#The only thing keeping me alive is the fact the player I use is the one I used for uni

[diantheia]

The easiest way to proof read something is to use a text to speech player, but idk how long I'll survive listening to a (not very) dramatic reading of my Rush smut fic...

[splatashahowlett]

missing piece

logan (james) howlett x reader

the record player was playing One piece at a time, your favorite song, occasionally letting out a soft sound of scratching against the vinyl. the bar was crowded and everybody seemed to have a good time. the 70's may become your favorite decade. you've been alive for over a hundred years now but you liked everything about this era; the music, the clothes and the recklessness of it.

you were currently seated at the bar, drinking whatever the bartender had offered you. the guy had been hitting on you all evening, and you figured that free drinks couldn't hurt since your healing factor would keep you from getting drugged. you liked the attention anyway, your ex lover had disappeared on a random tuesday and never came back home. it had been four years since you had last seen him, you weren't mad at him anymore, but more at yourself for thinking a man could keep his promises. so some compliments were always welcomed.

you were watching people dance, the festive atmoshpere filling a void in your chest. whenever you felt alone you would go to a bar, or a pub just to feel something. in those places, time seemed to stop, you could be invisible. nobody cared about you or asked anything from you. sometimes you would dance with a random girl or guy and end up in their motel room just to sneak out the second they fell alseep. you were conscious that this lifestyle wasn't for everybody. in fact, you didn't enjoy it in the slightest. but you didn't have a choice. you didn't have any family anymore, and the only person that counted took off 4 years ago. you didn't work and your only hobby was drinking. you weren't living, but barely surviving. but with time you get used to it, right?

right as when you were about to get up to dance, someone sat next to you. too close for your liking. you turned your head and were met with a drunk looking guy, staring at you like you were some piece of meat. you gave him a look that meant "get the fuck out of here and leave me alone" but he didn't seem to want to comply.

"hello pretty girl, need some company?" he said, or at least that's what you understood. his breath hit your nose and you almost threw up; your heightened senses could really be a pain in the ass sometimes.

"go fuck yourself" you said, walking toward the back door. the guy following you.

"I think I'll need some help with that, my girl" he said, trying to catch up with you. you ignored him, or at least he thought so, and went through the back door, making sure he was still behind you. once you found yourself in a small alley, you grabbed him by the collar and pushed him brutally against the wall.

"I am not your girl" you threatened. the dickhead tried to answer but with your hands on his throat the task seemed more difficult than usual. you hated this petname, it reminded you of things you wanted to forget. you let go of him, letting him fall to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. that wasn't necessary but he deserved it.

you went back inside, planning on gathering your things and then finding a place to sleep. you folded your jacket on your arm and put your pack of cigarettes in your pocket. but as you turned toward the door, your heart stopped. a familiar face looking at you from the crowd. at first you thought you were hallucinating, the fucker was dead. you hoped he would be. it would hurt less. but when he started coming closer you scoffed.

you couldn't do it without a drink, so you sat back and asked for straight tequila. you missed this vanishing feeling the night procured you.

logan sat next to you and asked for a drink. you refused to look at him. you wanted to punch him in the face, alright maybe you were still a little mad at him. seeing him here, and so close to you made you mad. you wanted to kill and kiss him.

"I missed you" he said, looking afar. out of all the things he could have said you weren't expecting this. you scoffed and tightened your grip on your drink.

"shut your damn mouth" you gritted through your teeth, still holding onto your drink for dear life. you had imagined what it would be like to see him again and promised to yourself that you would tell him you moved on and leave him speechless. you never thought you still loved him so deeply. you hated how he made you feel, you hated feeling weak. but you loved everything else about him, and if feeling vulnerable was the price to pay to be with him then you wouldn't think twice about it.

"I didn't have a choice" he added, this made your blood boil. you knew he was telling the truth and you had already forgave him, you just needed to hear him say it. you didn't say anything, didn't ask about the reason of his departure. you kept your mouth shut, hoping he would take the hint and leave. no you didn't want him to leave, you wanted him to think that you wanted him to leave.

"I’m sorry” he muttered. this was your last straw, your glass broke between you fingers, shards of glass flying all over the counter and cutting into your hand. you jumped, startled at your own doing. logan reached for your hand immediately but you moved it away before he could even brush it.

"fuck you" was the last thing you said before running to the bathroom. your healing factor was already pushing the glass out of your flesh but it still hurt as hell.

“let me help you” you hadn’t even hear him coming in. you smiled, amused at the situation. you terribly wanted to give him your hand but your pride told you otherwise.

“why are you here?” you whispered, almost scared that if you spoke louder he would disappear.

“I told you, I miss you”.

“of course you do, that's why you came back so quickly” you said, washing the blood off your hand. “I just know you were bored to death without me" you joked, trying to ease the tension.

logan approached and slowly put his hands on your waist, your back facing him. he then delicately planted his chin on your shoulder. “I know you won’t believe me when I tell you I did this to protect you and that’s fair but I need you by my side, I need my girl” you swore you heard a sob in his voice. you looked up, staring at your reflection in the mirror, you could see logan’s head next to yours he was looking at you. this was the first time you’ve look into his eyes since he left. and they felt like home.

you turned around slowly, facing him. you hands claimed back their place on either side of his face. wiping his tears. seeing logan cry was rare, extremely rare. you felt your heart broke at the sight. he put his hands on yours and closed his eyes, enjoying how your touch felt like after so many years. nothing changed, not his love for you nor what he felt around you.

“let me take you home” he begged

“where?”

“doesn’t matter, home is whenever I’m with you”

you knew that your james was telling the truth, and you knew that you still loved each other.

"I need time, james" you answered, even if your mind was already made you had some self respect. you were about to say something else but logan beat you to it:

“I love you” he breathed.

you kissed him passionately, making up for all the lost kisses.

"I love you most"

you were still upset about what he did, but at the end of the day, you knew he did it for a good reason and that it hurt him maybe even more than it did you, and you certainly couldn’t imagine life without him.

you both cried into the kiss, silently promising to always be on each other's side.

"come on, let's get out of here"

[galedekarios]

I always come to your blog for the devnote deets so I'm curious if you know what causes the ORI_Gale_State_WillingToDie flag to be True or False for Gale? It comes up in so many dialog files but I'm totally unsure how it actually triggers

from what i could gather it depends on which options you pick during gale's last night alive scene / act ii romance scene.

there are several options the player can take that have a flag called 'ORI_Gale_Event_PushTowardsDeath'.

these are all options that encourage to make the ultimate sacrifice on mystra's instructions / don't actively discourage him:

Player: You're right. At least this way, you might take the Absolute down with you. [Gale gets pushed one step towards death] Gale: I can only hope that there are few innocents within the Absolute's reach, when the time comes... and that you will seek safety, far away from me. Gale: Stay with me a while, will you? Day will come all too soon, even in this place. Player: I'm not going anywhere, Gale. I'll be by your side, whatever dawn brings.

Player: You speak as if this affects you alone. How many will die if you unleash what's inside you? [Gale gets pushed one step towards death] Gale: Fewer than if the Absolute goes unchecked. I don't want to kill, and I don't want to die... but inaction will lead to bloodshed all the same.

there's an opposing flag set to this, which is ORI_Gale_Event_PushAwayFromDeath and it's tied to the following option:

Gale: There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it, on my own terms.devnote Player: Nothing is inevitable. Not when we face it together. You don't have to die. [Gale gets pushed one step away from death]

the flag that gets set here (ORI_Gale_Event_PushTowardsDeath) is what will later trigger the ORI_Gale_State_WillingToDie and ORI_Gale_State_EagerToDie to be set and it's already apparent in the follow-up conversation after the act ii romance scene / last night alive scene:

Gale: I was hoping to speak to you, as a matter of fact. About the night you were kind enough to keep this melancholy wizard company... Player: Go on. Gale: I suppose one might say I'm rather adrift, to be honest. Since our conversation, I'd resigned myself to my fate. Each day bore the possibility of being my last, and I accepted it. Gale: I'm only standing here now because I failed, to put it in rather blunt terms. Mystra is unlikely to let me try again. Yet, even in spite of that - I'm glad to have more time with you. Since you still have me, was there anything else on your mind?

there are quite a few options that reflect that mental state in gale as well. i've added a few here, but there are more:

Gale: The Absolute should be a thing of the past, and I with it...

Gale: I always imagined what it would be like when you finally got to meet her. This wasn't quite what I pictured. Gale: I thought we'd be in Waterdeep. You, curled up before a roaring hearth while I prepared us a ridiculously extravageant meal, served with a batch of my homemade hundur sauce. Gale: I fear mine is a dream for another life. But a fine one nonetheless. Gale: As for this one, I think we've still got a world to save. Unless there's anything else? - Player: It's a date. Gale: I can hardly wait. devnote: Gale still intends to blow himself up. He knows he'll never make the date.

Player: How are you feeling? Gale: Trying not to think about what lies ahead, if I'm being honest. I'd have hoped to spend our final moments together somewhere more romantic, but it seems we won't have much of a say in the matter.

Gale: I regret many things in my life. Choosing to be here, intact and unexploded, is not one of them. Devnote/NoteContext: Trying to convince himself a bit here, he knows he 'should' have killed himself

Gale: When the time comes for the orb to fulfil its purpose, I will think of only one thing: Your face. Nothing else will matter.

[definitelynotshouting]

Idk if this is Hunger AU canon or my own personal fanon but

one of the "calling cards" that the Watchers used in Evo was bedrock

bedrock is unbreakable by a player

perfect for trapping the player you're using as a Watcher incubator

and the texture looks rough af

when you get desperate you often try to do stuff to escape even if it's impossible, right

so what I'm saying is

probably one of the last things player!Grian did was tearing his hands to shreds trying to break bedrock out of sheer desperation

which makes all the passages in your fic where he's staring at his hands even more *gestures vaguely*

(idk why I typed this out in this format but it felt right so I'm going with it)

MAN OKAY THIS IS SUPER COOL i especially adore how youve connected it with the way i keep having Grian stare at his own hands???? which ftr is smth ive only just now realized i do all the time AKDBWKDJKSSJ this is JUST like the scarian jaw kisses thing HELPPPP 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 but thats such a cool thought!!! And utterly angsty i love it >:]

Its also made me realize i dont think ive ever actually told yall what did happen during that interim where Grian was captive as a Player before he died and became a Watcher, so buckle in i guess as i try to explain this one to yall (obligatory cws for captivity, parasitism, violated autonomy, body horror, and major character death discussion)

Yknow the world borders the life series has?? It was like that, but tiny. Maybe a couple chunks' worth of space to move around in. He spawned into a savannah biome and the Watchers specifically in charge of keeping an eye on him (pun intended) penned him in with the borders, implanted the specially-coded larva, and then retreated back just outside the server's barrier code to, well. To Watch.

So post Evo dragon fight the Watchers convinced Grian to join them without telling him what that entailed. They then proceeded to whisk him away to the server cluster's dev crystal, which is where the remnants of this Watcher colony made their semi-permanent home. There, held together basically only by the Watchers' ability to manipulate code, they had Grian make a brand new server.... and immediately trapped him in it.

He spent a year there slowly dying, eaten from the inside out by a parasite that was collecting his memories, copying over his stats and personality, with very limited space and resources to get by with. I know he built a tiny house out of acacia, but it never got any bigger than a starter base. He lived off of mostly bread and the meat from a few animals that spawned in with him; he primarily used stone tools, because those were what was most readily available. It was a very terrifying and lonely year, where all access to the outside world was cut off, and he was meticulously watched over to keep from dying while the larva inside him continued to grow and destroy him.

The Watchers were mostly hands-off in terms of interaction, but they did do regular check-ins to ensure the larva was alive and that there was no danger present to its host. Hostile mobs were carefully warded off, and Grian spent most of his time alternating between begging them to let him go (they never responded), trying to figure out ways to escape (it never worked), and tending to baseless chores just to keep from going out of his mind as his body grew weaker and weaker and more unstable around him.

I have a lot of feelings about this tbh, bc its just such a bleak scenario to think about-- trapped in a tiny cage with something killing you from the inside out, and your captors wont even talk to you about it properly. Being left otherwise to your own devices, with the terrible, lingering knowledge that, even if it was under duress, you still agreed to this. The fact that, after a certain point, after your questions and pleas are summarily ignored and brushed aside, you finally realize: you aren't meant to survive this. You are going to die.

A juvenile Watcher's first meal are the emotions during their host's last few moments. Grian was no exception; he cracked his way out of his own ribcage, and, without meaning to, amplified and feasted on Player!Grian's agony and terror as he died. With their memory codes finally disconnected, Grian had to watch himself through the eyes of a stranger as his terrified consciousness dissolved and his body fell apart into nothing more than loose strings of code.

Only then, still weak and flailing and helpless, was he was brought into the colony proper, in order to teach him how to be a Watcher. It wouldnt be for another few years before Grian gained the strength, control, and insight required to make his desperate escape. In total, i wanna say he spent somewhere between.... 4-6 years??? with the colony against his will. It would take another 4 for him to finally scrape together the courage to contact Mumbo and finally ask him for an invite into the Hermitcraft proper

One of these days i do plan to write that reunion, actually, which i'll add to the series as another prequel just like all the words that i forgot to say, which takes place roughly 6-8 months after Grian finally joins Hermitcraft. And if yall want to read an absolutely fantastic fic that deals with the moment Watcher!Grian was born and Player!Grian died, you should absolutely check out my friend @raichett 's fic Divergency, which ive pretty much canonized bc it REALLY hits the nail on the head for that situation.

Okay this got a lot longer than i meant it to sidhskdjej also those timeframes are a little squiggly bc i havent fully settled on where they fall on the general timeline. I wanna say Grian had been a Watcher for abt a decade by the time Mumbo got him onto Hermitcraft, though, so thats the loose timeline im working off of when i talk abt this :] anyway thanks for giving me an excuse to write this all out!!! while your idea about the bedrock isnt necessarily canon, i absolutely ADORE it and can totally see Grian just tearing up his hands while scrabbling against the world border.... utterly heartbreaking we fucking LOVE to see it. Thanks for sending in your ask!!! I always love seeing what you have to say about hunger au!!! :DDD

[blood-orange-juice]

I want to overanalyze everything Arle says and how others interact with her. 4.1 spoilers ahead

(meanwhile Fontaine is the nation of human trafficking, actual slums exist and the law doesn't really apply to the wealthy)

She's very good at being unsettling. Half of what she says is a double-bind, she states things and the opposite of them at the same time. It's not even lies, she just rules out any possibility of truth. A conversation strategy the only goal of which is to throw people off balance. This creates a feeling that she might stab you right now in broad daylight or maybe give you a poisoned piece of cake.

A truly lovely woman.

Also an interesting parallel:

(first meeting with Furina and Arle's farewell to us)

Similar words but we understand what she meant each time, right? She's good. One has to constantly guess with her. It's your fault if you guessed incorrectly.

Demanding too much before she voices her actual request. The classics of bargaining. Again, she's good.

Traveler: "he would not fucking say that"

Personally, I think she's bullshiting to check our reaction. One of the best ways of getting information out of someone is to say a thing that is obviously untrue.

As a side note: interesting how hoyo are keeping the story suitable for all headcanons. Haters and indifferent people "know" that he had no chance of learning what food the traveler likes (their character doesn't interact with the boy that much). Shippers can "know" that we share Childe's love for spicy seafood and honey roast, not cake. Shippers who like cake can assume that she reads his letters. I also don't think he knows anything about Arle's taste in desserts, he's too self-centered for that. Anyway, lovely.

Alternative: it's a metaphor. This is obviously not a tea party, it's a battlefield. Childe would totally say *that*. But that's too subtle for most players, I doubt hoyo would do it.

Everyone who had read Tartaglia's actual letters to home stifled a laugh there. Anyone who has *seen* our dear boy really. He doesn't write about what he contemplates or feels, only about actions. Here's a headache medicine for our dear father. Please tell Anton that people in Liyue don't eat stones, it would be ridiculous. I'll take the first boat home once I've finished making a bloodbath out of this lovely city.

(a reminder in case anyone forgot)

So. Bullshiting again. Is she trying to check how close we are? Or to demonstrate that she doesn't, in fact, read his letters (even if she does)? I'm not considering the option that she's actually clueless, she's the Fatui spymaster after all.

(if she's trying to learn from us how to mimic his style to get to his family it would mean she's clueless and it would be bad writing)

Also I know that a lot of people are shouting "have you forgotten about the Vision??? stupid traveler, you have a proof that he's alive" and honestly I'm surprised. Why would we want to share *any* information with her? The traveler was visibly upset when Paimon blurted what she blurted. Also, yeah, let's tell a totalitarian country military official that her colleague recently gave one of his favorite weapons to an enemy of the state. Surely it will go swimmingly. That was intentional.

And then her farewell and her thanking us for helping the twins. Her unhingedness is suddenly gone. She might not be genuine but there's no double bind at least. She starts to say things that could be true or untrue.

Also this:

Not even a guess that the Gnosis could be used to power the Oratrice? After the Akasha terminal plot it's a pretty obvious option to anyone, would she really miss something like that?

Is she trying to push us to do something? It's hard for me to believe that she genuinely doesn't understand. But also she shares that info about a curse. Meh. I don't understand what's happening here.

[nautls11]

my rambles about the tmk finale (SPOILERS, obviously)

whats up tmk famalam, im sad and im gonna talk about it

I cant even begin to describe how incredible the finale was. The players and the dice both had a story to tell and it created an end that brought me to tears.

The acting.

Genuinely some of the best ive seen in the entire show and I’ve been watching since convergence. Every single person absolutely killed it, Condi especially. Lucia’s moments with Mary, and Milo’s acting during the final scene was absolutely phenomenal

“Humanity’s weakness.” Empathy.

Empathy plays such a vital role throughout this entire story. It’s Lucia’s drive to try and save Everett from becoming her sister. It’s Jin’s drive to save the people who had those horrible fates he experienced when he was young. Everett’s lack of empathy was what pushed him away from his hunting party, seeing it as nothing but weakness.

Everett’s lack of empathy was what isolated him from the rest of the hunters. Yet, it was Everett’s empathy that made him choose to save Trey by turning him into a monster (albeit against Trey’s will), knowing that he wouldn’t survive otherwise. It was Everett’s lack of empathy for humanity that made him join the monsters, yet it was Everett’s humanity that made him spare Jin and Lucia during the monster siege.

Jin couldn’t kill Everett because he desperately wanted to keep alive the last bit of humanity Everett had left in him. Because Everett spared him, Jin only saw the only right thing to do was to spare his life as well, even though it led to the summoning of the Moonbeast.

It was empathy for Pebble’s losses that led Lucia and Jin to trust him, and he was able to prove himself more than capable.

It was Lucia’s empathy at the end that revealed Everett truly did still have a fraction of humanity and empathy left inside him, enough to destroy the heart and give one last goodbye. In the end, humanity’s weakness was also their ultimate power.

Mary’s internal conflict.

Lucia recognizing Mary but Mary not recognizing her, and the instant Mary realized it was her sister, her entire demeanor changed into that of a scared and traumatized child, because she never got to grow up. She was seen as a monster and became a monster. That was all she knew, and when those emotions filled her chest again she knew nothing but panic. She sees empathy as a weakness, just like all the other monsters do. Even to the point where she recoils from her own older sister’s sincerest apologies. Until Lucia has gona through what Mary has gone through, so long as they are different, Mary sees no place for reconciliation. And that id what causes her own downfall.

And the ending. The falling ending.

I think the fact that it ended with them all still falling makes it such a beautiful finale. It’s open-ended, we don’t know what faits await them. Do they fall as the starlight dapples across their skin and fall into the earth, becoming part of the cycle once more? Do they survive the fall, and the three of them live, watching as the moon slowly falls across the horizon and not into the maw of a beast, crying sobs of relief that their world was saved? Does one of them drag themselves out of the ocean to find their companions cold and motionless on the shore? I think the fact that we don’t know gives us so much more to think about, even though the campaign is over.

anyways thank you council + milo for making another incredible campaign and fuck you for adding to my cry counter (/nm ofc it was absolutely incredible)

[visualnovellover]

there's one interesting thing i want to point out with the names Ivory Wraith calls PC, it would call you different names, well depending if YOU stole its necklace or not.

But this one name resonates with me the most

There's one event during winter if you woke up during 3 or 4 am and your mirror is shining, you'll trigger an event with wraith (I DIDN'T GOT IT SO FUCK ME) ill be using the wiki to talk about the event!

We don't exactly have any specifications on what's happening and we don't know who's the one that's embracing PC in this scene - but what's interesting is the surroundings! Specifically the bed of coals! There's only one place that does this kind of thing.

The Temple.

I'm pretty sure you guys already know it (especially to the ones who loves sydney) but if not: there's two ways to become an initiate at the temple, one of them requires you to keep your virginity intact and the other is the trial of purity!

The trial of purity has you walking in heated bed of coals, and the reason why I'm brainrotting this is because there's a possibility that in the mirror event we (the player/PC) just finished the trial of purity which is why the person that embraced us were congratulating us because we just passed the trial and became an initiate!

There's also the possibility that it's IW's memories we're experiencing in the mirror back when they were still alive as the Acolyte and we're in the position of the Initiate (from the schism event) as the Acolyte was the one who was there for the Initiate's trial and how the Initiate hugged the Acolyte after they passed. (that's so sweet)

And added up to the fact that Ivory Wraith is reminded of the Initiate by PC, which in conclusion is why Ivory Wraith calls us coalwalker! (this would actually fit your PC if you went with the trial of purity and became an initiate at the temple ((me lmao)) )

[nonbinaryspy]

Meta: Elincia's Trolley Problems

Elincia's arc comes into sharpest relief when you consider both PoR and RD together. From living a sheltered life as a secret princess, to watching her parents get killed as her country is invaded, to eventually rising to the challenge of her unexpected role as queen, she has to deal with important decisions at every turn. Every action she takes is out of love for Crimea's people and a desire to secure them safe and happy lives. But what happens when she has to choose between the life of a loved one and the future of the overall populace? Both PoR and RD test this with narrative beats that form a perfect mirror, ultimately reflecting Elincia's development.

Path of Radiance

Throughout PoR, Elincia has been separated from her usual support network, particularly her retainers. After returning to Crimea, she finally finds them—however, in chapter 24, before she is able to reunite with Geoffrey, he is left behind to fend off Daein troupes so that Elincia can escape. Elincia is naturally horrified.

Bastian: Geoffrey's acting as a decoy. You must continue on this road to the southwest. Lucia: So the enemy's found us, eh? Lucia: Nothing to do about it but change course. I'll lead you to another hiding place. Elincia: Wh-what are you saying, Lucia? We must help Geoffrey! Bastian? Lucia: Luck was not with us, Princess. We have no choice. We'll have to abandon our companions in Castle Delbray. Elincia: No!! We will not!! Geoffrey and the others have survived so much already... I will not abandon them! Lucia: Princess, please understand. If we could do so without danger to you, we would gladly risk our lives to go back. Elincia: We cannot do this! Please, Lucia! We must go to the castle! ...Bastian! You must not do this thing! Bastian: Geoffrey is a knight. In the name of our friend's honor, Princess, you must escape. Elincia: No... No! They've survived this long! They're alive! NO!!!

When Ike gives her the chance to instead save Geoffrey, she affirms that this is what she wants.

Elincia: Yes. I don't want... I don't want anyone else to be sacrificed.

Lucia and Bastian respect her wishes and agree to help Geoffrey, at which point she is able to get her feelings across.

Elincia: Because the two of you think to put me above all else, you say you will sacrifice your lives for me. Yet... Even if I'm able to borrow of Ike's strength and win back Crimea... If the cost of that victory is the lives of the two of you, I shall never smile again. And joy? Never again would that emotion fill my heart...

Elincia is a leader, but she's also a person—one who never asked for this role. Until recently, she has not had to make decisions that would affect the future of a whole country, as opposed to only living within her personal sphere. In fact, the main political decision made re: her life—the decision to keep her birth secret—was made for her. She has already lost her parents and, as far as she knows, her beloved uncle.

Since then, her choices have all been for the sake of Crimea. In reality, she has had little choice in how to go about that goal, considering she has been fleeing for her life while at the whims of Begnion politics. Being able to return to Crimea and reunite with her retainers is the first time she has been running toward, rather than away, from something, and still part of that goal is being held from her reach. Nothing will stop her from working hard for Crimea, but individual losses will still give her permanent grief. So here, she finally takes a stand against the choices other people try to make for her, and insists on protecting her loved ones and regaining some of what she lost.

What happens next depends on the player, but considering her retainers are alive in RD, the duology's canon here is that they all survive this fight. Due to Elincia getting her feelings across, her loved ones are saved, and the campaign continues.

After this experience, the cost of individual lives in war is hammered home, and Elincia decides it's not enough to order others to keep her retainers safe. Regaining her inherited pegasus and sword, she takes to the field despite the mixed feelings of her retainers.

Elincia: Even though I'm dressed like this, I have no experience, and do not expect to fight as well as the rest of you. But…this constant waiting behind and doing nothing…it sets my heart beating with such unease I fear it may burst. Even if I cannot fight, I could use a staff to heal the wounded. If I could save just one soldier, it would mean so much to me.

This quote shows her resolve and compassion, but it also shows that she still lacks experience and confidence, especially when it comes to conflict. Despite being trained in swordplay, she instead emphasizes her ability to heal, and sets a fairly low bar for what her contribution will mean. Although, given that this plot demonstrates the importance of saving an individual life, maybe I shouldn't call it a low bar. Either way, at this point, there is still plenty of room for her to grow and change, and RD will challenge her to due so.

Radiant Dawn

Part two of Radiant Dawn focuses on Ludveck attempting to usurp Elincia's throne by stirring up reactionary attitudes toward her policies, specifically with regards to her alliance with Gallia, to threaten civil war and pressure her into giving up her throne. Because she fears the conflict that could come out of taking direct action against a noble, and because his followers are also citizens of Crimea for whom she feels responsible, she approaches the situation carefully. Ludveck takes advantage of this hesitance to eventually kidnap Lucia.

Once again, one of the Delbray siblings is in peril, and this time, as Crimea's queen, Elincia does not need to convince anyone to save her. Instead, she takes to the field herself. As with PoR, she had not immediately done so—in this case, because of the delicacy the situation called for. But with Lucia's life at risk and Ludveck's forces at Elincia's door, she decides the time for delicacy is past.

Elincia: “Lucia… Lucia, I’m sorry. Somehow, I promise you… I will save you!” ... Elincia: “…Very well. I must prepare as well. I had hoped this day would never come… Amiti, the treasured blade of House Crimea, will awaken from its long slumber.”

Unlike in PoR, rather than focusing on her healing ability, she mentions Amiti. She no longer needs to make disclaimers or doubt the importance of her role commanding the field. The wording of "I had hoped this day would never come" and "awaken from its long slumber" emphasize that she has already been through the horrors of war once, and never wanted to again. She despises violence, but she is resigned to doing what she must.

Despite holding out against Ludveck's forces and throwing him in the dungeon, she is not able to do anything about his trump card. With Lucia as hostage, he tries to use her life as a bargaining chip for his release, as well as the country. After the incident in PoR, where her retainers saw their own lives as disposable, she convinced them to realize how valuable they were to her. So with the Delbray siblings' situations reversed, Geoffrey now asks Elincia to save Lucia.

Geoffrey: “…Your Majesty, you can’t… You have to let me do something about this.” Elincia: “…” Geoffrey: “Lucia would willingly die fighting for her country, I know… But you have to help her, Elincia. If you were in her position, she would surely do the same. Please, just give the word.”

Again, Elincia is at the point where she is taking action herself instead of entreating others. Rather than order him to do anything, Elincia visits Ludveck in what is one of the most defining scenes of her arc. The non-extended version is below as I think it gets the point across quite well, but there are more dialogue beats in the extended version.

Ludveck: “Queen Elincia, you’re so naive. Cold and callous decisions are sometimes required of a nation’s ruler. …I was testing you. We all wanted to know if our queen would have the power to stop a civil war.” Ludveck: “But, no, you were too hesitant and too concerned about harming the people… Now look what has happened. The rule of Crimea cannot be kept in your hands! Please, Your Majesty! You must abdicate and cede the crown to me!” Ludveck: “And considering Lady Lucia’s life is on the line, you haven’t much choice. Now, let’s have you free me from this prison cell, and then we can discuss any further details…” Elincia: “I don’t think so.” Ludveck: “What?! Are you truly willing to sacrifice Lady Lucia?!” Elincia: “…Lord Ludveck, all your dissatisfaction and misgivings about me are well founded. However, do you realize how many lives you’ve simply thrown away?! Strength without compassion does not a ruler make. You care nothing for the people, sir. You cloak your desire to rule with pretty speeches, but it is petty avarice nonetheless!” Ludveck: “…So this is how it shall be? Very well… But Lady Lucia cannot be spared without my order.” Elincia: “Allowing you to plant the seeds of rebellion and play havoc with the lives of my people is a failure for which I must answer. But I will see Crimea through this trial. I will give my people the future they deserve, no matter the cost.”

Ludveck patronizes Elincia for her compassion while pretending he has the citizens' best interests at heart, but Elincia doesn't bow to his demands. She maintains her compassion along with her resolve. However, no matter how caring someone is, the fact of the matter is that decisions that help even a great deal of people still come with consequences. Elincia realizes this, and is prepared to make that sacrifice while taking responsibility—even though, as she said in PoR, she "shall never smile again."

In the beginning of PoR, Elincia lost almost everything in one fell swoop. When she was finally reunited with her retainers, the thought of sacrificing even one of them was unbearable, even if it could potentially have derailed her goal to retake her country from an invading tyrant. Now, though, she is in a position of greater power, and she is fully aware of the responsibility that comes with it. Compared to PoR, where she was so often at the mercy of others, the only thing tying her hands now is the threat to Lucia. Of course, Lucia is immensely important to her, but after spending three years working to rebuild Crimea, nothing can convince her to let it again fall to ruin under another power-hungry leader.

Thankfully, Lucia's life and Elincia's smiles are saved, thanks to Bastian secretly calling in the Greil Mercenaries. Despite her resolve, Elincia's conflicting priorities are still apparent, as in the extended version (translation on Serenes Forest provided below) she expresses wonder at her decision. As for her retainers, though their feelings on how she should handle such situations have shifted over time, they don't begrudge her decision.

Elincia: “…When Lucia was captured… It was as if I lost my other half. Even now, seeing her by my side, I feel so strange… Wondering how, at that time, I could make the decision to abandon her…” Lucia: “Lady Elincia…” Elincia: “Still… If the same scenario occurred… I believe I would make the same decision. Lucia’s life is important, but it’s not on the same scale as protecting the country. As the Queen of Crimea, I must accomplish my duty to the country foremost.” Lucia: “Of course. Seeing Lady Elincia being able to make this decision, it truly makes me happy. As if I would hate you.” Geoffrey: “My thoughts exactly.” Elincia: “Lucia, Geoffrey… I value your lives more than even my own. But it’s my duty to protect this country, even if that means losing you. I’ve learned a lot from all of this. I hope to keep them out of harm’s way, and I’ll never make the same mistakes again.”

By the end of this section, the bulk of Elincia's arc is complete. She has decided what matters to her and what she will do as queen when put into high-pressure situations. She resolves the situation by deciding to be openly harsh in punishing Ludveck's followers despite the fact that it will gain ire toward her, as refusing to do so before gave him the opening he needed. She has decided to be uncompromising in the face of reactionary politics. Not everyone in Crimea will agree with her decisions, but those closest to her will never waver in their loyalty, to the extent that they are both willing to live and die for her. It's no wonder that, as her epilogue says, "Her reign was remembered as a golden age."

Conclusion

Because I touched on the topic of Elincia's agency and how she maneuvers within the limits of it, I want to give a brief shout-out to her actions in part three. She is Gallia's ally and does not want any more bloodshed in her lands. However, due to Begnion exercising its imperial power, she cannot fully stop its army from entering her lands in pursuit of the laguz alliance. The action she ultimately takes, dropping her weapon in between the opposing armies and essentially daring them to murder a queen of a country with whom they're both allied, all without betraying her own nonviolent ideals, is an unparalleled power move.

Getting back to Elincia's trolley problems, what I find interesting is that though Elincia's decisions are different in PoR and RD, neither game condemns her for her choices. She cares for both the mass of strangers that comprise her kingdom and the loved ones who she's spent her life beside. Her situation in each game is different, so she handles each situation differently in ways that make sense given her roles, pressures, and motivations.

FE in general, and Tellius in particular, asks the characters and players to care about the fates of individual lives as well as whole worlds. Both PoR and RD present the question of what someone would or should do when these personal and political goals conflict, without giving one black-and-white answer. Elincia's arc is just one impactful example of this.

As for me, I'm not gonna lie—though Elincia doesn't have the option to reset the game whenever someone dies, I probably always will.

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 23 - Evading Sunrise.

Summary: Who better to know what a human needs than one who used to be human themselves?

[I'm still alive! Woo! Just overwrought! I'm playing in a sold-out show from Jan 16th and rehearsals have been 1900 to 2300 every night, bar the weekend, so my writing time is greatly diminished. I've also recently come into the family business, which isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but hey-ho, I haven't got any other option, so I'm also bogged down with learning that whole setup. These little moments where I can write and read all your kind, encouraging comments are becoming more and more precious to me. xxx]

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There is a kindness that the Universe could easily grant you, were it so inclined. Just a small thing, effortless even, hardly a difficult feat for the Powers that be, if They had so much as a shred of empathy.

The Universe has taken much from you, and were it a little kinder, it would take one last thing.

… It would take your ability to dream.

Death knows all too well that for as long as humans have been unwitting players on the cosmic chess board, they’ve been left to stand utterly alone, un-helped and unacknowledged by an indifferent Creator.

Why should you be the exception?

Why should you be granted a tiny mercy by the very Being who gave you a mind to dream with in the first place?

It just seems an unnecessary cruelty, the Horseman supposes, that your own biology should stand in the way of your respite.

It’s been several, long hours since you rolled over and eloped into the un-waking world, and Death has only moved as far as the door, leaning his weight back against the bone-dry wood with an air of resignation that his journey is to be paused until sunrise, at the very earliest. No matter… There’s little sense facing the Chancellor’s dreaded ‘Champion’ in the dark, after all.

You might have smirked and called him paranoid about the rigid stance he’s taken in front of the room’s only entrance, but the soft yet not-so-silent footfalls that keep approaching the door reaffirm his decision.

He doesn’t know if it’s the Blademaster sniffing about or some other undead who has come to gawk at the living, breathing human in their midst, but there’s something undoubtedly amusing about feeling wood push against his spine for a few seconds before the presence on the other side meets the resistance of a Horseman’s immoveable body weight.

What follows is the distinct sound of those same footsteps hurrying off down the corridor, making every attempt to be stealthy, but failing miserably.

It would be less amusing if any of their attempts were to wake you up. In fact, the only reason Death hasn’t ripped the door open and threatened to skewer the nosy stranger is currently sound asleep just a few feet away from whatever ruckus that would cause.

Or you were sound asleep. At least until a few minutes ago.

Death’s forefingers tap aimlessly against his bicep as he frowns down at your face. You’ve scrunched your features up into a tight grimace, nose wrinkling and the corners of your mouth twisted south towards your chin.

You’re still asleep. Just not soundly.

The pitiable whimpers you’ve been uttering for a while now indicate a troubled mind, though the Horseman can’t say he’s surprised. It’s disappointing, to be sure. He’d have thought you’d be far too exhausted to be plagued by dreams tonight, yet evidently, you’re not that fortunate. Which is a crying shame, because while Death doesn’t believe in luck per-se, he thinks that if such a thing were to exist, you’re more than overdue.

“Hmm, mnn,” you murmur through closed lips, tossing your head to the right.

Above you on the headboard, Dust retrieves his beak from under an ebony wing and cocks a gaze at you, crooning out a soft, inquiring noise from his throat.

“Shhh,” Death breathes, earning a sleepy glare from the crow, though he does at least fall silent, contenting himself to simply watch as you throw a hand out to one side and clench your fist around an invisible force.

“….Mmn, eye…,” you mutter through slightly parted lips.

‘Eye?’ Death’s brow knots under his mask, yet he isn’t left wondering for long.

“… Eideard?” you suddenly croak, “… C’m’back!”

Ah… So that’s where your head is at.

Lowering his eyes to the ratty blanket, Death releases a sigh that’s been building in his chest for a few minutes now.

Your legs have been steadily working to kick the covers off the bed, never settling, as if you’re trying to run from something.

The clack of a beak draws the Horseman’s gaze once again to Dust, who now has a rather expectant look aimed his way.

Death can’t help but be reminded of that night in Tri Stone, when he’d remained stolidly outside on the bench whilst you stifled your sobs in the Makers’ Forge.

He recalls that Dust had been rather scathing about his inaction. The Horseman hadn’t cared for the bird’s judgement then, and he’s even less appreciative now.

What is he supposed to do? Wake you? At least if you’re dreaming, you’re getting some rest.

Sleep, he’s learned, is something that’s essential to a human’s sustained survival.

Not for the first time, he considers the benefits of having an empty chest, hardened and calcified through centuries of existing in an indifferent universe.

It means he has nothing to steel when you suddenly fling yourself over onto your side with your mouth hanging open, releasing a short, hitching sob that catches in your throat, and an arm that stretches out towards something unseen by the Horseman, your fingers spreading rigidly until they quake with the strain.

… The gentling of Death’s expression goes unnoticed, even by him.

He’s nearly shocked when his boot slides forwards ever so slightly, scraping across the floorboards as if to carry him away from the door and towards you.

Pausing, he cocks a brow down at his own leg, half expecting it to explain itself.

What he doesn’t expect – but perhaps should have – is the loud and jarring gasp that suddenly floods into the little human on the bed with the frantic desperation of one who’s been underwater for far too long, and you’ve only just managed to reach the surface to take a breath before your lungs collapse.

Death’s eyes flick towards you just in time to witness your silhouette lurching up off the mattress, a garbled shout tumbling from your lips as you clutch feverishly at your chest.

“Karn!?” you blurt out, whipping your head back and forth to search through the darkness of Draven’s quarters for a maker who isn’t there.

It would be easy for Death to remain still and silent, to wait until whatever grasp your nightmare still has on you to finally slip loose on its own… He needn’t step in.

It would be easy…

“…Hhh…” Grousing silently to himself, the Horseman pushes away from the door and takes a decisive step towards you before he can begin to overthink his actions.

“Y/n,” he mutters, not loud enough to be startling, but just loud enough to catch your attention.

Even still, you flinch, whirling your torso in his direction and letting your hazy eyes land on the pale, ghostly mask looming above you in the dark.

For several seconds, you merely stare up at Death, the hand on your chest crumpling your shirt as you gather the flimsy fabric into a tight fist.

Death doesn’t elect to break the silence again. After another moment or two of watching you gulp down another lungful of stale air, his patience pays off, and you swallow thickly, croaking, “Death?”

The Horseman’s chin dips down. “Yes.”

“Is… Karn here?” Your voice sounds so fragile, poisoned by a grain of hope.

Going very still, Death allows a beat to pass, giving himself time to think of an answer.

Perhaps… you think you’re still in a dream.

Quietly, he offers a concise response, one that hopefully doesn’t cause you any more distress whilst bringing you further out of the idea that this isn’t real. “Karn…” he begins, “…remained in the Forge Lands.”

He watches you physically deflate. Not from relief though. Relief doesn’t douse the sleepy kindling of hope that had momentarily lit the contours of your face.

Solemn, a little more awake, you slowly ask, “Is… Eideard…. Is he…?”

“… Gone,” is Death’s only reply.

A breath shudders out of you as you let your gaze drift down to your fingers, twining over themselves in twists and knots. “Oh…” you breathe, “I… thought I…” But your sentence trails off before you can finish it.

So, Death says it for you. “You thought you saw him,” he ventures, “In a dream.”

And with that, whatever strings have been holding you taut are promptly cut, sending you flopping back onto Draven’s mattress with a sorrowful ‘whump,’ still very much awake and positively quaking hard enough to cause the wooden bed frame to shudder in tandem.

That’s the thing about dreams, Death supposes, after a point, they’re the perfect nesting ground for ghosts.

His brother, Strife, would confide in him, many eons ago, that he could still see the faces of their fallen brethren behind his eyelids whenever he tried to rest. Death had only told him that it would pass, if given the time to. He hadn’t the gall to tell Strife that he too could see those same, hateful eyes and blood-filled mouths just as clearly.  

Eideard isn’t the only person you’ve lost. He’s said it before, but it bears repeating; you’ve also lost your family, your friends and every other human on Earth.

Your dreams, much like Death’s, are full of ghosts.

Drawing your hands up towards your face, you press the heel of each palm to your eyelids and grind down hard until a kaleidoscope of colour sparks to life across your vision, not unlike fireworks blooming across a cold, November sky.

Shakily, you blow out a dry, unsteady whoosh of air and groan, “Fuck…”

Death purses his lips, privately concurring with your brief assessment of the situation.

Then, in a motion that’s steeped in tiredness, you drag your focus back over to the Horseman, rolling your head to the side and adding, “You’re still here…”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he utters, quiet as a breath, only to balk at the dulcet quality in his tone. Clearing his throat to rid it of the uninvited tenderness, he promptly tacks on, “I told you; someone has to keep an eye on Dust.”

Damp-cheeked, you crane your neck back to send an upside-down glance at the crow roosting on the headboard above you.

A single, glossy eyeball stares back.

You’re fairly confident that Dust hasn’t done a damn thing to warrant any of Death’s baseless assumptions.

With your gaze still locked on the bird, you sigh, “You two can go, if you want to…”

At that, the Horseman knows he’s going to refuse before he even gives you a verbal response.

This isn’t the first time you’ve offered him an ‘out,’ a convenient excuse for him to duck from the room and escape the burden of bearing witness to your downward spiral.

You’re asking, in as quiet a hint as you can manage, for the privacy to cry without an audience.

… If it weren’t for the mysterious footsteps padding about outside…

“It would be in your best interest for me to stay,” he offers, earning a weary sigh from your side of the room, as if you’ve by now figured it would never be that easy to get rid of him.

Already, his keen eyes have picked out the slightest gleam of tears gathering behind your lashes. The next breath you try to draw in sticks to the back of your throat, yet before your face can crumple completely, you roll yourself over onto your opposite side, facing the wall – deliberately angling your body away from the Horseman, who watches on in silence as you hike your shoulders up towards your ears.

Drawing his brows together underneath the mask, Death glides silently closer to your bed and peers down at the human-shaped lump quivering under the covers.

 All is quiet for a time, until at last…

“… I’m sorry.” Your words seep out of you in a thick, watery whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

‘You didn’t sign up for me,’ goes unspoken, but somehow the idea still hangs between you both like cold, falling snow.

It seems an odd thing to say, Death muses, considering that in a sense, he did sign up for this. Hell, he all but stamped his signature on that contract when he carried you through the portal to the Crowfather’s realm.

“Well… Neither did you…” he returns truthfully as he turns around and sinks onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, draping each forearm over a knee. The old wood doesn’t even creak as he settles down, nor does the straw bend beneath his illogical weight, much like the desert sand hadn’t swallowed him up to his calves as it had yours.

He hears the blanket rustle behind him as you twist your neck around to spare him a glance over your shoulder. If you’re at all shocked to find him suddenly sitting so close to you, you’re either too tired or too polite to say a word about it.

So, you turn back to the wall without comment, and although you attempt to bring a hand up to press a sweat-slicked palm across your mouth, such a meagre covering of skin isn’t enough to contain the grief that starts to pour out of you.

But just as you’d offered Death the unquestioned freedom to seek vicinity to you, the Horseman doesn’t try to interrupt or diminish this sombre moment with talk or awkward attempts at comfort.

It stirs a memory in him, of a much younger Nephilim, trudging through a silent, windswept battlefield alongside the only other three who had escaped the Battle for Eden. Not a word was said between them as they left the dead behind, but Death had offered them proximity as well. They said nothing of it, they hadn’t even accused him of hovering. There was an unspoken understanding, in that instant, one that passed silently between all four of them; Death would be there if they needed him.

With a slow blink, the memory fades, and he’s left frowning gently at the dull, rotten wood of the wall adjacent to your bed.

You’re an intelligent human… He wonders if you’ll be able to infer what he’s doing by sitting at the edge of your bed. Death may be many things, but he is not cheerful by nature, and cannot thusly cause cheer in others. He can only sit. And wait. Listening, watching, offering freedom from interference, both from himself and others who would seek to disturb you now when you need to grieve.

Dust, predictably, affords your need for privacy about as much consideration as could be expected from a bird. That is, none whatsoever.

A sleepy caw is all the warning both you and Death receive before the crow hops down off the headboard and lands on your pillow with a soft rustle of feathers.

Of course, you flinch, but Dust – undeterred – simply invites himself into the space between you and the wall, strutting surefootedly over the rumpled blankets until he reaches your chest.

Exasperated, Death opens his mouth and is about to openly scold the crow when Dust turns himself about until the tip of his sharp, grey beak is pointed down at your sombre face.

If you’re at all worried about having it so close to your eyeballs, you don’t show it, though Death knows the corvid well enough to recognise that Dust would never hurt his new human friend who coddles and praises him like it’s going out of fashion.

Birds…

“H-hey,” you warble miserably, swiping at your eyes with the back of a wrist and trying to pluck up the willpower to give a tear-blurred Dust your most convincing smile, “Hey, boy. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

In response, the crow cocks his head at you, and follows up with a gentle croon that raises the small, downy feathers on his throat. Then, without bothering to give any sort of warning as to his intentions, Dust gives his beak a single clack and stretches out his neck, gathering up a few strands of hair around your forehead and dragging them through his beak as if to smooth them into place.

Death almost slaps a palm to his mask.

You can’t help yourself. A wet giggle blurts out of you, momentarily disrupting Dust’s ministrations. He croaks down at you flatly before returning to his task of taking your hair and grooming it with a gentle beak.

“Dust!” you blubber out another laugh, reaching up to try and dissuade the crow by pushing your hand into his feathered breast. For your trouble, he pulls away and administers a soft nip to your knuckle, barely strong enough for you to feel it.

Offering him a watery smile, you prop yourself up onto an elbow, and in one, smooth motion, you raise your free arm and scoop the bird against your chest, burying your nose into the ebony plumage right between his wings. He’s large, far larger than any crow you’ve ever seen on Earth, so it’s more akin to hugging a small dog than any kind of corvid….

Wow… You miss dogs…

As if he can sense your sudden spike of anguish for a species who was likely wiped out alongside your own, the crow nuzzles his head under your chin, tailfeathers flicking back and forth several times as he contents himself with his new position.

Death’s brows shoot up his forehead at the display, wondering how he could have missed the moment you and his crow forged this bond without him even noticing. Was it during the brief few hours when Absalom pulled him into the Tree of Life?

Or perhaps it was always there, and he just hasn’t been paying attention.

“Of all the crows I could have been saddled with,” he gripes under his breath, aiming a half-hearted scowl at the little he can see of Dust’s beak poking out over your shoulder, “It would be the one without a single ounce of pride.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” you sniff, your voice muffled by sleek, black feathers, “He’s trying to cheer me up.”

The Horseman grumbles something to himself, then raises his voice to huff, “He has to be good for something, I suppose.”

When you don’t reply beyond giving a click of your tongue, Death hesitates, his eyes roaming in every direction except for your face as he clears his throat and asks, “Is it… ah, working?”

There’s a speculative pause, interspersed with the odd sniffle as you take a moment to calm yourself down and recover from the embarrassment of once again crying in front of the sepulchral Death.

At last, you take in a deep, weary breath and pull your nose from Dust’s back, gazing warmly down at the crow. “Yeah,” you decide with a small nod as he pulls his beak from under your chin and peers back at you, “Yeah, it’s working.”

If only a little, but sometimes a little is just enough.

Dust’s head swings around to peer at Death over your shoulder, smugger than a bird has any business being.

The heartache of waking up to a world without Eideard in it is just as fresh as the heartache you feel when you open your eyes and remember your world is gone. That sort of grief, unquantifiable, is hard to shift by the efforts of one, friendly crow, no matter how noble his intentions.

But for Dust’s sake, you try to shoulder the sorrow a touch more easily, even going so far as to sit up properly, still holding the bird to your chest and giving him a gentle squeeze. It’s a word of thanks, silent but poignant. Slowly, you place the crow down on the mattress beside you.

This time it’s your turn to clear your throat. Scrubbing tiredly at your eyes, you untuck your legs from the scratchy blanket and roll them over the side of the bed, pulling yourself forwards until you’re sitting beside Death, hands clasped daintily in your lap.

Amber eyes flick sideways and find in the gloom that your cheeks are still damp and blotchy from shedding so many tears.

Behind you, Dust flutters back up onto the headboard, head held high and proud, pleased with himself for a job well-done, and feeling he’s absolutely deserved another nap.

You breathe a sigh, holding it in your lungs and then blowing it all out again, glad to hear that it’s devoid of further tremors. “So… I don’t suppose we can pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

Death half turns his torso towards you and replies, “Any of what?”

Without thought, you smile appreciatively and lean across the bed, giving the Horseman’s thigh a companionable pat. “Good man.”

It seems as soon as you touch him, you’re pulling away again, the moment passing too quickly for you to feel the way his leg jumps underneath your palm.

Death’s eyes are wide beneath his mask and affixed to the spot on his thigh you’d just touched without ceremony, without a single remark, like it was an entirely normal thing to do.

Certainly, you’ve touched Death before, and he’s touched you out of necessity, mostly. But here, in this dingy room belonging to an undead, the Nephilim takes particular note of the casual gesture, and he’s once again reminded of who and what he is, and what an outlier you are to touch the Reaper without fear.

Is that all it takes? Pretending he hadn’t heard you pour your grief out onto a stranger’s pillow makes him a good man?

Is that… how you see him…?

No. It was just another throwaway comment, meant to lighten the solemn mood that had taken hold of the room.

For a distracted moment, Death wonders if he can really feel the warmth of your skin through the leather of his trousers, or if it’s just a figment of his imagination. Whatever it is, it robs him of any witty remarks that might slip out to disrupt this tender moment.

A good man…

“You should try going back to sleep,” he offers absently, tearing his eyes off his leg to look down at you. The imagined warmth in his thigh has travelled to his chest, which is odd, given that you didn’t lay your hand anywhere near it.

Heaving a sigh, you ask, “How long do you think until sunrise?”

“Mm, at least another several Earth hours,” he says, “Plenty of time still to rest.”

Your fingers clench into fists around the blanket beneath you. “Plenty of time to dream…”

The old Nephilim’s mask turns to face you properly, eyes of liquid gold and sunset orange illuminating the darkness of his sockets. “Dreams cannot hurt you,” he says with conviction, partly because he knows they can’t, and partly because nothing, not even a nightmare could hurt you with a Horseman keeping watch.

“But they can make you sad…” you point out.

Hesitating, he has to take a second to remember that sadness can be potent enough to hurt a human. “I suppose they can,” he concedes reluctantly.

“That hurts, sometimes,” you whisper, drawing your knees up onto the bed and folding your arms around them, clinging tightly, eyes downcast to the floor, “Waking up and realising the people in them aren’t here anymore.”

Shifting his weight to prop a hand on one knee, he leans forwards so that he can meet your faraway gaze. “That pain will fade, given time,” he offers, echoing a conversation eons past.

After a second, your eyes slide sideways and align with his, and he can’t deny the glimmer of triumph that raises his chin at the sight of your gentle smile.

“I hope you’re right, Death,” you reply, “I really do.”

“You’ll find I’m not often wrong twice in as many days.” He’s referring to his… miscalculation with the heart stones and the Guardian, of course.

Did that really only happen yesterday?

“Cocky,” you snort, swiping a finger under the still damp corner of your eye, “Nice to know great, big Horsemen can make mistakes too though.”

“Is it?” he scoffs. He’d have thought it’d be daunting that the Nephilim whose charge you find yourself under isn’t actually as infallible as he’d like to claim.

“Yeah,” you hum, giving him a thoughtful look, “I guess to err isn’t just human, after all.”

Death waits, bracing himself to balk, to feel a spike of offence run through his veins at being told he shares a – rather undesirable – quality with humans. He waits, and feels-

… Nothing. No contempt. No disdain or disappointment. Maybe just a touch of surprise.

“I’m gonna miss them,” you murmur, derailing the Horseman’s train of thought.

“The makers?”

“Everyone,” you stress, “The makers, Blackroot, Warden…”

Coughing lightly into a fist, Death has to peel his eyes away to avoid looking at you when he says, “I’m sure they’ll be…. of a similar mindset.” Honesty, vulnerability, words that have real significance don’t come so easily to the Horseman. If they did, he’d tell you that those makers are going to miss you more than you could possibly know.

Chewing on your lip, you idly kick an ankle against the side of the bed and ask, “Do you think I’ll ever see them again?”

In response, Death huffs out a short, soft laugh, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Do I think you’ll see them again?” he echoes, “Y/n, I’m almost certain of it.”

“… Wait. Seriously?”

“Don’t I seem serious?” he blinks languidly.

“Yeah, it’s just… that sounded like optimism. And coming from you, that’s… I mean…” Squinting through the dark at him, you fold your hands in your lap and ask, “Are you feeling all right?”

The Horseman’s lips quirk up, though his voice retains a gruff and unimpressed melody as his shoulders jump with a brusque harrumph. “You must be feeling better if you’re already poking fun,” he grouses, assessing the miniscule glow of humour tucked around the corners of your mouth.

“I am, actually,” you shrug, flicking a glance over his mask and tipping your head with a knowing smile, “Maybe Dust isn’t the only one who’s good at cheering me-“

Three, gentle knocks on a nearby surface of wood break through your sentence like hammer blows ringing off an anvil.

From one blink to the next, the Horseman is inexplicably on his feet, flinging a strong, sinewy arm out in front of you, all at once alert and suspicious, whilst behind him, you scramble off the bed with far less grace, fighting to find stability for a moment before you square your feet and send a wary glance over his appendage at the room’s entrance.

“Hello?” you call, swiping furiously at your cheeks to rid them of what little trace of tears might still cling to your skin.

Death doesn’t turn to face you, but you’d be hard-pressed to miss the disgruntled sigh that slips out from under his mask at your tactical blunder.

You’ve all but announced that you – a human, need you be reminded – are in here.

A voice from outside calls out, muffled behind the thick layer of wood. “… Lady - Ah, I mean, Y/n?”

The tension doesn’t seem to drain out of Death nearly as fast as it drains out of you.

Draven.

Before the Horseman can stop you, you’ve already ducked underneath his arm, reaching up to distractedly smooth down your bedhead as you call out, “Oh, Draven, uh, coming!”

You hear your name uttered in a growl behind you, but you wave off the ornery Nephilim with a flap of your hand, twisting about to face him as you make for the door, hissing, “It’s his room, Death. If he wants to come in here, he has every right to.”

Realising your hand is reaching to pull the door open, Death surges forward, intent on getting to it before you – ‘just in case,’ a voice at the back of his head whispers – but he doesn’t make it halfway to you when you grab the brass handle and tug the rotting wood towards you, letting dull, green light spill into the quarters and creep up the opposite wall.

A familiar silhouette looms in the doorway, framing the space with broad shoulders and a tattered shroud that’s been pulled low to half cover a skeletal, ghoulish face. From your angle, standing at least a foot and a half shorter than the figure, you can see up underneath his hood.

You regret your haste to open the door, simply because you aren’t at all ready to witness the grim and ghastly visage of the Blademaster this early in the morning, but you stamp down on the temptation to reel back, and instead school your expression into a friendly smile. “Hi, uh, again.”

Draven’s luminous, blue eyes flare brightly as soon as they land on your face. There’s something held between each of his hands, though you hardly spare them a glance because, ever the gentleman, he’s already halfway into a low, sweeping bow when he suddenly stops short, bent so that he’s staring you directly in the eye.

It’s decidedly unnerving to have so much scrutiny on you, especially when the undead’s jaw suddenly locks up tight and his browbone snaps together as if you’ve offended him somehow without even saying a word.

“Uh-“ you start to say, only to find yourself interrupted when Draven rises to his full height again, unfolding at the waist and aiming a frigid glare over the top of your head. Coincidentally, an icy presence appears at your spine, pressing in close enough that you notice the hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle.

 A growl rolls out through the gaps in the undead’s hollow cheeks. “Y/n,” he addresses you, his voice hard as stone, “Has this devil done you a discourtesy?”

“W…What?” you blurt.

Ferocity bleeds from his lipless mouth as he glares at the Horseman who drapes you in shadow, pale blue eyes aiming to douse the liquid fire hanging ominously in the darkness behind you.

“Her eyes are scarlet with salt,” he accuses.

Raising a hand to your face, you prod tenderly at the raw skin beneath your eyes and realise with a sinking sense of shame that you must still look like even more of a mess than you did when the Blademaster first saw you. “Oh, no. No, Draven, it’s fine,” you sigh, dragging a hand down your face, “Just… Look, it’s just been a rough night.”

The undead’s glower lifts the moment he rips his eyes off Death and returns it to you, his forehead puckering with concern. “But, you’re-“

“- I’m all right,” you reiterate, crooking one corner of your lips into a tight smile that all but pleads for him to drop the matter. You’re mortified enough.

The look on your face must be adequately pitiable, for Draven’s stance relaxes by a fraction, and as his arms slump from their guarded poise, you hear something clunk woodenly by his waist, rousing your curiosity and tempting you to lower your gaze to his hands.

If you thought you weren’t ready to see the Blademaster at your door, you’re doubly unprepared to see what he’s carrying.

Clearing your throat, you bob your chin at his hands and ask, “What’ve you got there?”

“Hmm?” Begrudgingly peeling away from the Horseman, Draven follows your line of sight, blinking down at a little wooden bowl and cup he’s clutching in each hand. Suddenly very sheepish, the undead ducks further into his green hood, “Forgive me, I was going to leave these by the door, but… then I heard voices.”

“And what were you doing skulking about so close to the door that you could hear us talk?” Death asks, hardly bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

You turn to give him a quick, pointed glare over your shoulder, one that he ignores.

“Just as I said, Horseman,” Draven retorts, “I thought the lady might be hungry, so…” He offers out the cup and bowl for you to see, giving you an apologetic look. “I’d have left it outside for you to find when you emerged, I… didn’t want to disturb you while you slept.”

Before you can reply, a voice at your back pipes up.

“You were going to leave it outside?” Death scoffs, “Where anyone could have tampered with it?”

Ignoring the Horseman, you peer down into the proffered crockery, your stomach gurgling eagerly as a waft of steam drifts from the bowl and rises into your nostrils. Never before would you have thought you’d be so excited about something so beige.

A simple, brown stew is balanced on one of Draven’s large palms, lumps of what you presume is meat bob about near the surface, and a single slice of fluffy, white bread floats at the centre, drawing a rather embarrassing flood of saliva to the front of your mouth. In his other hand, the small wooden cup is clasped like a chalice of ambrosia, though the only thing that wets its interior is crisp, clear water.

In your eyes, he may as well be holding out a gourmet dish that only the wealthiest of men would deign to touch.

“Draven,” you breathe in awe, reluctantly dragging your gaze off the food and peering up into the undead’s hollow face, “What’s all this for?”

Puzzled, he tilts his head at you, as thought the answer should be entirely obvious.

“It’s… for you,” he says, pressing the bowl and cup closer to your wringing hands, “I assumed you’d want to eat when you awoke. It’s not much, just some pottage I scrounged up.”

You begin to reach out, unfurling your fingers to take the unexpected gift when all of a sudden, chilly fingers wrap around your wrist, and before you can utter a sound, Death tugs you tidily back into the room, taking your place in the doorway, and peering down at the undead. “Where did you get it?” he asks, ignoring the disgruntled huff you aim at the back of his head, “Is this safe for human consumption?”

Draven’s lipless mouth pulls into a sneer. “Do you think me a fool?” he accuses.

“I think you an undead who we’ve only just met,” the Horseman replies coolly.

The Blademaster leans back on a heel, appraising Death with an expression that borders on impressed. “A fair point,” he concedes. Seconds later, Draven yields a nod. “It’s safe, Death. Believe it or not, the King entertains more than just the dead in his court, some of whom still rely on sustenance to get them through the day. Supplies are not as scarce as they would seem at first glance, and I may be far-removed from humanity, but I still remember my way around a cooking pot.”

Then, wordlessly, he holds the bowl and cup out towards the Horseman, tipping his head to one side with an expectant gleam in his fearsome, blue eyes.

Death’s attention flits between Draven and his handful several times, squinting dubiously at the dull, brown slop. For a few uncomfortable seconds, the Horseman subjects your potential meal to a good, long glare, and then at last, to your relief, you watch him raise his hands and grasp the edge of the bowl between his thumb and forefinger, doing the same with the cup.

He doesn’t take them immediately, too busy giving the undead a threatening growl. “If she eats this and something happens-“

“-I’ll be meeting the business end of your scythe?” Draven guesses, quirking a brow bone as he relinquishes the crockery and drops his arms to his sides again.

Death’s eyes narrow to thin lines of fire, prompting the undead to let out a chuckle and raise his hands up in mock defeat. “I understand, Horseman, I understand. I’d be overprotective as well if I had a lady like her under my care.”

Half hidden behind the Nephilim, you suck a breath in through your teeth as your grim companion bristles like a cornered cat, almost doubling in size with the amount of indignation that swells his shoulders. You’ve only known him a week or so, but in that time, you’ve already learned that being accused of caring is pretty low on the list of Things Death likes to Hear.

And sure enough…

“I am not overprotective,” the Horseman seethes, but with such an air of petulance that whatever threat his tone might have been trying to imply is completely undermined. Not to mention there’s something curiously un-threatening about the sight of him clutching a bowl of stew that - not thirty seconds ago - he was giving the stink-eye.

Even Draven doesn’t seem all that worried as he casts a knowing look at you around Death’s shoulder, his ghoulish features scrunching into a wink.

“No?” he asks, cocking his head to one side and sliding his gaze back to the wall of Nephilim standing before him, “Well, in that case, when the sun rises, I’m sure you won’t mind if I treat the lady to that tour I offered her.”

He’s chancing his arm, and he damn well knows it. And because he knows it, he’s already watching for the precise moment when Death recognises that he’s just stepped right into a verbal trap.

Unseen by the human in their midst, Death’s narrow eyes are now almost indiscernible within the congealing darkness of his sockets, and it’s only thanks to their preternatural, fiery glow that Draven can tell they’re open at all. They float inside the pitch-black pits that have been carved out of an ivory mask, unnatural and eerie, like two strips of flame streaking through the night sky.

If someone were to strike a match in the air between he and Death, Draven is almost certain the spark would set off an explosion that could blow the Eternal Throne clear through the stratosphere.

Two options lay out before the ancient Nephilim: Allow yo u to go with Draven in the morning, proving the smug undead wrong in his judgement of Death’s character. Or refuse the offer on your behalf and prove him right.

Begrudgingly, Death concedes that the undead’s tactics have successfully tripped him up. Rare as it is, it’s somewhat refreshing to be kept on his toes. Not that he’s in any way pleased to be cornered like this… Not least because he has a reputation he’d like to keep intact.

“She’ll consider it,” he says shortly.

There. It’s neither a yes or a no, and vague enough that Draven’s expectant gaze darkens with disappointment. Death is tempted to smirk triumphantly. Just because he stepped into the trap doesn’t mean he won’t know how to get out of it. He’s almost offended that the undead thought it would be so easy.

But the acquiescing look on Draven’s face doesn’t linger for more than a blink before it’s gone.

“I hope she does,” he hums, leaning sideways once more so that he can send you another secretive smile around the Horseman’s bulk, a smile that you find yourself readily reflecting. It feels like there’s a connection there somehow, between you and Draven. Human and ex-human. It’s something that Death isn’t privy to because he isn’t and never was human.

You wonder… Hell, you dare to hope that Draven might just… get you. There’s common ground in your humanity. The soul that sits lonely in your heart reaches out for the tiniest promise of companionship, softening you to the undead in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Right now, as you share amusement at the Grim Reaper’s expense, you find Draven just that bit more bearable to look at. Even the swords and broken blades that jut from his person like morbid adornments don’t seem so gruesome.

“I will consider it,” you promise, prompting Death to heave a disgruntled sigh whilst you breeze over his complaint, “Thank you, Draven. Really. This…” This act of immense kindness, though it might have seemed so mundane if it happened on Earth, has done wonders to warm your heart after feeling your very soul freeze over after your nightmare. But how could you possibly put into words the comfort he’s brought you? Rather than overthink it, you merely give your head a tiny shake of disbelief and let out a soft laugh, “This means… so much to me.”

Laying a hand across his concave chest, the undead dips his torso into a shallow bow and replies, “For you, it was no trouble at all.”

To your own surprise, the chivalrous little display turns you shy, and you start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, avoiding his searching eyes as you smile down at the floor near Death’s boots.

Clicking his tongue, the Horseman shifts to stand sideways in the entrance, sweeping an unimpressed glance between you and Draven.

You may have averted your gaze, but the undead certainly hasn’t.

From head to toe, you’re all but poured over like a scroll of parchment in an angel’s library. Shameless in his observation, Draven’s cadaverous eyes carve tracks across your face and roam down the length of your body, whilst Death goes mostly ignored.

The Horseman is no fool. Though the very notions of romance and attraction have forever eluded him, he’s old and worldly enough to have at least encountered both in some way, shape or form. Besides, even a dunce would have to be trying exceptionally hard to miss what’s right in front of his nose.

You’ve caught the Blademaster’s eye.

And there’s the rub. Demons, he can put his scythe to, corrupted constructs and bloodthirsty bugs can be slain to keep you out of their gullets. Even Karn and his, at times, glaring attachment to you were innocent enough, as if the youngling was more starved for meaningful friendship than companionship. But an amorous undead? Death doesn’t have any protocol for manoeuvring around that particular minefield.

Once again, if there is such a thing as luck, the Horseman would be cursing his own. Isn’t it just typical that in such a vast and limitless Universe, his path would somehow carry you right to the Blademaster – the only other sod in Creation who shares your origins? Musing on that, Death can’t help but wonder if there truly is some unseen, omniscient hand guiding you along your journey.

Whoever the puppet master is, they’ve got a sick sense of humour.

Draven was Human – famously unpredictable species, a stereotype you continue to substantiate – but more to the point, he’s an unknown, and Death doesn’t especially like dealing with unknowns.

“Well then,” he announces abruptly, causing you to jump and reminding him that he’s allowed the undead to linger for a few moments too long, “If there’s nothing else…”

The skin around Draven’s jaw stretches as he opens it until the holes in his cheeks are thin and long, but before he can utter a word, Death says, “Wonderful,” and with a deft swing of his elbow, he bumps the door closed, giving the bottom of the wood a kick on its way to make sure it slams firmly shut. The room is once more plunged into that grimy, too-green gloom.

“Oh, that’s real nice, Death,” you snap, “The poor guy gives me a meal and lets me sleep in his bed, and you slam his own door shut in his face.”

“… That’s it,” he grumbles, turning to face you and pressing the bowl and cup into your hands, careful not to spill its contents as you splutter out a weak protest and fumble awkwardly with the woodware, “Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to the Champion’s arena. Not-!” he quickly snaps when you open your mouth to speak, “- to fight. You’re to watch from the sidelines.”

Looking down at you through the dark, he can tell you’re torn between continuing to berate him and diving into your newly acquired meal. Your eyes flit back and forth between him, the bowl, and the door, through which you can already hear the fading footfalls of your gracious host.

You’ve bulled yourself up at Draven’s expense, lips twisting into an unhappy frown, but it isn’t to last. Not with how desperate you are to fill your belly with something warm and cooked. Venting out a huff, you begrudgingly expel all the hot air from your lungs and lower yourself down onto the edge of the bed, lifting the stew to your lips to blow at the steam that drifts from it. “How do you know I’m not considering Draven’s tour?” you challenge.

It’s a good thing you’re pointedly ignoring the Horseman in favour of tipping back the bowl, because the look he shoots you is venomous enough that it would have stung had you caught it head-on.

“Just... Just eat the damn stew,” is all he bites out.

Well… You’re only too happy to oblige to that request.

You try not to wolf down the whole thing in one go, but as soon as the thin, watery gravy touches your lips and washes onto your tongue, you’re almost bowled over by the sheer influx of taste. At this point, after surviving on little else but water and the strange jerky Thane gave you, you could have eaten a rice cracker and called it filet mignon. Several bursts of flavour warm the inside of your cheeks and seep over and under your tongue. A piece of meat slides between your teeth as you slurp it up and you bite down on it hard, finding the strip tough and chewy, but oh so mouth-watering.

You spare the briefest of thoughts to its creature of origin, though the moment soon passes when you swallow, letting out a groan that might have been embarrassing if you weren’t so sure you’re justified in making such a sound. Privately, you make a mental note to thank Draven profusely in the morning, though whether that’s before or after you apologise to him for Death’s behaviour, you haven’t yet decided.

“Holy-“ Pausing, you lower the bowl and sweep a finger over the corners of your mouth, delicately removing the gravy gathered there, “-Shit, this is good.”

He almost asks if it tastes strange or off in any way, but with the Blademaster's words still ringing in his ears, Death stuffs them down with the rest of his wounded ego and begins to grumble nonsensically to himself. In fact, he's so busy muttering under his breath and glowering at the door that he doesn’t even pause to throw a withering glare at Dust when the crow hops onto the bed again and struts up to you with the confidence of a bird who knows you’re a pushover.

Only too happy to reinforce that confidence, you deftly scoop a chunk of meat into your palm and offer it out for the bird to peck at.

“Overprotective…” Death scoffs heatedly, “The nerve of that…” His mask abruptly whips around towards you, giving you pause with your cheeks full of stew. “Do you feel I’ve been overprotective?”

Putting aside the fact that you’ve never seen Death get this riled about a jibe before…

Swallowing thickly, you draw out an unconvincing, “No?”

The strange glow of his irises flicker for a second – a twitch of an eyelid? “Well, if I seem that way, it’s only because you’re so damnably adept at getting yourself into trouble,” he complains, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall with a decisive thump, “And frankly, I’d rather avoid having an angry group of makers hunt me to the ends of the Universe if something were to happen to you under my watch.”

It’s not just a lie meant to preserve his pride. Not entirely…

“They wouldn’t do that,” you tut, bemused, tilting the bowl and taking another, long slurp of the stew, manners be damned. You never thought you’d eat a cooked meal again.

His chest rumbles moodily. “They would.”

A wordless peace lingers in the air between you then, disturbed only by the sound of you chewing through toughened meat and the gentle sloshing of stew as your fingers chase the pieces around their bowl. You pretend not to notice the quick, attentive glances being sent your way.

Dust throws his feathered head up towards the ceiling, his beak wide open around the hunk of meat you offered him. In a rather unappetising display, the crow gulps it down with a few bobs of his neck.

“Nice,” you grunt, pulling a face.

You don’t put your bowl down until every last piece of the stew is gone, and even then you have to fight back an urge to lick the interior clean, mindful that present company might find that habit a bit too uncivilised not to comment on. Even with the Earth and its civilisation far behind you, you can’t let go of table-manners. It would be laughable if the reminder of your lonely humanness didn’t carry so many undertones of despair.

Breathing a soft, satisfied sigh, you bend down and drop the bowl on the floor with a clunk, instantly exchanging it for the cup of water before you sit up again to watch Death glower at the doorway as though he hopes it’ll burst into flames.

There’s a rigidity to him that doesn’t suit the late hour and the warmth in your belly.

Casting your mind about for a way to free him from whatever monologue he must have rattling away in that enigmatic head of his, you take a swig of the water, regarding the Horseman ponderously over the rim of the cup.

“So,” you say, smacking your lips as the lukewarm liquid slides down your throat, “What do you think the chances are that Vulgrim’s delivered my message?”

Luminous eyes blink slowly, roving from the door to land on your face.

He visibly hesitates, then asks, “What would help you go back to sleep faster?”

Your deadpan stare is ruined by an unseemly snort and flutter of your lips. “Just humour me, wise guy.”

“Very well…” Death grunts, “Chances are slim.”

“… Don’t know why I bother.”

Despite your tone, you’re secretly pleased when his broad shoulders slacken as he chuckles, unfolding his arms and resting each hand casually on his hips instead. “Given how often you’ve surprised me so far,” he sighs with an air of begrudging acceptance, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so shocking to learn you’ve actually convinced the demon to go through with your favour.”

“I surprise you?” you smile.

 “At every turn.”

“Aw~”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh.”

It is. It absolutely is. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know what a luxury surprises are for a being who was confident the Universe had nothing new to throw at him. He’s already far too soft on you as it is. Paying you compliments paves a slippery slope towards irrefutable fondness.

Dust would be insufferable.

“Now then,” he coughs gruffly, more to disrupt his own thoughts than to get your attention, “You should… try and get some more rest. I’ll wake you at sunrise.”

All at once, what little levity had been draped around your shoulders sloughs away. He’s right. You should try and sleep a little longer. Moments like these, moments where you can stop to catch your breath, could well be few and far between in the coming days.

“Death? Will you…?” Your voice catches and you don’t finish your sentence aloud, working your jaw up and down wordlessly as a sudden but subtle wave of shame washes over you like an ebbing tide. ‘Stay’ is on the tip of your tongue. But you realise it’s a silly question to ask, even if a very small, very vulnerable part of you desperately wants to seek reassurance from the dour Horseman sharing this space with you. Death has given no indication that he plans to stray far from your side.

Bottom line? You’re afraid to fall asleep again, much as your overwrought mind craves a few more hours of unconscious bliss, and your arms feel heavy as lead when you lower the cup to the floor, setting it down beside the bowl.

If you sleep, you might dream, after all.

And your dreams are full of ghosts.

Fingers twist searchingly into the blanket you’re sitting on, squeezing and clenching until they ache. It grounds you, at least a bit.

You don’t really notice that Death’s mask is tilted to one side, watching your hands closely until he shifts, easing himself through the gloom until he’s only a step away from the bed. It’s sometimes convenient to forget what he is, when your heart misses home so badly that it wants to find humanity in everything around you, including Death. It’s easy to forget that he’s older than you could probably comprehend, that he’s wise enough to hear a human’s unfinished plea and be able to predict how it ends.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures you.

Relief unwinds your hands from the fists you’ve curled them into, like roses blooming from the bud.

Soon, you’ll be awake, and the tragedies of yesterday will be saddled to your back alongside all the rest, but you’ll carry them with you as best you can. You don’t have a choice, after all. You followed Death to the Land of the Dead.

When the sun rises, you’ll rise with it and face the consequences of your choice.

[fantasticalchaos]

Slay the Princess x Ever After High AU

Okay SO— I’ll be quite honest I saw this post thought “hey that kinda reminds me of Slay the Princess— WAIT A SEC”

And here we are! The Elaboration!

Note: the Voices will come in their own post. For now it will be just 3 characters… in a sense: The Narrator, the Princess, and the Player! Contains also my interpretations of the roles. ALSO SPOILERS!!!!!

The Narrator 🪶

As I said in my previous post: Headmaster Milton Grimm would be the Narrator. One reason is that those two give the most gaslighting, gatekeeping and girlbossing characters in their respective series! Not telling everyone the entire story; Keeping them under the wraps and expecting them to follow through with the story/mission. (Milton = Everyone following their prewritten destinies regardless of how horrific and unfair it is. STP Narrator = Follow through with slaying the Princess.)

Second reason is well… spoilerly!

Here’s the rundown for those who don’t know (and mind spoilers)

Originally, the Player/Hero and the Princess were abstract concepts that were once one being. One that is basically the cycle of life and death.

The Princess, who were forced to slay, is the Shifting Mound (aka Shifty for the fans). Shifty is the concept of change, and changes her form to whatever the Player perceives her to be.

Likewise, the Player/Hero is the Long Quiet. The Long Quiet represents stagnation, having everything be alive and remain in its current state. Something that Narrator considers his creation.

The Narrator fears death, which is contained within Shifty. She is not death, but it is contained within her; Death is a natural part of change and life. He also doesn’t like the amount of suffering and chaos that Shifty brings to both him and his world. So, he does everything in his power, and manages to rip apart the two from the cycle… at the cost of his life.

Thus, he trapped the two entities in Construct away from reality, with the Princess as the prisoner (ironically a route you can take with her) and you - the player - the task to finally slay her. In some cases, he’ll even try to take control of you to do complete his dream. Sounds familiar huh? Who else would try to take such drastic measures to ensure it all will work in their favour/plan?

The Princess 👑

The Princess/Shifty… It could be anyone! It’s your choice!

Me personally? My pick would be Raven! Outside of her being my fave, there is a reason why I pick her! Raven’s one of the major characters in the series that challenges destiny!

Both Shifty and Raven wanted to be free! Albeit for different reasons. For Raven, she just wants to be herself and live the way she wants that is not hexpectated from others. Shifty, on the other hand, wants to free herself from the cabin (after being trapped there for so long) and leave.

And while both have their own level of extremities, they will do what they can to reach their goal. (Raven refusing to sign the book, and do little things that are not fit for being the Evil Queen. Shifty… well, let’s say there’s more than how she looks.)

Raven is also a powerful sorcereress in her own right as well! In fact, eventually she gets to overcome the barrier to use her magic for good! Hell, she wasn’t even supposed to use her powers for good; It’s rebelling her role as the Evil Queen! And she only was able to access her magic for good again when she decided to… let’s say sneak up some forbidden books 😉

Also, the Princess is chained to the wall in the cabin when you first encounter her. Who else was chained in a way? Raven, in the reflection at end after taking a peek into her destiny. (Legacy Day)

Scenes that became a core memory for me fr fr number ♾️ (sorry couldn’t help it)

Alternatively, my other pick would be Cerise! Consider it? Cerise is half werewolf, and her parents deviated from the story by falling in love with each other! And they all have to keep it secret lest they get discovered and go poof! And that is dangerous, something that Milton would not approve at all! Again, another individual wayyy stronger than she looks! It’s quite ironic actually… considering her fairytale…

“You’re on a path in the woods. And on that path is a cabin. In that cabin, there is girl in bright red hood. You need to slay her. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.”

The Player/Hero 🗡️

Again, another one that could be anyone!

For me, it’s Dexter. And, yes I will admit I ship Dexven but I have a legit reason for this lemme cook! Now, we and Dexter himself don’t know his destiny. As in, what his fairytale destiny is; Who and which Prince Charming Dexter is supposed to be. This could work, as the Narrator (Milton) would be giving Dexter his “destiny.”

“Dexter Charming, this is your destiny! Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting to know your entire life once upon a time?”

“Well yeah… but I’m not so sure about—”

“Then I have full faith in you in carrying out your destiny. It is rather important destiny. It is for the greater good for all fairytales”

“But slaying a princess?!? I can’t imagine pulling through that…”

And the conflict with what Dexter knows about being the hero and a Prince Charming???? Yes, he’s supposed to be prince/knight in shining armour and save the day! But slaying a princess to do it??? What??? He’s also taught to save princesses and damsels in distress, not slay them! What will he do?

Additionally, Dexter can also be the Voice of the Hero too! Speaking of which… I will do the Voices in a separate post *rubs hands together with my chef hat* c:

Before we end things here, I will say this:

You don’t have to choose these characters (especially for the Princess and the Player/Hero roles) as there are no wrong choices. No wrong answers. These are my interpretations, and you have your own! This is a love story (au) with any of your EAH ships - and have fun with it! 🤗

[alterrune]

A RANT ABOUT THE NOZZLENOSE WEAPONS

I find it hilariously awful that directly after Grand Run, Nintendo decided to put the H-3 Nozzlenose as the FIRST WEAPON in the rotation roster for the new Salmon Run rotation...and then also put the L-3 Nozzlenose IN THE EXACT SAME SPOT for the one after that!

Now, I'm gonna go on a bit of a rant as to why I personaly think these weapons should be reworked ENTIRELY for Splatoon 4.

Every single weapon in Splatoon has one thing in common: You hold down the trigger, you can fire for as long as you have ink. It's consistent, it's great, and it makes it so you don't have to constantly tap the ZR button.

Guess what's missing from these two?

THEY. DON'T. AUTO. FIRE.

This ALONE honestly makes me want to never touch this weapon.

Personally, I think the whole concept of "constantly tapping the trigger" with this thing is incredibly stupid.

(This is just my opinion. If you use either [or both] of the Nozzlenose weapons and actually can use them really well, don't let me stop you, keep using them if you're comfy with them.)

If you ask me, the way to fix the Nozzlenose's problem without making it a full-on clone of another weapon is simple: Keep the way the weapon fires, but make it full-auto so players don't have to constantly hit the fire button. The "tap fire" thing on the Nozzlenose duo is not neccesary.

AND WE ALREADY HAVE A WEAPON THAT DOES THE WHOLE "TAP FIRE" THING, AND IT HAS A FULL AUTO MODE.

THE SQUEEZER. Tap the fire button once, you get a long-range, high-damage shot. Hold it down and you get a short-range, low-damage shot. I literally call this thing "the better Nozzlenose" because it actually has a full-auto mode, which every other weapon in the Splatoon series has.

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼-

Now, what about Salmon Run? That's why I made this post in the first place, after all.

Are the Nozzlenose weapons good there?

No. No it isn't. In fact, it's actually WORSE there, and I think a lot of people share my opinion on that.

In Salmon Run, there are salmonids EVERYWHERE. And not only do they come in the standard variety, there are also special event waves: Mothership, Grillers, Fog, Glowflies (called "Rush" in-game), Mudmouth Eruption, Goldie Seeking, Cohock Charge, Giant Tornado, and, of course, High/Low Tide.

A couple of those are no problem with ANY weapon, those being Mothership, Mudmouth Eruption, Giant Tornado, Goldie Seeking, Cohock Charge, Low Tide and Fog. Though it doesn't hurt to practice, as Salmon Run is known for being incredibly chaotic.

But the last 3 types, HOO boy.

The Grillers have a weak spot you need to hit, and if they have a lock on you (as shown by a red laser pointer line they aim at the player they're targeting), you need to run and gun or else you'll recieve what basically equates to a Salmonid Roller crush. And mind you, that weak spot is tiny, and the Griller constantly spins around. You see where I'm going with this? With the Nozzlenoses, you have to repeatedly tap the trigger button to hit that tiny-ass weak point. And mind you, you have to run AND shoot if they target you. Expect to see the "That's a wrap!" fail screen pretty darn quick if the last player alive in the Griller wave (either you or another player) has one of the Nozzlenoses.

Glowflies ("Rush") just sucks overall. One of the players will randomly get a bunch of glowflies following them. They aren't a helpful thing, though. It makes it so that every Salmonid on the map targets that one player. And with the Nozzlenoses, that's a guarenteed player down. You expect a weapon that has to be tap-fired to actually work well when you have about 100 enemy mooks (at BEST, mind you) all targeting you? Ehh, not saying it's impossible, bc there ARE people who use this weapon and are skilled with it, but it's HIGHLY unlikely.

High Tide is when the water surrounding the area (which, btw, INSTANTLY SPLATS YOU IF YOU TOUCH IT) raises up, limiting movement options. Even worse, it can be paired with other wave types to make things THAT much worse for you. The Nozzlenoses were not built for fighting in certain special waves, but throw in the High Tide event with it, and kiss that teammate (or you) goodbye. Expect to see a downed player you need to revive, unless, again, they're somewhat skilled with the weapon.

Oh, that's right! I forgot the whole revival system! See, in Salmon Run, you don't respawn the traditional way. In order to revive, one of your teammates has to hit the life ring you spawn back in on, and THEN you can fight again. Imagine if someone with either of the Nozzlenoses tried to revive you while fighting off something like a Steel Eel, all 3 shots fired by the Nozzlenose miss ANY player, and then they get splatted by said Steel Eel, causing you to lose the run in true bullshit fashion. Unfortunately, that's not exactly a hypothetical situation when it comes to the Nozzlenoses.

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼-

So what am I trying to say here? MAKE THE NOZZLENOSE WEAPONS FULL-AUTO. It would fix every single problem I have with the weapon!

That, and remove them from Splatoon 3's Salmon Run weapon roster. In my honest opinion, they should've never been added in the first place.

(Again, I have to repeat this bc people might get on my ass if I don't: I AM NOT SAYING YOU SHOULD DITCH THE WEAPON IF YOU'RE COOL WITH IT. IF YOU USE ANY OF THE NOZZLENOSE WEAPONS AND ARE COOL WITH IT, THEN YOU DO YOU. THESE ARE SIMPLY MY OPINIONS.)

That is all. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk about these godforsaken weapons. Goodbye.

[meryxonepitheterasedarc]

What the hell is meryxon and how I even got here + mini character analysis

Btw it's not me trying to pitch the ship or make everyone like it. I'm just explaining to ppl who have no idea wtf is going on.

P.S. English aint my first language so i'm sorry in advance.

Ok. Since I dedicated a whole blog to archiving my art of this two specifically, I think it's fun to explain how it even started and my insides on this ship of two characters FROM LOST MEDIA ROLE PLAY SESSIONS that NEVER MET eachother and only have 1 mention of one another. I'm pretty much playing of hoping that Jello will find it funny and just makes them interact in ee ONCE. I pretty much would happy to have that. This's a mess. Also I don't think that he's a type of author to go that mush on fandoms side but I resigned myself.

I think it might have started when I only started on writing HCD. An ee fangame "Epithet Erased hot crispy dazzling", you can find more abt in on my twt. I decided to replace the Warden's role with Meryl (not literally. She's in lockdown as a prison doctor after being demoted and acts as a boss in hcd) since I found liking to her and thought that her constantly panicking attitude but also an active position in combat (the fact that lamp rolled the biggest initiative led to her starting the combat and also her pulling out her gun when she started panicking) would be fun in prison break scenario. So, I was writing the hcd plot. We know. The ep 3 but in it turned into a freaking nonary game in the end (ep 2 of the game that I'll never make) and this tweet happened:

I was making random ac ship tweets like that for a bit. I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. And then I ended up putting Meryl vs Dixon in hcd, similar to what Ramsey had with Zora, from characters perspective, and with Percy, from morality perspective. So, I wrote hcd draft with all of that and found their dynamic funny. Like this short cop lady bickering with this huge prisoner dude, who has a family record of juveniles and somehow, she's still the one who's likely to harm people directly, even though It's out of fear or paranoia 🤣

Since I won't commit to making separate character analysis, I'll list the things of those two that I found to be funny parallels or coincidences using comments fro original players: Oz and Lamp (source: Epithet Shrine (neocities.org)) Also yeah, we're talking the ac versions of characters since Jello probably would rewrite them in some way in the future: 1)both have anxiety problems and paranoia in some way.

2)both got working not the jobs they initially wanted

3) both keep shit in their hair for some reason 😅

and now, I'm now even fucking joking, I've made 3 scenarios, in that they would possibly have met. 1) The hcd plot.

They've met in prison and responsibilities of keeping Dixon alive got tossed on Meryl by Xerxes, who fucking gaslight them both that they've met in school. 2)that unfinished ee animation of ac ep 4.

They meet in contact room, where Meryl was giving directions to Rick, Noah and Stan and last bliss ocean officer. Dixon refused to give any more tips until we let him participate, so he's here now too. So there 4 scenes with them taking the mic from eachother and giving directly opposite hints.

3) The delusional territory. The fun one.

When they were in their 20's they used to date and Meryl was still in medical school at the time. But when she got too overwhelmed and dropped out and Dixon started to go nuts in conspiracy - they broke up. So their whole dynamic is the same but they're ex-s, so they use their memories of dating to moke eachother. Imagine having a crisis over if you're capable for your profession or not and your boyfriend goes fucking insane.

So, yeah. Here's the full dive into my hyperfixation that i got myself into after making a stupid joke abt a crack ship.

[cassiesdevblog]

Mario 64's Perfect, Beautiful, Pure Control Scheme

(and how later Mario games gunk it all up)

Hello gunky gloopers! Let me take you on a journey. So, Mario 64's controls are like this:

Joystick: Run

A: Jump

Z: Crouch

B: Punch

But in my beautiful, perfect mind palace (and probably yours too, even if you never thought about it), they're actually more like this:

Joystick: Lateral

A: Up

Z: Down

B: Attack

And now, through abstraction, we are beginning to see the light

Part I: Utopia

Each of these main 4 inputs has a consistent association with one of these directions (or attacking). 64 understands that, while a 2D platformer could use just the stick or D-pad to cover both of its axes of movement, a 3D game's joystick is working full time controlling just one plane, so the orphaned up and down inputs were rehoused to A and Z

That's how Mario 64 builds out an intuitive moveset much wider than just 4 basic actions. In fact, essentially every combination of these main 4 inputs creates a logical outcome

Press down in the air and, predictably, Mario will go down via ground pound

Combine some lateral movement with both a down and up input and you get the long jump: a long, low jump that you can think of as resulting from the upward and downward forces cancelling out

Press attack while holding down to do... the crouching breakdancey low kick move thing. It's highly redundant, but it's a monument to Mario 64's dedication to this idea of a complete palette of moves intuitively resulting from combining these fundamental inputs

Even in particular contextual states like climbing poles or hanging on ledges, you can rely on these directional associations to control Mario without even thinking about it. Nobody ever told you you could press Z to drop down off a ledge or tree, but you might have done it anyway without being told

Now, these associations are stretched or broken in some contexts, like when flying or swimming, but I love the wing cap so much you'll never get me to slander it. Future Mario games, however...

Part II: Decay

While 64 flirted with impurity in specific contexts, future games would start to let impurities seep into Mario's core moveset

In Super Mario Sunshine, the L button centers the camera and makes Mario sidestep when on the ground... and it also makes him ground pound when in the air. I am currently doing deep breathing exercises

In Super Mario Odyssey, pressing ZL/ZR in the air and then Y leads to... a forward dive. Now, Y does have a relatively consistent association with forward movement in this game, but down and then forward resulting in a move that only pushes Mario forward is pretty tenuous, especially given how often players will use this move. And, while most of Odyssey Mario's moveset is consistent enough about using ZL/ZR as down buttons... you can't use them to drop off ledges. I try to every time, and every time absolutely nothing happens and a piece of my soul leaves my body to wander the cosmos forever

...well, at least the game is more diligent about keeping these directional associations alive when in the water than Mario 64 is...!

Part III: Change

Now, look. The loss of the purity of the control schemes in 3D Mario games is absolutely devastating and I still have not recovered. But... I do recognize that later games had particular goals with their movesets that couldn't so cleanly just be mashed into the standards of purity that SM64 set. Not without sacrificing some of what their movesets were all about

Sunshine needed a button to help with aiming FLUDD, which wouldn't have really been helpful in the air anyway, so it's understandable it was also used for the ground pound. Odyssey needed a way to disambiguate an aerial Y/"forward" input into either a cap throw or a dive so you could do cool fancy tricks and find those coins everyone lost their minds about on top of that underground building. And if they patched in the ability to drop off ledges with ZL/ZR, then the lost pieces of my soul would return to my body with a newfound wisdom gained from wandering the stars, and I would ascend out of my physical body to a new, heightened mode of existence and lose the ability to touch a controller, and then I'd never get to spend my evenings gleefully, repeatedly dropping off ledges with Z in Mario 64 again :(

(By the way, a game I worked on just came out! It's a tough 2D platformer with a surreal, haunting aesthetic and I'm honored I got to get into all the little crevices and polish them all up because it's such a cool project. It was spearheaded by my friend @zombielesbean. Go play it!!!)

[quietsnooze]

Info dumping about my homebrew DnD world ahead!

Eidholme is a low magic fantasy DnD campaign setting wherein magic is very limited, feared, and persecuted. The continent is split into 5 kingdoms & 2 empires.

Here's a visualization using Azgaar's fantasy map generator, then painted by me using Inkarnate to show the landforms:

Long ago, there were racial variations (many of the expected DnD races), but war and mistrust tore apart the continent and drove out many as humans struck down the remaining.

Now, there are heritages in the bloodlines of many current day humans that lie dormant as also magic does

(Basically my way of saying "this is an all human campaign... mostly." When the players get to higher levels, they will manifest traits from their heritages if they want to have that aspect included. Most left that up to me to surprise them!)

The deities are known as Guardians. There are twelve who are revered across the continent in different capacities - the kingdom of the Reamers is highly religious and worships all 12, whereas others pick & choose their preferred "endorsed" Guardians.

The Guardians' sigils I designed:

• Pandor, of Pleasure

• Lilabet, of Patience

• Elnos, of Creation

• Phiphine, of Growth

• Aisling, of Endings

• Cohara, of Mercy

• Bodhi, of Progress

• Llyr, of Dominion

• Niamh, of Hearth-keepers

• Keros, of Justice

• Ashtur, of Aggression

• Ryasis, of Curiosity

The event that caused the humanization of Eidholme was over a millennia ago, but the hurt caused by the End of Magic is more recent - a little more than 200 years prior, with fear and abuse of it at an all time high, magic was almost universally banned across Eidholme.

What was the straw that broke the camel's back? The population does not know, other than it was surrounding the tensions that broke apart the Mountainlands into two empires: Marboke in the north, and Oakham in the south.

(My voice game players know tho! They participated in it in prologue)

The continent shares the equinox and solstice celebrations, but have differing, more local traditions for them. Here’s a calendar I created that shows them! In Launlia for example, the Primavernal is celebrated as the Awakening Festival locally, for Niamh, Guardian of Growth.

Another fun fact about Eidholme: the vast majority of the continent's trees and its ONLY forest exist in Duskhollow. The kingdom is shrouded in mystery, in ancient Woods magic, in protections that keep any out who it doesn't want to be there.

The Woods is alive. It decides.

I have a lot of documents my players can comb through for information at their leisure. This one factually lists information that the PCs would know. It is not necessarily Wiki-level accurate, however, as propaganda is a heck of a thing.

Cantrips aren't exactly rare, but depending on where you are, you wouldn't even want to risk casting one. Privilege allows some of higher station to play around with magic in a badly kept secret. Otherwise, you are licensed or regulated by the governing body on your usage.

And that, of course, is why both of the parties who play in this world stumbled across Wanted posters for their questioning and arrest! "Wanted in connection to blasphemy and magic usage in Launlia", while their allies are "wanted in connection to actions against the Crown"...

For as much as I limited in character creation for lore purposes, I gave back through the same world building. Characters can interact with the world, seeking lost ways of old magics, ancient techniques, connections with the natural world… even be taught new (homebrew) cantrips

This is one of those instances where the PCs fit the trope of “chosen one” levels of power, as few ordinary people are powerful like they are and will be. The catch? That also makes them HUGE targets for backlash. Without the right support, they’ll be on the run… everywhere.

That makes it a very socially driven, political ties sort of campaign story. They also have befriended nomads, who can help them in their own way.

Nomads are, expectedly, nomadic people dissenting of law and homeland. They are expectedly hunted or outlawed for their magic use.

Some places welcome them as a novelty, others allow them under tentative circumstances for services granted (easy to locally wash your hands of it and assign blame to nomads who are long gone by the time you’re found out). Their trust is notoriously difficult to gain.

Why? Because they’ve been lured by royals to perform, only to be mass incarcerated. They’ve been promised sanctuary and found instead themselves given to their enemies. The groups do not inherently trust one another, either- friendship with one doesn’t mean friend to all.

As for beyond the continent… not many know what lies beyond. Those who travel out rarely come back, those who do are driven back by storms and critical failures of their ships. The Brackish Tears is the only kingdom who receives imports from beyond the vast waters.

There's a tale of a Tearsian prince memorialized in statue: Eóghan Griogal - a prince, second son to King Cian and Queen Siobhan, beloved by his people in the 17th century, about 200 years BME (Before magic’s end) or prior to the new age. His romance to the wispy foreigner - had many people talking, some excited in the chattering and others devastated by his betrayal. For he found love at sea, a man whose affinity with water was undeniably clear, closer bonded to it than even the water births of the Reamers would boast.

The lore creates a very interesting challenge for a fantasy world:

- wood is expensive and rare, so describing anything, from building materials to origins of fruit, is adjusted

- gemstones are extremely rare and not mined anywhere anymore as the source died with the elves

- magic is mostly outlawed

I'm currently running two games in this world. One traditional DnD via voice sessions who adventure across the continent, one written/play-by-post mixed with Good Society ttrpg, sandboxed in the Brackish Tears' capital.

Here is the star map and constellations. I have so many documents for my players to chew on, and I’m adding to them constantly.

[doodlin-deer]

Bigger Bodies Smiling Critter’s Fates

So assuming that there was a bigger body version of every Smiling Critter, Ollie did say there used to be eight of them, and Leith did mention DogDay & Picky Piggy by name, exactly what did happen to them?

Since the lines from DogDay’s cutout fit what happened to the Bigger Body DogDay, let’s make the safe assumption that each cutout holds some kernels of truth as to what happened

Bubba Bubbaphant - DEAD: Hearing that Bubba “remembers” us, it could be that he, like the rest of the critters are talking to the player, like DogDay’s cutout, or to someone else, say, another Smiling Critter. If the latter is the case, then maybe he witnessed Picky making a meal out of Kickin’. He later confronted Picky about it, and she “seared” him to keep him quiet.

Kickin’ Chicken - DEAD: Kickin’s cutout is all about him wanting to go outside as he had never been before (maybe he was one of the babies in Home Sweet Home?), unfortunately his efforts were unsuccessful (we know he died, since his cutout ends with him screaming, just like DogDay’s), and was most likely killed by CatNap or the Prototype for trying, and later cannabalized by Picky.

Picky Piggy - ALIVE(?): Picky’s cutout treats the player to Picky treating herself to EATING her fellow Smiling Critters (DogDay said that the Critters tried fight off the Prototype’s control, operative word being TRIED). Most likely scenario is that when food started to run out, the Prototype influenced her to cannabilize (or maybe even KILL) her critter companions (we know for a fact she ate Kickin’, Bubba, and Crafty, in that order?). Personally, seeing as she offers her friendship at the end, I can totally see this symbolizing MOB planning to bring her back as a playable monster in Project Playtime. Though it can also be that she’s dead by the time of Chapter 3.

Hoppy Hopscotch - DEAD(?): Hoppy’s cutout details her desire to hop to the moon (comparing her hopes to escape to a Herculean feat.). Maybe she was being chased, or maybe she was killed in a failed escape, and maybe she tried escaping with Kickin’, we don’t know. We also don’t know is she’s even dead (though it’s most likely.) since we don’t hear a scream at the end of her cutout, just her dialogue glitching.

Bobby Bearhug - DEAD(?): Bobby’s cutout shows her becoming more and more desperate to not be alone (asking to not be left alone and that she is lost without somebody). Maybe she found companionship in her fellow Smiling Critters, and as they began dropping like flies, it eventually became a dependency. A dependency that led to her being killed. (Headcanon time: since DogDay is the last known good-hearted Smiling Critter left alive, maybe they tried to stand up against CatNap or tried to escape, but ended in failure, resulting in Bobby being killed and DogDay being captured, maimed, and presumed dead by Ollie.)(Personal note: I think she’s my favorite SC 😄😅)

CraftyCorn - DEAD: Crafty, we know was eventually killed by Picky, and while her audio does suggest that she went mad (wanting more “red”) and I’m not disputing the theory, HOWEVER, notice that she was also the third known Critter eaten by Picky, OPERATIVE WORD BEING THIRD. Maybe what happened is that Crafty found out Picky was feeding on the others, and the fear and rage (and maybe some influence from the prototype?) drove her to attack Picky. You can guess who came out on top, given that her cutout screams for a second as well. The only thing that throws me though is that her last line of audio is “Ah! Now that’s much better.” Maybe she found peace on the other side?

[fox-from-fairytale]

Some of my personal considerations regarding Lilly in The Final Season.

⚠️ Warning: this is a long post ⚠️

Before going on I want to say that, while it's obvious that the teams working on the series must have changed for every season (or even in the middle of them), I have absolutely no idea if there are some people that were there for Season 1 as well as The Final Season. Each game feels different from the previous, and so I'm going to treat the writer teams accordingly.

While replaying these four games I was torn about Lilly's return. I did miss her through the other seasons, and I actually couldn't wait to see her again, even if I was aware already that the way she was written in the last one wasn't... the best, to say the least. This annoys me a lot because, as we see with what they have done with Clementine, AJ, their relationship and the new characters, Lilly's poor writing then clearly isn't due to the writers being incompetent, since they aren't.

Now I've completed the whole series, and while I do prefer the concept of The Final Season to Season 2 and The New Frontier (this is simply because of personal preference, of course; I do like all four games), it's also the one that disappoint me the most, and mostly because of what they have done with Lilly.

Long story short: not only I believe that the writers didn't understand Lilly's character, but that they didn't even try to.

First of all, I think they made her come back not because there is more to tell about her character (and there is more to tell about her; her arc didn't feel finished when she leaves/is abandoned in Season 1, and for what they have done with her, it remains incomplete), but because they needed someone who is still alive from The Season With Lee, so that they could make as many references as possible. I know that Christa was the other option for filling that role, and I don't know if they stated why they decided to go with Lilly in the end, but I wouldn't be surprised if they based their choice just on how much Lilly is (unrightfully) hated among the players and considered "crazy" by them; people can't deny that they must have easily put her in the antagonist's role since players already think she's one.

Honestly, what I hate isn't even the fact that she's the antagonist of this season (even if it does annoy me that this is the way they made her return, and maybe I'm "okay" with it simply because I'm used to her being treated like one). What these games have always shown with all their characters, Clementine especially, is that while this apocalyptic world can bring the best out of people, it can also (and more often) bring out the worst. Because of this, every single character of this game is morally grey, but while the male characters are often praised and in some cases their actions are even justified, what happens with the female characters is the opposite, Lilly included.

The players love to pretend that Lilly is some sort of "crazy evil bitch", but she isn't. In Season 1 she is a tough and strict leader of the motor inn's group, and she doesn't take any bullshit lightly, but why should she? They're in a deathly situation, and even a small mistake can cost their life. She's also the only one who took the responsibility to distribute food, but just because she doesn't want more mouths to feed it doesn't mean she'd survive at the expense of other people: she doesn't like that Kenny/and Lee uses a girl screaming in pain to keep the walkers at bay, and she doesn't want to take the stranger's supplies. Moreover, just because her father says or do something, it doesn't automatically mean that she is on his side, like she explains far from Larry. Speaking of which, regardless if her relationship with her father is idyllic or awful, losing him in such a brutal way, and when she firmly believes she can actually save his life, can traumatise anyone. She is left with nothing, the only family she had is gone, and then she loses the only other thing she is trying to defend so desperately, and again because of someone within her own group. I'm not saying that killing Carley/attempting to kill Ben was a good thing to do, but you can't seriously consider her an "evil bitch" solely for a single action, which she has done as a result of a mental breakdown. From her point of view she has been betrayed two times from the same people she actively tried to help doing one of the most stressful tasks, and none of these same persons seems to care about what happened both times.

After that she's abandoned/leaves the group, and apparently she remains alone for years, until she finds the Delta. It shouldn't be too unbelievable for Lilly to be willing to do anything to defend her home, especially considering what happened the first time and what she must go through before joining the Delta; a solitary life in that type of world can make anyone become ruthless, and again, we see it with Clementine especially, and apparently her new community is at risk because of a group "worse than hers". However, while Clementine does have a "turning point" from this path (killing Helen at the ranch), Lilly clearly doesn't.

So it's not exactly what she does, but the way she behaves while doing it that I don't like. They wrote Lilly too over the top: certain lines she can say are even childish, while her actions in the third episode are vicious. That's not her anymore.

My problem with the way she was written doesn't start immediately. In Suffer The Children (second episode) there are moments where it feels like the Lilly from Season 1 is there. We don't have much time with her though, just a few phrases about the past and then we run to move the plot forward. I don't think she was well written here either, considering what she says about Lee with whom she could have had a good relationship and even possibly cared only about him and Clementine by the third episode (as stated by other characters), it's simply better than the other episode.

The first time I've played Suffer The Children I was hopeful for the way they could have handled things with Lilly in the next ones though, only to be disappointed. Based on the interactions in this one (remembering her or not/taking her hand or not/telling her we were family once or whatever the other two options says) I expected two paths: one where she becomes fully the antagonist of the season and a "redemption arc". This seemed to me what Telltale was going for, and maybe it was the original intention, and because of what happened to the studio it's already a miracle if they completed the game at all, but this doesn’t make me feel any less disappointed in the final result to be honest.

Broken Toys (third episode) is the one I have most issues with. Not only there isn't a single moment where she resembles the Lilly from the first season, but here she doesn't even remind me of the Lilly from the previous episode. They switched her character with a cartoonish type of villain basically; if she seems to have depth and layers it's because she's supposed to be a character that already has depth and layers, not because the writers of this season gave them to her, nor because they were able to use what the writers of Season 1 created.

With this episode the writers fully embraced the distorted version of Lilly players created, the "monster" who is "crazy since the beginning" that killed Carley/Doug simply because things didn't go the way she wanted. They removed from her every bit of humanity she had, and catered to the crowd that claims she's evil. The way she talks about Minerva and Sophie specifically, and how pleased she looks when Minerva reveals that she killed her own sister, is something that actually makes me hate the writers; they turned Lilly from someone who do what she does solely for her community's survival to this manipulative bastard who takes pleasure into others' suffering. Honestly? What they did it's vile; turning her into that and making her treat kids like that was vile.

If you spare Lilly you can have a miserable little conversation that gives nothing to the player. Her whole presence in this game, in the end, gives us nothing: we learn nothing more about her (other than the fact that it's confirmed that Larry was an abusive father, and they've done it in the worst way possible, making it sound like the stupidest thing), and her being in this season only ruins her character.

I wish they didn't ruin Lilly. I wish they actually cared about her character. In a possible redemption arc scenario she could have helped Clementine, who could have been her "turning point", making her realise what she was doing, what she was becoming.

With this I'm not saying I wish they created a flawless version of her, but that they maintained her flaws instead of creating more and more until she became someone else entirely, going from morally grey to a villain, even. Also, like they made sure you could have a good relationship with Kenny in Season 2 (where regardless of everything you do and say they force the characters to be in good terms), they could have given us the same possibility with Lilly in the last season (where regardless of everything you do and say they force the characters to despise each other).

I wanted Lilly's return not only because, along with Clem, she's my favourite, but also because she has much more to give. Instead they took such a complex character just to strip her of all her humanity and depth so that they could have a flat villain everyone already hate.