in the first place.”

“Nightingales?” Brynjolf was more confused than before. “That’s just a tale we tell the footpads to keep them in line.”

Fiona solemnly shook her head. “By the way Karliah speaks of them, I’m not so certain. She also told me she was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew. An effort to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven.”

“To what end?” he wondered. “Clever, though.”

A dull quiet followed and eventually, Fiona pulled her hand away to take a drink from her ale. She stared at him as he copied her movements, the two sitting in an unsettling silence until their drinks were finished, meals hardly touched. “So this plan of yours,” she mused. “To find him.”

Brynjolf finally relented. It was time. “We need to break into Mercer’s home and search for anything that could tell us where he’s gone.”

“We?” she questioned.

“Like I’d have you do it alone,” he replied. “It’s the Riftweald Manor near the temple. Delvin has ensured he’s not there, but the place is crawling with thugs. For once, I’m not inclined to care about killing anyone that stands in our way.”

Fiona firmly nodded. “Let’s take care of it then.”

And then she let out a long, drawn out yawn. Brynjolf chuckled as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, one hand flying to her mouth to cover the trail end of the telling sign of her exhaustion.

“Perhaps after you’ve had some sleep,” he suggested. “I’m surprised you stayed here so late, what with that fancy estate of yours.”

Fiona pulled a face at his tease—he now knew precisely how she had managed to fund the purchase of Honeyside in Riften, and it wasn’t through thieving and debauchery—no, it was through heroism and being the Gods-blessed Dragonborn. Another topic he still had many questions to ask her on, but that was for another evening.

“I’m going to stay in the Cistern tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Knowing that Mercer is still alive, somewhere out there…it doesn’t matter how fortified the locks on the homestead’s doors are, or how many daggers I keep beneath my pillowcase,” she breathed out a defeated sigh. “I’d feel safer here in the Guild with everyone.”

That familiar pang of guilt settled in Brynjolf’s gut once more—Fiona’s fear was not something she deserved. This trauma would take time to heal, regardless of what happened to Mercer, and Brynjolf wanted to be there for her every step of the way. Fate had changed their dynamic, pushing it forward and down a path faster than Brynjolf could’ve ever imagined, but he was determined to keep up.

Brynjolf had an idea. Fiona didn’t have to hide away in the Ratway, and he could help prove it to her. Delvin’s warning to keep his hands to himself flashed in the back of his mind, but he shook it away, listening to his heart for once.

“Come on lass,” he encouraged, urging her to stand up. Fiona peered at him with knitted brows, unmoving. “Let’s get you to Honeyside.”

“I just got done explaining—”

“You don’t have to be alone,” he clarified sincerely. When she still seemed unconvinced by the suggestion, he flashed a grin. “Not when I’m there to protect you.”

Fiona rolled her eyes at his tease, playfully pushing at his shoulder even as she stood up. “Last time you said that, I was poisoned by assassins. Or was it when we were attacked by bears? Or when you stepped on that fire mine—”

“Isn’t your bunk in the Cistern next to Delvin?” Brynjolf pondered aloud. “Between the snoring, and the daydreaming of Vex…”

“You’re insufferable,” Fiona huffed, but her smile was encouraging. Brynjolf wrapped his arm around her shoulder as the two walked back through the Cistern.

“Aye, but you love me anyways.”

Outside, a small trickle of rain had started to fall, a light mist blanketing the entire city. It was eerie and peaceful all the same—a reason why this was such prime hours for thieves to get their work done. The stonemason coffin slid back into place as they exited the Cistern, the two pausing to don their hoods before Fiona led them across the courtyard and market towards her home. Brynjolf studied the shadows, wondering if they could really believe the news that no trace of Mercer had been found in Riften. By the time they reached the eastside entrance, his senses had settled, but he could tell Fiona was on high alert.

She glanced over her shoulder before flashing her key, quickly undoing the lock before ushering the two of them inside. This wasn’t the first time Brynjolf had stepped foot in the homestead, but something about this visit felt different. Honeyside was a modest home, seemingly unfit for somebody that was called Dragonborn, but it was perfect for Fiona. A small kitchen nook and fireplace in the front entrance, and around the corner, a writing desk, numerous chests and her large bed, covered in furs. There was a cellar as well, where Fiona kept her alchemy supplies and surplus ingredients.

Fiona idled near the fireplace, stoking the logs to encourage the flames to grow and warm and light the dark room. She pushed back her hood and glanced at him, and he noted the hint of anxiousness there—it wouldn’t do. If there was one thing he didn’t want, was for their friendship—relationship to chance for the worse. No awkward looks or hesitation with words. It had always been so easy before, and that’s the way he wanted it to remain.

“Come here now, Fiona,” he beckoned, opening his arms to her, inviting her into an embrace. She turned to meet him, wrapping her arm tight around his torso, the other hooked over his shoulder. Her head rested against the curve of his neck, nose nuzzling there as she breathed out. He tucked her closer to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. He craned his head down to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she responded, softly.

Brynjolf smiled, gently peeling her away just enough so he could see her face. There was the faintest familiar glow that he had missed while she was away, a look that he never wanted to be without. “I care about you.”

“I know,” she repeated with a nod, and the tiniest hint of flirtatious smile. “I missed you, Bryn—we make a good team.”

“That we do lass,” he agreed with a smirk. Divines knew he never wanted to be apart from her again, if he had anything to say about it. He refrained from letting his heart take too much control of the moment—no need to pour out so much emotion in one evening, not when she had only just returned. Instead, his eyes flicked down to her lips, and he remembered how rudely they had been interrupted before.

“Can I kiss you?” His own question surprised him as he moved his hand to hold the side of her face.

Fiona raised a brow and tilted her chin up slightly. “Suddenly you’re asking?”

“I can be gentlemanly when I need to be,” he countered.

“It doesn’t suit you,” she teased. “I rather prefer the lecherous Brynjolf, always flirting and taking what he—”

Fine, Brynjolf thought as he interrupted her words, covering her mouth with his own. She smiled against his lips, arms around him tightening as she kissed him in return. It was sweet, far gentler than their emotion filled reunion earlier that evening. Not that this kiss held any less emotion, but Brynjolf felt far lighter—happier.

“So you’ll stay?” Fiona asked as she pulled away, pressing one last soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. She was beaming, but holding it back. “To protect me, of course?”

“Right,” Brynjolf laughed, reluctantly peeling his arms away from her. He peered around the house before eyeing the ladder. “I’ll start my patrol in the cellar.”

“Stay down there long enough for me to change,” she instructed, rolling her eyes when she noted his eyebrows perk up. “No peeking.”

Brynjolf lowered himself down the ladder into the darkness, listening to the floorboards above creak and fabric shuffle as Fiona changed. His mind wavered, and he stood there in a momentary haze as he imagined her undressing, then cursed at his lewd thoughts. But knowing her naked form was just a ladder’s crawl away was tempting. He gulped—he really had told Delvin the truth, he was (somewhat) a changed man—the fact he hadn’t rushed back up to ravage her already.

Instead, he took the nearby lantern and combed over the storage bins, kicking at sacks and hunching down at areas where a thief or assassin would hide. Quickly though, it was obvious the cellar was devoid of any harm. Well, except for Fiona’s poisonous mushrooms and janis root extract.  

“Careful of the lavender,” Fiona’s voice called from upstairs. Brynjolf skirted around the baskets of flora, pinching the bridge of his nose so the offending flowers wouldn’t upset his allergies, as he inspected every last corner of the basement once more on his way back to the ladder.

Fiona was sitting on the edge of the bed as he stepped back onto the first floor, changed into a simple white cotton dress meant for sleeping in. She was now carefully removing the braids from her hair, piling the metal pins and little ties that kept them together in a neat pile on the nearby table. Brynjolf slowly circled around the room, inspecting the eastern and western door’s locks, all the while glancing over to catch Fiona inspecting his movements.

He flashed a grin as he finally sat in the chair before her writing desk, inspecting the wide away of notes, maps and books she had gathered in her travels. Just how had her true nature gone unnoticed by him? He wanted to know more…eventually.

“It’ll be just like having first watch,” he joked, crossing his arms as he leaned back to get comfortable. “Well, except this time for the whole night.”

“You aren’t staying there,” she commented, shifting her body under the blankets and furs.

“Is that so?”

Fiona only beckoned him with a nod of her head as she settled against her pillows, bright eyes watching him carefully through the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, Brynjolf stood and approached the bed, hovering over her for a long moment as he contemplated her offer. She’d never invited him before—despite the fact he’d found himself asleep and awoken beside her in the same space on a few occasions before. At any other time he would’ve made a vulgar comment about sharing her bed, but this wasn’t the time. This was entirely new, and exciting, and made his brain, heart, and loins ache all at once.

Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over his shoulder to look at her as he removed his boots. She watched him the entire time as he moved, shifting to remove his belt and daggers to the nightstand where they would be safe, but still within reach—just in case. He stood again, undoing the metal buckles of his Guild armor before sliding it off his shoulders and draping it across the wooden dresser at the foot of the bed. He’d leave his leathers on, no way she had a change of pants for him at this point, but smirked when she eyed his chest and the loose linen shirt. He brought it up over his head, chuckling when he noted the soft flush on her cheeks—it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before.

“Like what you see, lass?”

“Perhaps,” she answered, with a coy smile.

She scooted across the bed to create a void large enough for him to lay in, eyeing him as he pulled back the covers to do just that. Brynjolf stretched out next to her on his back, suddenly very aware of how little sleep he had gotten over the last few weeks while she had been presumed dead. His body instantly relaxed, welcoming the softness of the blankets and furs and her. Fiona’s hand reached out to him, and he turned his head to find her hesitantly seeking out to touch him.

Brynjolf swiftly moved his arm to wrap around her, inviting her to snuggle close to his side. Fiona did just that, one arm hooking around his chest, her legs sliding against his as her feet playfully tickled against his.

“This is…nice,” Fiona mumbled as she nuzzled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

Brynjolf softly chuckled, running one of his hands down her arm as he settled into the comfort that was her bed and embrace. “I told you my chest made a decent pillow.”

“If only I had believed you before,” she sighed, her breath a delightful tingle across his skin. “Thank you for believing us—me. For staying with me tonight.”

“I’ll stay with you every night if you need me to,” he quickly assured.

Fiona’s quiet laughter warmed his chest. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? An excuse to stay in my bed, hmm?”

“With you, lass!” he reiterated, squeezing her into his side as she squealed playfully. They relaxed then, finally letting the warmth of the fire lull them to sleep. She yawned, turning her head ever so slightly to press a fleeting kiss against his shoulder blade. “Goodnight Brynjolf.”

“Goodnight Fiona,” he replied. He turned his head down to watch as her eyes fluttered closed, and eventually, her breathing even out as she fell asleep. “Love.”

[anotheruserwithnoname]

Thoughts on The Orville 2x03 “Home”

In case you missed the headline, I’ll be giving some thoughts about the latest episode of The Orville, so I’m going straight into a spoiler break since this was a watershed episode for the series. (Also, it’s a long review.)

The non-spoiler tl;dr - The Orville delivers its best episode to date - beautiful, intense and sad. If this was a Trek episode it’d be ranked in the top echelons.

“Home” was the episode some Orville fans were dreading. That’s because since last summer there had been rumours that Halston Sage, who plays security officer Alara Kitan, would be leaving the show early in the season. Lots of rumours as to why - some negative ones connecting it to her briefly dating the show’s creator and star, Seth MacFarlane; other, more realistic ones, suggesting it was due to her being committed to movie work - there was some talk last year about her possibly having been cast as the Dazzler in an upcoming X-Men Universe film (far as I know that has not been confirmed). The rumours were further amplified by reports of new cast members coming on to the show.

Regardless of the behind the scenes reasons, “Home” was the The Orville for the first time arriving at a moment experienced by Star Trek and Doctor Who and others - the departure of a major character who had become beloved by fans. Fortunately, Alara is not killed off. She is given a medical condition that makes it literally painful for her to remain aboard The Orville, but, while her departure is sad, it is still hopeful and of course the door is left wide open for her to return someday (Captain Ed Mercer pretty much says this on screen). So this wasn’t The Orville’s “Face the Raven”, but rather more its “Hell Bent”, to compare with the last departure that impacted me this much, that of Clara Oswald in Doctor Who Series 9.

Except the episode is in some respects far darker than “Hell Bent.” After a first half that proceeds at a leisurely pace and continues the show’s trend towards introspective, character-driven storytelling (which may prove to be its undoing if the ratings are any indication; the Nielsen families appear to be disinterested in a science fiction version of This is Us), the episode does one of the most abrupt 180-degree tonal turns I have ever seen. It goes from a rather straight family-dynamics drama as Alara tries to reconnect with her family - having returned home after learning that exposure to Earth gravity threatens to leave her unable to withstand the crushing gravity of her homeworld, a plot point springboarding from real-life issues astronauts have experienced after spending months in space - to a violent, revenge-horror story straight out of a Stephen King novella.

Viewers are lulled into a false sense of security as we get to enjoy a Star Trek doctors reunion as Robert Picardo (Voyager’s EMH, and here playing Alara’s father for the second time) teams up with John Billingsley (Dr. Phlox from Enterprise) - I have forgotten the character names so I’ll use the actors’ names here. The moment Billingsley is revealed as a villain by forcing Picardo at gunpoint to stick his hand into a vat of boiling sauce (leading to graphic injuries) is one of the most chilling things I have seen - because it was so unexpected (remember this is still technically considered a comedy series, and within the same hour we had Patrick Warburton appear in a thankfully-brief B-story plot as “comic relief alien of the week”). Although I shied away from comparing “Home” with “Face the Raven” a moment ago, the twist in this episode was in many ways as shocking and unexpected as the moment we realized that, after a rather light-hearted adventure, that Clara was going to die. The mood change is that sudden in “Home”, too. And the episode offers several moments where it is legitimately uncertain that Alara would survive. Recall that TNG had its own security chief who was killed off - Tasha Yar - so history could have repeated if MacFarlane wanted to revisit this as he’s revisited so many other aspects of TNG.

The villains’ motivations are clearly defined, if perhaps controversial to some viewers. As previously established in the episode “Firestorm”, Alara’s people are primarily academics, and Alara’s dad caused a scientific report by Billingsley’s son to be rejected. The son committed suicide after, and Billingsley and his wife have plotted to basically murder Alara’s dad and her family in revenge - but not before Alara’s dad publicly recants his rejection and they perform a bit of torture on his loved ones. (Including threatening to cut off one of Alara’s sister’s fingers with garden shears - remember this is still technically considered a comedy series.) Fortunately, Ed chooses that moment to arrive on the planet; it’s a bit of a deus ex machina, to be sure, but it comes across more as a relief than a plot device.

The rest of the episode turns into a fight-for-your-life scenario which has an unusually violent resolution, with Alara and her family pretty much on their own, due to her crewmates being restricted by the gravity of her homeworld. Ed, in particular, is gunned down by Billingsley, rupturing a special suit he wears to keep from being crushed by the gravity. While Alara fights off the couple, it’s up to her dad, injured arm and all, to get Ed to safety in time.

And then there’s the ending. After killing off the bad guys - the show pulls no punches on that - we get a hope spot as the Orville’s Dr. Finn has worked out a way for Alara to stay aboard the Orville (even though its description makes it sound more cruel to Alara than helpful). You expect the episode to end there, with status quo retained, but it continues and we suddenly learn that Alara has decided to stay with her family - having reconciled with them after surviving the attack. This actually felt like it was a last-minute addition to the episode, perhaps supporting the suggestion that Halston’s departure wasn’t planned in advance. But it works really well. For those who shipped Ed Mercer and Alara, there are a few things to hang on to, but for those who oppose the shipping, the episode also provides an alternative interpretation of Ed being seen as a surrogate father to Alara due to her inability to connect with her own. I won’t get into shipping debates right now; I’ll just say over season 1 and the start of 2 there’s plenty of evidence to support both sides.

Regardless, the final scene in which Ed opens a gift Alara leaves him - a jar of pickles - actually made me tear up. The only problem is that the whole running gag of Ed asking Alara to “open a jar of pickles for me” whenever he called upon her super-strength had actually been abandoned by the midpoint of season 1, which aired well over a year ago, though fans had kept it alive through fan art, etc. If they’d had Ed make the joke again in one of the first two episodes of Season 2, or even earlier in “Home” (there’s a scene where it would have fit, or Alara could have mentioned the joke to her family), it might have had more resonance for people who perhaps had only recently started watching. Without the context, it comes off as a bit of a non-sequitur. But, for someone who knows the context, it was a beautiful moment.

One major kudo has to go to the special effects. Xelaya is, without a doubt, one of the most beautifully rendered planets I’ve seen in televised sci-fi, certainly on par with the likes of Caprica on Battlestar Galactica (and that was mostly just Vancouver repurposed; it looks like the Xelayan city was all-CG). I was reminded in fact of some of the beautiful alien cityscapes of the Mass Effect video game series, especially Andromeda. It made me want to see more of the city - I was rather disappointed when they quickly moved the story to a quiet vacation island for the “family under siege” part of the story. My hope is that if they spent that much time, effort and budget on rendering Alara’s homeworld, it’s a sign they’ll be returning there again before long. There is also a beautiful sequence where Alara daydreams about riding the Xelayan equivalent of a wild horse. I mean - this is a beautiful-looking episode, top to bottom.

“Home” wasn’t a perfect episode; I like Patrick Warburton but I did not like his “Alara placeholder” alien character. And I mentioned my issue with the jar of pickles reference. And despite the claim that the episode was airing with fewer commercials it felt like there were more interruptions than usual (this episode probably will play better on DVD or streaming). But I still think this was the best episode the series has done so far. It has set a high bar, and aside from having lost one of its stronger characters (Alara was the heart and soul of "Firestorm”, my previous choice for best Orville episode, and was also involved closely in many of the show’s best moments), the series is going to have to work hard to reach it again. I will say that if you’re still unconvinced that Seth MacFarlane can step away from the whole Family Guy/Ted thing and deliver an episode that, had it been a TNG episode, would have been ranked among the top instalments of that series, “Home” might be enough to convince you that the guy is on to something.

[rainedr-p]

Once a Thief... Chapter 4: Loud and Clear

“...okay.. What’s the job?” Cimber asked, looking up at Mercer. “Well, if you’re as good as Brynjolf says you are, then it’s time to put your expertise to the test. I’m giving you the Goldenglow job.”

“Wait a moment, Mercer. Goldenglow? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in!” Brynjolf countered. “You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude in our line of work. If so, let her prove it,” Mercer said, then turned back to  Cimber. “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details... Oh, and welcome to the Thieves Guild.” With one last stiff nod of the head, he walked away. 

Brynjolf sighed. “Not quite the job I would’ve chosen for you first, but time isn’t exactly our friend right now, lass. I guess you’ll be diving right in.” She shrugged. “Kind of already did that twice today. Just tell me what I need to do.” They both chuckled. “Alright. Goldenglow Estate is a bee farm; they raise the wretched little things for honey. It’s owned by some smart-mouth wood elf named Aringoth. We need you to burn down 3 of the estate’s hives and clear out the safe in the main house.” 

“Okay.. what’s the catch?” “The catch is that you can’t burn the whole place down to the ground. The important client Mercer mentioned would be furious if you did.” “Got it, keep arson to a minimum.” She gave a thumbs up and he smirked, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t do us any good to cross our clients.” 

“Right. So what should I do about Aringoth?” She asked. “Maven Black-Briar prefers that he stay alive, but if he tries to stop you from getting the job done, kill him. The Guild has a lot riding on this. Don’t make me look like a fool by entrusting you to do this.” “I promise I won’t let you down,” Cimber said determinedly.” “I know. Now, you should probably go talk to Vex, she’s been there before and might be able to help you.” 

Cimber nodded and got up to find Vex, who was sitting at the bar. “Any advice on Goldenglow...?” She asked shyly. Vex gave her an incredulous look. “They’re sending you on that job? He must really trust you...” she muttered. “Anyways, it won’t be easy, even I couldn’t get in. That wood elf’s wit, can you believe he more than tripled the guard? There must have been 8 of them in there! It was like he was daring us to come and get him. But there is a way in. There’s an old sewer tunnel that dumps into the lake on the northwest side of the island. That’s how I got in, should still be unguarded.” “Thanks, Vex.” Cimber smiled at her. “Hey!” She stopped and looked back at Vex. “I don’t know why they’re sending you in there, but... good luck.” 

On her way out, she saw Brynjolf waiting by the ladder leading up to the secret entrance, looking a little concerned. “I’m not sure what Mercer’s up to, but... be careful, lass. Those mercenaries don’t take prisoners.” She smiled at his concern. “I’ll be fine. I made a promise to not let you down and I intend to keep it.” With a reassuring pat on his shoulder as she walked by, she went up the ladder and into the night. 

Cimber couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as she made her way through the city and around the lake, the estate in sight. She had always had a knack for sneaking into places, especially in the cool shroud of night, but nothing as big, or as dangerous, as this. We’ll start with the beehives first. Maybe the guards will be so distracted by the fire that they won’t notice me sneak in. With a plan in mind, she made her way to the edge of the lake facing the beehives and dove in. 

Underwater, she couldn’t tell if it was the cold or adrenaline causing her heart to race. She stopped once for air on a little patch of land, and next when she was safely hidden from view by the rock outcropping, just underneath the hives. As carefully as she could, she hoisted herself onto land and climbed the rocks, doing her best not to slip and making sure the water didn’t give her away. She peaked around the corner of the fence, and when the coast was clear, she bolted behind the third beehive. Heart racing even faster, she summoned a small flame in her right hand, and ran across the 3 outermost hives, her flaming hand brushing across each one. Just as she rounded the corner of the fence, she heard a few guards calling out “Fire!”, and that’s how she knew she had succeeded. Once again, she carefully climbed down the rocks, and slid as silently as she could back into the water. Now she headed northwest, looking through the surface of the water to watch a guard run across the docks nearby toward the ever-growing tower of smoke. She quickly surfaced below the docks and dove for the sewer entrance. 

Cimber took a moment to catch her breath and still her heart as she landed on the sewer floor. Once she had composed herself, she unsheathed her bow and began making her way through the tunnels. A few dead skeevers and long-forgotten treasures later, she came upon the exit ladder. She lifted the trapdoor ever-so-slightly and glimpsed around for any signs of trouble. She could see the pillar of smoke beginning to diminish, meaning her adversary was a little busy at the moment. Once she was sure, she crawled to the estate door and quickly picked it open, and like the black smoke still whispering in the sky, she glided in. 

If only the guards had supersonic hearing, they could have heard her heart beating aggressively in her chest and had her arrested or worse in mere moments. She wanted to stop to give it a chance to settle, but nowhere was safe in here.She crouched low and slow around the halls, just barely poking her head around corners to look for guards. Her eyes never the left the back of a guard’s head as she sneaked behind him into what looked to be a dining room. Too much light, keep moving, she thought as she moved forward, only stopping when she heard footsteps. A shadowy corner became her solace as she waiting for the steps to dissipate, but they only came closer. Risking her detection, she chanced one eye around the door frame, and was looking right at the guard’s sword in its scabbard. She held her breath and jerked her head back... and silently let it go as his footsteps receded. Now she allowed herself to look fully around the corner and saw a gate, knowing it had to lead downstairs. Tiptoeing, she watched the guard as his back was turned and picked the gate, praying it would be quieter than last time. It was, and she closed it behind her and practically sprinted down the stairs toward the basement. 

This pattern continued; ducking around corners, tiptoeing through dark hallways, until she came to the corridor where a guard was facing the exact exit she needed to be going through. Cimber cursed under her breath, and thought for a moment. Then she remembered the invisibility potion Brynjolf gave her. I hope this works... She closed her eyes and gulped the potion down. When she opened them and held out her hand, she didn’t see anything. Gods bless you, Brynjolf. I owe you one. She smiled as her now-invisible body crept directly in front of the guard and down the stairs, stopping right in front of the safe. She became visible once again as she attempted to open the safe, losing a few picks in the process. It took a few tries, but the safe eventually gave way to her. 

After clearing the safe out, relief flooded her when she realized the basement exit went right into the sewer tunnel. Once again embracing the cool air of a Skyrim night, she crept around to a blind spot of the island and made her way back to shore. 

Brynjolf had now taken up pacing. He didn’t know why, but he was becoming slightly worried about her. What if she was caught inside the estate? If Aringoth got to her before she got to him? What if she didn’t even make it to the beehives? Most importantly, what was Mercer thinking, sending a fresh new recruit to do one of the biggest and most dangerous jobs they had in a long time? If she came back alive, he would owe her, successful or not. His thoughts were interrupted, however,  when Cimber dropped down from the secret entrance ladder, a little pale and soaking wet, but alive and obviously immensely relieved. 

She grinned tiredly when she saw him. “Anybody want some honey?”

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[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights: Critical Role Episode 111

Guests are Liam O’Brien and Matt Mercer. Full video on Project Alpha!

Brian: “Hello, welcome to Talks Machina. I am... dressed for success.” Liam: “You are very cute today.” Matt: “I call this look Saturday Darin De Paul.”

Matt is doing much better than he was on Thursday.

Digital copy of the Critical Role comic is out!

There’s now a Talks Machina shirt in the store.

Episode 111 is tied for the most natural ones in an episode.

The show has now surpassed 10,000 d20 rolls. Brian suggests buying @critrolestats​ a yacht for keeping track of all this.

The comic takes place before the game. At the first session, because it was meant to be a one-shot, Matt just had everyone assume they all knew each other and were used to working together as a party. The comic explores how they actually met and started working together as an adventuring party.

Moments they’d like to see from the pre-stream game if the comic continues: meeting Gilmore, finding Percy in Jorenn Village, going after Grog’s dad, the birth of Burt Reynolds, early interactions with the Clasp, the one time Pike and Vax had a solo adventure together. Brian: “Do you think we would have to get rights from Burt Reynolds’ estate to... oh, wait, he’s still alive.”

The pacing of this arc was always going to be different, since it’s epic-level stuff and many of the character-centric arcs have been closed; it’s a lot harder to draw in character backstory the way the previous arcs could. The time-crunch aspect of this particular plot (the villain is actively moving through his to-do list whether or not Vox Machina intervenes) is a careful balance to make sure the players don’t feel too rushed but can still maintain that sense of urgency. Liam: “I am consistently surprised and shocked by everything that’s happened, so no complaints from me.”

If it were just Liam’s decision, he’d want everyone to take a long rest before facing Vecna. He thinks losing Vasselheim might be the cost of actually having a slim chance of defeating Vecna.

Matt’s been slowly been building this last dungeon over the last six months. It’s right up there with Opash’s necromantic lair as his favorite dungeon he’s made. Liam wants to see the dungeon mapped out and described in PDF format at some point, and Matt mentions that, depending on what state it’s in at the end of this campaign, it might be a location in a future Issylra campaign guide.

Matt and Liam talk about how early adventuring in D&D is generally a selfish endeavor, and then later on there are considerably higher stakes. Matt mentions that even in high-level D&D, you want to include obstacles in a dungeon that characters can bypass easily as a reward for quick thinking or just being awesome at high levels. The dungeon is also fundamentally a power-sink where you have to prioritize where you put your resources before the final battle you know is coming.

GIF of the week. Matt: “It’s funny the effect painkillers have on running a D&D game...”

Once the oven had closed, once a round, everyone in the room would’ve taken 1d6 fire damage, then 2d6, then 3d6, and so on. Solving it was meant to be a little more high-stakes, but the party avoided getting trapped in the room themselves.

Matt had half a page of information, a voice, and a name prepared for the nothic that Vax just annihilated. Could’ve ended up being a small encounter or a temporary alliance with a Gollum-type character or an uneasy alliance that could’ve gone wrong. Matt: “What you did was quintessential D&D, and I loved it.”

Liam recently ran a D&D game for his whole family in which his son rolled a d20 on opening a door he wasn’t supposed to go through, forcing him to improvise.

Matt’s been working with Travis to build his next character, and he keeps having to remind him that most characters only have a movement speed of 25 or 30 feet.

Brian: “Like Matt and I, you too can be not in terrible debt and situationally famous without going to college!” Matt: “I cannot support any of these statements at all.”

Vax would be willing to sacrifice even Emon or Whitestone if it meant stopping Vecna, because the alternative is Vecna reigning supreme over the Material Plane... or the Divine Gate coming down and armageddon ensuing.

Fanart of the week.

In-universe flashbulb memory of the campaign: Chroma Conclave attack. Liam: “The goldfish dive will be remembered for millennia.” Matt: “Young druids will be taught from a very young age...”

Matt gave the party the ring to give them a level of comfort in a near-impossible situation, but the risk of fucking it up is what makes it fun.

Liam: “Matthew Mercer is one of the sweetest men I’ve met in my life, but I know within the boundaries of this game that you have this really devilish streak, like an inclination to fuck with us... fucking rakshasa.”

Vax has made peace with everything, but he thinks about the Tomb all the time, especially since the Raven Queen is the goddess of fate. Liam: “As Liam, I loved every dumbfuck thing that I chose to do in this game, ‘cause I’m sitting with my best friends making each other laugh every week, we love each other, we get a fucking kick out of each other every week, and the mistakes are some of the greatest memories of all time.”

Liam’s top priority even way back in the home game has always been that Vax will do whatever it takes to keep Vex alive; Vax still thinks that the Raven Queen will only keep her side of the deal if he does as well. It’s made things extremely complicated, but that’s the fundamental backbone of his character and he isn’t going to mess with that.

Matt has never had players embrace the sibling aspect of their characters to the extent that Laura and Liam have. Matt: “It’s been a gift from a storyteller’s standpoint to play in that space.”

Matt thinks Sam did a fantastic job on his one-shot, and encourages other new DMs to just commit and jump in and see how well it turns out. Liam: “It’s not a religion and it’s not appellate court, it’s just the world’s best game. Just fuckin’ have fun with it.”

Matt was expecting the undead titan reveal to happen in early or mid-July, but it just worked out to happen at Gen Con. Stressful as it was, Matt was excited that he could have such a big reveal at the live show.

Liam wasn’t worried about Simon because he knew it would take more than fire to destroy a magical item.

If the game had continued as a home game, Matt probably would’ve truncated elements of the narrative because they got to play so seldom. Both he and Liam agree that getting to play weekly was the best part of starting to stream the game.

Vax’s "this could be the last time” moments this week had less to do with his imminent death and more to do with Liam processing that in the next few weeks they’re going to be ending this game that they’ve been playing together for four years.

Brian is very sad about the end of the game as a fan of the show; he remembers Ashley coming home after the home game and giving him multi-hour summaries of everything that had happened. The game started around the same time as he and Ashley started their relationship, and he’s really delighted by how close they’ve all gotten since then. Brian: “I mean, we’re practically... I plan on sleeping with both of you on After Dark.” Liam: “I’m open to it.”

Talks Machina After Dark: Liam hosts for the first time!

Liam: “The only reason I agreed to do this Dungeons and Dragons show is so I could sit here, now, and I have you both right where I want you. Undress.”

If Matt could forget everything he knew and join VM as one of his NPCs for the final fight, from a personality standpoint, he’d want to play as Allura or Gilmore, but from a functionally helpful standpoint, probably Kima.

Matt once LARPed World of Darkness and had a very stressful experience where he was thrown into the midst of an extremely political game with no knowledge of what was going on.

Matt’s never had to ban particular items or spells, but there are aspects of the game that require discussion. In a primarily good/neutral campaign, he won’t ban evil characters per se, but he’ll require a discussion to figure out how not to ruin the experience for the rest of the characters. Liam points out that Jayne (an evil character) could easily have killed Clothesline in Sam’s oneshot, but he decided against it because it’d make Ashly’s game less fun and would mess with Sam’s having established that they all survived. It turned out to be more fun having to come up with a reason for that.

Worst possible person for Vax to face as part of Vecna’s undead army: his mother. Liam: “That would fuck his shit up.” Or Vex, if she were killed and then immediately brought back by Vecna.

On the theoretical possibility of a new campaign starting in a post-apocalyptic Tal’Dorei if Vecna wins, Brian: “It would be hard to Transport via Plants.” Matt thinks it’s an exciting prospect, and he has things in his mind if it goes that direction, but he thinks it would be really sad to culminate a five-year campaign with a loss, although planting seeds for the next story could make it retroactively pretty hopeful. 

Liam: “Story-wise, I know that everything’s gonna hurt and everything’s gonna be amazing, and I also trust you to flip my expectations somehow. We just love discovering the story together.”