#also the lines are to explain how they interact

[chiya-eltanin]

hm. dont usually put my own two cents for theories but somethings been kind of annoying me recently so yeah. ralsei thoughts.

i really dont like the idea that ralsei is a specific object. especially not with newer stuff from chapters 3 and 4.

For starters, most people that try to figure out what ralsei is in the real world are basing it off of this appearance

however, I feel like there's plenty of evidence to point to this not being his real form, right? People have already pointed out that his original shadowed form isn't fully consistent. It's possibly the most obvious when you compare his singing animations in both forms. His hat form makes what was later 'revealed' to be his ears look more like hair?,

Ears don't really split the same way that hair does, and theres other examples of hatsei having this kind of spikyness to his 'ears' that hatless ralsei doesnt have.

even the fangamer plush makes his ears spiky!!

its a pretty major part of how hatsei looks, and its certainly been talked about before. And then comes chapter 3+4. And we have plenty of evidence that ralsei is a shapeshifter, and I have seen literally nobody talk about it????? huh?????

Oh, and the hat casting a shadow on him makes no fucking sense because he goes onto wear SEVERAL hats in chapter 3 and he's normal????

also I know its like. A funny bit, but HE TURNS INTO A HORSE

WHY THE FUCK WOULD KRIS'S HEADBAND TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY WOULD A GREEN CRAYON TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY CAN HE DO THIS????? THIS ISNT A COSTUME THATS NOT HOW THEY WORK????? WHERE WOULD HIS BODY GO.

not to mention that changing shapes was literally his ability in the legend of tenna game???? he plays it off like 'oh every character has abilities i can turn into a box' but he can also turn into a dog? since ralsei was the only one who read the manual it very well could be an ability given to him since the real Ralsei is also a shapeshifter.

It would also explain why ralsei draws himself in his hat form

thats closer to what his natural form is. Dont have any screenshots on hand right now, but he's got two lines in chapter four (if you leave him lying on the ground for too long, and right before they find the first fountain) about how much longer he can 'keep this body for' that make it very obvious that he's only using a form that looks cuter to appeal to us. Him being a shapeshifter would also explain things like

His face being a deliberately made abstraction would also make this interaction make a lot more sense. Pre chapter three, I assumed Ralsei based his face on Asriel to either try appealing to Kris or as fanservice for the player/red soul, however, now that we've slowly started learning more about Ralsei, it's beginning to seem more like Ralsei just wants to have a face and more distinct appearance, like the lightners do. However, because of how dark worlds work, he can only base it off of what already exists, with that already existing 'model' being Asriel, although with modifications to make himself cuter— pink horns and eyes, and his usual glasses. It's why Kris is always quick to point out differences between them, and why Ralsei is embarrassed at being told that they look similar, he didn't have a choice other than be based off something that already exists.

Alright, so Ralsei is a shapeshifter. He still has to have some equivalent in the Light World though, since that's how Dark Worlds work. He was literally about to tell Susie what he was before getting interrupted, and Toby Fox is deliberately dancing around the topic.

However, I think the answer is actually pretty obvious. Ralsei is a being of 'pure darkness', which is why he can exist in any Dark World, unlike Lancer and Rouxls, who need to be objects that 'belong' in their respective worlds. His form is made up by the original dark fountain, and he describes himself as a 'Prince of the Dark'. Characters in the Dark World know about what happens to and around their real world equivalents, but Ralsei in particular seems to be especially aware of all of Susie and Kris's actions and movements. He doesn't need to be brought in by Kris like Lancer and Rouxls do, and he always appears in the Dark World a few moments after Susie and Kris do, while somehow almost always having pretty intimate knowledge of how the world came to be. Ralsei is also the most adamant on being depended on by Lightners, even more than people like Tenna. He talks about how a Darkners role is to be used by Lightners and to make them happy, and his character development in Chapter 3 especially goes into how he wants to be needed and how he's afraid he's slowly developing his own personality, and why he believes darkners shouldn't do that.

So, taking all of that into account, I feel like the most obvious answer for what Ralsei is is a shadow.

He's a literal prince of the dark. It explains why he can shapeshift, since shadows can be made to look like anything— I'm specifically thinking of things like shadow puppets, and why when he gets knocked out he seems to literally disappear, returning to the shadows. A shadow is also the most dependant on light, shadows literally cannot exist without light, or they'll just be darkness. It even explains his empty room.

His insistence that his only role is to help the Lightners, the way that people can never find anything notable about him (asking swatch for specials his suggestion for Ralsei is based purely on how he dresses and Queen literally forgets to get him a cage), and his ability to be in any dark world (since there's literally nowhere without shadows) all seem to point towards Ralsei being a shadow.

Ralsei being a shadow also means he's literally with you in the dark, could probably straight up not exist if the world was plunged into darkness, and also makes him a weaker version of a titan (explaining the 'prince' title. not quite king, but noble nontheless).

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - girl who cried wolf

pairing: siren!reader x rafe. warnings: none.

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Rafe has been gone for four days.

Not gone gone…simply not home, where you are.

He stays out late, every other day he crashes at Kelce’s, then Topper’s, then someone’s friend’s brother’s place one night.

Rafe spends his time ripping through the island with a blunt always half-lit, always either rolling or sparking.

Anything to keep his mouth and brain busy, void of any remains of your voice or the look on your face when you lied the other day. That quiver in your tone, he knows it was fake; that’s the part that’s stuck in his chest, how easy it was for you.

You got him chewed out by Ward for an entire day, ignored by your dad, and laughed at behind the backs of the guys. All for what?

Fun? Because you were bored? Why the fuck are you still so mean when you want to?

Rafe can’t get the question out of his head. It follows him through every bar, every round of beer pong, and every line blown off some bathroom counter. He tried fucking someone else—some girl, something to get you off his skin—but she touched his neck, and he flinched. Didn’t call her after. 

Now, despite all of it, here he is.

It’s 3:12 in the morning; he’s barefoot in the Tannyhill kitchen, sweatpants slung low, hoodie halfway unzipped, hair a mess, high as fuck, eating leftover pasta straight from the container.

He’s still pissed, wired in all the wrong ways, which explains how he doesn’t hear you coming in at first. 

“Rafe.”

You’re greeting him like you hadn’t gone full fucking sociopath on him the last time you interacted with him.

He turns to see you're also barefoot, standing in the doorway with your hair unkempt and a sleeping t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, not bothering to cover the curve of your ass. Panties lie beneath.

And that smile—tilted...apologetic, if he squinted, but he knows better than to do so.

He chews slower.

You paddle closer.

“Didn’t know you were home.”

“Didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t be like that.”

Rafe stabs another piece with the fork. “Be like what?”

“Mean.”

He laughs, unbelievably bitter, and it makes your brows twitch.

“You’re calling me mean?”

 You bite your lip, “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

He drops the fork into the container, metal clanking hard.

“Bullshit.”

You continue. “It was a joke.”

“Yeah.” He steps around the island. “Isn’t it always?”

“Rafe…”

“No, seriously,” He scoffs, the high making his blood overheat. “Let’s talk about it. How everything’s a fucking joke to you. How do you lie to everyone’s face and throw me under the bus for fun? Now you show up in my kitchen at 3am in your underwear?”

He’s still coming down from the joints he smoked, and his throat is dry.

“We have nothing to talk about.”

You take a step forward, your teeth still attacking your lips. 

“Why not?”

“You know what you did.” He snaps, not bothering to look at you.

You exhale and give a hollow chuckle. “Relax. It’s not that serious.”

You have spent years making certain it is, setting fires and dancing around them, and you’re still acting as if he’s the insane one who choked on it.

Rafe is repulsed. 

“Go to bed.”

Of fucking course you don’t go.

“I said,” he repeats, slower this time, “go to bed.”

There’s no threat, it’s a command that doesn’t need to be shouted, because it’s the last one he’s giving.

“No.”

His gaze narrows. “No?”

You pop a grape from the fruit bowl into your mouth.

“Not tired.”

You’re doing the bored act you always pull when someone tells you no.

He makes a menacing step toward you.

“Oh, look at you,” You taunt. “You’re gonna make me?”

Rafe’s hands are balled into fists at his sides. He wants to—God, he wants to shove you back against the cabinets, and prove something.

You don’t run this; you don’t get to lie and play and still have the upper hand.

You’re talking now, something about Sarah, or her shoes, or how the pasta in the fridge tastes weird—voice airy, like you’re not standing in the middle of a war zone.

Rafe gawks at you from across the kitchen, features clenched so hard his teeth hurt, while you keep going. Babbling. Carefree.

His head tips back, letting out a sharp breath, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Perhaps if he doesn't see you, he won't lose it.

You’re behaving as if you didn’t throw him to the wolves and then smile when they bit.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

You finally stop, a dead silence that never comes from you unless it's real.

“I’m not your fucking friend,” he hisses, with fury. “We were never friends. Don’t do that. Don’t stand here talking about shoes and dinner like you didn’t spend the whole fucking week trying to ruin me for fun.”

Your mouth opens, and nothing comes out.

Rafe keeps going.

“You’re mean. And spoiled, and fake, and you never say sorry. You like hurting people; it’s some fucking party trick to you.”

Your jaw tenses, then loosens, but still—nothing.

"I understand now," he continues, chest heaving. “This is who you are. This is what you do: you lie and act like it’s not that deep, and everyone lets you. Even me. I let you. Over and over.”

His fists are clenched, nails digging into his palms. He can’t look at you without wanting to tear down the entire house. Still, you don’t fight back; you’re no longer laughing or rolling your eyes.

It’s the first time in years he’s ever seen you unsure. That shit makes his throat tighten, it means you’re finally listening to him; something's finally landing in that brain of yours.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” Rafe breathes, stepping so close he can see the tremble in your chin. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You want attention—whatever makes you feel like you matter for a second.”

He wants it to hurt.

“You don’t get to cry now,” he spits.

He can see it—whatever half-assed apology or excuse is forming behind your teeth.

“Say something,” he snaps.

You don’t. You’re still browsing his face, he’s not making any sense to you, you’re waiting for it to blow over like it always does. 

“You think I’m gonna fuck you after this?” Rafe continues to taunt.

Your eyes widen.

“That’s what this is, right?” Rafe laughs as his hands fly out. “You show up in your panties, and I’m supposed to forget you humiliated me.”

Your lip is quivering. “Would it be so bad?”

“Yeah,” he mutters bitterly, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Your tongue drags along the inside of your cheek. 

“That wasn’t a no.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, choosing to walk out and slamming the door so hard the cabinets rattle—before you can answer.

After that, you disappear without a dramatic exit, eye roll, or slammed bedroom door for days.

Rafe is relieved—even grateful. 

The house is quiet; his head void. He can come downstairs without hearing your voice or seeing your legs propped up on his couch.

He can eat, shower, and exist peacefully. But the peace is short-lived as he realizes you’re avoiding everyone, not just him.

You don't follow Ward around like a puppy, or gossip to your dad, you hardly pretend to care about the drinks Kelce brought over, or ask Topper to help you with your serve out back. You aren't laughing in his face or whining or bothering to make noise when Rafe leaves a room.

You stay in your room for hours on end, lights off most of the day, curtains drawn. Not sad enough for anyone to say something, but not loud enough to be you.

That pisses him off more than anything else. What—are you sulking now? Because he yelled? Because he said something you didn’t like? You could dish it out fine, but the moment someone threw a mirror in your face, you disappeared?

What the fuck were you doing there? Plotting? Crying? Sleeping? 

You’re not sorry; you’re never sorry.

Rafe would take another lie for this silence, one of your sarcastic "awww baby"s. Anything.

Instead, all he gets is the eerie quiet.

He isn’t expecting to see you when he turns the corner.

Damp hair, steam curling out of the bathroom, and there you are in the middle of it—fresh out of the shower, towel tucked around your chest, skin flushed warm. 

A scene that makes his mouth go dry. He braces for impact, for some fake yawn or thigh stretch, “Oops, forgot you were home.” A well-rehearsed coy glance as the towel happens to slip too far down your hip.

But it doesn’t come. You look at him—not through him, not at his mouth or his jaw or the hem of his sweatpants like you usually do—but right at him. 

��Sorry.”

Rafe’s brain stalls. “Huh?”

You take a timid glance down before returning your gaze. 

“I said I’m sorry. About Ward. It was shitty.”

No. You’re giving him nothing to work with.

There’s a catch here; there’s always a catch with you. You’re going to laugh and say, “You should’ve seen your face”. And drop the towel anyway.

To his utter dismay, you pull the towel higher, pressing it tight across your chest, knuckles white. You’re nervous. You, who has been wrapping men around your finger since eighth grade, making pain a game and calling it fun.

“Okay…” he nods slowly, testing the waters. “What is this?”

 “What do you mean?”

He tries to force the truth out with just his eyes.

“This,” Rafe gestures vaguely between you.

He doesn’t feel like you are ten moves ahead of him for the first time since you were children. You don’t make excuses. You are always the excuse. That’s how it’s always worked between you.

“I was really mean,” you continue, throat tight. “You didn’t deserve what I did.”

“Are you high?

You let out a breathy laugh, almost a scoff, "You know I don't smoke."

“Trying to manipulate me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Sure am,” you echo, brows pinching.

“I don’t know.” Rafe shrugs, “You don’t usually mean shit. Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

“I’m serious.”

He hates that part of him softens seeing your mouth tremble. He hates how familiar you are in your worst moments.

“…Okay. Thanks.”

You give a bashful nod, human for once. No siren in sight.

“You’re not fucking with me?” He inquires one more time for good mesure, there’s a boyish rasp in it.

The idea that you might be sincere is too fragile to touch.

“No.”

You walk past him, towel snug and unslipping, no extra glance, no game, leaving him stunned in a puddle of steam and the first apology you’ve ever given to him. That fucks with him more than anything else you've ever done over the last decade.

Rafe stands there for a full two minutes after you walk off. He hears the door to your bedroom click shut, soft as anything. No flounce, no slam. 

You didn’t bother to try to get the last word. What the fuck.

If the apology had twisted something weird in his ribs, the way you said it, not demanding forgiveness or even expecting it, made it worse. What was that? 

He runs a hand through his hair, then drags it down his face, letting out a looong breath.

No. No, this shit can’t be right.

As much as you piss him off—and you do, so thoroughly it feels like a second job—this haunted version of you is much worse. This hollow, too-soft thing isn’t you. This isn’t some pathetic moral reckoning that makes sense in his brain. 

It doesn't fucking sit right.

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The next day is muggy.

Rafe wakes late, suffocated in sweat, sprawled in his sheets in a pair of shorts and nothing else. Tannyhill’s central AC is doing jack shit against the heatwave pressing into the island, but that’s not what drags him out of bed—it’s the voices downstairs.

He thinks he hears your name.

He throws on a clean shirt, still damp from the laundry pile, and stalks out of his room. The closer he gets to the bottom of the stairs, the clearer it becomes: Ward is in the kitchen, pacing slowly in his boat shoes. Your voice answers calmly from somewhere near the counter.

Rafe doesn’t make his entrance. He lingers beyond the last step, leaning into the wall as he listens.

“I thought maybe you knew,” Ward says. “He hasn’t been home. I’ve heard from just about everyone but him.”

You hum. “I saw him. Yesterday.”

Rafe frowns.

Ward pauses. “Where?”

Here we go.

He can hear a casual squeak of the stool, the clink of your spoon in the yogurt you’re probably eating.

“He was with the boys. They’re building something for Brandi’s mom. You know Brandi, right? Her mom’s birthday is coming up, and they’re surprising her with a dock extension.”

Rafe’s brows shoot up, his mouth parting in pure disbelief.

A what? And who the fuck is Brandi?

Ward scoffs under his breath. “It’d be nice if he told me that instead of disappearing like a damn vagrant.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they wanted to spoil the surprise,” you say sweetly, spoon still scraping. “It was last-minute. You know how boys are.”

The silence that follows is long and awkward.

Then Ward mutters something about heading to the office and needing his keys, and Rafe slips back up the stairs before anyone catches him eavesdropping.

He’s still stunned. Not only did you cover for him, you made something up. You never cover for him. You’ve sold him out for less—once over a broken lamp, another time because he called your playlist boring.

You’ve lied to him, about him, and at him. 

By the time you return to your room, he’s already sitting on your bed.

You halt in the doorway, raising a brow. “Huh… Rafe?”

“What the fuck was that?”

“Hi to you, too.”

“You told my dad I was building a dock.”

“For Brandi’s mom,” you add.

"Who?" Rafe glares. “You made that up.”

“No shit.” You close the door behind you and toss your phone on the bed. “Are you mad I made you sound useful?”

He doesn’t laugh. “Why’d you do that?”

You shrug. “I figured you’d prefer that over him knowing you were doing lines off someone’s cousin’s boat railing.”

Rafe watches you for a long second. He knows what you’re doing—he knows you. You never say sorry until it’s too late, you downplay your feelings so no one sees the full bruise of them.

But you did cover for him when you could’ve let Ward eat him alive.

You didn’t.

And fuck, that meant something. He's so easy.

Rafe tries—tries—not to look at the slope of your thighs, the shine on your collarbones, and the hem of your shirt riding way too high up your legs.

“Okay. Drop the innocent act.”

“What—”

“I’m serious. This whole sad, sweet girl routine? Not buying it.”

You stare, mouth parted in confusion.

He points at you. “Cut it out.”

“Cut what out?” You ask curiously.

“This,” he growls. “You’re not sorry. You’re never sorry. I know what the fuck I’m dealing with.”

Your lips press together, the lotion bottle slipping from your hands and thudding on the mattress.

“I am sorry.”

He shakes his head, praying you’re messing with him.

“No, you’re not. You’re bored, or you’re punishing me or playing the long game—I don’t know. But this sad-eyed version of you?” He gestures again. “Fuck no.”

You look down, hair falling in your face, and Rafe stares, fists still lost at his sides, heart hammering. He can't stand it. Not because you were acting out, but because you weren’t.

He lets out a slow breath, crossing the room, sitting beside you on the bed, heavy enough to dip the mattress. Your thighs brush, and he doesn’t hesitate, reaching for you, his arm slipping behind your back, his hand resting on your hip.

You don’t fight it when he pulls or seem surprised when he tugs you into his lap. You curl instinctively, knees drawn, arms loose around his neck, like muscle memory takes over where pride usually lives.  

All of it is wrong.

Not because of the way you feel; that part, unfortunately, makes complete sense. His hands know exactly where to land on your waist, your back, or your thigh. He can map you blindfolded just from the years he spent admiring you. 

What doesn’t make sense is you letting him hold you without seducing him or manipulating him like usual, that sly twist in your mouth nowhere in sight.

He squints at you.

“Let's get this shit over with,” he starts slowly, solving a math problem with a loaded gun to his head. “What’s it going to take?”

“For what?”

“To get you back to normal.”

You speak against his neck. “I am being normal.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. 

“No, you’re being—” His hand motions vaguely, trying to swat away fog. “This.”

Your eyes drop to his hoodie drawstrings, twisting one between your fingers.

Rafe groans, leans back further, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“You know what I mean.”

Your lashes flick up. “I said I was sorry.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“I thought it was what you wanted,” you confess, voice mellow. “I’m mean and fake and spoiled, remember?”

Yeah, he said all that and meant it, even. But this shit isn't you, and it doesn't satisfy that awful, burning part of him that only ever calms when you’re spitting venom back at him.

“I don’t want you different.”

“Excuse me?"

“I want you real,” he says. “Even if that version drives me insane.”

You give a breathy laugh then. The first real sound you’ve made in days. Rafe swears—swears to God—his chest fucking hurts. 

Your eyes are still pliant and half-lidded from whatever tenderness blooms between the two of you, but your voice, that voice, comes back sharper.

“Would you look at that.”

Rafe’s head snaps back. “What?”

You lean in, eyes flicking down to his mouth before dragging back up. 

“You like it when I ruin your day; makes it real east for you to pretend you don’t care.”

His breath hitches.

“You don’t want me quiet, because if I’m quiet, you have to listen to yourself.”

The silence snaps taut.

His eyes burn into yours, and, finally, your lip curves.

“There she is.” His eyes drop to your mouth like it owes him answers. “The demon.”

You flutter your lashes and smile wider.

“Missed me?”

“You’re really something.”

“Is that the polite way of saying I’m a bitch?”

“You’re worse.”

Your hand ghosts down to his chest, fingers splayed flat against his sternum, tapping your nails.

“Does the sad girl act not do it for you anymore? You used to kiss my boo-boos when I did it.”

His mind travels back vividly to that afternoon when you were twelve, just a kid with fire in your eyes and a mouth that never quite shut off.

Rafe lets out a low sound, between a laugh and a growl, grabbing your chin in the process, bruising enough to say, don’t fuck with me. 

Your eyes sparkle because you want him to.

He shakes his head, scoffing under his breath. “You’re sick.”

You hum in agreement. “Takes one to know one.”

You move in his lap, and Rafe’s hands fly to your hips, gripping hard enough to make a point.

“Cut that shit out.”

“You like it.”

You’re gleaming now, soaking in the fire under his skin, leaning in again, near enough to be dangerous.

“I missed you too, Rafey.”

He groans gutturally, pushing you off him.

“Get off me.”

You don’t fight it, sprawling onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh, limbs stretched and hair a mess on the pillow.

"Fucking brat," he mutters, standing, fists digging into his eyes like you’ve left a stain behind.

“And you’re still not over me,” you sing-song, turning to your side, propping your head up on your hand, eyes glinting.

“I was never under you.”

You click your tongue. “Soon.”

He shoots you a glare, then snatches his keys off the desk where he dropped them earlier.

“Where are you going?” You call after him, stretching like a cat in your bed. “You’re the one who told me to go to sleep!”

“Anywhere you’re not. Stay away.”

Easier said than done.

[frostyget]

My autistic physical chemistry student (who also has tremors) study on Viper’s hands, or more specifically, her tremors and twitching and how it is most likely ruining her.

The “Incident” was, if not directly, a major contributor to the tremors. I’m going to (reasonably) assume her work with toxins and poisons is the main cause of the shaking. Her core abilities in game (and objectives in daily life and the war if we ignore the terrible game and see it world wise) revolve around controlling space and dealing damage where it’s needed.

Now, Toxic Screen and Poison Cloud creates an area of toxic gas that is meant to damage and obscure vision. What would these chemicals be (If I had to assume)? This is a war, a very stressful and very tense war, morality and empathy are often forgotten under stress in soldiers when their life is on the line.

So, what would these hypothetical chemicals be?

- Sarin gas

A nerve agent that can obscure/blur vision. It disrupts the nervous system and leads to symptoms such as: Moisis (constricted pupils), eye pain, seizures, difficulty breathing.

Adding in the morality of Valorant and the fact she hasn’t seemingly gone completely insane, and assuming chemical warfare laws stand in the Valorant universe as they do here, using a nerve gas that is considered a war crime is a line I feel like Viper wouldn’t cross.

If she isn’t using a highly illegal gas, what could she be using? Maybe it’s simply CS gas (tear gas).

- Non-lethal

- Causes symptoms such as eye pain, lacrimation (tearing up), and respiratory irritation.

- Obscures vision and forces enemies to disperse/clear out of a site

- A little more ethically okay while still being effective

How is any of this relevant? If she is using something as harsh as a nerve gas, it would explain the tremors. Nerve agents work by inhibiting acetylcholinesterase (an enzyme that breaks down acetylcholine) leading to buildup of acetylcholine in nerve synapses. This excess acetylcholine overstimulates nerve cells which causes various symptoms including muscle twitching, weakness, and tremors. Working with this for years, even with PPE, would still do damage.

If she’s using something more civil such as CS gas, while hand tremors aren’t a commonly reported thing with CS exposure, there can and is still secondary effects of other neurological symptoms that might arise from exposure in either her lab or the field. CS often irritates the skin. In some cases, exposure can lead to more severe neurological symptoms including muscle weakness, numbness, and imbalance, which all potentially contribute to tremors.

Once again, how is this relevant?

Uncontrolled tremors often and will significantly impact one’s emotional well-being. They can lead to anxiety, depression, feelings of social embarrassment, affecting self-esteem and quality of life ect ect. The difficulty of simply functioning with tremors, especially when you’re a chemist working with very dangerous and deadly toxins and poisons all day, has to be god awful. Tremors affect the much simpler things such as eating, drinking, and writing which Viper does a lot of (both paperwork and experiments).

Depression caused from the tremors. Limitations imposed by tremors on daily activities and social interactions can lead to depression, depression leads to other emotions such as anger, anxiety, grief. Things along those lines. Stress Viper definitely doesn’t need in her already stressful life. Viper is so painfully alone and isolated. Having another agent see her tremors, seeing such a vulnerable part of herself definitely adds to her isolation. Locking herself in her lab for hours, days even, simply because of the tremors.

Shooting. Twitching or shaking hands and trying to hold and shoot a gun doesn’t go together very well. Despite this, once again choosing to put my mind into the lore wise world, Viper’s aim would be what I assume to be nearly perfect. Everything else about her is calculated and controlled, it’s assumption she’d pride her shot on being one of the best in the protocol. But as you could imagine, shaky hands would likely lead to missed shots on a few occasions. Despite her having shaky hands she stays calm and collected and can shoot with guns precisely, keeping her control and the show of being calculated around the others.

In conclusion, she definitely has what I would assume to be emotion driven tremors. Fear, guilt, discomfort and perhaps excitement are all adding to the shaking and twitching. Unfortunately I feel like any ounce of stress placed on the chemist would cause the tremors to worsen.

Going by her personality and way of processing things and reactions to situations, she’d definitely be the type of person to hit her hands off of her desk or lab bench in pure frustration at not being able to do an experiment or handle chemicals due to the tremors. Or in worse situations of panic and rage, I definitely think she’d try to break her hands if she got angry and desperate enough.

In conclusion again, she is definitely suffering with most likely very simple daily tasks on the bad days, and while they’re controlled as much as possible and hidden, it is still a contributor to her isolation and grief (and likely self hatred).

does any of that make any sense lol

[beifong-brainrot]

Thoughts on TSR episode?

Oh wow this is just a hornet's nest waiting for me to hit it with a baseball bat type of question. But ok anon I'm gonna try to speak on this in a way that will get as little people mad at me as possible lol.

I enjoy it, but then, I think I enjoy it mostly because is centers around Katara and I can't say there has been a Katara centered episode that had floped in my eyes. And an episode of Katara and Zuko reconciling after what he put her through was a long time coming and it is very fun to watch them kick ass. I adore the themes of this episode, misinterpreted as they may be by the wider public. I do have some major critiques of the episode, and I will get to them, but I'll try to unload them as we go.

I think Katara's portrayal in the episode is great. The storyline straddles the fine line of portraying her anger as equally valid and self destructive, and I like that she isn't villanised for it. Yes, Aang and Sokka try to talk her out of it, but it is out of concern for her, rather than a vehement contempt of her actions. Her grief is well presented, and even when she snaps the memorable and objectively awful "You didn't love her like I did" to Sokka, it feels more like a child trying to explain the intensity of her grief, but not knowing how to express it with the right words.

Let's remember that Katara not only was the sibling to see her mother's dead body, directly interact with her mother's murderer, but she also probably felt a lot of guilt for not only indirectly being the cause of the raid, but also not being fast enough in getting Hakoda, who may have helped. She's dealing not only with grief, but with a nasty case of survivor's guilt that Sokka thankfully doesn't seem to have. And it's very natural that, being a child, Katara would misinterpret Sokka having healed from the grief better as him not loving their mom as much as she did.

I've talked about the obvious parallel between Katara using bloodbending in the Southern Raiders and Hama forcing the art upon her. Bloodbending, in the case of Katara and Hama, symbolises righteous anger and hurt that has festered into something much more vindictive.

I think the bloodbending scene in TSR doesn't get discussed enough other than "it was cool to see Katara bloodbend again" or "haha this is how Zuko discovered bloodbending exists". Which, valid points, but I think the weight of this scene is often set aside. Even though it's the only instance of bloodbending in atla aside from "the Puppetmaster". And it directly parallels Hama, as Katara directs her rightful anger at a man who was innocent in this situation.

Like, yes this man was a Fire Nation officer, but he is not Yon Rha, and may, for all we know, not have even paricipated in the raids. Yet he was still subjected to the agonising and terrifying ordeal of being bloodbent, over a case of mistaken identity and misplaced vengance.

But Katara still has reason to hurt him. He's a fire nation soldier, a member of the organisation that hurt her and her people. Yet once she realises he is not Yon Rha, she immediately releases him, and is seemingly startled and exhaused by what she has done.

And of course, the situation takes a toll on Katara. I may be mistaken, but the ship scene seems to be the only instance of Katara tearing up in TSR, which feels like a deliberate choice. She has tears in her eyes when boarding the ship, probably as she knows she is planning on bloodbending, and again right after bloodbending the commander. It draws back to how devastated she was after bloodbending for the first time.

[Bloodbending has aggresive generational trauma symbolism, in both atla and tlok]

Bloodbending, for Katara, makes her go to a very dark place, and draw on a legacy of pain and anger that Hama had forced upon her. No wonder it is daunting to her. I find it hard to imagine Katara isn't aware of how much she is leaning into Hama's legacy in TSR, which may be why she is tearing up after bloodbending the commander.

She knows she's losing herself, and going down a path she previously could never see herself following. But I think she feels the need to do this, not only for herself, but for her mother.

Katara: Now that I know he's out there ... now that I know we can find him, I feel like I have no choice. Aang: Katara, you do have a choice: forgiveness. Zuko: That's the same as doing nothing! Aang: No, it's not. It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive. Katara : It's not just hard, it's impossible.

She feels like she has no choice, and the only way to do right by her mother is to get vengance on Yon Rha. We know that Kya's death has been a core wound for Katara. We see how she's tried to keep her mother's legacy alive, to the point of her trying to replace her in many ways, despite her being vocally uncomfortable with being percieved as motherly.

This probably ties in to Katara's survivor guilt, as she strongly tries to honour her mother, who died for/because of her. And killing Yon Rha feels like it's something that has to be done to avenge Kya, in Katara's eyes. But it is also taking a clear toll on Katara's own mental wellbeing.

I don't like the idea that TSR's Katara is "the true Katara" because it feels like taking a character who is going through some intense shit and isolating that as their "true self". Zuko during his banishment was not his true self, nor was Aang during the Desert. Rather than be defined by our lowest moments, we are a sum of our parts, and while how we act under duress is a factor of who we are, it is not a defining feature.

In the end, I think this is up to personal philosophy, but I find it so shallow and harsh to believe that someone reveals their true self when they're clearly in pain and distress. It feels very callous. Katara is acting out of pain and grief, and I don't think it's fair to define a 14 year old over these actions. Her friend and brother being concerned for her was warranted, because they see that Katara is doing something that she may regret. They know that Katara values life, that she isn't a killer, that she doesn't believe people are defined by their grief and pain.

I think Katara's own words in "the Avatar State" episode fit here rather poignantly.

Katara : Do you remember when we were at the air temple and you found Monk Gyatso's skeleton? It must have been so horrible and traumatic for you. I saw you get so upset that you weren't even you anymore. I'm not saying the Avatar State doesn't have incredible and helpful power ... but you have to understand ... for the people who love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary.

And, of course, on a smaller scale, this rings true for Katara in TSR as well. Anger and grief are important for a healthy human to experience, but it is easy to lose oneself to them. And I think this is the thesis of TSR, which often gets misinterpreted.

The episode doesn't condemn Katara for wanting to track down Yon Rha, but it does clearly set up the warnings of what murdering him entails for Katara. Now, as much as Jet and Hama are complex in how they are presented as sympathetic antagonists, and there is a discussion to be had about villanising victims, they are both set up as parallels to Katara.

Katara empathises with them, and that is what allows them to manipulate her. We see both Jet and Hama late into their respective "moral declines", but it's not that hard to see how they got there. Jet was a freedom fighter, surely he's killed soldiers. And perhaps military couriers, perhaps medics, people affiliated with the FN army but not participating in the fight directly. And then there are citizens who may have cooperated with the army and supported it with rations, perhaps. All in the name of his righteous cause, up until he tried to blow up a town.

I have no doubt Hama began imprisoning people who "deserved it". Perhaps a FN army veteran who was proud of his first service, then perhaps a man who declared his disdain for the other nations, then, maybe a wife of a soldier who supported her husband's military career, maybe a teen who talked about joining the army once he was the right age.

Revenge is dangerous, because it doesn't always bring the closure we seek, and we are left to project those who harmed us onto people who have nothing to do with it.

Aang: Katara, you sound like Jet. Katara: It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster.

But note that Jet was also fighting the "monsters" who harmed his village.

Jet: Katara, you would too if you just stopped to think. Think about what the Fire Nation did to your mother. We can't let them do that to anyone else ever again. Katara : This isn't the answer!

Let's be honest, Yon Rha is literal scum and I don't think anyone would be sad for him if Katara turned him into an icicle pincushion. The episode never tries to humanise him, and portrays him as pathetic and vile, as he deserves. But it's not about him. Aang and Sokka's worries lay with Katara and how killing a man out of rage and pain would affect her personally.

I think Aang specifically gets misinterpreted in this episode. I understand why he rubs people the wrong way, because of course we believe Katara deserves to face Yon Rha, that she deserves the closure this encounter would offer her.

Zuko: She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice. Aang: I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge. Katara: [Angrily.] Fine, maybe it is! Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!

I actually adored this episode for Aang and Katara's relationship, because I adore how Aang straddles the line of supportive and rightfully concerned. What I think a lot of people forget is that Aang wasn't against Katara finding Yon Rha, but rather trying to gauge Katara's reasons for doing so and concerned about her motives.

Because "what do you think this will accomplish?" is a valid question to ask here. Aang knows firsthand that releasing one's anger is seldom the healing balm for the soul. Katara has helped him process the unbelievable pain and rage he went through as the last airbender, and he is returning the favour, while also trying to keep her needs in mind. He acknowledges that Katara needs to face Yon Rha, but he worries for her if she chooses vengance.

Katara: Don't try to stop us. Aang: I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. [Katara situates herself on Appa's head.] But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

I've seen the argument that this is just Aang "saving face" because Katara was going to go anyway, but I find that argument hollow. Like, yeah, I guess if you want to believe that. But Aang hasn't had problems disagreeing with Katara before, and I feel like Appa would take Aang's side if push came to shove.

I find it silly that some people can't comprehend the idea of Aang supporting Katara's need to confront Yon Rha, while not supporting the murderous urges. Because just because Katara didn't kill Yon Rha, doesn't mean the encounter didn't have value.

I think the biggest one is Katara demystifying Yon Rha, and, to an extent Fire Nation soldiers to herself.

Over the course of the episode, Katara frequently refers to Yon Rha as "the monster" rather than as a man. She's, unsurprisingly, built him up in her head as a manifestation of her helplessness to protect those she loves, the power and evil the Fire Nation army has over her.

Katara: That was him. That was the monster.

This has the side effect that when Zuko attacks her village, in the very first few episodes, she's probably going right back to that scared little girl. There are even some incredibly strong parallels between these two raids. Both looking for the last member of a demographic. Kya or Aang bargain themselves in exchange for the village's safety, while also comforting Katara. Hell, there's even some strong visual similarities between Zuko's scar and the unique helmets the Southern Raiders wear, further allowing Katara to tie Zuko to the monster of her childhood.

Confronting Yon Rha allowed her to truly look at "the monster" and realise that he is just a pathetic man.

Katara : [Sorrowfully.] I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you, I think I understand. There's just nothing inside you, nothing at all. You're pathetic and sad and empty.

She is no longer helpless against him, and those like him.

Katara : Oh, don't you worry about my strength. I have plenty. I'm not the helpless little girl I was when they came.

This also allows her to untangle Zuko from Yon Rha, and see that Zuko is trying and has grown as a person.

Zuko in TSR is interesting to me. I think people tend to brush of his own internal goings on in the episode. Zuko is acting very much like Zuko here, which is equally annoying and endearing. I have no doubt he was genuine in his attempts to smooth things over with Katara, and that he truly thought he was helping by egging her on to kill Yon Rha. On the surface, it is a vaguely questionable move to try and dig up a girl's trauma behind her back. But I do believe Zuko was genuinely not aware of how manipulative these actions could come off.

Zuko still has a lot of toxic and dangerous mindsets from his Fire Nation upbringing to unlearn. And it manifests in percieving violence and vengance as the only correct way, as well as mocking Aang's more pacifistic advice. Like genuinely it's not surprising he has a little bit of lingering disdain for air nomad values but it is also incredibly jarring to hear these words from him lol.

If I can present one of my silliest pet peeves of the episode, its when Zuko rescues Katara from those falling rocks and then lays on top of her for just a bit too long. Like thanks for the assist sir now stop laying on top of the lass. And then he goes "ok I'll take that as a thank you ☝️🤓" when she tells him to get off. Also waiting in front of her tent all night like sir please

There are some similarities between Katara's confrontation with Yon Rha and Zuko's confrontation with Ozai, and I believe they were intentional. As both these characters confront men who have cast a shadow over their childhoods, and have, directly or indirectly caused them to lose their mothers. And they both no longer fear them now it's Ozai and Yon Rha's turn to listen to them.

Zuko: That's another thing. I'm not taking orders from you anymore. Ozai : [Angrily.] You will obey me, or this defiant breath will be your last! Zuko: [Pulls out his swords.] Think again. I am going to speak my mind, and you are going to listen.

Of course, there are some even more direct parallels in Katara and Yon Rha compared to the Aang and Ozai fight but Im focusing on Katara and Zuko here.

I think it would also be foolish to set aside the idea that Zuko is very much affected by Ozai taunting him about his own mother's dissapearance during the Day of Black Sun. Zuko was unable to get closure for his mother's dissapearance, so he is extra invested in Katara's mother's death, and finding her killer.

It is very fun to see Zuko and Katara working together. They're a deadly duo and they bounce off each other really well. It always warms my heart to see them reconcile at the end, as it was a long time coming. I treat it as a landmark on both their budding friendship, and their respective personal healing journeys.

I think my biggest criticism of the episode is how much Sokka had been sidelined in it. On one hand, I understand it. He isn't suffering from the survivors guilt Katara is dealing with and therefore has no need to confront Yon Rha.

On the other hand having Zuko use him as essentially an exposition dump and then for the narrative to cut him out right after he relived his trauma hurts my soul. At the very least, I think it would've been nice to see his concern for Katara more focused on.

I am, however, impressed that seemingly moments after he told Zuko about one of the worst days of his life, he was hooking up with his gf like I don't think I'd even be able to preform after that and yet Sokka did apparently. Which tbh is very 16 year old boy of him.

TSR is one of those episodes that has been slightly soured in my mind by the way the fandom tends to treat it. It has become the centre of some very nasty shipping discourse, when that was never the focus of the episode. But I do love the focus on Katara and the way she handles her grief and trauma.

I know it's easy to say TSR simply regurgitates the tried and true killing=bad a lot of kid shows have, but I think it does so with some very interesting nuance. Instead of using objective morality, it focuses more on how killing someone, even with a good reason, could affect you personally. And I commend it for that, even if it isn't always graceful abouf it.

I don't think I've touched on every subject of TSR, because i originally meant this reply to be a quick overview which spiraled vastly out of control. This post is already getting way too long, so I'll end it now, because I think I touched on at least most of what I wanted to.

That post was pretty heavy, so here's a picture of my fat son Zorro under a blanket that kinda makes him look like Goku when he turns blond or smth idk I've never watched DB

[uniquethingtastemaker]

*confused screaming*

I just did the math. I had a mental break while replying to a comment on one of my posts.

Riddle's Dreaming of You is 32k words atm (I'll update the Masterpost)

*stunned silence. rapidly blinks, unable to process. tilts head, staring at the screen*

...It isn't 100% done either. Intense progress has been made since I last mentioned it in a comment. Instead of 10 or 7 scenes that I need to work on, I only have 3! We're getting somewhere. I have a majority... or at least a good chunk of every scene, so that's good.

It’s improvement!! Deuce reminds me every day that even small progress is progress (that's a line in the fanfic btw lol. Riddle thinks it)

I knew it increased to 29k, but going over 30k is unexpected

...How long were these supposed to be?? I think I said 20k-ish. Well... that's about 10k over...

For context, the one work I consider to be one of the biggest is Rook x Observant Reader. I just ran the calculations (there's a lot of content in the scrap pile of my Google Doc, 15k for this one). It's currently 46k words. However, I haven't written a lot of the "3rd Act." So... idk how much that's going to add... I originally estimated it to be 40k.

Maybe whatever I estimate it to be, I should add 10k. So... this one might be over 50k. That seems like a lot, though...

Update: It’s not a lot. Honestly, it’s probably going to be like 55k+ or something. Apparently, I wrote 2k words last night for Riddle. It’s 34k now. I changed the ending and added a scene. I swear I’m not delaying it on purpose. I just have no sense of time or how much I write. I’ll make an actual to-do list both for myself and you all lol. I have…

(Short) Describe Riddle’s Overblot Form

(Medium?) “After Overblot” Section Rewrite

(Small) Finish Card Exchange

(Small Fill… probably) [Undisclosed Unbirthday Party Event]

(Medium) Sidebar

(Long Long…ohhh, i forgot about this one) Rose Bushes

(Medium) Tactile Grounding

(Long… also forgot about this) Finish/Rewrite Reactions to Deuce’s Idea

(……Medium) Clean up modified version and execution of Deuce’s Idea

(Medium Small?) Clean up Riddle’s POV

(Long... Long?) Finish the aftermath of Grim's Stunt and Last Gift Exchange

(Monster) Ending scene(s?)… the Monster is back, and I’m not just talking about the word count…

Oooooh, scary~ *wiggles fingers*

Character growth is beautiful and I take it seriously.

Obviously, I don’t make to-do lists that often. I should. I underestimate how much I actually have. I swear that the changes are worth it! I haven’t touched the first half of the fanfic because it’s completely fine. It’s going to come out. I promise. Anyone can come to the conclusion I don’t have a great grasp on my work load based on the evidence above. So, yeah, I just have terrible estimations lol

…I’m not going to even explain the ordering for this. I don’t even know

I hope people are excited! I am. Comment and interact. Curious to see what you all think about my summary section hints lol. You know the drill. Now, I’m going to go write. Wish me luck. Feel free to guess how many words I gain. Although I might hop to a different fanfic because sometimes that happens

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside book club, chapter one

yay, let's go!!!

It's kind of funny to be properly rereading this! I have the Gutenberg version open 90% of the time to check stuff while I'm writing fanfic so I don't ever feel like I'm not reading this book, lmao -- but it really has been some time since I actually sat down and read it all the way through. I have the classic Bantam version as well as the version edited by Benjamin Lefebvre, but I thiiink I'll go with the Lefebvre version since it's unabridged? It also has a glossary that explains some of the stuff in the book which I was obsessed with -- I distinctly remember being fascinated by the explanation of rural party phone lines, lmao. (I also have Readying Rilla! Will crack that open for comparison if I remember to ^_^)

(Side story: the same summer that I read Rilla and became obsessed with WWI, Scott Westerfeld -- one of my fave authors at the time -- announced he was doing a series set during WWI and I was sooo excited and thought the upcoming fall was going to be an epoch in baby freyafrida's life, and then I ended up not enjoying Leviathan at all, RIP. I remember getting the Lefebvre version of Rilla, reading the glossary, and being like Hmm Leviathan was really missing the trench warfare and people using party lines. Anyway.)

The early chapters of Rilla fascinate me so much because they're the only glimpse we get of the Blythes and Merediths as young adults before the war colors their lives -- what their ambitions were, what they talked about, etc.

Admittedly, Carl's only personality trait is still that he likes bugs 😭 It's pretty funny that the book never defines what exactly he plans to do with entomology, just that, you know. Bugs. He likes them.

As mentioned, it's pretty clearly an excuse for exposition that there's a whole section for "Jottings from Glen St. Mary" in the Charlottetown paper. (I do love the that the Enterprise just reports on whatever the book needs it to, I think there's an Enterprise reporter at like half the weddings in the Glen.) That said, I thiiiink the Glen is often treated as the main settlement in their particular area of the Island? IIRC that's why Anne and Gilbert move there from the isolated House of Dreams and...I can't remember any other moments exactly, but I want to say there's the Vibe that while the Glen isn't large -- tbf, I'm not sure anywhere besides Charlottetown really qualifies as large, even today -- it is the area's main town (my impression is that it spans the harbor, with over-harbor being more settled than the side the Blythes live on). So like...if there had to be a local gossip section of the paper, I guess it makes sense for the Glen to be there.

(Also, Shirley mention in this paragraph that he's coming back from Queen's! Equally funny/bizarre that the paper not only reports on the kids coming back from college, but also the comings and goings of the equivalent of high schoolers, too. LMAO. But anyway, interestingly Susan doesn't take the opportunity to discuss Shirley here!)

Rosemary's not a regular mom, she's a cool mom

Not to expose my Walter/Una and Rilla/Carl agenda, but Jem/Faith and Jerry/Nan had to be the two most boring Blythe-Meredith combinations possible. Baffled by the decision to let them get married and be happy, tbh. (Jerry and Nan never interact -- or even think about each other -- in Rainbow Valley, and now they're meant to be Anne/Gilbert-style arguing sweethearts? Odd choice.)

You ever think about how afraid that Blythes must've been that they were going to lose Walter, and their relief that he survived? :(((((

I love how much information about Gertrude is crammed into Anne's ramble about her. Gotta get us up to speed on this character we've never met before, you know.

Speak on it, Susan.

I love that even before he reveals his pacifism, nobody likes Whiskers-on-the-moon and he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. We couldn't have the characters wrestle with disagreeing with someone they actually liked, or anything like that. (Obvs this has to do with the book being written so close to the war, although I also think this is an issue with the later Anne books in general -- see also Christine going from nice and simply misunderstood by Anne in Anne of the Island to being jealous and gossipy and fat, too when she shows up to antagonize Anne in Anne of Ingleside. Anyway.)

It's interesting that all of the Blythe-Meredith kids, save Rilla and Una, go to Queen's, when it's something only a small group of Anne's peers did. I mean, it makes sense -- Anne and Gilbert def. value education and would want their kids to go to college (and have jobs similar to their own like doctors, writers, academics, etc), which Queen's was basically a stepping stone to. IDK that preachers' children were expected to be highly educated (someone lmk if you do?) but given that Rev. Meredith would've had to go to school for theology, a similar principle probably applies. That said, it's kinda funny to think that they all follow the same trajectory their parents (and LMM herself) did. It also sticks out to me that the Blythe kids seemed to take a few years to teach instead of going straight to college -- in contrast, Rev. Meredith wants Carl to go to straight to Redmond instead of actually teaching. Maybe Anne and Gilbert thought it would build character? (idt it's financial concerns, what with the trips to Europe and the offhand way Rilla mentions getting new dresses, and i get the vibe the Merediths aren't as well-off, but Rev. Meredith still offers to put Carl through school).

Oh, another thought about Anne vs. Rilla's vanity -- also interesting to think that, in an effort to avoid her children having the sort of starved childhood she did, Anne ends up spoiling them and then regretting it (although fwiw, Rilla is the only kid who's frivolous to the point of worry).

Readying Rilla stuff I thought was interesting: nothing really in this chapter, but Mrs. Elliott originally called Miller Douglas "a penniless ne'er-do-weel", lol.

[lordofmelancholy]

Arcane Silent Frontiers: Timebomb and Parenthood PTIIII: Sevika's Reaction

Part 3 Here

Oh begrudging “Auntie Sevika. . .” It should come of no surprise to anyone, that despite her rather irritable and genuinely no nonsense type of nature, that the degree of care Sevika has for those she considers allies or even friends is  greatly remarkable and, to be quite frank, highly admirable and that such goes even doubly for her relations in SF.

SF Sevika is no different than her normal Arcane counterpart. Her loyalty still stands strong though only in SF does it stand strongly for characters that in the show we could only speculate due to the limited/no interactions she shares with them.

As it stands in SF, Sevika basically takes on the act of the begrudging “Aunt” so to speak. Oftentimes for Arcane, people often HC about her relationship with the kids (Vi and Jinx/Powder) growing up when she was in the company of Vander. One such headcanon often involves her as being the one who taught Vi to originally fight before Sevika had ultimately defaulted to Silco when she was with Vander.

This is shown by the line where she said “you never learned patience” to Vi during their fight scene and perhaps could also shed some light and also explain the "traitor" line Vi throws at Sevika as well. 

However in SF the relationship Sev has with both Vander and everyone else is far more amicable, and far less tense and strained. Essentially in SF, Sevika stands as an old war buddy of Vander's that had long been estranged from the family for a while. 

While it is unclear the reasons for their prior estrangement, Sevika nonetheless holds (though only a fraction) of loyalty left towards Vander. As a result of this loyalty, following the man’s disappearance, Sevika eventually steps up as a sort of mentor towards both Vi and Jinx, and when Vi herself goes missing, towards both Ekko and Jinx.

Over the years as a result, Sevika takes on a role between a mentor and a follower and is often at the tail end of many of their shenanigans, especially towards Jinx’s who she had long taken upon herself to look out for following Vanders disappearance as seemingly a final act of deference towards him. Similar to Scar in a way, Sevika stands as second-in-command, but also as a result much like Scar, end’s up putting up with a LOT of their shit. While many years their senior, there's not a day where Jinx doesn’t drive her up the wall's.  

The introduction of Isha into their lil “Found Family” came as a shock to Sevika. What came as even more of a shock however, is the apparent closeness the two would gain to have. This kid, more than once, proved that she was a lot more than what Sevika initially wrote her off as. She's resourceful, she’s quiet, she listens, (sometimes), but more so to the point, Isha gives back to Sevika what Sevika never knew actually bothered her to loose. 

Which was how much of both Jinx and Vi and the other's growing up she had missed. And how much of the concept of family she had missed in the pursuit of a better Zaun. 

Sev had always been soul torn; a woman fiercely loyal to her roots yet also frightened of them. A woman who's said roots built her to be as steadfast and stubborn and unwavering as the caverns and rocky foundations that made up the Zaunite mountains. A woman that even despite how rotten those roots were, had always tried tirelessly to better her home. Money sent to foundations run by Zaunite officials for kids stuck in the mines, for those affected by the mines through generational works of its deep, unforgiving depths.

She’s also tried the lesser legal means as well from time to time, smuggling, drug trafficking, and even the occasional beating of Piltie and Noxian boot-lickers that come and try to exploit the old, sacred places; those that build the backbones of Zaun and it’s history. 

Everything she ever did she did for Zaun. 

Even if truthfully, she never tried to stay. As shocking as it was to admit, helping Zaun prior to the event's of SF often meant Sevika had to stay away. And though it may often brought pain and shame to ever have to admit that, she often believed staying away was the best thing. 

But the place never let go. People often made a joke about the town being cursed. It was a long standing gag partially due to the phenomena of those once born in it being seemingly unable to leave. Zaun after all had always had a bad habit of always latching onto the poor souls born here. And often it was, that one way or another it always found it fitting to drag those who tried to leave back to its bedrock roots to act as their grave. Few ever wished to stay there, though many did due to an apparent loyalty. But even those with good intentions toward the town; those who often tried to better it, to once again make it feel like a home, often also felt as though that nothing they ever did changed anything, and tragically Sevika had become one of them. When Vander went back ultimately, Sevika did not follow. In fact she often rarely ever went back to that place, that hell, this home of hers.

She returns to see each kid that is born and taken into Vander's little pack; visiting long enough to give valuable advice of 'get out while ya can, brat,' and promptly leg it out of there hoping that her words were enough. As a result however of this routine, Vi, Jinx and all the other kids close to Vander often knew Sevika as the “Aunt” who often disappeared randomly for months at a time and then come back at like 4am one random night out of the blue, and all were used to that routine.

But it was also around that time as well when Vander and her began to have their falling out. Sev often grew frustrated with his passive approach to a lot of issues stemming around Zaun. Sevika's allegiance to Zaun itself, not individuals, often set her apart from Vander. And she could never understand how such a staunch supporter for Zaun could seemingly “turn his back on it”.

Despite this however, Sevika and Vander remained “friendly" so to speak, though they often lost contact with each other for a while from time to time. Until one day, when Zaun finally calls her back in the form of a phone call. "No man/woman left behind” as they often always said in the army, and it’s that phone call from Vander that has her coming back to make sure the rest of them are safe.  That sends her home

And Zaun is thus where she becomes stuck; trapped within the mountainous region that was her birthplace like so many others had become. . .and it’s also here, where she begins to understand. When she begins to form a bond with Isha, Sevika begins to understand Vander just a little bit more, not by much but by something. But the true acknowledgement doesn’t come until after the baby shows up.

Sevika remembers that night. 

Her on her way to her quarters after a particularly grueling day. Ready to get some peace and quiet and relaxation; some much needed R&R in her room.

Except when she walks in. She instead finds that her quarters are occupied. She find’s Isha, doodling about on some old piece of yellowing paper. But that’s normal, because Isha had always had a tendency much like Jinx to sneak in. Though the reasons for such break-ins were highly different. It's instead the fact that it’s really late that confuses her, Isha never comes this late, never stays this late. 

“What are you do-”

She looks around, and she notices her bed. Accidental chalk markings and shavings all over her nicely maintained sheets and cot. Something that she would normally grit her teeth over, knowing how often in the past she had lost sheets to Jinx’s similar antic’s.

But her teeth are far from together.

No no, in fact instead her jaw is dropped right there, because it’s not the chalk that catches her line of sight. Instead it is an honest to God's, gurgling, small baby. And for a moment she gapes, blinks. Darts looks between a seemingly disinterested Isha back towards the baby, watching as the babe looks up wide-eyed but seemingly also disinterested when Isha finally makes a move before Sev can say anything, showing her a lil' crude sketched out depiction of-

"Oh, goddammit," The sight of the drawing makes her come out of her stupor. For right in the middle of that drawing, is a pale figure with long blue hair holding hands with a dark figure with short white hair. Each holding separate hands to two smaller figures that looked very much a lot like her bed's current occupants.

Isha doesn’t do or say much. In fact she seems a lot less shocked about this whole thing then Sevika does. Sevika on the other hand. Well she’s going through the five stages of grief all at once. She remembers blankly confronting both Ekko and Jinx when the pair magically return a few minutes later, 

('When you say you're going on scav runs, I expect actual supplies, not for you BOTH to pull a Vander and adopt a horde of ankle biters.)

But as the night wanes on, and Ekko and Jinx finally sit the fuck down and explain the situation, Sevika reluctantly comes to terms with it relatively quickly. Knowing that deep down there will be nothing for her to say or do to change either of their minds. They both have the same look in their eye that Vander once did when they take the baby back from her, and she knows once they have that look that it’s a lost cause. They ain’t giving that baby up, and she doesn’t expect them too.

And as the night turns cold enough to need the heat on suddenly and when all five of them are sitting about, enjoying the warmth and silence save for the little sleepy grunts and coo’s that emanate from Ekko’s arm, Sev stares quietly. And when all of them besides Sevika fall asleep, including Isha who take’s up the spot next to her leaning up against her side, Sev stares some more and take’s a look around. 

And as she watches. 

as she stares. 

She remembers. 

She remembers instances like this when she would visit Vander and Vander would be so preoccupied with a toddler on his lap or something similar that he would yield to a disagreement in a way seemingly unheard of.

And as the night continues to churn, Sevika does something she’s never truly ever done willingly before. She moves Isha over to let her lay against the arm of the couch, and she stands up. She gets up and she stands in front of Ekko. Jinx is dead to the world, snoring softly and drooling against Ekko’s arm. 

But Ekko on the other hand is just slightly dozed. He hears as well as feels the vibrations of Sev’s feet as they pad up to the front of him and when he cracks an eye open he notices she’s standing in front looking down at him. He’s happy they have all learned to talk without having to open their mouths up. One look in Sevika’s eye is enough to tell him anything he needs to know though she often swears up and down that she’s unreadable. He shifts up, just enough to push himself off the back of the couch without waking Jinx up, and he holds his crooked arm’s up. 

“Knew you’d come around” he says softly, and all Sev does is grunt in response with that typical twitch of her nose she does whenever she doesn’t like something said. But the twitch is half-assed when she bends down and scoops up the tiny bundle from Ekko’s arms. There’s a nervousness in her touch. Steady hesitancy. Nearly uncharacteristic. The last time she ever held an infant, her arm was still built of bone and made of flesh and that had been years ago.

Now it’s cold and it's rough and impersonal, but Ekko still hand’s the baby over to her with no care seemingly towards that. And when Sevika finally settles the baby comfortably enough on her arm and sits back, she stares down. Can see the tender, fragile skin and know it for the rose-leaf softness that invites a finger's touch. The round-cheeked flesh wobbly as custard, the boneless splay and ball of the tiny hands. But the baby sleeps and soon so does Ekko, only much more deeply this time. 

And when the room is silent once more, save for the ticking of heat and the sleepy grunts and coo’s, Sev stares. Stares between them all. Isha, only partially awoken by the shifting of the couch, smiles-pouts at her from the other side. And the burst of a sudden strange warmth Sev feels seeing that when she notices is one she’s not totally familiar with. But as she takes in the view; of her own small gang of stray’s, she begins to realize what it is.

It’s her finally understanding Vander.

Finally. . .she understood him

Took her long enough.

_ _ _ oh the joys of learning what home really is.

[daily-whistlebreeze]

daily whistlepaw until pri becomes PoV day 1237

happy pride!!!

here's my headcanons for my beloved WindClan youth

[anghraine]

I was looking up a quote from my beloved "The Devil in the Dark" and damn, I'd forgotten it's so... uh. Well.

SPOCK: If so, if it is the only survivor of a dead race, to kill it would be a crime against science. KIRK: Mr. Spock, our mission is to protect this colony, to get the pergium moving again. This is not a zoological expedition. Maintain a constant reading on the creature. If we have to, we'll use phasers to cut our own tunnels. We'll try to surround it. I'm sorry, Mr. Spock, but I'm afraid the creature must die. SPOCK: I see no alternative myself, captain. It merely seems a pity.

KIRK: Mr. Spock. Capture it? I don't recall giving any such order. SPOCK: You did not, sir. I merely thought that if the opportunity arose— KIRK: I will lose no more men. The creature will be killed on sight and that's the end of it. SPOCK: Very well, sir.

KIRK: Mr. Spock, you are second in command. This will be a dangerous hunt. Either one of us by himself is expendable. Both of us are not. SPOCK: Captain, there are approximately one hundred of us engaged in this search, against one creature. The odds against you and I both being killed are 2,228.7 to 1. KIRK: 2,228.7 to 1? Those are pretty good odds, Mr. Spock. SPOCK: And they are of course accurate, captain. KIRK: Of course. Well, I hate to use the word, but logically, with those kind of odds, you might as well stay. But please stay out of trouble, Mr. Spock. SPOCK: That is always my intention, captain.

KIRK: Explain. SPOCK: Only a theory I have. [rocks fall] SPOCK: Captain? Are you all right? Jim? Jim!

SPOCK: The creature is in this area. I'll take a lifeform reading. KIRK: It's not necessary, Mr. Spock. I know exactly where the creature is. SPOCK: Where, captain? KIRK: Ten feet away from me. SPOCK: Kill it, captain, quickly. KIRK: It's not making any threatening moves, Spock. SPOCK: You don't dare take the chance, captain. Kill it. KIRK: I thought you were the one who wanted it kept alive, captured if possible. SPOCK: Jim, your life is in danger. You can't take the risk. KIRK: It seems to be waiting. SPOCK: I remind you it's a proven killer. I'm on my way. Spock out.

SPOCK: What Chief Vanderberg said about the Horta is exactly what the mother Horta said to me. She found humanoid appearance revolting, but she thought she could get used to it. MCCOY: Oh, she did, did she? Now tell me, did she happen to make any comment about those ears? SPOCK: Not specifically, but I did get the distinct impression she found them the most attractive human characteristic of all. I didn't have the heart to tell her that only I have— KIRK: She really liked those ears? SPOCK: Captain, the Horta is a remarkably intelligent and sensitive creature, with impeccable taste. KIRK: Because she approved of you? SPOCK: Really, captain, my modesty— KIRK: Does not bear close examination, Mr. Spock.

[fisheito]

@trainto1925 and now u got ME thinkin!!!

wondering when eiden would have gotten good enough at plushie making to create his entire harem in doll form. ...possibly around the time blade showed up. eiden got a lot of practice making thousands of Eiden Plushies as gifts 🤣

imagining how eiden starts to do a lot of impromptu "visualisation" exercises when blade joins the roster

BLADE: but why was lil yakumo embarrassed when i showed garugaru the box in front of-- EIDEN: (sighing goodnaturedly) ok, say..um *grabs the nearest two items* pretend this cup is garu, and this spoon is yakumo---

after some repetition, eiden wonders if blade will understand better if he just has dolls representing everyone thus begins the plushie brigade

[katyspersonal]

One of the coolest things my friend Kris said, "A good headcanon differs from the canon knowingly, not out of wilfull ignorance".

Like, there is a big difference between being corrected (not always for an indisputable reason, but the intention matters) and being creatively policed! When someone shares a headcanon and you know the canon bit that contradicts it, just say it! Either they could reconsider their idea with the new information or say "yeah cool but I prefer to write my own thing, not to be 100% accurate to the canon" which are both valid. Because, the latter one knowingly differs from the canon!

But like, apparently in the eyes of some people, being informed on what was missed equals baiting hostility, policing creativity or whatnot? Like, yet again, if someone gets straight up angry and vindictive at being reminded that they are in the fandom, for something with pre-existing information, then it loops back to the question of why they are in a fandom and not doing their own original project to begin with! I can't find any other reasoning for admitting you do not want to even know canon and only here to take basic surface bits to make your own thing besides the fact that pre-existing fanbase just will engage more willingly even with canon divergent portrayals, stories and just AUs!

But like... you can't be in a fandom while expecting to never have any discussion with other fans about this story and characters! Being told that you are wrong and being told that you are wrong for BEING wrong are two whole different things, and mentality of fans not being allowed to say anything besides agreement, when it is about pre-existing media, is straight up lame and not what fandoms are about. Not everyone who points what is missing a petty redditor that hates headcanons; most of the "well actualies" come from the place of love for both canon and headcanons! This is the case of "before you break the rules you need to know them", but people that tell what rules are are anything but wrong, hostile or immature. People that say "you come into my house and maliciously ruin my fun" when they hear about those rules, however?

Again: a good headcanon differs from the canon knowingly, not out of wilfull ignorance.

[call-me-corvid]

So I watched Boy Kills World and I think it had a lot of REALLY cool ideas that just sort of fell flat in a lot of places?

Maybe if it had been a TV show or something so it could really lean into the unreliable narrator aspects and explore some other plots, like who the Shaman really was and why Hilda was Like That and what happens with the Boy and Mina (and their country(?)) now

They did the foreshadowing of the brainwashing thing very well imho, tho

[izzy-b-hands]

Didn't think the 1989 version of The Woman In Black would be scarier than the one with Dan Radcliffe in it

I was Wrong flkjdsafkldsja, but I'm delighted to have been wrong. I had missed getting scared with more practical effects/careful timing of things in the background of shots appearing and disappearing, and this one scratches that itch well.

[uroborosymphony]

@velvetineblue & @tvsteoftrvgedy

"HAH! HAHAHAHAHAHA." Quinn can't help but to laugh out loud, as she's standing right next to Taiyang, one of his arm tight around her waist, her hands holding onto his shoulder and laughing to each line he gives - oh she's having too much fun. It is a pretty hilarious scenario after all, due to how surprisingly lookalike the two are now, in leather, heels, blacks and reds : QuinnS. "Aww but wouldn't that be sexy though? Quinn then starts questionning him, her fingers catching Taiyang's suit's collar while biting her lower lip, pulling him closer, her cat shaped eyes locked with his, her finger then drawing circles against his torso in a seductive way. "All these clones and copies, wanting to be me so baaaddd. I would let them run around freely in my maze. But! What's a Quinn without her King right? That's when they start coming for you Love of My Life, Fire of my Loins, God of my Wars - I would have to take them down one by one. All these little mouses, sliced open in my claws only for me to claim you again... Covered in the blood of my enemies for you to take and devour." Quinn then says closing the distance between their lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Wouldn't that be a fun game mmmm?" Quinn then whispers out of her usual twisted light in her eyes. Her facial features immedialy straightened however as she gets called back to reality by Naeun's presence, her head turning to the side in a sharp almost mechanical move. Looking at her from head to toe. "She looks hot." Quinn declares. "I like you more when you look like me." Adds Quinn to Naeun - then her hand sliding to take Taiyang's. "It's the perfect plan my King. All eyes will be on us for being cocky enough to step on the Octogon's territory again. Not that they will kick us out but you know, we're not exactly their Favorites. I don't mind mind causing a little scene if you feel like it, just to have some fun - might be the perfect distraction for her to sneak furthur behind the scene," Quinn says, leading the way, grabbing Naeun by the arm, liking it to hers.

"Come on now. Let's play."

[katakaluptastrophy]

There's a lot going on with tea in Harrow the Ninth.

It's "overwhelming" and "too much" for Harrow, yet John regularly summons her to sit alone with him and drink it.

You did not understand why anyone ate these biscuits or drank this tea.

In the scene where John gets Harrow to admit what her parents did to create her - nobody has to know! - the entire exchange is framed around descriptions of how much John is enjoying drinking his tea and eating his biscuits, and descriptions of how much Harrow does not want to consume them at all and yet feels unable to do anything else. She understands herself as "required to drink it."

When John tells Harrow about the Tomb and the Body, we again get multiple descriptions of his enjoyment of drinking tea. Harrow is having a much less enjoyable experience: "you had not known you were shaking until God himself reached out to still your wrist, so that you mightn’t spill your tea over your knees." He asks her if she likes poetry or biscuits, and she makes it clear she isn't interested in either. He insists she eats two biscuits, and begins to recite the Poe poem associated with Humbert Humbert's first victim to her by way of reminiscing about who he buried in the Tomb.

In moments where Harrow tries to assert her own agency, tea is there too. When she tells John about the Saint of Duty and Cytherea's body, her tea is "stubbornly undrunk" and John's biscuit crumbles into his tea. John is drinking tea when Gideon finds him interrogating Wake, and when the game is up and Mercymorn and Augustine turn on him, they both smoke and tap the ash from the cigarette out into John's empty mug.

Conversely, we see John drinking coffee by himself in the Mithraeum kitchen when he's not interacting with anyone. Harrow is also offered coffee by Abigail Pent, and "accepted a cup, mainly to warm her hands." Despite Abigail being another powerful figure of whom Harrow feels wary, there's no sense of compulsion or discomfort in this offered drink (despite it otherwise being a situation of gentle compulsion). Harrow feels able to accept it on her own terms. Which brings it roughly in line with how Harrow feels about physical touch from both John and Abigail as well.

But Katakaluptastrophy, you might be saying, sometimes the tea is just tea! Yes, but sometimes the author was a secondary school teacher in the UK, where this is a popular video for explaining the concept of consent to teenagers:

[24kmagiic]

There's a nuanced scene in Sinners that I'd like to point out that may explain why Smoke didn't just throw Cornbread the money instead of placing it directly into his hand.

I'm barely old enough to remember the conversation my elders had about how exchanging money between races was a thing. Whether it was an actual written law or just a punishable social no-no, it was unacceptable to place money directly into the hands of white people.

For black people, we had to set the money on the counter so that they could pick it up, and for white people, they would purposely ignore our outstretched hand to place the money on the counter. A silent way to draw the line in the sand.

In the south, especially, it became an encoded social construct, long after the Jim Crow era, that a particular generation would still abide by these rules. My grandma would refuse to shop in places if the clerk refused to take money from her hand. Additionally, if she had to accept cash, she would demand that they place it in her hand. I've seen her and my mother refuse money if they didn't give the respect they demanded.

As a kid, I thought it was silly, but as an adult, I understand that it is a sign of respect or disrespect.

With all that in mind, no, Smoke wouldn't dare throw money at Cornbread because it was utterly disrespectful to do that during that era. Smoke was operating within the boundaries of their social customs, and as a black man, wouldn't dream of disrespecting another black man that way, accused vampire or not.

In today's society, think of the scene in ATL where Big Boi said "Oooh shit! That was so disrespectful. You done hit me in my mouth with some got damn money." Big Boi, also from the south, improvised that line, and I'm willing to bet cash that he was taught the same customs. That "oooh shit," was my exact reaction when I first saw that movie.

Additionally, I'd like to add that I appreciated the sentiment behind this interaction because you can see Smoke battling internally with whether to throw the money for self-preservation (no one would have blamed him) or to place it in Cornbread's hand.

Watching that scene, I thought of Cornbread's family and how Stack showed up to present a better way of life. I thought of how Cornbread was out there that night because he believed in Smoke and Stack's vision. And how he'll never return home to his family. And how Smoke, with all of this in his mind as well, saw past the threat of Cornbread potentially being a vampire and saw Cornbread (for the last time) as his friend.

So as a parting gesture, Smoke placed the money in his hand. Even if it meant going down with him.