#found some parallel moments between them and I need to write it out

[jordana1008]

I look forward to seeing it!!

My little Punkintyre comic thing is near ready and I’ll most likely post it tomorrow btw :3

[maliro-t]

The highlight of Veilguard for me is the relationship between Solas and Rook- and I don't know how to write about this on the internet without being acutely aware of other peoples' criticisms (such as there not being enough of it)- so I'll just say up top that I'm not actually intending this as a refutation of any of those. I just want to talk about my experience with the game and why I like it so much, which will probably make obvious where I disagree with some reoccurring critiques I've seen. *

The thing about Solas in this game is that he plays the role of the trickster perfectly. As much as Fen'Harel is a myth or a persona, and the stories we know of him invented or twisted, his role in Veilguard feels like it could slot in so, so easily with the myths, and in many ways directly parallels them. He is sinister and noble, monstrous and sympathetic, ruthless and compassionate, all at once. He spends the game trapped and humbled but can be almost gleefully condescending at times. He conflates outsmarting an enemy with being right, even as he plays the long-suffering martyr, tortured by countless mistakes. He falls easily into the role of advisor but is quick to note your foolishness. To sneer and declare the problem yours and yet still impose upon you an appraisal of your conduct.

But more than any of that, for most of the game, he's...passive. Dormant. He seems to make no moves, other than as a glorified consultant, despite starting as the main threat.

In Blood of Arlathan, when he finally rears his head again as major a player on the board, it's with a gallant offer of help. As an ally. He is exactly what you need, right when you need it, and you don't even have to ask him to be. And- because you don't have constant access to him, you maybe haven't even considered him an option!

He feels extremely intentionally sparing to me before this in service of a) making you think you're the one with power over him and b) causing you to forget he might contribute at all, so that when he finally does, it seems wholly benevolent. It comes in a moment where your goals are exactly aligned, and indisputably noble.

It's a waiting game. A classic of his, harkening back to stories we've heard time and again about Fen'harel and traps.

As Felassan tells it in the Masked Empire:

Fen'Harel was captured by the hunting goddess, Andruil. He had angered her by hunting the halla without her blessing, and she tied him to a tree and declared that he would have to serve in her bed for a year and a day to pay her back. But as she made camp that night, the dark god Anaris found them, and Anaris swore that he would kill Fen'Harel for crimes against the Forgotten Ones. Andruil and Anaris decided that they would duel for the right to claim Fen'Harel. He called out to Anaris during the fight and told him of a flaw in Andruil's armor just above the hip, and Anaris stabbed Andruil in the side, and she fell. Then Fen'Harel told Anaris that he owed the Dread Wolf for the victory and ought to get his freedom. Anaris was so affronted by Fen'Harel's audacity that he turned and shouted insults at the prisoner, and so he did not see Andruil, injured but alive, rise behind him and attack with her great bow. Anaris fell with a golden arrow in his back, badly injured, and while both gods slumbered to heal their wounds, Fen'Harel chewed through his ropes and escaped.

He goads his enemies into fighting each other for his benefit. Anaris, who had hunted him, succeeds with Fen'Harel's advice, exploiting a weakness he could only see with his aid. In turn, Anaris himself is left exposed. The victory goes to Fen'Harel, who has now dispatched two enemies at once and cleverly won his freedom.

He who was both Creator and Forgotten One. Who could walk amongst both as kin, and who in the end turned his back on them all.

Another tale:

The god Fen'Harel was asked by a village to kill a great beast. He came to the beast at dawn, and saw its strength, and knew it would slay him if he fought it. So instead, he shot an arrow up into the sky. The villagers asked Fen'Harel how he would save them, and he said to them, 'When did I say that I would save you?' And he left, and the great beast came into the village that night and killed the warriors, and the women, and the elders. It came to the children and opened its great maw, but then the arrow that Fen'Harel had loosed fell from the sky into the great beast's mouth, and killed it. The children of the village wept for their parents and elders, but still they made an offering to Fen'Harel of thanks, for he had done what the villagers had asked. He had killed the beast, with his cunning, and a slow arrow that the beast never noticed.

Felassan is everywhere in the Crossroads, in memories, in regrets, in notes that speak to a time you can barely fathom and traces of a friendship that is never once brought up by Solas directly (to my knowledge at least). I think Felassan serves a lot of purposes; he's a window into history, into Solas' mind and ideals, someone who challenges moments of ruthlessness but is loyal, an advisor who keeps Solas grounded even as he pushes him to become something larger than he is, a lingering notion of a loss that you can never really see the full scale of, and so on. And I think, too, that he's written carefully to be a meaningful presence from the rebellion without explicitly spoiling what eventually happens to him, which I wouldn't be surprised if was a legit consideration made for people who might go back and read the Masked Empire after dav lol- in the same way that Trespasser only really spoils the book if you already know what happens.

But for me, every note signed with his name is almost a tongue-in-cheek warning about what's to come. Felassan. A slow arrow, fired apparently mockingly into the sky, only to strike true when it's least expected. A solution executed with neither kindness nor explanation, serving first and foremost the interests of the one who fired it. Felassan's presence in the game ever so slightly encodes a reminder of who you're actually dealing with and what his core tenants are, whether as an ally or an adversary. You only know if you know, but it doesn't seem an accident to me that this reoccurring name of a general who shaped himself in honor of the Dread Wolf's unorthodox cleverness is so key to these traces of Fen'Harel's past, despite, again, never directly being discussed.

Anyways, to Rook. First, I gotta give a shoutout to Bryony Corrigan, whose voice I used for mine- she honestly made the game for me, especially in moments where I felt unsure of it. I love Rook, I love how they're written, and I love how they're performed. While a complete blank slate protagonist can be really fun, I find putting myself as a player in conversation with limitations given by the game really fun and interesting, and often surprising! And I do feel there's still plenty of flexibility.

My perspective on the relationship between Rook and Solas in Veilguard is specific to how I played of course, and I haven't seen other versions of their dynamic at this point to compare so I can't speak to them. But my experience was as such:

I didn't come into the game wanting to intentionally antagonize him. If he rose at me, I rose at him- and those moments of tension were really, really fun. But I tried to accept what he gave me with a fairly open mind. Skepticism, sure, but also the knowledge that ultimately, we both wanted Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain gone, and he knew them better than I did.

It was really gratifying, then, to see our rocky partnership evolve over time into what seemed like a genuine respect. But it didn't really feel straightforward to me either. For example, the conversation before Weisshaupt held a lot of weight for me: listening to him tell that chilling tale about undermining an enemy with persistent laughter and finding that 'Do whatever it takes to remove those who oppose you' was something we came out aligned on was.... There was an element of foreboding to that. Like, I had found myself actively trying to impress him here! And feeling good when it seemed like I had, but uneasy about how I had done it, even when I agreed with what I'd said.

And of course, after that comes Arlathan. Solas' big hero moment. This is the point in the game where our alliance finally felt comfortable to me. The conversation in the fade after was the first time that it really seemed like we were on even ground. And the game- not just Solas- told me here outright that I had earned his respect! After that, I didn't consider betrayal a possibility for a moment. Honestly, I barely even considered him an antagonist at all, because he had become a partner instead! I was expecting something clever down the line, but I wasn't worried about it hurting me. Our disagreements had been set aside, and the goal of his that I had initially opposed had been so thoroughly usurped I had forgotten that he was even pursuing it. And yes, that's perhaps naivety on my part, but I was so distracted by that not at all being the main plot that I forgot that it actually still was. Which is the whole point, right? He waits until your head is turned the other way to strike.

All this to say, my reaction when you kill Ghilan'nain and Solas uses the instability of the Veil to force you into his prison went beyond shock and confusion. It wasn't until well into his villain monologue that I was able to accept that he had betrayed me at all- having been thus far trying desperately to convince myself that the sequence I was seeing was Elgar'nan playing mind games in retaliation, and not actually Solas.

That prison moment is his Slow Arrow. You are Anaris to Elgar'nan's Andruil, the dagger the chink in her armor, and Ghilan'nain's death the golden arrow striking you in the back.

The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap.

And I should say, I was coming at this all from the meta perspective of someone who loves Solas and empathizes with him and has never seen him as irredeemable or evil- and I, the player, who believed that all game and is ultimately satisfied with the resolution I got- felt hoodwinked as fuck in this moment lmao!!

There's a line in the prison that Varric has about it being easier for Solas to play the villain when he knows he's causing harm- so I do think he plays up his sinisterness here on purpose. But it's such a slap in the face coming straight off of "You have earned the respect of the Dread Wolf." A true and profound betrayal, at least for me.

And it doesn't stop there! His trickster maneuvers and half-truths aren't done until the credits roll. I love that when you meet again, he is nothing but apologies. He makes every concession- that Varric was a good man, that every victory in this fight has been yours, that he needs you and not the other way around, that he was wrong and made mistakes and betrayed people who never deserved it. And of course, we know from experience at this point that this won't stop him from doing it again anyways. But he never holds back from placing the blame on himself. Agreeing with you. Telling you you're right, and that Elgar'nan must be stopped. He only ever says things that are true. Things that are aligned with your point of view.

"[The veil] will never come down by my hand." Well, yes. Because it will fall on its own when Elgar'nan is dead. You won't hardly have to do anything at that point, Solas, will you?

It doesn't matter if Rook isn't falling for it, because if they don't accept his partnership, they lose! That's it! It's the same as it was at the start, but with the added sting of knowing it probably won't work out in your favor this time.

I remember before launch John Epler saying that Solas sees himself in Rook, which really echoes throughout the whole game for me. There are some ways you could say Solas seems opposite to Rook- and of course this can wax and wane depending on roleplaying choices, but the central conceit of Rook as Varric's recruit is that they are a specialist in being willing to act. And on the surface at least, that's kind of counter to Solas' Slow Arrow, right? Blunt force versus delayed gratification. But not entirely! Because every backstory we have for Rook revolves around a kind of heroism that is unorthodox enough to have left you ultimately punished for it. Like yeah, yeah, you saved some lives.... The optics were kinda bad though, so maybe you could go on a sabbatical for a while?

Rook is, from the start, an unconventional and unsung hero, admonished by some for ruffling feathers that they shouldn't have in pursuit of a noble goal. Not unlike Fen'Harel.

I find, too, that there's kind of a nesting doll of parallels around Rook and Solas as foils that the whole story hinges on:

We see Solas, his regrets plastered on every wall, each of them tied to Mythal. At every turn he seems to warn her that this is not the right path, but he follows her down it anyways, until he is left with nothing but an overwhelming need to fix what they have broken.

We see Felassan, who still wears Mythal's vallaslin on his face, challenging Solas' judgement and methods, but still standing by him through the rebellion, after the Veil, for however many thousands of years they slept. Ultimately, in the Masked Empire, the thing that makes him falter is his admiration for someone else's pursuit of freedom. His admiration for Briala.

"I suspect you'll hate this, but she reminds me of-"

Solas is Rook. Solas is Briala. Upstarts, flawed defenders, people who are made into leaders because of their willingness to fight for something. Who see injustice and cannot rest.

Solas is Felassan, the devoted general. One who pushes against his orders but cannot deny them. Someone who loves the cause, but more than that is dedicated to the person who champions it. A voice of reason who, in the end, turns away.

Solas is Mythal, a pragmatic leader, responsible for uncountable deaths. Someone who has relied on partners and power structures that have led her down a dark path, partners whose mistakes in their pursuit of power have become her own. Partners who in the end betray her.

Solas is trapped in his regrets because they are not all his. He struggles with having been failed and with how he has failed others, and in his mind the two become conflated. He carries these contradictory roles on his back- perpetrator and victim, betrayer and betrayed- and cannot see how to overcome them. He is ultimately freed by Mythal's absolution because the foremost factor in his crusade is not belief but guilt.

The ends have to justify the means, because there is no other way he can live with himself. And at every step, he is trying to redeem Mythal as much as he is trying to redeem himself.

He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He wanted to give wisdom, not orders. I will always follow where you go.

He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

It was all for her. It was always for her.

Solas' duplicity is unending, but so is his devotion. And there is such an earnestness to a Rook, always betrayed, that sees and empathizes with that and uses it to free him.

* I will say that during the game I was definitely wishing you could show your hand to him a little more and press him about his memories prior to the endgame (and separate from this I have quibbles with the impact of some of those memory reveals- like wrt the delivery just not feeling as weighty as I would like. The payoff is absolutely still there in the end, it just felt to me like they were too nonchalantly getting a ton of info out that had to be established moving forward, despite these being like earthshattering reveals that people have Correctly (!!!!) theorized about for up to 15 years). That being said, in retrospect it would have lessened the impact of the finale to have pressed Solas about, for example, his relationship to Mythal prior to absolutely pulling the rug out from under him with it at the 11th hour. And additionally, it's a structural nightmare because you can uncover the memories at almost any point in the story, and you don't have constant access to Solas to chat with him about them. Which you shouldn't imo, in service to the story being told!! But it's also true that early on I found scenes with Solas super gripping, and scenes with my team often...not. And that was initially disheartening, but developed positively over time on all fronts once the game didn't have to worry about setting things up. So, I did wish for more here at first, but I've revised my opinion now that I can see the whole arc.

[numberonesnarkfan]

thinkin about... Doey.. Ok here's some more autism

a while ago to start practicing writing dialogue for him, I went through all his dialogue and tried to identify which 'self' was speaking at any given time and what I found was pretty interesting.

except in extreme distress, none of the boys ever seem to talk fully individually, it's more like a spectrum between all three where Doey always leans toward one of his three 'parts'.

Kevin's voice is actually softer than the other two's. Unless he's really angry he generally speaks in a low murmur that sounds very practiced and controlled.

He also is a lot less angry than it seems the fandom thinks - I think because they take the word of the Evil Scientist's dehumanising monologue about him as gospel. (It's not necessarily, and is also talking about him in the PAST, from over TEN YEARS AGO)

Doey also really really seems to have parallels to the Freudian Trinity of Mind. (Matthew = Ego Kevin = Superego Jack = Id) if that's intentional, which I hope it is, that's pretty cool since it sort of brings the theming of chapter 4 back around to being about the brain.

Kevin is of course the most immediately interesting of the three since the most attention is drawn toward him but the other two have interesting characterisation as well.

Matthew is tired, he's been resigned to his fate all his life and took it on the chin with a weary smile even when the Things Just Never Stopped Keep Happening. As the caretaker, he sees himself as responsible for regulating not only his own emotions but everyone else's as well. It took a lot to crack him and cause him to become part of Doey's implosion.

Jack seems to be perpetually in a kind of state of shock, or maybe stunted development. Listening to the dialogue, it seems like he can't help but giggle and interject at strange moments, usually with a smile on his voice. His whimsical cartoon persona isn't just for display, it's how his psyche protects him. After a sudden, overwhelming major traumatic incident that completely changed his life, his unconscious mind needed a way to keep itself alive, and learned, 'well, the world can't be painful and scary if I perceive it as silly and fun!' ...Until, of course, pain of either emotional or physical kind shocks him out of it and causes him to shutdown or meltdown.

When Doey lost Safe Haven, that wasn't any of their first time losing their home. Not even their second time. Or third, if you count being taken from your body as losing a home.

I think Doey is both good and bad as system rep. The bad comes from the fact that we see him from an "outsider who is the victim of a violent attack by a mentally ill person" perspective, which is always going to be iffy no matter what.

The good comes from the fact that none of his parts are presented as malicious or even selfish, all of them want to protect, care for or improve the lives of the people they care about, and generally they work together in harmony. Doey is what a system is not just because he has multiple identities, but also because all of those parts work together in order to survive after a majorly traumatic childhood.

[thedreamlessnights]

Fixation

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: When a mistranslated ancient spell goes wrong, you're forced to suffer the consequences. Astarion takes a keen interest in your... predicament.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac spell, Spawn!Tav, established relationship, possessiveness. Brief referrals to the Rite of Profane Ascension and Cazador. Fingering, oral sex (receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms, slightly rough sex. Brief overstimulation, praise, mild degradation, uses of the terms 'pet' and 'consort.'

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: And here's the second of my parallel aphrodisiac fics for Non-Ascended vs. Ascended Astarion! It was honestly very interesting to write the differences between them. The Non-Ascended one is much softer than this - please mind the tags!

The book must be hundreds of years old, but it feels warm in your hands. You’ve perused it inside and out, practically memorizing the faded runes. Fixation. It’s a weakness of yours. 

Still, how often is it that you find an ancient book of spells? Who knows if you might discover some long-lost secret buried within the pages. And, yes: you’re bored. 

Your messy translations are not ideal for this sort of thing, which is exactly why you’ve chosen a basic spell to start with. It’s mid-afternoon, quiet and still, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room. 

The long-forgotten words flow from your mouth like honey - as if they’ve been waiting for centuries just to be said. Light and sweet, they settle into the room and linger for just a moment. Some spells can be felt in the very air, manifesting as an electric haze that tickles the lungs, but not this one. When the sound of your voice fades away, the only sign that the spell has worked is a gentle heat that settles in your skin.

For a long moment, you kneel, studying the small scrape on your finger and waiting for something to happen. If you’d translated correctly, this should have been a basic healing spell with enough capacity to mend small cuts and burns. An increasingly pleasant heat builds in your veins, but the scrape remains untouched.

It should have worked by now. But if it wasn’t a healing spell, then…

Your eyes turn back to the pages, flickering between the references you’d found and the runes. Something connects. A line you hadn’t seen. A word you hadn’t added. The runes on the page - they’re not for healing, like you’d thought. But if they don’t mean health, then…

You stare at it a moment longer.

Lust. 

“Oh. Oh, gods.”

You rise to your feet like you’ve been slapped. The heat is bearable for now but growing incessantly, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No counterspell. No healing potion. Anything you try could just as well make it worse. Which poses the question: what the hells are you going to do?

You suck in a deep breath.

First things first: you need to get out of this room. The air is feeling like it might strangle you. 

The chill of the hall greets you sweetly as you pace up and down the walkway, weighing your options. A spell this simple shouldn’t last long. It’ll most likely linger for only a few hours, then dissipate. It doesn’t seem dangerous. It’s not painful. Not yet, at least.

You could lock yourself in the cellar for the night, but that isn’t exactly appealing. The bedroom wouldn’t work, either. It’s Astarion’s room too, after all.

Astarion. Just the thought of him sends sparks flaring through you. It ladles heat into a very pleasant spot in your abdomen, and something flutters deep in your gut. Gods, what you wouldn’t give for him to be touching you.

But he cannot find out about this. By the hells, he can’t ever find out, because if he does, you will never live this down. Which leaves two options: you can either go to dinner and attempt to act like you’re fine, or you can try to hide away in one of the rooms and wait it out. 

Neither one is ideal. Being physically near him, he’ll be able to read you like a book - which makes dinner a very dangerous concept. But if you neglect to show up at all? He’ll be even more suspect. He’ll certainly seek you out and find out the truth in the end.

So. Dinner it is. 

You’ll just have to keep yourself composed, somehow. If only doing was as easy as thinking. But do you really have a choice?

No, you think. 

You don’t.

As soon as he’s through the door, Astarion’s eyes are on you. They always seem to be, these days. Ever since the Ascension. His dark consort, his right hand. His, for whatever he wants. He never seems to see you like he used to, but the sting of that faded long ago. Another thing lost to the ritual.

“Hello, my treasure,” he greets.

You offer him a smile as he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin. You can only hope he doesn’t notice the fear in your eyes or the way you’re trembling. 

The gods must be on your side, because he’s distracted. The moment he releases you, he’s talking with a servant about something or other. You can barely keep up with the politics of the city on a normal day, much less on one with flaming lust in your stomach.

So you follow him to the table like a puppet, moving to your usual seat opposite his. It seems much closer together than usual. Everything does. He could be across the room, and you’d still feel like he was at your side, his breath at your neck. You’re almost grateful that the near-only things you can consume are blood and wine, because your trembling fingers are not fit to handle a knife.

After you’ve taken your seat, you have to put all of your attention into holding your glass. You’d try to act natural, but you can’t even remember what that feels like anymore. Does your skin look cold enough? Is your smile convincing? Is the picture you’re painting compelling, or will your imperfections give you away?

For a moment, Astarion’s attentions are focused on his papers. Then, with a sigh, he sets them aside and looks at you. He seems bored, more than anything. Not suspicious yet. “And how was your day, pet?” he asks.

Your grip tightens around your glass. “Good,” you manage to say. “I found a new book in the library.”

He raises a brow. “Did you?”

You nod, attempting to bury yourself in a sip of wine, but it doesn’t work. The more he looks at you, the more the feeling grows. Your hands are slick. Your mind feels clouded over. 

“A - ah, book of poetry.” Your voice shakes as you speak, and the betrayal of it is like a dagger in your chest.

He sets down his knife and fork. 

Already? you think, lightheaded and humiliated. Gods - you’d known he’d likely catch on sooner or later, but, really? Not even two minutes in? It’s pathetic.

But you aren’t going to give in yet. Astarion may have the winning card in his hand, but you’re determined to play this game for all it’s worth. So you set down the wine, fold your hands in your lap as if you aren’t struggling with keeping still, and give him your prettiest smile.

The glint in his eye grows. “Really?” he purrs, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

And as soon as he’s spoken, his voice is in your mind - words you’d thought you’d forgotten, pressing to the front of your thoughts. 

It’s a poem. A gift from Cazador.

The first time you’d seen his scars. 

“I…” Your voice chokes, and you swallow hard. “I don’t read it often. But I enjoy it, sometimes.”

He hums in response. His eyes are fixed on yours like a predator - watching your every move. Every blink. Every swallow. Every tremble. He’s waiting for you to break. 

You don’t. Not yet.

“And you?” you ask. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” he muses, his hand gesturing indifferently. “The usual.”

But you don’t know how it is. He hasn’t told you a word about his work, and you’ve never invited yourself into it. He leans back in his seat, and his expression molds into something complacent as you struggle to find the right thing to say.

You decide that wine on your tongue will be much better than words. It’s rich and dark, mildly bitter, and heady. It lingers for a long moment after you’ve drunk, sloshing around your glass as you swirl it.

The end is coming. Your body is fighting you tooth and nail. Your hands are shaking, your mouth is dry, and your head is foggy. Setting the wine down shouldn’t be a difficult thing, but it feels like trying to thread a rose stem through the eye of a needle - painful and futile. 

Your wrist twitches. A tiny, incomprehensible mistake. The goblet nicks the edge of the table, your grip loosens, and the next thing you know, there’s wine everywhere. Bleeding over the top of the table. Dripping into your lap. Splashed over your chest. The taste of it is still in your mouth, bitter on your tongue.

“You’ve gotten clumsy, pet,” Astarion says. He places his hands on the table, pushes to his feet, and approaches with a languid stride, amused and possessive in his gaze. You meet his eyes, determined not to break.

He grabs a clean napkin and half-heartedly dabs the wine off of you, stopping to swipe a droplet off your chest with his finger. Then he lifts it into his mouth, never looking away. “You’re trembling,” he says.

“Am I?” Your voice is breathless. “That’s strange.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you feeling alright, dearest?” 

“Me?” you ask, your hands clenching into fists. “Of course I am.”

He stares at you. You stare at him. He raises a brow. You paste on your sweetest smile, just for him. 

“You know,” he sighs, circling behind you, “I do hate it when you lie to me.”

The feeling in your gut is ravenous now. You’re nothing short of feverish, buried in a haze of sheer need. You need him more than you have ever needed before. You will not let yourself have him.

You play this game with him because, no matter what he says, you know he wants you to. You slot yourself in as his pawn, settling into your place, competing with him even though the game is rigged from the start; all because he wants it. He wants you to lose, and to beg for him to touch you. And, gods help you, despite this cruel, vicious thing he’s become, you still want him. 

He reaches out to a loose strand of your hair, tucking it away behind your ear. “I want the truth,” he says, leaning in close. You’re shivering with desire. Every part of you wants him near. You fight the impulse to make a sound, and he steps away.

“I really am feeling fine,” you insist. 

His eyes pass over you. You can feel the way they trail along your features, both analytical and skeptical. His head tilts and he smirks, and you know you’ve lost. Just like he wanted you to. 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Little love,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb along your jaw. His touch is warm, skimming against your skin. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?” The corner of his lips flick into a smile, but his eyes stay cold as ice. “I know lust when I see it.”

Then, he lets you go.

You want to beg him to come back.

“What a shame,” he muses. “I have so much work to do tonight. You’ll wait for me, won’t you, my sweet?”

You will. You don’t have any choice.

A small sound involuntarily chokes from your throat, and his eyes narrow. “Now, now,” he chides. “Be patient.”

He returns to the doorway, studying your appearance with a smug sort of satisfaction. “Oh, and darling?” he says. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” 

He pulls the door shut after him, and you stare blankly ahead.

Gods. He’s going to drag this out. You know he will - he loves to see you squirm. But to tell you that you can’t touch yourself? It’s particularly cruel.

But this is where he wants you. You’d lost the game, and this is how you’re paying for it.

The time ticks by. The feeling in your gut grows. You have to squeeze the armrests of your chair to keep them from straying. Heat flushes through every part of your body.

It’s a strange thing, being warm. It’s been months since you’ve had warm blood in your veins. You’d almost forgotten how it felt. It only makes this sensation so much more overwhelming. 

It’s like the sun kissing your skin. It’s like fire, searing through your chest. It’s both pain and pleasure, mingling in your senses. More pleasure, perhaps, if you were allowed to touch yourself. You don’t dare to, not even once. Not even a little. No matter how much you want to.

When the door finally opens again, you let out a rush of air. Relief. Sheer relief. But Astarion doesn’t move toward you. He goes to the papers he’d left on the table, rummaging through them. He finds the one he wants, pauses, then glances at you.

“My, my. Look at you,” he remarks. “Gods below. You’re a mess, darling.”

It’s only then that you realize he’s not coming back yet. He’s not here to touch you.

“Astarion-”

The look he gives you silences your words. Your mouth snaps closed, and you try to resist the urge to sob.

“Patience,” he says. His tone is a warning, low and dark. “Or you’ll get nothing at all.”

The door shuts once more, and this time, a noise breaks free from your throat.

You should have just told him. You’d have lost the game all the same, but he might have taken pity on you. But you’d lied to him. You’d kept it hidden. You hadn’t begged.

His message is as clear as day. This is what you get. This is your punishment.

You’d just had to try out that spell book, hadn’t you? You couldn’t have left it alone? Now look at you. Shaking, clinging onto the chair so tightly that your fingers are beginning to go numb. You feel rabid. Whatever self-control is leashing you is beginning to slip.

Just hold on, you tell yourself. Just until he comes back.

So you wait. Your body feels like it’s on fire, but you wait. 

You’ve just begun to consider touching yourself, consequences be damned, when you finally hear the blissfully familiar sound of Astarion’s voice. 

“I’m here now, my dear,” he announces. “You can stop terrorizing the poor chair.”

He’s standing in front of you, looking down at you with a mix of desire and possessiveness. You have to stare at him for a good ten seconds before you realize that he’s actually there, not just a vision. That your torment will soon be over. 

His words finally connect with your mind and register somewhere within the mess of need. Your hands loosen from their grip, and a soft noise escapes from your lips. From pain or want, you don’t know.

“Kneel,” he says.

Your legs tremble when they stand, as if they might finally give out. You sink to your knees, barely feeling the hard stone beneath you.

Astarion takes two fingers and places them under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “My pet, do you want me?”

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me.”

You swallow hard. “I - I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

His head tilts. “Good.”

He drops his fingers. You want to scream at the loss of his touch.

“Get up,” he instructs.

You can barely move, but you do it. Your knees shake. You want to grab onto him for support, but you know you shouldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, his hand wraps around your waist. “Just look at you,” he murmurs, echoing his statement from earlier. His other hand comes up to your mouth, his thumb brushing against your lips. 

Then his hand on your waist trails up your back, up your neck, fisting into your hair. “And all for me.”

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. Bruising. His hand cups your cheek, his grip tightens in your hair. His lips are warm and soft and demanding, coaxing your mouth open as he walks you into the table. The back of your legs meet the edge and you pull away to sit, panting as he sets himself over you, straddling your hips.

His eyes are dark and hazy, trailing over you in a way that makes you shiver.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along your cheek. His lips move to your jaw, trailing feather light kisses along the bone, and you tilt your head to give him full access to your neck. He hums an approval into your skin.

You barely feel it when his teeth sink in and draw blood. There’s only a faint flash of pain, a muddled sensation beneath your want. You feel his hand rest on your hip. His gentle, wet tongue, darting out to clean the wound.

If he doesn’t touch you soon, you’re sure you’ll combust.

“Astarion,” you breathe, gripping onto the back of his shirt. You know he heard you, but he keeps kissing down your throat, stopping at your collar bones to brush his lips over them. A sharp nip. An apologetic kiss to soothe the sting.

“Astarion, please,” you repeat.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to pull away. He simply undoes the lacing of your clothing without looking and tosses the outfit across the room.

“Touch me,” you beg.

At that, he finally stops kissing you and looks up at you, something dark and hungry simmering in his gaze. “Dearest, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he drawls, “but I am touching you.”

You’re in no mood to deal with this - not with the scorching flame inside that will not let up even for an instant. “You know what I mean,” you snap. “Please, gods. Touch me.”

But the more desperate you are, the more he pulls back from you. He gives you a look - half amused, half bored. “But I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I can’t read your mind anymore, my sweet. Don’t you remember?”

Anger and frustration cloud your vision in a veil of red. A sharp noise chokes through your chest, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails into the skin. “Fuck me, Astarion. Please.”

The corners of his mouth flick into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re lucky I like you, little love,” he murmurs, easing your legs apart with his thigh, and you sigh in relief, relaxing into his touch as he returns to kissing your neck. “But you wouldn’t deny me a taste, surely?” he asks. “I want everyone in the city to hear you screaming my name.”

And then he drops to his knees.

You’re left shivering with need, so desperate that your vision seems to be clouding over. The top layer of your clothing has been removed, but you’re still in your smallclothes, and he of course takes his sweet time with you. The feel of his tongue through the fabric of your smalls, so desperately close to where you need him to be - but not there, not yet there - is all but maddening. You fix your hand into his hair and try to relax, but you’re so tightly-wound that you feel like a rope about to snap.

How the hells are you supposed to relax when the sweet friction of his mouth is pressing against your clit - when he’s on his knees for you, his grip on your thighs bruising and almost, almost perfect? You could come like this, riled up to the point of climax, but that would be too easy. He’d never let it be that easy.

Instead, he brings you to the verge of orgasm, bites at the tender flesh of your thigh, then pulls away.

“Gods,” you mutter, caught between feeling like the tiniest action will send you into waves of pleasure and simultaneously feeling like you’re going to black out. “Astarion-”

“Shh,” he says, still on his knees. “Relax, pet.”

Out of the two of you, he’s in the more vulnerable position, but you’d never know it from the way he’s practically holding you down on the top of the table - from the way his eyes are devouring you, practically daring you to protest. 

You know him. The more you rebel, the less he’ll give you. So you don’t. You force yourself silent and suck in a breath or two, trying to remember the way oxygen tastes, trying to keep the dam inside you from bursting open.

A small sob breaks free, but aside from that, you’re a statue. A lustful, slightly relaxed statue. It’s all you can give, and it must be enough, because he finally pulls your smalls off of you. 

They’re so wet from his tongue and from your arousal that they stick to you, and you can see the way his gaze darkens. The way he swallows, taking in a deep breath and setting them aside. He could keep you here all night, but he’d be torturing himself, too.

He starts slowly again, and with every graze of his warm fingers, with every brush of his skin against yours, your body bucks into his touch. It doesn’t matter where or how brief; it’s just the silky trailing of his fingertips over your abdomen, your body is still chasing the minimal pleasure his presence gives you. If it’s his thumb against your clit, your body still shudders the way you know he wants you to.

When his tongue finally, finally meets your clit, you let out a sharp gasp and have to physically stop yourself from following that feeling, from grinding against his mouth the way you so desperately want to. Your nails dig into the tablecloth, but you let him keep his own pace. His own agonizing, teasing pace. 

One finger, slipping inside of you, finding the electrifying spot inside of you that has you moaning his name, your hand tightening in his hair and your hips bucking of their own accord. Then one becomes two. A slow, even rhythm of thrusting that slowly grows harder, faster, deeper. 

He brings you right back to the edge, and this time, he lets you come. 

Your body tenses. Your grip tightens even more. He groans against you, and the vibrations of it course out through your skin. The rope of tension pulls and pulls and pulls until it finally snaps, leaving you shuddering and mindlessly crying out, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra. 

Just like he’d said it would. 

Your consciousness seems to float away from your body - a blinding, sharp pleasure that comes to you in a pulsing, ambrosial wave. When you come down, you’re still burning. The fire wanes a little, but won’t be sated. Not that easily. In many ways, it’s just like Astarion. Running you through, filling you with need, and not letting you go until it’s done with you.

When you come down, you find yourself with wet thighs and covered in sweat, your breath pulling unnaturally from your lungs until you’ve recovered. You’re still shaking, and Astarion is still between your legs - licking at sensitive skin. 

You whimper, and he finally pulls away, his pupils blown wide and an impatience to his expression. Possessiveness. Need. He rises to his feet and winds a hand in your hair, pulling your head back with a grip that borders on painful.

He doesn’t say a thing, but his gaze speaks volumes - the glittering, dark ruby of his eyes, the almost removed way he observes you, eyes trailing over your face. Studying how he’s ruined you, no doubt.

He releases his hold on you, and though you can see his erection through his trousers, his movements are slow - methodical, almost. When he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

“Come here, my sweet, little consort.”

And you do. With your still-shaking legs, you slide off the table and take a step closer, unsure how near he wants you. 

“Turn around,” he instructs. 

And you do.

You only register his hand on the nape of your neck when your cheek connects with something hard. The table. He’s bent you over it and is standing behind you, and the impact barely smarts in comparison to the heat that floods between your legs.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Astarion muses, dragging a finger along your spine. “You want everyone to know who you belong to. You want me to fuck you into this table and let everyone hear how much you need me.”

And you can’t even argue with him. You can’t argue, because you know he’s right - and he knows it, too. 

You swallow hard, back arching toward his hand. “Yes.”

He’s silent for a moment, tracing his hand along your back. Then he presses his thumb to your clit and you mindlessly grind into him, barely resisting the urge to beg him to just fuck you already.

Then you hear fabric shifting, and your whole body tenses in anticipation of him. 

He’s not gentle, and he’s not tender. He sheathes himself into you in a single, harsh thrust that has you crying out, your hands scrabbling for something to grasp for support but finding nothing. 

“Gods,” he growls, his grip settling on your hips and pressing into the skin as he sets a rough, punishing pace. His voice is breathless when he speaks. “You look so pretty for me, pet. Bent over like this. Say my name for me, won’t you?”

You can barely choke out the sound between his thrusts, but it comes out of you nonetheless. “A… A-star-ion-” 

“Good,” he says, and then his pace turns brutal, every thrust sending your cheek scraping against the table. There’s pain, but you barely feel it - not against the burning pleasure of him inside you, filling you up, and not against the fire in your skin that’s building to a boiling point again.

Over and over.

His breathing is getting faster. His grip on you is ever tightening, sure to leave a number of tender bruises for the morning. He’ll kiss them, then, draw his fingers over them in admiration, but for now: he groans and grips at your hair again, and you sit there and take every inch he’s giving to you until you can barely stand it - the sweet, delectable friction of him inside you, the vulgar, wet noises that echo around the room. Evidence of how much you want him. How close you are.

“Tell - tell me you’re mine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts even harder, and it vaguely occurs to you that you might not be able to walk tomorrow. You can feel the tell-tale signs of him getting closer - the tensing of his thighs, the panting as he approaches climax, the moans he’s letting out. He pauses mid-thrust and trembles for a moment before he slams back into you once, twice - three times.

That’s all it takes to send you over the edge with him, clenching around him, barely conscious of the table under you, barely conscious of the fact that both of you are in the dining room and almost certainly the servants are able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You can feel him seeping out of you, trickling down your thighs, and you go slack against the table, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe.

He finally releases your hair and pulls out of you, paying no mind to the way you wince.

You definitely won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

“What a good little pet you are,” he remarks, smoothing your hair away from your neck and placing a kiss to the nape. When he speaks again, his voice has gone to that pouty, condescending tone that he sometimes uses. “You wouldn’t dream of doing that to me again, would you, my treasure? Lying to me? Hiding your own pleasure from me? And at my table, nonetheless.”

You attempt an answer, but it comes out as nothing but a helpless whimper.

“What was that?” he asks. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Good.”

He straightens, running a finger between your legs - no doubt studying the mess he’s made of you.

“Get up,” he says. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

You unstick yourself from the table, legs trembling, and as his gaze travels over you once more, you have a deep, sudden feeling in your gut. It’s too easy. Too easy for you. Even after all the torment you’d faced earlier, stranded and desperate in your chair, it’s not enough. He’s not done with you yet. 

And if you know him at all…

It’ll be surprising if he’s finished with you before morning.

[storiesabouteli]

Eli's gurl // Elijah Hewson X SingleMom!Reader (Fluff)

prompt: Violet had a minor accident, and Eli is there to calm her down, even though he's dead worried for her.

words: 1,8K

a/n: It's a strange trope, I admit, but I love writing kids, and I'm stressed, so this will happen again. Plus, Eli would be deffo super protective dad of a lil girl. (Yep, I'm running out of inspo too).

Your hands were cold, and you remembered your mother, your mind quickly recalling the need for bandages when you got hurt as a child. You hated that—when something bad happened and adrenaline only made it feel worse. But this time, something felt serious than usual. When Elijah called, you were just about to wrap up a meeting. His voice was shaky, and you could picture his nervous fingers ruffling his hair. This naturally made you uneasy. As you asked questions, he seemed to grow even more unsettled. Finally, it was clear that you’d need to pick them up from the hospital.

A tight knot formed in your throat, tension heavy in the air. The search for a parking spot felt endless, and parallel parking turned into one of the worst experiences of your life. Feeling how stiff your body had become, you leaned back in the seat, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. Gradually, your mind slowed as you thought of how Eli always knew how to calm her, whether she was in pain, nervous, or sleepy. She would hold his index finger in her small hand and rest her freckled face against his chest, seeking comfort. He had a way of making her feel heard and special, and you found yourself loving him even more each time you saw these moments. This brief thought offered some relief; after all, you trusted him.

Violet wasn’t biologically his, yet Eli treated her as if she were. It took you a while to introduce her to him, something he always understood, knowing how important it was for you. You’d been alone with her for quite some time, and although you’d tried dating a few times, there was a mental gap between your post-Vee body changes and the emotional and physical baggage that came with having her by your side. You didn’t regret it, but it was true—you couldn’t hold onto someone when your responsibilities were the very ones people your age often avoided. Not that they shouldn’t, of course; you understood that choice well. But you did start to think about opening up to someone again. You wanted to try, to feel the thrill of having someone who truly wanted you. When Eli came along, you were cautious, though you liked him right from the start. A long conversation unfolded at a show you’d attended without much expectation, and initially, you avoided the topic, wanting to enjoy his attention. But as your time together grew, you eventually told him about Violet, and he didn’t pull away.

The scene before you was all too familiar: Vee, with a pouting face, clung tightly to Eli’s shirt, while his warm, caramel eyes showed his worry. The room, painted in soft shades of blue, had small animal drawings on the walls, and the table held sterilized thick needles and thread. Elijah appeared even more tense than Violet.

"Look at me, it’s okay, little one," he whispered gently, holding her close and doing his best to comfort her. His eyes were red and misted over as they met her pained gaze, tears welling up in response to hers.

She intertwined her fingers in his shirt tighter and closed her eyes; his voice remained soft, just like the hand resting tenderly on her shoulder. “You’re very brave,” he murmured with a comforting accent. That brought a faint smile to your face. As the doctor stepped back, Vee noticed you standing there. “Mommy?!” Eli looked at you, visibly more at ease, and you nodded at him before going over to kiss your little one. Her eyes were small and tired, and you let her curl up in your arms. “How are you feeling?” you asked. She rested her cheek against your shoulder, carefully avoiding touching the bandage, and nodded. “Good. I cried a lot, but El was right—it didn’t hurt that much, and I feel better now that it’s over,” she said in small pauses, choosing her words just like Eli did, which you found so endearing. He usually laughed at this, but this time, concern overshadowed his usual smile.

“I want to go home, please?” Vee whimpered. As soon as she asked, you looked over at Eli, and he nodded, suggesting you go ahead to the car while he picked up the medications she’d need. His brief words and downcast eyes hinted at a sense of guilt, so you agreed to wait for him. You hated the thought that he might see her as his responsibility.

You stood beside her, gently holding her chair and placing your jacket behind her head to keep it steady. “Want me to drive, love?” You rubbed his shoulders, and though distracted, he turned to catch a kiss from you. “She’s okay,” you said when he confirmed he was fine with you driving. He let out a heavy sigh, as if about to say, “But what if…” in protest, but he held back.

The drive home was quick, and now and then, he glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t deny that seeing your gentle smile made him feel more at ease. Once you were inside, with Vee resting in his arms, he finally let out what had been weighing on him. “I let her fall off the playset,” he admitted, looking down at her with a mixture of guilt and sadness pressing in his chest. “I was watching, you know? Thought it’d be good to give her some independence but stayed close. I tried to catch her before she fell, but… it just didn’t work.”

You listened carefully, sensing the tension in his voice. He placed her on the bed, gently untangling her fingers from his shirt. “We won’t be able to protect her forever, El. It’s important she learns that too,” you said, arranging blankets around the bed to keep her safe while she rested. She lay there peacefully, her hair tousled, the haircut a try of her attempt to look more like Eli. He was certain that you were the voice of reason. Her eyes were a bit swollen from crying, and you smiled to yourself, feeling a mix of tenderness and quiet pride. Eli was a solid figure in her life.

"I’m afraid she might think I won’t be able to help her when she needs it, that she won’t trust me. I don’t like the feeling of not having stopped something bad from happening to her," he said in a low breath, his eyes distant and not meeting yours, and you felt the knot in your throat.

"Don’t say that," you disagreed, walking over to him, standing on your tiptoes as you used your fingers to wipe away his tears. "Do you realize that your concern about this makes you the best person she could have?" His shoulders softened, his eyes gaining a bit of light, still searching for the right words.

"Are you mad or upset?" The tip of his nose touched yours, his hair tickling you. He was a fool, worrying too much.

"Of course not, if I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be near my daughter, especially alone." He laughed, allowing you to hug him. Still, she felt the need to add, "She’s not your responsibility, and yet you treat her so well." You said that sometimes, and Eli found himself wondering how people judged you for it, and it hurt a little to see how much it weighed on you, no matter what he said. But he was still there, you’d have to get used to it.

He kissed your forehead, happy with how your face nestled into his chest, the pleasant scent finally allowing him to breathe without a heavy heart. "She’s a sweetheart, so much like you. I love her. I enjoy being with her." That relaxed you, even though you had heard it before, something broken inside you still made it feel like the first time. Eli would repeat it as many times as needed.

"I don’t like seeing her hurt or knowing she’s scared, but it’s not like I think it’s your fault, I know it wasn’t. Kids are unpredictable, and she trusts you so much that won’t change now. In that room, she was so focused on you, on your voice and your calmness—which I know you were acting—making her know everything would be fine." He hadn’t thought about it that way, but he realized it was true.

He was afraid that Vee might be upset with him in some way, but everything, as you said, pointed to the fact that she wasn't. "But you can talk to her tomorrow, what do you think? You can tell her how you feel, and let her know she can count on you when she needs you, because you'll always be there for her, uh?" He nodded, it seemed like a good idea. It was funny to think that all he needed was to talk to you, for his mind to calm down and for things to make sense. It was like that in many areas of his life.

His nose brushed against your neck, and he kissed the spot, followed by your face. You hugged him tighter. "I love you – so much." He sighed, and you could feel that he was less worried. "I love you too." His lips touched yours, and he lightly laughed at the salty taste.

"Do you want to eat something? What did you have for lunch?" You tried to break the melancholic mood. "I didn’t really have lunch, though I made Vee eat while we were waiting at the hospital, and she made me eat some of the sandwiches I made for her." He saw you bite your lip, and there was a silent understanding between you, which made him not have to mention how much Vee was like you. Besides, it only confirmed what you had already said; he was good for her.

"Alright, we’ll eat now, before you go crazy without nutrients in your body." His laugh was casual, and it felt good to see him well.

The next morning, still groggy, trying to avoid getting up, you heard Violet’s voice speaking softly to him. When you opened your eyes, you saw them both by your side, her little hands on Eli’s cheeks, counting his freckles with her fingertips, gently feeling his beard as he held back a smile.

"It’s okay, I insisted on going down the slide by myself, but you were still there with me." She rested her face on his chest, and he kissed her head multiple times. She stretched her hand toward you when she saw you waking up, holding yours. "Good morning, mommy." Seeing her happy made you happy too.

It was so good to have them both. The bandage this time was pink, and you cursed yourself a little for missing Eli’s interaction with her while he treated her wound. She jumped into your arms, hugging you tightly, and he looked at you with shining eyes and a gentle expression that said, "You were right, and I was way too worried for no reason."

[shadow-kid-cole]

hold me close (and mind the blood on my hands)

Rook disappears the moment everyone returns from rescuing the Dalish in Arlathan. Lucanis checks in, and realizes several things very quickly:

1. There is a great deal more wrong with Rook than he'd realized;

2. He is completely, overwhelmingly not equipped to handle this; and

3. He has to handle it regardless - it's Rook. There is simply no other option.

(or, Rook's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)

read it on ao3!

hey gang! it's been a while. i haven't written anything substantial in YEARS at this point, but despite any complaints i may have about veilguard, it launched me back into writing sad dragon age fics at terminal velocity. i have way too many thoughts and feelings about my rook, and even more about the dynamic with my rook and lucanis.

this is set after committing to the relationship, immediately after the return from the blood of arlathan quest. the relationship is established, but is still very new, and prior to this they've mostly still danced around each other.

my rook is named and described, and has their backstory fleshed out - sorry to those looking for generic!Rook fics, but this isn't the one for you! also, their backstory parallels that of my tabris warden with everything that entails, but the type of violence is left unspecified, so be wary if that's a hard line for you.

other warnings include: symptoms of mental illness, PTSD, and hallucinations.

The aftermath of rescuing the Dalish from the Venatori went like this.

The team returned, battered, bruised, but alive. The Dalish were brought along until the Veil Jumpers could find them a safer place to stay. Everyone was exhausted and still feeling the fear of running out of time, but the mood was otherwise high - they had won. They had saved people this time. Not even Elgar’nan’s monstrous archdemon could take that away.

Everyone took their time drifting back off to their own spaces to clean up; there was an air of subdued celebration around the Lighthouse, long overdue.

Everyone, that is, except for Rook.

Nearly the moment they stepped through the eluvian, Rook vanished with only the retreating sound of their footsteps on the stairs to mark where they’d gone. Lucanis watched them go, trading a concerned glance with Harding. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, murmuring “Something’s up with them. They haven’t said a word since we found the Dalish.”

Lucanis had noticed, too - the entire way back, Rook had been silent, staring at the distance with a haunted look in their eyes. Several members of the clan had tried to thank them, and they hadn’t even seemed to recognize that anyone was speaking. He’d asked if they were alright, and they had only nodded, slow and quiet. Rook was many things; slow and quiet were not typically among them.

“Did Neve or Bellara say anything else about what happened?” he asked.

Harding shook her head. “No, they’re both shaken but okay. I saw Bellara watching them, too, on the way back. She seemed surprised they didn’t want to talk to the Dalish.”

Lucanis looked back at the staircase, frowning. “I’ll give them some time - this mission was hard, and they may just need to rest. But I’ll check in later, see if anything else happened.”

“You may want to push those plans up a bit,” a voice added from his other side. Neve slowed and leaned in as she walked past them, adding, “I don’t know what happened, but the moment they saw the clan, it was like they just… shut down. Which is odd, because between then and getting trapped in Elgar’nan’s maze, they were crying.”

Lucanis stiffened, worry flickering to life. He had seen many things from Rook, in some truly abysmal circumstances; he had yet to see them cry.

“What? Did you talk to them?” he asked, trying to ignore Spite demanding they leave right that instant.

Neve crossed her arms. “I was a little busy trying not to get killed. We didn’t have time for a heart-to-heart.”

Harding sighed, looking back to Lucanis. “I’ve known Rook a long time now, and I’ve never seen them cry. Not even when everything’s falling apart. They trust you; I don’t think they’d be honest with anyone but you right now. You should go.” The words had no resentment to them, only concern. Harding had always been one of their best; Lucanis found himself more grateful than ever for her constant steady presence.

He nodded sharply, resting a brief hand on her shoulder as he turned for the stairs. With another nod to Neve, he left, forcing himself not to rush up the stairs two at a time. No point in worrying the others; this was uncharted territory with Rook, but if he knew them at all then he knew that they wouldn’t want people walking on eggshells around them.

Rook’s door was closed when he arrived. He knocked gently, listening to silence for a moment before saying, “Rook? It’s me. Can I come in?”

For a long moment, there was no answer. Spite was growing louder with every passing second, working himself up until he was shouting for Lucanis to just break the door down.

Lucanis didn’t think it was locked in the first place, but there was no point in arguing.

Finally, though, he heard Rook’s voice, the quietest and most defeated he’d ever heard them sound. “Fine.”

He pushed the door open slowly. At first, he didn’t see them; the room was dark save for the gentle glow of the water through the glass. It took him a moment to focus past that. At first glance, it always reminded him in stunning, horrific clarity of the Ossuary. But that was long since past; Rook had saved him twice over from that place. He forced down the immediate recoil that raced along his skin and stepped carefully into the room, closing the door behind him.

It took only a moment to find Rook, and to realize why he hadn’t seen them at first. They were on the floor in front of their couch, their whole body curled in like they were trying to make themself as small as they could possibly be. They were trembling, he realized at the same moment that he heard their breathing; far too fast, ragged and loud in the silence of the room.

Alarmed, he knelt in front of them, reaching out but stopping himself before he could touch them. They’d confided in him once that an unexpected touch could bring up bad memories, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt them, especially in a state like this.

“Rook? What happened?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the worst of the urgency out of his voice. They still hadn’t looked at him; their face was buried in their arms, copper-pink curls wild around their head where their hands were gripping tight. They shook their head, breathing only growing faster. He forced himself to calm slightly, if only for their sake, and tried a different tactic. 

“Lin? Would you please look at me?” he asked, soft as he could manage. He’d never used this name for them before, though they’d said he could; it felt strange after knowing them only as Rook for so long, and the way that they had looked when they told him about it made it clear that it was a name from fond memories, a sweet, familiar shortening of their full name, Lindiranae. He’d never felt right to use it. Even after everything, it felt too personal, too close - but maybe that was what they needed now. Not to be Rook, leader and god-killer, but just Lin, an elf from Ferelden.

At that, they looked up, something like shock piercing briefly through the misery etched across their face. The depth of it stunned him. Tears streaked their face. Red marks like they’d clawed at their own skin marred their cheeks; no broken skin, he noted, but raised and angry nonetheless. A cut high on their cheekbone from their fight with the Venatori had reopened, and blood oozed lazily down until it met tear tracks, dripping off their chin tinged red.

For a single heartbeat, Lucanis was paralyzed with indecision. How could he help without making things worse, especially if they couldn’t speak to tell him what they needed? Before he could even attempt anything, however, the problem was solved for him - Rook all but launched themself at him, fingers tangled desperately in the fabric at his back as they buried their face in his shoulder. A sob tore out of them like they’d fought to keep it buried, and suddenly they were weeping in his arms like the world had ended.

It terrified him, but this at least he could do. Without another word, he tightened his hold, pulling them all the way against his chest and pressing his lips to the top of their head. If nothing else, he could weather this with them, and hold them together until they stopped falling apart at the seams.

He whispered reassurances against their hair, cradling them as they cried. He could feel the tension in their body; every muscle felt rigid, every joint locked to the point of trembling. It made his heart ache. How many nights had he spent in the Ossuary, alone, entire body stiff with the effort it took to keep his fear and grief and sorrow buried? Whatever they were feeling, they had been carrying it for a long time. He’d always seen the way their shoulders curved in, the slump to their spine when they thought no one else was looking. He knew that while they had shared some of their past with him, there was so much more he wasn’t privy to, and it ate away at them in a way that took a physical toll. He clutched them a little tighter, wishing not for the first time that battles of the mind could be fought with knives, and that they didn’t need to be fought alone in the end.

Slowly, Lin’s breathing began to quiet. They were no longer gasping for air. Their desperate sobs calmed, going from wracking, breaking things to soft whimpers that made his chest seize. After a long, long time, they lifted their head just slightly, acknowledging that the worst was over without quite meeting his eye.

“Sorry,” they whispered, voice still thick with tears. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

In spite of himself, the corner of Lucanis’ mouth twitched up. “That’s my line,” he murmured, hearing a quiet chuckle from them. “Mi vida, there is nothing you can show me that will scare me away. Not now. Not after everything we have been through.”

They sighed, the tension in their shoulders finally easing a bit as they laid back against him. Their arms remained wrapped around him, but hung looser at his waist now. He brought one hand up to brush aside their hair, cupping their cheek and gently turning their face towards him. The warm olive of their skin was flushed, the deep red tattoos and pinkish scars across their face fading into the color. They looked younger, he thought. Less miserable now than when he’d arrived, at least. Their eyes weren’t quite dry yet, but despite the sadness that lingered, there was a spark of their usual joy as they finally met his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” they said softly, leaning into his touch and pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

He shook his head. “Don’t. I would not even be here if it weren’t for you. You saved my life, Rook. More than that, you have shown me more compassion in a few short months than I have known my entire life. You deserve everything I can give you and more.”

Their eyes welled again, and they hid their face against his neck, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“You called me Lin, earlier,” they said, voice muffled. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize that I missed being called that name. I like ‘Rook,’ but it’s starting to feel like they’re not quite me. Larger than life, a leader, a hero…” Their voice turned sour on the final word. “I’m not a hero. A hero would have succeeded all the times I failed. Would’ve stayed with the clan, or have saved my sister and stayed in Denerim in the first place.”

“And you would have never stopped Solas, never planned to save the world, never brought any of us together,” Lucanis countered, tucking away the new information about a clan and a sister away in the back of his mind. “You never would have saved me, and we would not be here now. The Dalish are safe, we are safe for the time being; if you’re not a hero, Lin, then I don’t know who is.”

Still hiding their face, they mumbled something that sounded like “Don’t know if I want to be.”

To that, Lucanis had no answer. He kissed the top of their head and finally settled on “Then you’re not. You’re just you, and no matter what the rest of the world may believe, that is enough. After all, it got you this far.”

They finally broke into the barest hint of a wobbly smile. “I’ll steal your other line, then; how do you always do that?”

He grinned. “Do what?”

“‘Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom,’” they quoted at him in a poor imitation of his accent. At that, he laughed. Relief swept through him; here was his Rook. His strange, vicious, vibrant Rook. Maker, but they were everything.

“Someone has to,” he said. “You watch over everyone else; someone should be watching over you, too.”

“I think that’s what I have you for,” they said, smile growing.

Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to their forehead, feeling them take in a breath beneath him. This was quickly becoming a habit, it seemed, as though he hadn’t done it for the first time just minutes ago.  “Always, corazón.”

For a quiet moment, they sat, tangled together on the floor; they didn’t seem inclined to move, or even notice that they were curled together closer than they’d ever been. They were slowly relaxing in his arms. All the time he’d known them, Rook had always been cautious with touch. They often moved like they were going to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder, tap Davrin’s arm for emphasis, grab Bellara’s shoulder to keep her steady - and then, they always stopped before making contact. He’d seen them flinch away from others on the battlefield; he also knew, however, that if they were comfortable, tired, or inebriated,  they began to lean further into touch, instead. They’d always been careful with him, too, never touching unless they knew he could see it coming. He’d never known a thoughtfulness like theirs. It was appreciated; after so long in the Ossuary, any contact, friendly or otherwise, was often too much to bear. He’d been finding, lately, that this was less and less true the longer he spent with this team.

But now, they were curled in his lap like a cat in a sunny window. He wondered idly if this was how they had been once; if little Rook growing up in the alienage had been free with their affection and not thought anything of casual, everyday touch. The thought twisted a little in his heart. They likely missed it, but held themself back out of either a respect for others’ traumas, or their own.

At that thought, he pulled back a bit to look at them. “I am… not the best at this part, but did you want to talk about it? Neve said that you just… shut down, when you found the Dalish. Did something happen?”

They sighed, swiping a hand under their eyes. “No. Well, yes, but a long time ago. It’s just that - the clan we saved was the clan I belonged to once.”

Whatever Lucanis had expected, this wasn’t it. No wonder they’d had such a reaction.

“I didn’t even know until we found them, and that whole time… I was already so desperate to save the Dalish, they’re all my people, but I had no idea it was my clan’s lives on the line. If I’d been just a little slower….” they finished, voice going hoarse as they fought back more tears.

“But you weren’t,” Lucanis said firmly. “You got them out. They are safe, and so are you.”

“I know,” they whispered. “It’s just… I already failed them once. If I’d failed them again, and they’d gotten killed because I wasn’t good enough, especially after all the danger everyone put themselves in to help - I couldn’t live with that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” they repeated. “But when I realized it was them, it was all I could think about.”

Lucanis paused a moment before answering, letting this wealth of new information settle, then said carefully, “I didn’t know that you had belonged to a clan before. I thought you grew up in the city?”

They nodded, their gaze far away. “I did.”

“Then, the clan came later? Can I ask what happened?”

Rook sighed, a tear tracing its way silently down their gaunt cheek. “I… I found them after I was- after I left Denerim,” they said. Lucanis noticed a hesitation as they spoke, and thought back to what little they’d already told him. They had been forced to leave, he knew, after they’d killed a human who had gotten a little too bold in the alienage. He didn’t know the nature of the incident beyond that; he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“I’d been on my own for a few years. I’d always wanted to learn more about the Dalish, be a part of keeping all those old stories the elder in the alienage told us alive. With how we lived… it sounded like a dream come true. Freedom, always moving, allowed to go wherever you wanted - I’d never left home before I had to, and then I never felt safe enough to enjoy the travel.

“When I met them, most of them were kind, sympathetic. I told the Keeper what had happened, and begged her to let me join. She agreed. I was with them for years; they taught me all their stories, and how to hunt, to fight. It was… more peaceful than anything I’d ever known.”

Here they paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. Lucanis frowned. “I am happy to listen, but there is no need to tell me, if you do not wish to.”

Rook shook their head. “No, I - I think I need someone else to know.”

He nodded, threading his fingers through theirs and lightly squeezing their hand in wordless support. They returned the gesture, then continued.

���Many of them were kind, but it was still fairly clear I didn’t belong. I was the only one that wasn’t born to the clan. There were those that never let me forget it.”

“Then they were fools,” Lucanis found himself saying, surprised at the vitriol in his own voice. How much of that was him, he wondered, and how much was Spite? He didn’t suppose it mattered much, not when they were in agreement.

Rook blinked at him, wide amber eyes a little startled. Then they smiled, tucking themself back in closer to him. “Well said, but it hardly matters now. I… grew tired of never feeling like I was good enough. We travelled up closer to Arlathan, and a few hunters were wounded by a demon that had come through one of the Fade tears. The Keeper forbade anyone from going near it, but it was scaring away the halla, killing or driving away prey. I-I guess I thought that if I killed it, they’d finally take me seriously.”

Lucanis’ heart sank. “I assume that’s not what happened.”

They grimaced. “No. I was an idiot, and I should’ve just listened to the Keeper. I convinced a few other hunters to go with me. It was a rage demon, a powerful one. We didn’t stand a chance.”

Their grip on his hand tightened, shaking a little. “It killed one of them, Naeris, almost immediately. The rest of us ran, but it followed. Thea tried to slow it down, and it nearly killed her too. By the time we lost it, I couldn’t breathe from running so far. We waited for hours so that at least we wouldn’t lead it back to the clan. We had to carry Thea back. Naeris was just… gone. We didn’t even know if there was a body to return. Faen was badly hurt. All of us were burned. And I brought them there.”

They were crying again. Lucanis held them close, a terrible understanding dawning over him as so many of the odd little pieces that made up his Rook slotted suddenly into place. No wonder they were so content to let others take the lead on missions, no wonder they shied away from being presented as a leader. No wonder they ran themself ragged jumping at the chance to help people wherever they went, and vanished into themself when they couldn’t.

“The Keeper was furious. She got halfway through telling me I was no longer welcome before I told her I was already leaving. Even if they’d let me stay, I couldn’t, not after that. Only a couple other hunters said anything to defend me, and it didn’t last long. The worst part was the staring. I could feel them all watching me the whole time I packed up to leave. When I actually walked out, almost the whole clan was gathered, just… watching me leave. They were so disappointed, so angry, I-” Their voice broke.

Lucanis was about to put his best effort towards a reassuring response, but then their eyes shifted to the side, as though watching someone in the corner of the room speak. Then, a moment later, “No, that’s the problem, it was my fault! I took them there! It was my stupid idea!”

“Rook? What is happening, who are you talking to?”

“No, it was my fault! My fault I lost you, my fault you’re dead, my fault-” Their voice grew louder with each passing second.

If Lucanis had felt uncertainty and concern before, this sent him into something close to panic. He had seen odd behaviors from Rook on occasion, but never like this. They sounded nearly hysterical now, addressing someone who wasn’t there in response to something that hadn’t been said. Even as he tried to calm them, his mind raced through possibilities. Possession? No, Spite would know. Magic? Unlikely; Spite would sense that, too. Were they seeing things? Had they hit their head fighting the Venatori? No, Bellara and Neve would have said something.

They started to sit up, to pull away from him, shoulders shaking, opening their mouth to respond again in their one-sided conversation. Suddenly, fear gripped him, and it could’ve been either his own inner voice or Spite’s that said dangerous; don’t let them go. Without thinking, he caught their wrist. “Rook - Lin-”

They reacted like an animal in a trap. They surged away, twisting their arm, all but howling - he winced, hating to be the one causing this for them, but he had no idea what was happening. If he let them go in this state, they could hurt themself, or worse. He held fast, reaching out with his other hand to turn their face towards him.

“Rook, please - it’s just me, I’m not going to hurt you-”

“That’s what they always say,” they snarled, their eyes devoid of recognition or even cognizance. They weren’t fully here, he realized. They were living out something else, a memory that had been buried until their conversation had unearthed it. Still, to see this much fear and know that he had caused it was a shame like he’d never known.

“Please, listen - you’re safe, Rook, mi vida, I promise. No dejaré que nada te lastime, please just look at me-”

Their gaze sharpened, focusing on his face even as they continued to struggle against him. For a split second, all he could see was rage and terror. Their nails dug into his arm hard enough to draw blood.

Then something seemed to dawn on them, and they froze, eyes roving across his face like they were trying desperately to place where they knew him from. Their chest rose and fell in short gasps. He could see their pulse fluttering in their throat, could feel it against his fingers. After a long, agonizing moment they whispered “Lucanis?”

“Yes, mi amor, I’m here,” he breathed, brushing curls back from their sweat-damp skin. A breath, then two, then they were shaking their head, looking away with guilt written across their face. “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t-”

He could feel them trying to retreat the way that they had both done before, when everything spilling out of them was too much of a mess to trust other people to help clean. It frightened him, in such a sudden, sharp way that he knew he was past the point of no return. Whatever else happened, whatever they did, whatever the gods threw at them, he loved Rook. He couldn’t bear the thought of them pulling away and trying to deal with this on their own.

Abruptly, he pulled them into the tightest embrace he could. They were warm against his chest. Their babbling apologies cut off with a yelp, and they sat rigid for a moment before tentatively raising their hands to his back.

“What? Lucanis, I-I don’t understand, I-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted. “I will not leave you alone in this. Whatever happens, we face it together.”

He felt their grip tighten, their face fall against his shoulder. For the second time that day, he held them as they cried, with the sudden understanding that every day could be like this and he would never once complain. He would do anything they needed of him. He would kill a hundred blighted gods to keep them safe.

“I’m still so, so sorry,” they choked out through tears. “I didn’t- I wasn’t myself, and I - oh, creators, did I hurt you?” They tried to pull back to look at his arm, but he shook his head and refused to let go.

“No, corazón. You did not hurt me.”

They sniffled, relaxing fully against him again, and took a slow, deep breath. Their racing heart began to calm; he could still feel their pulse hammering beneath their skin, but it was less frantic now.

“I’m… usually better at knowing when it’s real,” they murmured, with the air of someone admitting a deeply painful secret. “It’s harder when I’ve already been thinking about the past. Like it all catches up to me, and I have no idea when or where I am.”

Lucanis shut his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of juniper that lingered in their hair. How long had they been dealing with this? To spend their life haunted by ghosts - though, now was perhaps not the time for every question he wanted to ask. Just the first, then.

“Who do you see? Or what?” he asked gently, finally loosening his hold so that he could look at them.

They kept their eyes firmly on the floor, fidgeting with the frayed hem of the sleeve they’d wiped across their cheeks. “My-my sister, mostly. But there are others. And it’s not all the time, it’s worse when I’m tired, or stressed. It’s not so bad when it’s just her - she’s still kind to me, usually. Tells me things aren’t my fault. The others, though…” they shuddered, shaking their head. “I see… I see that first human I killed sometimes. He says horrible things. So does the other one, his friend. Sometimes he kills my sister all over again, on the really bad days.”

“Rook… I am so sorry,” Lucanis said, letting his forehead rest against theirs. “I will not ask you to stay in those memories any longer; just know that if I could carve my way through time itself to prevent them from ever reaching you, I would.” He could feel something like rage boiling in him. Of all the people to see things like this, he could think of few who deserved it less than them. Those two men had begun all of this back in their alienage, and that single choice had warped Rook’s entire life, to the point that over a decade later they still haunted them at every turn. Cowardice, selfishness; Lucanis wanted to stab something. He settled for taking Rook’s hand and pressing a soft kiss to their knuckles. There would be time for all of that later, to determine what exactly they were going through and how best to help them. For now, they had to be exhausted. They needed to rest.

When he looked up and saw them staring at him, wide-eyed, he froze, righteous anger dissipating as he realized how absurd this whole situation was. All of this, easy vulnerability and intimacy the likes of which he’d never imagined sharing with another person, and he still hadn’t even kissed them properly. He nearly had, that day in the pantry, but he’d panicked at the last second. So much for his Crow training.

He’d have to rectify that, and soon - but not now. They deserved a first kiss done correctly. Not a spur-of-the-moment thing tempered by tears and blood, but something properly sweet - like honey and lavender cream, he’d told them once.

Carefully, he extricated himself and stood, holding out a hand to help them up. They took it gratefully, leaning against him for one last brief moment before sitting heavily on the couch. Deep shadows ringed their eyes. They rubbed at their face, blinking blearily up at him - they seemed calm, now, if still a little sad.

“‘m tired,” they said, the words slow and indistinct. “I should - I’m gonna take a nap. Can you… Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

As they stretched out, Lucanis dampened a cloth in the washbasin in the corner of the room. He crouched beside them, and they smiled softly at him, eyes already heavy with the promise of sleep. He held up the cloth in lieu of asking out loud. They nodded, wincing a little as he ran it gently over the cut on their cheek.

He felt a small, calloused hand slip into his as he finished cleaning the cut. When he looked up, Rook’s eyes were already closed. He set the cloth aside and sat back down on the floor beside them, careful not to move too much. As their breathing evened out, he leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of their head. They curled unconsciously closer to him and let out a soft sigh. He smiled.

Right now, they just needed steady comfort. He wasn’t sure he was quite qualified, but he loved them, and that would have to be enough.

[rebelscum218]

Among all the stuff the Ahsoka show gave us, the decision to directly draw comparison between Sabine Wren and Anakin Skywalker was one of the things that I have the most opinions about. On one hand, I detest this writing decision because of what it did to Sabine's character, but also, I think I could have gotten into it if it was much more deliberately done.

First of all, by putting Sabine in a series for Ahsoka Tano, her character has to be secondary to Ahsoka's, and written in a way that allows Ahsoka to tap into her issues and catalyses her development, which in season one was closure with Anakin. As a result, Sabine became the character that connects Ahsoka to Anakin, which requires a new set of circumstances and extra layers of story to explain her change. And due to the limited series format of the show, there is simply not enough screen time to show all of that, so it became stuff that's told through dialogue by Baylan Skoll and Huyang right before Sabine's pivotal moments. This made her character passive, since her story is being told to us by other characters, rather than seeing Sabine demonstrating it on screen or having the chance to express herself, which was always the case in Rebels.

Aside from that, what I find equally frustrating about the whole parallel situation is that it is both present and vague enough that it could be open to interpretation as to what the story is ultimately about. The message of Anakin's story is very clear: out of a selfish desire to save someone he loves, he made a deal with the devil and gave in to his worst instincts to gain the power he was promised, which made him more and more greedy and blinded, falling so far and so fast that he gets life-changing consequences that he has to face for the rest of his life, and that not only does he not get what he wants, but he has betrayed everyone he knows and lost everything but himself. As for Sabine's story in Ahsoka, we have the selfish desire and the deal with the devil, but she faces little to no consequences and was eventually framed as being correct, since they never would have found Ezra or able to send him home without her. There are multiple messages to take away from, which weakens the story.

If the writers truly intent to have Sabine be a mirror image of Anakin for Ahsoka's benefit, or to retell Anakin's story in a different lens, then I would have liked them to commit to it 100%, and let the story embody that very message. Have Sabine be eager and impatient and passionate just like Anakin instead of closed off and struggling; have Sabine feel a type of yearning or even romantic love for Ezra that became a selfish need, similar to what Anakin had felt with Padmé; have Sabine's choice be a deliberate character failing instead of framing it as the only choice or a decision she was fated to make; have the journey take a huge toll on her, requiring her to turn her back to people close to her like Hera and Ahsoka; and prolong her search for Ezra so that there's time for her to slide into hopelessness and despair, experiencing the loop of fear, anger, hate and suffering that defined Anakin's story; or maybe even make Baylan Skoll break his promise, because just as Sidious only used Anakin's desire to save Padmé to get what he wants, Baylan might as well do the same, because at the end, if there's anything Star Wars has taught us, is that choosing to give in to selfishness is a path to oblivion. Give her a big emotional breakdown and let her experience a rock bottom moment where she realizes she has nothing left, hating herself for what she's done, like that 'you burn in your own flame' moment in the Revenge of the Sith novel. (I'd even written a fic based on some of these thoughts.) But there was another character who draws strong parallels with Anakin Skywalker that made narrative sense: Ezra Bridger.

In Rebels, Ezra struggled with loss and his own darkness in a similar way that Anakin had, as well as harboring a desire to destroy the Sith and seek justice for what the Empire has done, which is exactly how Maul managed to manipulate him to pursue his own goals. He dangles the possibility of helping Obi-Wan to lure Ezra to Tatooine, where he is then used as bait to tempt Obi-Wan out of hiding. Alone, exhausted and suffering the consequences of his own actions, Ezra reaches a bottom moment in his journey.

A moment like this would be perfect for Sabine if they go down this route. You can even play with the idea that Sabine was trying too hard to be Ezra in his absence: doing his job as protector of Lothal, wanting to learn to be a Jedi to fill his role, and thus vulnerable to the same set of challenges, which would justify why a parallel to Anakin was necessary to her story. And because Ezra had gone through these same issues, he would be the perfect person to guide Sabine out of this mess. This way, you could simultaneously pull development out of both characters: Sabine to reckon with her emotions and own up to her mistakes, Ezra to pass on what he's learned and assume a role similar to Obi-Wan, who helped him realize that (and also happen to spend 10+ years in exile).

Of course, this ultimately does have to be Ahsoka Tano's show, and I always come back to the issue with Ahsoka's portrayal in relation to the necessity of Sabine's parallel with Anakin. The biggest limitation to Ahsoka's character in my opinion, was the fact that Anakin was written as her only pillar of support. In stories, you want your characters to have a wealth of interactions and a myriad of relationships that highlights the diversity of a person. In Clone Wars, Ahsoka had been paired up with Rex, Padmé, Plo Koon, Barriss Offee, Lux Bonteri, the Martez sisters etc, which brought out many different aspects in Ahsoka's personality that all helped define who she is, and in the Ahsoka show, there are again enough characters to do the same, yet even when she is interacting with Sabine, Hera, Huyang, Baylan or Thrawn, it is almost always about Anakin, which severely undermined her status as her own person.

Therefore, Sabine's parallel to Anakin further ties Ahsoka to him, and does not compliment her character in a meaningful way. And her biggest moment in the show where she seemingly grows past all of it (that 'live or die' moment that I find equally vague and frustrating) was something that's also given to her by Anakin. Combined with accepting Sabine's decision as 'the only choice', we are then meant to make the connection that Anakin also had no choice, and that he was predestined to fall, which in the end, this story decision only ended up benefiting Anakin's portrayal rather than Sabine or Ahsoka.

[kateminttea]

So, I am writing down ideas for jayvik fanfics in a hope, that if I write it down, my brain will stop obsessing about them. Last try in the end led to the fanfics, so I’m not sure that it works. XD

Ok, remember my old post about parallels that my brain saw between Arcane and Dead Space. So, hear me out: Arcane/Dead Space crossover.

I can already think about using DS1 and DS2 stories.

So, the first part will follow more or less the DS 1 plot, Jayce came with Vi for a plan check of Ishimura. But when they got to the ship, they got into a crash, which badly damaged their ship. Also, they cannot find anyone on a ship, and there is blood on the floor. Then they were attacked by Necromorps and separated.

While running through the ship, Vi met Caitlyn, who is part of the ship crew. And Jayce met Viktor on the Engineering deck. While Jayce with Viktor will be fixing ship, Vi will stop pollution of the ship and fighting Leviathan in Hydroponics.

Later they all will meet on the bridge in Capitan Nest (before that Jayce got separated with Viktor, and they agreed to meet at the Executive shuttle, which somehow still in working condition).

There we find out that Cait and jayce know each other, they met through their mothers who both were part of the Church of Unitology. And if Cassandra at some point lest the cult, Ximena on the other side became more and more devoured in the religion. It got to point that she sold all of her assets to the Church, if not for Kimmarmans help Jayce wouldn’t be able to get admitted to the college.

Cassandra tried to help her friend to leave Unitology and get her into a medical facility that was focused to help people, who were brainwashed by the Unitology cult. However, when her psychiatrist, thought that she is better and send her home, in few days when Jayce went to visit her he found her dead (by suicide) and in her will she bequeathed all her possessions and body to the Church of Unitology.

All because of all of this Jayce hate Unitology and he severed relationships with Kimmarmans, even though they weren't one to blame at that moment Jayce needed someone to. Caitlyn knew news about Jayce through Viktor with whom she stayed in contact.

Back to now, when our trio met each other and Jayce mentioned that Viktor was waiting for them, Caitlyn told him that he needed to put himself together, because Viktor died a year ago, during an incident on Aegis V( not very creative with the names at the moment).

For Jayce it will be the same idea that we had in Remake, when he was seeing Viktor helping him on the other side it was Mel, who was seeing Kino.

Mel wanted to bring back to the Aegis VII Marker that was found there to be together with her brother, who was asking her to “Make us whole again”, Jayce also heard same from “Viktor” while he was helping to duck Marker to the Executive shuttle.

Oh, yes about Vi, she was seeing at some point her sister Powder, who was dead for a long time. Caitlyn was seeing her old mentor Grayson, but as an agent of the EartGov she knew about marked Hallucinations and was prepared for them.

Trio tried to stop Mel for bringing Marker back to Aegis VII, but she, understanding what they were trying to do, was able to get on Executive shuttle before them and took shuttle to the planet.

That was it, it looks like out trio will die on Ishimura surrounded by monsters, but at this moment Cait decided to come clean and told Jayce and Vi, that she is an EarthGov agent, who was sent to Ishimura under cover, because number of Unitologists in the crew started to look suspicious, plus miners on Aegis VII stated to dig near place where Marker 3A from old experiment were buried.

However, seeing and going through first hand what Marker can do, she understood that EarthGov is not better than Church on Unitology.

So she informed others that there are one more shuttle, which is hidden Flight Deck and to which only she has codes.

Before leaving, our trio switches off Ishimura Gravity tethers, so ship 's tectonic load will fall back on Aegis VII and destroy planet, with marker and Hive Mind.

In the final scene our trio will be going into hiding and Caitlyn will try to download as much as possible information, before EarthGov will understand that she went rogue. And one of the files is about an experiment happening on Sprawl under director Ambessa Medarda and a list of “engineers” - people affected by Marker (different not one from Aegis VII) and used to build new Marker. Since this project is still in process our trio decided to get to Sprawl and stop this project before a new outbreak happens.

On the list all people are mentioned under their code names and two of them are “Jinx” and “Herald”.

P.S. So, idea was to make a short post with ideas … 850 words late I just finished part 1. XD

[artbyblastweave]

Whatever else I may say about the writing of Fallout 3, Oasis is excellent on every level. Genuinely totally siloed from the main quest and the rest of the game world's communities, isolated from any area of the game world that you'd be likely to pass through on your way to another quest objective (maybe Fort Constantine, but you'd still have to detour pretty heavily.) Despite that, allusions to the place are seeded throughout the game- Three Dog talking about it on the radio as an urban legend, a single insane wastelander ranting about it before dropping dead in front of you. One of your rewards for completing the Arefu quest is that you'll have a cluster of locations in Arefu's general area marked on your map if you hadn't found them already; one of those locations contains an exiled, berserk Treeminder with coordinates to Oasis on his person, albeit without any explanation of what Oasis actually is. Actually finding the place is a very self-directed activity even if they hand you everything you'd need to get there. I feel as though there's a level of restraint on display from Bethesda here that you wouldn't get for settlement with a named quest these days- an asset as visually unique as Harold would absolutely end up with top billing in the main quest, you wouldn't be allowed to miss him. And anyway, once you get there, I dunno, there are interesting parallels. Inasmuch as Fallout 3 has any kind of actual deliberate theme, I'd argue that the theme is that you can't run from your problems, and you can't stick your head in the sand. A lot of the settlements you visit over the course of the game have the vibe of a whole bunch of people who are just sort of holed up and waiting to die, even the outwardly successful ones like Megaton and RIvet City. The entire main plot is triggered by James deciding to try and do something about the state of the world instead of just waiting to die of inbreeding along with everyone else under the Overseer's thumb. Everywhere you visit is experiencing some kind of watershed moment- something's gotta give. And then you get to this place that's outwardly a pretty sweet setup, but only because they're obscure- and that's not sustainable. You found this place, other people are going to, the only actual choice on the table is on what terms they're going to come into contact with the outside world and on what timetable. The possibility of reforestation is complementary to Project Purity; they make a big point of the fact that Harold can't do jack about the irradiated water even if the restoration of greenery would still be a major net positive. And it's not hard to draw a connection between the ending where you convince Harold to keep living because the Treeminders are dependent on him, and the whole "abandonment issues" beat that the Lone Wanderer is given room to have with their own father- you don't get to duck out on the world that easy, James Number 2. Lots of interesting little parallels swirling around in there, if you're an overly charitable apophenic such as myself

[nerdlydelicious]

Chapter 6 of ‘The Ultimate Protector’ is still underway. I was away from the house the week before last, and my girlfriend was visiting this past week, so I haven’t had many chances to sit down and write. But here’s yet another sneak peak of the chapter! Enjoy!

Shadow weaved through traffic as Amy squealed gleefully, arms tight around his waist.


The motorcycle may not have been as fast as him, but there was a feel to driving a vehicle that you couldn't get on your own two feet. The rumble and roar of the engine, feeling it move as you guided it. Shadow enjoyed moving under his own power, and if he ever needed to get somewhere quickly then there was little substitute for doing it himself. But when he wanted to take it easy and enjoy his journey Shadow took his bike out.


That was something Sonic would never understand. The Dark Rider wasn't about speed. It was about the peace that Shadow found in riding.


If nothing else, Amy seemed to be enjoying it too.
"Shadow!" She squealed as he slipped through a gap between two cars, narrowly avoiding clipping either by scant inches. "Be careful!" Despite her words, Amy's tone was far from scolding or worried.


So he smirked, pushed a little more power into the engine, and went even faster. He was rewarded with an excited scream from Amy as she clung tightly to him.


Shadow would be the first to admit that he held road safety laws in mild disdain, much to G.U.N.'s chagrin. That wasn't to say he was completely dismissive of them, or of other drivers or pedestrians. It was simply that those laws had been written for people who didnt have the reaction time of a picosecond, and couldn't casually run faster than the speed of sound. The Dark Rider's top speed was roughly a hundred and twenty miles per hour. If he pushed more chaos energy into it he could get it up to over two hundred. He theorized he could go faster than that, maybe even get it close to his own top speed with enough power. Though the bike likely would not survive that.


For most other people, over a hundred MPH was blisteringly fast. For Shadow, that was a casual stroll. So he weaved through traffic with little care, confident he could avoid causing a collision.
Still, he did usually show some level of respect for road laws. He (sometimes) stopped at a red light, for example.


But not tonight. Shadow blazed through a four way intersection and narrowly avoided four different cars with deft movements. Amy's giddy laughter in his ear urged him on, so he drove faster and put aside what little regard he had for road laws in favor of earning more of her happiness.


He could feel how close she was to him. Her chest against his back, her arms around his waist, and her lips a hairs breadth from his cheek, every gasp and shriek of delight as he pulled a breathtaking maneuver egging him on.


Shadow was showing off for Amy. He wanted to impress her, and do so in a way Sonic couldn't. He almost forgot where they were going, so focused was he on her that he nearly missed his turn. He realized at the last moment and turned hard, tires squealing and kicking up smoke as the bike went almost parallel with the street before righting and roaring down the lane, popping a wheelie just because he could, much to Amy's delight.


Five minutes later Shadow reached his destination. He hit the brakes and spun a perfect one eighty into a parking spot. Amy giggled wildly, still clinging tightly to him. "S-Shadow, that was... wow."


"I'm glad you think so," he replied, glancing back at her over his shoulder. His eyes met hers, scant inches between them. Her eyes shone with glee, her lips curled in a bright smile.


He suddenly felt the powerful and foolish urge to close that distance and kiss her.


Before he could act on that urge Amy untangled her arms from around his waist and leaned back from him, glancing away. "Here we are!" She exclaimed awkwardly. "Where is here...?"


Shadow looked away to hide his blazing embarrassment. What had he been thinking?! Amy had agreed to come out with him, and he had nearly ruined their good time on a stupid impulse decision. All that Chaos energy I absorbed must have fried my brain.


"It's a burger joint. I like to come here after a successful mission. If you want good food, you won't find better in Central City."


"Sounds delicious." He glanced at her as he got off the bike and was rewarded with a shy smile. "Lead the way."

[sgiandubh]

So in other words, you agree, Sam and Cait are not very good actors as exemplified by the scene being them and not Beauchamp and Fraser. On that, agreed. She might be a C actor, he's definitely a D

Dear Beauchamp and Fraser Anon,

I suspect you might be a returning one, by the way, hoping to catch me unprepared with a very cheap sophism. Check this concept on Wikipedia if you wish, but I will give you my definition: manipulated or derailed logic, i.e. formally sustainable, but in reality just a fallacy; or, if you prefer, a bunch of crap, just for the sake of it. Also, it would be wise not to try these cheap tricks on someone trained to work with words and doing so every single day: you might find no satisfaction, ultimately.

Fun fact: I don't agree with any single word you just wrote. Sam and Cait are very good and gifted actors. Both of them. They did wonders with a very inconsistent script and under barbaric public pressure. What dragged you in here, Anon? Mrs. Gabaldon's florid, even luxuriant prose? What kept you in here, Anon? Blood and sperm and rape galore? I should wish you were honest, at least for once in your life, and let your answer be 'not really'.

What I meant by that phrase was something very simple: the actors' life experience deeply informing and sublimating their performance. If you think real and creative lives are strictly separate affairs in any intellectual endeavor, then you are probably completely unfamiliar with anything remotely related to writing, singing, playing (an instrument), acting, composing or painting. All these are akin to magic and all of the above are a summoning of sorts: ask any 'content creator', you will probably get a very similar answer. In Cait and Sam's case, their real life story nurtures and elevates their acting, despite people like you.

I am not an actor myself, but a long time ago it was acting that liberated me and taught me to not be afraid of anything. I did not make a living out of it, but I will always have the tools making me able to access that very special energy, any time I should need it. So, I can only offer you an educated opinion of These Two:

C is a very, very good actress. She is classy, sophisticated and knows instinctively how to occupy a stage or a set. She worked and progressed a LOT since Season 1, when it took me a good while to warm up to her. Add to this what I think is arresting beauty. Not really a C-level, in my book.

S is a wonderfully gifted actor who, unlike C, does not have any idea of this potential and, to be honest, gives the impression to even not care about it. He singlehandedly dominated some of the most difficult moments of the series (that unwatchable Wentworth episode comes to mind). His mastery of the Stanislavski and Lecoq methods and techniques is excellent. He is likeable, personable and has an innate emotional intelligence, helping him navigate and compensate the weaknesses of (yes, I insist!) an often insufficient script. I have already written about it, with arguments, when I found some very interesting parallels between The Fiery Cross episode and Laurence Olivier's performance in Shakespeare's Henry V. I will say it again: this guy has been grossly miscast, spare for JAMMF.

Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the whole preparation and rehearsal process when producing a movie or a series or a theatre show. These people don't just learn their lines by heart and turn up for readings and rehearsals. They also read and watch a lot of things that could help them build better, more credible characters. But what makes the sometimes very subtle difference between a decent performance and a stellar one is the amount of themselves they allow inside their acting. And in this respect, I think Sam and Cait have been very lucky, in what is a very clear case of Art (instinctively) imitating Life.

I doubt this answered your question and to be honest, I don't care.

[atrophiedemotion]

PLEASE write the analysis on RoMH and BG lyrical similarities I am so invested

hello dear anon! id love to talk more about that!

so i mainly mentioned this in the notes of that post, but when it comes to romh/bg similarities, i mean it moreso in the way that ruler of my heart is similar to my clematis, and blink gone is similar to cure. and, in that way, the songs are similar. in the way i (jokingly, when discussing with my sister) refer to romh and bg as luka's 'pop(ularized) versions'. it's kind of like if someone were to revisit a song and remake it for a radio release and wider audience, if that makes sense, like a watered down version. there's more serious, larger similarities between the two, but i'll explain that after i talk about the parallels between mc/romh and cure/bg.

my clematis/ruler of my heart

im nowhere near the first person to point this out, but ruler of my heart is purposefully similar to my clematis as to remind mizi of sua.

the lyrics of ruler of my heart make very purposeful callbacks, comparing the recipient of the lyrics to light in darkness, a saving grace. (click to view the full lyric excerpts ofc)

luka saying 'make me your god, i can give you everything' is almost like a response to mizi's monologue in r1, where she calls sua, "my god, my universe." here, luka is calling himself a god and claiming the listener is his savior.

this is all pretty gone over stuff, im pretty sure, but it's important. what luka is doing here is offering mizi exactly what she wants- but not from him. and he knows that. he poses himself as the person she loves so that she'll be so overcome with emotion she cannot fight back. and, well... we'll get back to this.

cure/blink gone

there are less exact/obvious callbacks in blink gone, but there are similar lyrics in it as well as the fact that the entire song feels like the musical aftermath of cure (which, to be fair, the round is), the entire song telling till to just let go.

blink gone does, however, make a very obvious callback to the meteor shower, which is referenced in cure and is the first thing that gets to till in r7.

what luka's doing here, with the whole, "forget everything and just enjoy, don't miss this moment, leave no regrets, leave the burdens behind" thing, is exactly what he did in r5 with mizi. he is offering till everything he thinks he wants, even though luka isn't the person he needs to hear it from to shed his guilt. till wants to repress his feelings for & about ivan and his death, r7 is literally him holding it all in until he physically cannot.

luka does the exact same thing in r5 and r7, and it's not impersonating mizi and till's lost loved ones- it's offering them personalized salvation. he knows exactly what they want (to be saved, free from guilt, free from the horrible reality that is alnst and losing their lovers) and uses them to entice his opponents into accepting their losses as if it's something they want.

he's getting them to die willingly.

that's why some of the lyrics are almost uncannily similar to luka's opponents' preceding rounds. in both ruler of my heart and blink gone, luka is sort of 'tying up loose knots' in his competitor's stories. offering them the death and closure they so deeply yearn for.

i hope this fulfilled your wishes, anon?... truthfully, i didn't realize this would lowkey turn into a luka character analysis but, what can i say? he's found his strategy and he sticks to it

[elevenenthusiast]

Since the ST5 teaser just came out and Joyce finally seems to be back in her element again, I need to drop a take that’s been living rent-free in my brain for a good while now, and I know it might be controversial but hear me out:

Hopper should have died at the end of Season 3.

And not because I didn’t love him because I did. But because narratively, emotionally, and thematically, his death mattered. It was a perfect, painful, bittersweet ending to his arc. He went from being this emotionally shut-off, broken man to someone who finally opened his heart and loved again. He learned to be a father. He protected Eleven. He tried to do the right thing. Him sacrificing himself to save El and the others would’ve meant something. It would’ve carried weight.

But instead? We got the Russia plot in Season 4. And listen it had its moments, but it also felt like a distraction. Hopper’s survival undercut the emotional finality of Season 3, and splitting Joyce and Hopper off from the rest of the cast meant that some of the most important relationships especially between Joyce and El got sidelined.

And that’s where this gets deeper for me Joyce and El should’ve had a central arc together in S4. They’re both grieving, both traumatized, both trying to figure out how to keep moving forward. Joyce has always operated in a world full of men raising two sons, surrounded by male energy and I don’t think she knew how to raise a daughter, especially one like El who’s never really had a traditional family. That’s why it would’ve made so much sense to let them clash. To struggle. To misunderstand each other. But also to heal together.

We should’ve seen Joyce stepping into that mother-daughter dynamic not flawlessly, not instantly, but realistically. Her trying and failing and trying again. El pushing back. El grieving Hopper. Joyce grieving him too. That tension would’ve been everything.

The moment in S4 when El hits Angela I keep thinking what if Joyce had found out? What if that scene became a spark that cracked their pain wide open? Joyce trying to discipline El without really knowing how, El lashing out because she’s lost and angry and grieving. That scene could’ve turned into something so layered. It would’ve said everything about grief, about trauma, about how hard it is to parent someone who’s hurting when you’re hurting too.

And I know people always point to Mike as El’s emotional anchor but I keep coming back to this: Joyce should’ve been the one to fight like hell to find El. After losing Bob, almost losing Will, and then losing Hopper, Joyce would’ve gone feral trying to get her back. The way she fought for Will in Seasons 1 and 2? That same level of desperation, that same raw instinct except this time, it’s not just about a kid she gave birth to. It’s about a daughter she chose. A daughter she didn’t expect to have but who became hers all the same.

And then instead of Mike giving that monologue, it should’ve been Joyce who told El she wasn’t alone. That she was loved. That she was her daughter. Not in a forced, cheesy way but something messy and human. Not a perfect speech just honesty. That El is the daughter Joyce didn’t know she needed, and Joyce is the mother El never had. That’s what this show is supposed to be about found family, grief, survival, love.

And this is the part that really stings Max’s grief over Billy was the emotional anchor that made the Hawkins storyline the strongest in Season 4. That writing? That intensity? That unflinching confrontation with loss? That’s what the California storyline could’ve been if they leaned into El’s grief over Hopper and Joyce’s attempts to hold everything together while falling apart herself.

We were robbed of a powerful parallel Max haunted by Billy, while El is grieving Hopper. Joyce trying to hold her family together while being eaten alive by the fear of losing another child. That would’ve made Season 4 cohesive. That would’ve made California as compelling as Hawkins.

So yeah Hopper’s death wasn’t just a missed opportunity for shock or drama. It was a missed opportunity for depth. For character. For connection. For real, raw storytelling. And if Stranger Things is about anything, it should be about that.

[storkmuffin]

Hi! Good day or night to you.

First of all, I really enjoyed reading your ATEEZ metas. It's fun seeing someone else turn and inspect the dynamics ATEEZ portrays in a non-romantic or sexual manner. I always wanted to say they were like my personal dolls, but I found that sounded too... dehumanizing? So, I've settled to say they're like wrestlers to me.

By that, I mean they portray personas and have their own story lines. Which are really fun to dissect!

I take delight in your fictional analysis on Yeosang. Even if people tend to deem him forgettable, or just there as a visual, he was the first one to catch my eye in the whole group. I think it was further cemented with the (infamous) Christmas live.

I think your exploration of his relationships with the other members is really interesting. To be quite honest, I never really saw the click Wooyoung and Yeosang had for one another (once again, talking completely in the fictional relm). For me, their relationship always felt like... one of need? More akin to a friendship kept during one's formative years in the fear of being alone in a hostile environment. In this case, the entertainment industry. That isn't to say they aren't entertaining to watch—their bickering is some of my favorite, as seen in Wooyoung's cooking videos—but I do think their on-screen personas barely have room to reflect that.

To be quite honest, the friendship that always felt more genuine to me with Yeosang was with Mingi. Especially due to the whole phone number debacle. It made them have a sort of... awkward (shy?) but real aspect to their relationship, which I found really interesting. Even if KQ, most likely, pushed for them to be together more to dispel any rumors, it always held a more organic feeling to it it. Especially now, there's small moments in which they interact that feel like spring. Tentative—fresh—but there.

I suppose that is what made Wooyoung and Yeosang (and Mingi + Yunho's) platonic connection feel so one-dimensional to me. Like you said, it sounded too ideal. Too perfect. Fairytale-like in a way that makes my gums itch—or perhaps I am being cynical.

I don't put a lot on fortune tellers, but perhaps he was onto something when he said one of the most compatible persons for Mingi was Yeosang. I also found it curious that Mingi *said* who the other person was before the fortune tellers said so ("It must be Yeosang and Jongho). As if he knew. A gut-feeling. And that Yeosang and Jongho were the people Yunho also had the most compatability for—the two people Mingi also had. It was a funny sort of bridge between both. Or parallel, I suppose.

I also think Yeosang and Jongho are similar in the sense that both have a very dry wit and are "comfortable" in their roles in ATEEZ. I say comfortable in quotations because I don't quite know if that is all they want to be known for. Honestly, they are some of the members I want to see branch out more. Put in different environments where the other members aren't present. It would quench by scientific curiosity, haha. This is why I was intrigued when Yeosang became the MC of a show—I think it made me realize that Yeosang is... really good at playing the role he needs to or is assigned. Which can be both a good thing and a bad thing.

Ah. I apologize if I have rambled a lot... and for any typing errors. I hope to read more of your writing soon. Thank you!

You get me! You understand what I mean by playing with dolls! :)

I have to say - I am verrrry slowwwly coming around to knowing what the heck is going on with the people who are not, ahem, Wooyoung, San, Hwa, and Mingi, in that order, so a lot of what you're saying is really mysterious to me. What is the Christmas content? What's the thing with the phone number? I can't say I recall ever seeing Mingi and Yeosang even talk to each other, so I need to look into that too.

The moment that made me think there might be a There there for Yeosang was during that episode in 아이돌 극장 or whatever it was, where Yeosang threw the imaginary USB with the important song data on it and they all fought for it to the death. Right before he instigated total chaos, Yeosang said with his beautiful face using his mellifluous voice, 왜 두렵지? (Why am I afraid?) and I thought, Oh he knows EXACTLY what he's about to do!

[spiritsglade]

12, 13, 15 for ask game

[questions for fic writers]

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

can i say jayroy. a lot of my early exposure to jason todd meta was anti-rhato and thus anti-jayroy by extension. i don't think i ever quite found myself agreeing with those posts necessarily but it did put me off the ship for like a week or something. anyway i like jayroy and i think they should kiss.

crossover fic also!! which is a little silly because i got into the fandom through crossover fic. only to immediately start filtering them out. still don't see the hype around mlb & dp, (perhaps my fault for not testing them out lol,) but marvel crossovers where jason gets involved with the avengers and/or hydra? wc x dc crossovers where one of the batkids is neal caffrey have managed to be consistently fun. i'm reading a criminal minds crossover right now that has me obsessed. do i know anything about criminal minds? no.

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

oh i have fallen out of love with so many fanon tropes. it is devastating it is a tragedy. truly where do i start.

alfred as jason's favorite. particularly as the one whose requests finally gets him to cave to the batfam's whims. tbh i don't think i ever liked this lol he always made the resolution way too easy. what if i want them to fight more!!

the replacement nickname

the enemy to caretaker with jason & tim. i think this particularly gets to me because their age gap often gets pushed to like... 5 years instead of the canonical 2.

any combination of 'i needed to be robin because bruce was borderline suicidal', 'dick killed the joker for you', 'bruce tried to kill the joker but superman stopped him' being used to get jason back into the family

joker & jason parallels. particularly when we're associating what joker is to jason with what jason is to tim

replacement

actually i'm tired of alfred in general being the polite stern grandfatherly figure who is always there to gently but firmly guide the batfam into resting. this man raised bruce. look at what bruce becomes. write him fucked up. do it.

breaking into jason's safehouses in the name of family bonding. incredible violation of privacy let's please treat it as such thank you.

cass mediating arguments and/or providing free therapy. she would not do that.

any paralleling between the batarang scar and the fictitious scar on tim's throat from jason

the fucking replacement nickname. i am blowing it up.

these are only things that i specifically enjoyed at one point and do not anymore btw. so fanon things that i still do tolerate to some level (pit mad jason) or fanon things that i never liked (tim being so mcsmartypants he figures out jason's identity in 0.2 seconds) are not on this list.

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

the only aus i ever really write are canon divergence. genuinely massive amounts of respect to people who are able to write their favs into zombie apocalypses or space westerns or civilian coffee shops. i cannot.

favorite au is the blended dishonored-inspired wings of fire oc-verse that people need to be hm. about five friendship levels deep to start unlocking. just know i am dreaming about how many homoerotic fights these dragons are having.

favorite au that people can actually see and read about would be lies of omission's au-verse, easily. i built that thing to appeal to me specifically. it has essence. it has complicated batfam dynamics that they somehow make work (although they admittedly are not working very well at the moment). it has jason who cannot fucking stay dead. good for him.

[vntako]

vn in a bottle: her tears were my light

ah i've found something very nice

decided to read some short vns to figure out how to write one and i thought this first one i went for appropriately explicitly defined starts, middles, and endings as part of it's narrative. along with the whole time travel shebang (you play as time) i found this was a bit too appropriate for what i was deciding to write but thought hey this is the universe nudging me gently into finishing the thing.

the story starts with time all alone, and finding space. i love the whole love at first sight schtick, oh and there's an implication of fated lovers thing ("it's like i've met you before" and all that jazz)

space is very cute

i find it difficult to talk about this game without spoiling it bc it's really short and there's not much to say about the exposition apart from space being super cute (the whole thing is around ~30 mins for me, at least less than an hour)

well, to be a bit less vague, i like the story's themes of loneliness. relationships are a complex thing, and memories aren't so reliable sometimes. and people do ultimately change. we misunderstand, we discuss, we compromise. i like that the story reminds us to do our best to try not to leave anyone in our lives lonely.

oh the the fluff between the characters is great, i like a lot

OH forgot to mention the music, it's super good. it fits over the emotional parts so well, especially the true ending song geez. also there are vocal tracks in the extras using eleanor forte and they're really good i need them on like, spotify to put in a playlist (one of them is there, it wasn't my fav but this is pretty nice)

go play this game it's free on itch over here you can play it in your browser no downloads just a bit of loading time

her tears were my light by NomnomNami (itch.io)

spoilers beyond this point

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if it gets you to play it you should know you get to kiss the girls

so you have to save space from being killed by this other girl nil, and she has the power to stop you from rewinding so you gotta start at the start every time you try to save space

the whole "doing different things but always leading to the same result" (insanity) plot line is very appealing to me, and this vn has that. space is killed every time you try to reset. you reset anyway. wowza. i love that.

eventually, we find out nil and space are the same, which is implied by their similar appearances and parallels and stuff. i like that, that's cool, so at that point the goal for you is to reconcile the two of em despite them being polar opposites of each other (space is the girlfailure and nil is the girlboss)

it genuinely hurt me resetting out of the nil ending btw, i didn't get a screenshot but jeezums (nil is best girl sorry)

a few resets in you get to have this moment with space

it's great

i don't like that this kiss decides you abandon nil, though. well, you come around eventually.

you get the true beginning by talking things out with nil, making up for what you've done (even if you don't remember), and deciding not to abandon either of them. that's great, i like that a lot. talking is good.

nil is super cute

to talk a bit more, i like how nil gets so desperate to the point that time misunderstands her intentions. i think, that like happens a fair bit in real life. heck if someone forgot about me to go and have fun with someone else i would uh, die. time hears her out eventually and they come to a compromise and it all works out for the three of them. they both forgive each other. and space doesn't die (yay)

the true beginning is basically a poly ending and that makes this vn a 10/10