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aethuviel · 6 months ago

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A comprehensive study of the Ancient Snow Elves

By Eltirions

(Picture added by myself)

Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/1foensm/a_comprehensive_study_of_the_ancient_snow_elves/

Greetings! Almost two years ago I wrote a theory in this post pondering on the connections between the dragons you fight in the Forgotten Vale and the Snow Elves who lived there. Since then I’ve spent a good deal of time thinking about and researching the Snow Elves, crafting theories to fit their existence into the wider history of Tamriel. The end result is this: a collection of all the relevant knowledge I could find about these mysterious Mer and my thoughts and hypotheses about them.

So, first off I’ll quickly summarise the basic facts we know about the Snow Elves:

Their civilisation existed in and around Skyrim from somewhen in the Merethic Era to the early First Era.

They fought with the Atmorans and early Nords, eventually being defeated and almost completely exterminated by them, with the survivors either seeking shelter with the Dwemer (and turning into the modern-day Falmer) or hiding away in secret places like the Chantry of Auri-El.

The Atmorans/Nords destroyed all traces of their civilisation, to the point that we only have two confirmed sites of Snow Elf habitation remaining.

By the time of 4E 201, we only know of two Snow Elves who are still alive: Knight-Paladin Gelebor and his brother Arch-Curate Vyrthur.

What does this tell us? Not a lot. But, thankfully, we have some more information, most of which comes from conversation with the aforementioned Knight-Paladin Gelebor during Dawnguard’s main questline, where we also visit the Chantry of Auri-El and kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur.

Gelebor is a treasure trove of information on the Snow Elves. He tells us that the Chantry he guards was built in the early First Era, that it was the greatest centre of religion for his people and that Auri-El was their chief god, while Trinimac, Syrabane, Phynaster and Jephre had smaller chantries. He calls the Snow Elf civilisation an empire, but also mentions that they only ruled a portion of Skyrim. He mentions uneasy alliances with the Dwemer and tells us that there were Snow Elves who resisted the Dwemer’s deal, but they all ended up dead, disappeared or ultimately gave in. When you meet him again after killing his brother and fighting your way through the Forgotten Vale, he mentions that he still holds out hope for hidden enclaves of his kind and that he believes the Falmer may one day become something like they once were.

This is all valuable information, and the Dawnguard DLC offers us much more. It gives us a look at Snow Elf architecture, religion and armour within the Forgotten Vale, and there are also four books added by the DLC that are records written by Snow Elves of the early First Era, which have to be decoded from their alphabet and language (more on that later). These books give us the term Ice Elves as another name for the Snow Elves, mention ‘Old Ones’ and ‘Young Ones’, it gives us an example of a method they used to reckon time, and gave us a description of what the pilgrimage through the Chantry of Auri-El was like.

Finally, let’s look at Arch-Curate Vyrthur. He was the leader of the Chantry of Auri-El, and he claims to have been able to commune with his god. This ultimately didn’t avail him from vampirism however, hence why he created the Tyranny of the Sun prophecy to defeat Auri-El. This is important: the Sun is typically ascribed to Magnus and has little to nothing to do with Auri-El (or indeed, any of Akatosh’s other aspects, as far as I know) but Snow Elf religion seems to create a connection between Auri-El and the Sun. This makes it unique amidst Tamrielic religions.

All of this information allows us to create a more complete view of the Snow Elves. Their religion has clear overlaps with Altmeri belief, but also strange differences. Their culture is also clearly divergent from the Aldmer to the point that they created their own language and alphabet, and their architecture is unique, though similar to Ayleid and older Altmer/Aldmer architecture.

But we still don’t know many important things. Allow me to present answers, or theories, to a few of them.

When did the Snow Elf culture begin?

The Aldmer began colonising Tamriel in the middle Merethic Era. While hard dates don’t exist, I think we can estimate that the creation of Snow Elf culture happened around that time, corresponding roughly with the rise of the Ayleids in Cyrodiil. We can’t say anything conclusive without more evidence.

Where did the Snow Elves live?

Gelebor says they ruled a portion of Skyrim. Aside from the Forgotten Vale, with its entrance located in the northern Reach and the Vale itself found in the mountains between northwestern Skyrim and western High Rock, we know of one other pre-Dwemer Snow Elf settlement site: in ESO, we can visit Snow Elf ruins located under Fort Greenwall in the Rift. Skorm Snow-Strider’s Journal, found in Forelhost in Skyrim and dating to 1E 139, also mentions King Harald fighting Snow Elves around Lake Honnith (an older name for Lake Honrich, the lake Riften lies on) and the eastern Rift. Finally, though they aren’t settlement sites, we know that the Snow Elves’ last true battle was fought on Solstheim in the Moesring Mountains, indicating that they had some settlement there (although no Falmer are found anywhere on Solstheim during Skyrim or Bloodmoon); and that according to the book Songs of the Return, Vol 7, the entirety of the Whiterun plain was uninhabited by the Snow Elves due to fear of the Skyforge, which predates Elven settlement in Skyrim. It also mentions that when the Companions went south from Saarthal, they found many Elves who they all slew, indicating settlement through Winterhold and Eastmarch.

Put on a map, this forms a very strangely-shaped realm, though perhaps not if we consider that the Snow Elves seem to prefer colder climates. I would theorise that they inhabited the northern part of the country, including the northern parts of the Reach (and perhaps westwards into High Rock as well), Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, the Pale, Winterhold (minus Saarthal, naturally), down to Eastmarch and the Rift, and of course the island of Solstheim, though it was apparently shared with the Nords (perhaps the ancestors of the Skaal). This would leave Whiterun empty and the rest of the Reach and Falkreath open to others, perhaps Nedes and Orcs. An interesting note is that neither Falkreath nor Whiterun contain any Dwemer ruins either.

Who ruled the Snow Elves?

It’s hard to say. The Snow Prince, famous for being so good at killing Nords they gave him an honourable burial, is the best example of a race-wide leader we have, and Gelebor explicitly calls their civilisation an empire. The Snow Prince himself was widely recognised as the last hope for his race by the time of the Battle of the Moesring, so perhaps he was the descendant of a line of rulers. We can’t say much else. We do know, from antiquities found in ESO, that he had a throne.

Speaking of ESO, I already mentioned the ruins under Fort Greenwall, but ESO has several other pieces of content related to the Snow Elves. During the quest The Rise of Sage Svari we see a flashback where several Snow Elf warriors attack the sons of Ysgramor; these are ghosts, however, and are identical to High Elves, using High Elf gear and models. We can also find two other antiquities (a system of archaeology added by the Greymoor Chapter DLC), namely the Font of Auri-El, a shrine-like house furnishing that is described as distinct from the architecture of other Mer; and the Snow Treaders, a pair of enchanted and masterfully crafted boots. The Antiquarian Circle’s notes on the parts needed to create the latter item confirm that Auri-El occupied a special place in Snow Elf religion, that the Snow Elves had some collaboration with the Dwemer and were skilled craftsmen themselves, that they bred a type of tree called a snow-cedar and used its wood as a crafting material, and that they also used animal products such as snowy sabre cat fur in their clothes. It’s not much, but it is interesting nonetheless.

Let’s get back to some theorising, hm? I already mentioned that the Snow Elves’ pantheon featured Auri-El as chief of the pantheon, though with an unique focus on the Sun; their other gods we know of for certain are Trinimac (who likely served as the patron of the Paladins Gelebor is a part of), Syrabane, Phynaster and Jephre. This is interesting for a couple of reasons. Auri-El and Trinimac are staples of virtually all Elven pantheons, but Syrabane and Phynaster are continually referred to as Altmer, who were raised to godhood after their lives. In Syrabane’s case especially, he shows up around 1E 2200, far beyond the early First Era when the chantries were supposedly built. Phynaster is a traveller god and not officially considered a member of the Altmeri pantheon. Other members of the Altmeri pantheon such as Magnus, Mara, Stendarr, Xarxes and Anu(iel) go unmentioned. Ignoring this strangeness (perhaps Syrabane is much older than we know; he is known as an extremely skilled mage, after all), we see that the Snow Elf pantheon is unique.

We can see from the wayshrines of the Forgotten Vale that the Snow Elves were skilled mages which would explain Syrabane’s presence (but makes Magnus’ absence all the more strange). Phynaster is a wayfarer god who also taught Altmer to lengthen their lives; this connects well with Gelebor, who is one of the oldest living individuals in the setting that is not a vampire or a lich. Perhaps the first Snow Elves were devotees of Phynaster and further developed his techniques for long lifespans. Finally, there is Jephre, better known as Y’ffre elsewhere in Tamriel. He is the god of nature, and Snow Elf reverence for him is presumably based in the beauty of Skyrim’s nature.

If we look at the Chantry of Auri-El, we see that those who wished to enter the Chantry to seek enlightenment had to go on a pilgrimage, carrying an ewer of water which they would gradually fill as they passed by several wayshrines on their way to the Chantry itself. This process is described as arduous, and many were known to fail, which was considered disgraceful, while those who succeeded were rewarded with some form of enlightenment. The Chantry is one of the most impressive religious buildings seen across all the games, and Gelebor claims it was the greatest of the ones the Snow Elves built. And it was built in the First Era, after Ysgramor had returned and begun his extermination war on the Snow Elves. Snow Elf society must have been truly dedicated to religion to complete such a structure in a time of war and strife. And yet, while it is a grand structure, I wouldn’t call it ostentatious. The Chantry is beautiful, sure, but it isn’t richly decorated (except for the gold everywhere) and everything seems more built for function than for aesthetics.

All of this evidence leads me to believe that the beginning of the Snow Elves as a group distinct from other Mer lies in their spirituality: they came to Skyrim in order to distance themselves from the affairs of other Mer. They gave primacy to several gods of the Altmeri pantheon, namely Phynaster (who, as a god of travellers, wayfarers and pilgrims, would have appealed to them), Jephre, Syrabane (who I still can’t explain properly), Trinimac and Auri-El, who they gave Magnus’ connection with the Sun as well. They focused very much on enlightenment, perhaps to ascend in a similar manner as the Altmer seek to. This focus on spirituality would also explain why, despite being described as a great civilisation, the Snow Elves were so thoroughly defeated by the Atmorans/Nords.

Phew. Now that I’ve touched on all of that, I want to muse on a few things before the end. One of these is the original topic of my post about the Forgotten Vale: what is the connection between the Dragons and the Snow Elves? Mind you that the entirety of Alduin’s rule over Skyrim, including the Dragon War, happens between the Night of Tears and the fall of the Forgotten Vale. The connections between dragons and Akatosh is obvious, but it doesn’t seem to feature at all in Snow Elf (or indeed any Mer) religion - with one possible exception of a dragon's head being depicted on the chest piece of the Ancient Falmer armour, but I think that's a stretch. As I mentioned in my Forgotten Vale post, there’s a strong possibility that the Snow Elves of the Chantry had a good relationship with the dragons slumbering in the lake there (especially after the Dragon War, when both were being hunted by the Nords) and that their presence explains how the Forgotten Vale remained safe. While I touched on it in the post, I now think that Vyrthur (who, it stands to reason, could communicate properly with the dragons thanks to his connection to Auri-El) purposefully kept the dragons (who were sleeping at the time) from waking up, which might also explain why the lake is frozen over; we see in the Chantry that Vyrthur is a skilled frost mage. The dragons only awaken when the player comes by because they sense a fellow dragon soul. But I digress.

Another thing to consider is the Night of Tears. It’s commonly speculated that the true reason for the Snow Elf assault on Saarthal was that they knew the Atmorans had found the Eye of Magnus and feared its power; this gains new meaning when we realise that Magnus himself receives no mention in Snow Elf religion, whilst they are undoubtedly a people of great magical skill. When we consider that the Snow Elves considered the Sun to be Auri-El’s gateway to Nirn, and that they possessed both his Bow and Shield, one has to wonder what would have happened had they obtained the Eye and used the Bow on it.

A final curiosity is the Great Statue of Irkngthand, which you might remember from the second-to-last Thieves Guild quest in Skyrim. It’s a magnificent statue built in secret by the Snow Elves after being enslaved by the Dwemer, so it seems that even while enslaved and (partially) blinded they were capable of creating great works. Most interesting.

I think that, for now, I’ve covered everything I could find on the Snow Elves. I’ve not worked in theories about the Ice Tribes of TES Travels: Dawnstar’s connection to the Snow Elves or mentions of Arena’s Laintar Dale settlement being built on top of a Snow Elf settlement, due to the dubious canonicity of either source. I’ve also passed on mentioning the Falmer as we know and love them, perhaps I’ll reserve that for a future post (just who or what is Xrib, hm?).

If I’ve missed anything of relevance, please do let me know: I’ll happily talk about it or add it to the post. And I do apologise if this document is a bit of a mess; I’ve done my best to make it somehow cohesive, but it was all written in one burst of inspiration and my mind wanders a lot when writing. All that said, please let me know what you think, and maybe in two years I’ll have another post talking about the mysterious Snow Elves.

#not mine #really interesting and well-researched #Snow Elves #Falmer #Skyrim #edited for length

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madbalalaika · 9 months ago

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Your pirates of the Caribbean fanart is so beautiful! Please, please share tips for how to do that beautiful painting technique you used! <3

Hi, anon! Thank you so much, both for the compliment, and for the question💗✨

Edit: I've reached the 30 pics per post limit and will have to make a part 2, oopsie daisies. But I'm sure it won't be as long as this :"D

In terms of technique, I guess it depends which part exactly you're talking about, because most of it is just oil painting+pencil drawing made digital, where I sort of block my colours first, then blend as I see fit (or in some parts don't blend at all, which is what some classical painters do; it's really just habits and preferences from years of experience) and add details using a pencil brush.

If you're interested, stay tuned as I try and give some tips while showing my whole process using this lovely photo of Commodore as an example:

Part 1. The basics

I usually only use these 2 brushes, just because I like them a lot, rarely more than that; and I've changed the settings on the second one so it rotates in the direction of a stroke instead of being at a fixed angle.

SO, firstly I just make a sketch of course, then make a very rough base colour layer underneath it, not too dark, not too light, and fill in the background with a solid colour.

(don't be fooled, I don't actually name my layers cause I'm way too lazy for that)

Since we're talking about digital painting here, my biggest tip would be to make a habit of picking the right colours manually, like you would an for an actual oil painting, instead of using the eyedropper tool on the source. Colour matching is an insanely useful skill, it's like relative pitch in music, or an accurate eye in architecture; while it's not absolutely necessary to have it, you'll want it if you want less burden on your brain and more freedom of expression. "Learn the rules to learn to break them" kind of thing (and you'll be able to match the colours to the picture in your head as well, how cool is that? Hehe) I've done this so much that at this point I just do it for the hell of it. It's very fun :D And, as you might've guessed, I do it for the entirety of the process, with some rare exceptions. While I used to do so in the past, I don't like to use blending modes (eg. soft light, overlay, multiply, etc.) for shading anymore. I find it takes all the excitement out of the whole process for the sake of cheap dopamine, and it used to hinder my skill development because I wasn't learning to "speak the language" of art, I just "used google translate", so to speak.

Anyways... A sketch, then a rough midtone colour layer underneath + background:

Another great tip: I learned it from a video on good costume design in fantasy, which is so unrelated to painting that you're probably like "wha- what..?", BUT... the tip was "the costumes don't have to be historically accurate, they just have to make sense in the story". Your colours don't have to match your reference perfectly, they just have to make sense inside the painting, and that's what will make your art feel alive (along with other things ofc).

Next I create another layer on top of all that and get to actually paint, and this is where the blocking part comes in.

There is a really good video on this subject if you want to learn this kind of technique, and an Instagram page of a different artist that I've been immensely admiring for some time now. Although now that I think about it, neither of them use midtones as a base... Anyway,

I start with the darkest shadows, moving on towards lighter ones, noting some places where the they reflect more blueish/grayish tones of his uniform on his neck and jawline, and where they reflect the reddish environment on his nose, temple, cheek, ear, and neck.

Another great artist to help improve lighting skills.

I frequently make new layers on top of everything as I go, just so that I have some room for error and can delete them later if I'm not satisfied, and then merge them down if I am, because I hate being indecisive with too many changes, and having unnecessary clutter.

Sometimes if I don't like how a certain colour looks on the painting, I undo the stroke (or paint on top, if it's too late to undo) and just tweak it on the wheel until it looks right to my eye and move on. Eg. on the next screenshot, I didn't like how that blue from the sketch looked one the screenshot before, so I adjusted it a little with Hue/Saturation.

I also like to slightly exaggerate the palette so that it looks a bit more interesting:

The last thing I usually do is light, with tiny highlights being the absolute last, because both are very easy to overdo. I manually pick the colour from the colour wheel, make a few strokes where it's supposed to be the brightest, and then use eyedropper tool to sample different spots from the freshly-painted areas to make it easier to blend.

Now while that colour might look pretty light, it isn't light at all. To be fair, the difference between light and shadow isn't even that big sometimes. I used to overshoot with either of them in the past, picking either too light or too dark, and was frustrated and baffled why my painting was looking as shit as it was.

So I guess another tip: for lights, pick the colour much closer to your midtone than you think you need, and then adjust accordingly. The reason being: your eyes and brain are partners in crime and are constantly lying to you.

The (I guess second) base is done, and at this point, it's just a matter of staring at his face for 2, or however long, hours and adding more and more strokes, sampling different spots between them, until I like how it looks.

Sometimes, if I realize that either the proportions are a bit off or some lines don't look the way they're supposed to, I use some Photoshop tools to my advantage. I merge everything together (cause at this point I really don't plan on changing the sketch itself or the background), and use Liquify to move things around. So now it's a one-layer painting, just like the real deal lol

And then I continue doing the same thing I'd done before with all the other parts.

Liquify on his face:

I only lightly paint over most sketch lines because I'm really not that concerned about some of them peeking out, especially at this stage, nor am I very pedantic.

Don't forget about subsurface scattering in areas where light meets shadow, of course:

If I see a place like this where I need a smooth gradient but don't feel like actually doing it cause it'll ruin the ~vibe~, and really, I just wanna add more a bit more pizzazz, I just take the pencil brush and hatch over it instead, alternating the darker and the lighter tones.

The caravat:

A lot of the time professional artists will advise you to look for simple shapes in things - squares, circles, triangles, rhombuses, etc. I'm no exception. Simple shapes will let you see patterns and some sort of order. It's easier to understand complex shapes that way, whether it be fabric, faces/bodies, or inanimate objects.

As you can see here, my brain mostly likes to look for triangles, or half-circles. It just feels right 👌

The wig:

I learned to use translucency, with hair and light fabrics fading into background, from watching and doing watercolour. Here's one of my all-time favourite watercolour artists that does that sometimes, and it looks absolutely stunning: 미술부화실 misulbu

The waistcoat and the jacket:

The hat:

Another thing to point out, if you haven't noticed already, I really like my stokes straight unlike myself, with exceptions, of course. It's another habit I picked up from watching other people draw, as well as my years of studying art professionally. Teachers taught me to use straight criss-crossing hatches to indicate form, instead of curved ones (there was a really cool tiktok showing that kind of technique, but I can't find it :(). Not that I follow their advice in its intended way majority of the time lololol but um... yeah...

So anyway, this is the end of part 1, I'll try to finish the second part tomorrow. It will be about smaller details, texture, and an tiiiny bit of 🔥grime🔥

#art tutorial #my inbox #potc #pirates of the caribbean #potc fanart #james norrington #art #fanart #digital art

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hwangyeddeongie · 5 months ago

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I feel like some kpop stans don’t view koreans as real people. I’ve been trying to ignore this for a while now but I can’t dismiss it anymore.

I don’t like labelling it as a “fetish” because I feel like most people are genuinely just misinformed or young and naive, but there’s definitely fetishisers and I won’t pretend they don’t exist.

my main issue is: stop relating any post on twitter (or any social media really) that’s written in korean to kpop. I’ve seen this several times now, a korean posting something (completely unrelated to kpop or idols, they don’t even have any idol pfp or kpop related username) in korean, and the qrts being flooded with kpop stans. this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it does get obnoxious when a korean person is simply posting about doechii and kpop stans are up in the qrts talking about what kpop company she should be in. just because op wrote in korean.

I want people to realise that kpop is not a universal thing in korea. sure, it’s a huge market and it brings in a lot of tourists, but a lot of koreans don’t even listen to kpop and they probably couldn’t name you 5 groups unless they’re wildly popular. that’s like assuming every american likes taylor swift or just pop in general cos it gets made in america.

there’s this habit kpop stans have of reducing real koreans to what they know through kpop or kdramas, and I know this probably isn’t that big of a deal but WE ARE MORE THAN JUST OUR ENTERTAINMENT

we have history, food, architecture, culture, and many other genres of music and art apart from kpop and dramas. kpop only started in the late 90s, so most people in korea predate the genre altogether.

as for fetishisation, I wouldn’t say it’s as widespread as some people say (preferences are valid) but it’s definitely weird as a korean to have someone suddenly treat you with more respect/interest just because you say the country you’re from.

I’ve definitely had experiences online that made me honestly feel like I was a specimen or an animal at a petting zoo just because of my nationality. I know most people have good intentions and are just curious, and I’m not really offended, just a little confused. you wouldn’t put an english person on a pedestal just cuz they’re from britain, so why would you do it with a korean? (I’ve seen this happen to Japanese people as well)

anyways, I don’t really know where I’m going with this, I just needed to rant about something that’s been bothering me for a while.

note: curiosity and genuine interest is completely fine as long as you remain respectful! I don’t agree with those who say people who learn korean bc they like kpop are koreaboos, it’s actually very nice that people pick up a whole new language and study korea’s history because of their interests! however, if you want to be korean or view people in a drastically more positive light SOLELY because they are korean, you may want to reevaluate the way you approach fandom 🙏🏻

#this isn’t really a targeted post #I know most people don’t have bad intentions #I just hope my perspective can maybe make some of yall think a little #just me yapping!#asian fetishization #korean #kpop #fandom #rant

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pinejay · 1 month ago

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i just woke up from a brilliant scifi dream i would actually like to write into a short story some day:

at some point in human history, someone turned out to be immortal. no one could figure out why, but this dude just couldn't die. he ended up becoming an astronaut, maybe of his own volition, but most likely the government's, once they discovered his existence.

they sent him up on what would be a suicide mission for anyone else. he ended up drifting in outer space, able to wiggle around in his solar powered spacesuit coffin, but otherwise a frozen piece of space junk, aimlessly floating further and further away from the only planet he'd ever known.

eventually, humanity dies.

then, one day, millennia in the future, the man's spacesuit radio statics to life. someone is speaking his native language on the other side, but with a strange accent he'd never heard before. the grammar isn't bad, but the enunciation is all wacky. and the pitch of the voice is just a bit strange. it doesn't quite flow easily into his long unused ears. but he can understand them, so he responds.

there is a spacecraft coming to pick him up. after XXXXX years, he is finally being saved.

a short space flight later, or rather, short for his standards, he finds himself miraculously back on earth. the continents haven't even shifted that much while he was gone. they still let him breathe the air. the people around him, once they remove their spacesuits, are completely inhuman, but still surprisingly familiar in their resemblance to an ancient animal species from his own time on earth.

they lead him to the scientist in charge of bringing him back. they embrace him upon arrival, and explain everything:

after humanity's self destruction, the natural ecosystems had taken a huge hit, and the climate was all out of wack. their species cultivated their resource sharing abilities in a resource scarce environment, allowing them to evolve to the point of forming complex societies. across the last XXXXX years, they were able to study the relics of human society to make rapid scientific advancement, and eventually, attain spaceflight.

anthropology is a major field in their society. studying the successes and failures of humanity allows them to thrive more than we ever did in our absence. that being said, most individuals do not speak or even read our dead human languages. though there are a few dedicated hobbyists (themselves in particular) who care deeply about language revival.

in their research of the history of human astronomy, they eventually came across the story of the immortal man, sent to space, and left to live. so they decided their life project would be to bring this man home.

they calculated the probable direction and speed of their drift through space. they sent out an electromagnetic search beam every day. they watched the scans for the slightest blips in frequency. they practiced speaking the man's native language so they could communicate when they found him. they researched human habitation and architecture so their home would be comfortable to him when he arrives. they were consumed by this project for so long, and now he is finally here.

the man falls into their arms and cries.

#dreams #scifi #my art #i actually woke up feeling like i was sobbing but my face was completely dry #i think it's abt the irony of being treated as an oddity among humanity but then only being treated as human when u r the oddity #as well as love of course

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ruruumin · 2 years ago

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bookworm of a man.

₊˚ ᗢ alhaitham x gn!reader, modern au.

⤷ what is he like in college?

It comes as no surprise that the man is extremely studious. He spends most of his time in the library, his nose stuck in a few literary books. He’s the type that stays there all day and night. The same kind that would on occasion, pull all-nighters and take naps with a book laid out on the table. It takes a lot of restraint to keep you from barging into the library and pulling him by the ear just for him to go home.

He can be a little arrogant at times. His tongue is sharp but it’s unintentional. He’s straightforward and always feels the need to talk for himself. He doesn’t like misunderstandings and makes it a habit to clear up any that arise. It can be frustrating at times when you get into arguments with him. He always wants to prove himself, and he knows deep down it’s his way of trying to show that he cares about something. He tries to add a few trendy words in an attempt to come off as “in-tune” or aware (there was a moment in your life where he couldn’t stop using ‘bombastic side eye’ whenever his roommate did anything troubling).

He is a linguistics major, so he takes the time to create his own language. As requested by his professor, he’s been trying it out in front of you. While many people shrug off his commentary, such as Kaveh, you are fascinated by his language. Most of the time you don’t understand what he’s saying. A lot of what he explains flies over your head, but seeing you so immersed in trying to learn makes the edges of his lips curve into a small smile. He takes the time to write on sticky notes about a few words and pronunciations, hoping that eventually you and him might hold a conversation in his language.

He would read all kinds of books, whether it be a physics book tucked away in the obscure corner of the room, or a cheesy romance novel about two teenagers pining for each other. Whatever it is, he has most likely read it and will give you his review. It comes in handy when you ask him about a reading you had for class, he always has something to say. If you need to rent a book, you could always come to him, and get Al-Haitham’s annotated copy. Flipping through it, you can see that he has written on the margins a few comments (some are critiques, others are question marks). His favorite color to use for sticky notes and tabs tend to be teal and ocean blue.

Although he is well-off, he chooses to live in the student dormitory. His reasoning for doing so was rather strange and uncharacteristic of him. He believed that by choosing the dorms, he might be able to find an equal to his rambles. However, what he was stuck with was a boisterous, blond architecture major named Kaveh. They bicker night and day. It gets so heated that their other roommates have filed noise complaints against them. It’s a rather funny thing, you still laugh at it to this day. Al-Haitham’s attempt at making friends was to simply live in the dormitories, and that lead him to find not an equal, but his polar opposite.

For someone who is engrossed in literature and language, Kaveh makes it a point to call him out on his physique. He says it’s unfair: how could someone as lazy and unenthusiastic as Al-Haitham have such a nice, toned body? Perhaps it was the fact that aside from studying, he goes to the gym to clear his mind. It was an easy place to wear his headphones, and play some obscure playlist you’d created for him. No one goes out of their way to bother him unless it's about the machine. And you find it rather endearing that whatever song you put in the playlist, he would always listen to. He even goes as far as to give you his analysis of the song lyrics, even if they are extremely straightforward.

While he may live with his roommate Kaveh, that doesn’t stop him from inviting you over to his place. He says it’s nice to have a conversation with you when it’s not so loud outside. It has gotten to the point where Kaveh expects you to be home. He thinks it's a blessing in disguise because while he has to deal with Al-Haitham’s snotty comments, he is at the very least, in a better mood. Was that your charm working wonders on the man? Did you finally wear him down? You’ve broken him, Kaveh says, he never cooks (you’ve come to learn from this moment on that Al-Haitham has been living off of dining hall food for half a year), look at him now, making pasta for you.

“Today’s reading?” He hums, resting his chin against the palm of his hand. He looks up to you with an amused smile. “I read it back when I was in middle school. If you want me to send you my notes, you just have to say please.”

#₊˚ ᗢ kirimoochi #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #alhaitham #al haitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #al haitham x reader

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lee-sanghyeok · 3 months ago

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get to know your tumblr mutuals tag

thanks for tagging me @deer-hunter !

1. what's the origin of your username?

It's BOYNEXTDOOR Riwoo's government name lmao

2. OTP(s) + shipname

I don't ship idols

3. song stuck in my head

Love Attack by RESCENE !

4. weirdest habit/trait

Whenever I say a number out loud, I also 'write' / gesture it in the air to make sure I'm saying the right number and I'm not confused about it.

5. hobbies

Watching film & tv, listening to music and going to concerts, trying new restaurants & cafés, scrapbooking & making collages, solo travelling, making gifsets

6. if you work, what's your profession?

unemployed🫡

7. if you could have any job you wish what would you have?

Going to runway shows, writing think pieces about it, and on the side, making trend-based fashion moodboards that align with an idol group's lore, concept and music. AND I GET PAID A FAT CHECK FOR IT

8. something you're good at

I don't remember street names or directions, but I have the city mapped out in my head based on architectural details, shops & restaurants. Knowing a movie based on a single frame. Quoting the first Twilight movie. Knowing the era a piece of art is made in. Faking a British accent.

9. something you hate

maths. heatwaves. make-up not layering nicely. bad marketing campaigns. people that don't wait for other people to get off public transport. chatgpt. standing in a long queue.

10. something you forget

I don't remember anything ever. What I've eaten, what I've said to someone, where my phone is, the names and/or faces of people, emails, messages.

11. your love language

Having a meal together

12. favourite movies/shows

I just made a list with all my faves, but I really favor romcoms from the 2000s, anime, and movies with interesting fashion and set pieces.

13. what were you like as a child?

Energetic, creative, bookish, a bit of a weirdo

14. favourite subject in school

Latin!

15. least favourite subject

Maths boooo tomato tomato

16. what's your best/worst character trait?

Best: I'm relentless and outspoken ; worst: I'm a procrastinator and I easily forget things like messaging people back, etc.

17. if you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I'd like to live on my own

18. if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

I would want to meet my mom in high school.

tagging: @egoistshye @redisvelvet @bestleader @chwedout @96z and whoever else wants to share !

#tag games

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ace-turned-confused · 5 months ago

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get to know your moots

ty for tagging me @almostempty ilyyyy and i love doing these, they feel like doing surveys and if there's one thing my autistic ass loves, it's doing a survey

what's the origin of your blog title?: it's me being confused about my sexuality & identity

OTP(s) + shipname: okay my mom & i used to watch this show called major crimes, SHARON & ANDY FOR LIFE !!!!!! shandy stan until i die. i even had a fanpage for them on instagram.

favorite color: purpleeee

favorite game: rn it's INFINITY NIKKI !!! i am addicted. also replaying BOTW rn, valorant / fortnite with my cousin, oh and i'm basically becoming a professional phasmo player, also addicted to that.

song stuck in your head: baile inolvidable - bad bunny

weirdest habit/trait?: ummm i stick my tongue out when i'm concentrating? not all the way out like a weirdo, just a lil blep. i also brush my teeth in the shower.

hobbies: gamingggg, sewing, baking, vinyl records

if you work, what's your profession?: rn ya girl is unemployed :')

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: trust fund baby. i wanted to do architecture but then discovered you have to submit a portfolio when you apply and i didn't do art for matric so. rip to that dream. also nearly went into microbiology.

something you're good at: sudoku.

something you're bad at: making conversation.

something you love: night drives with my bestie <3

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: basically any game i play. you wanna know how to do a zero evidence run in phasmo? take a seat. valorant agent abilities? ask me. minecraft recipes? i got you. i often get asked "how do you remember that?" i'm autistic. i have autism.

something you hate: that i have to work to survive and pay for everything. going new places without knowing the parking situation. anything mint.

something you collect: trinkets. i love a trinket. i got a set of four tiny silver-plated brass chairs that are actually name place holders for my birthday that look amazing on my desk. i'd love to get more game merch etc but those kind of fun things don't exist much here in SA :( also lego, but i haven't got a new set in a good while now.

something you forget: to take my meds, names, events, happenings, etc etc.

what's your love language?: i yearn for physical touch but i'm touch averse :/ love some quality time.

favorite movie/show: love mamma mia that is peak cinema.

favorite food: i love pizza. i love lasagne. i love a good plate of chips.

favorite animal: I LOVE CAPYBARAS i love them so much. i have a capy plushie and he has a turtle backpack.

are you musical?: i played both violin and piano for like eight years? and i can sing if i try LOL

what were you like as a child?: anxious and shy. every teacher would love if i could participate more.

favorite subject at school?: biology & geography.

least favorite subject?: when i had to take it, history. that shit was boringgggg i'm so sorry. of the compulsory ones, probs english. i take everything at face value (autism) so hated poetry and having to analyse every fuckin sentence in a book.

what's your best character trait?: my honesty.

what's your worst character trait?: also my honesty.

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: idk make this shit more exciting probably. i'd put myself on a nice holiday.

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: a cowboy from the old west. and then he'd fall in love with me.

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): okay okay i LOVE seams by @fuckyeahdindjarin <3

npt: @burntheedges @milla-frenchy @evolnoomym @guiltyasdave @604to647

@sixhours @joelmillerisapunk @oonajaeadira @strang3lov3 @whocaresstillthelouvre

@mrsmando @mountainsandmayhem @sanarsi @mermaidgirl30 @sizzlingcloudmentality <3

#tag game

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vosh-rakh · 1 year ago

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3e634, chapter 1

"I'm sorry, the Temple of Dibella is closed,” the priestess said. “You can receive your blessing, if you wish, but the other sisters are in seclusion."

Malekaiah frowned. She looked around anxiously at the alien masonry of the temple’s interior. The four statues of nude Dibella resting against the pillars kept their gazes resolutely forward, ignoring Malekaiah’s plight. She pressed her fingertip hard against the point of her tusk, a bad anxious habit she’d long ago acquired. The tusk was too dull to draw blood, but one could hope.

Finally, her eyes alighted on the shrine against the wall, its points rising like flower petals towards a central space, and she was given the courage to look back at the priestess. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering, but somehow she pushed on. “I’ve been an acolyte of Dibella all my life. I’m on an important mission to spread her love to those who have never known it.”

“I’m sorry, sister.” The priestess offered a small smile as compensation. “The sisters cannot be disturbed.”

Malekaiah looked up at the brass chandelier on the ceiling, and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, nodding, but avoided the priestess’s pitying gaze.

The priestess nodded, and returned to her cleaning.

Malekaiah approached the shrine to Dibella. She gently placed a hand on one of its dull red wings, trying to feel for Dibella’s energies. Then she knelt, clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed.

Please, sweet Dibella, I beseech thee: grant me the power and wisdom to see thy love and beauty in every facet of this world, so that I may spread the knowing to those who know only sorrow and ugliness. Let thy kiss become my kiss, lips sweet enough to embrace the world.

Malekaiah couldn’t remember how the prayer was supposed to end, so awkwardly she cut it short there. Unclasping her hands, she rubbed her face, trying to bring some heat to her cheeks, and rub some wakefulness into her eyes. It was so cold here, in Skyrim, and she had barely slept on the long carriage ride from Anvil to Markarth. She had a long journey ahead of her, and she needed to be prepared.

Almost on instinct she quickly felt for the short steel hiding under her ochre robes. Yes, Da’s dagger was still there. Even in this foreign place, it brought her a strange sense of safety.

Malekaiah rose and walked out the temple door. She was immediately faced with the western mountain enclosing the city, waterfalls cascading down the cliff with a deafening roar, flowing into the waterways that ran down the city’s streets. Behind those falls stood proud and ancient the bizarre stone-and-brass architecture of the dwarves, yet as ordinary to the people here as timber and brick.

After a moment of awe, Malekaiah drifted left along the stone walkway, skirting south around the pillar which the temple of Dibella crowned. Down a level of the city, straddling one of the rivulets, was a small smithy, jarringly built of wood. Over the roar of the waterfalls rang out the sharp clang of hammer on metal, and a woman shouting at her apprentice with very colorful language. Turning her head to the left, Malekaiah saw the distant silver mines, crawling with hard-at-work miners, seeming from this far away like ants carrying their burdens of ore.

Malekaiah descended the stairs, making her way down from the temple. They led her closer to the smithy, where she caught a glimpse of the smith. She was an Orc, which stopped Malekaiah in her tracks. There were very few Orcs in Anvil; most had left for bustling Orsinium about a decade or two ago. Despite going to their homeland to proselytize, she didn’t know much about her race. She had read as much as she could about them and their history and ways before leaving, but most of the sources she was able to get her hands on were outdated and often very bigoted.

The smith must have felt Malekaiah’s gaze, and she looked up at her with a scowl. She waved her off with a hand holding an unfinished sword.

Malekaiah quickly turned to continue on her way, but in so doing she ran straight into one of the city guards. He reached for the sword on his hip. “Watch where you’re going, outsider!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Malekaiah quickly mumbled. The guard, seemingly dissatisfied but uninterested in an actual confrontation, pushed Malekaiah aside and continued on his way.

Malekaiah rubbed her shoulder where the guard had pushed her and looked again at the smith, who had apparently seen the whole thing. She shook her head at Malekaiah and went back to her work.

A bit shaken, Malekaiah continued descending the stairs, following one of the rivulets. She reached for the talismans around her neck. First, the amulet of Dibella: she rubbed the violet stone in the center of the metal flower. It was cold, but it gave her some comfort, anyway. Her hand roamed across her neck to the other talisman, the strange icon left in her swaddling cloth when her parents abandoned her in Cyrodiil. She could feel its rageful face, teeth and tusks bared, and a fuming heat flooded her face. She let go, shook her head, and tried to forget about the encounter with the guard.

Malekaiah continued along the stone path through the city, hoping to find an inn where she could stay the night. Instead, she found herself at the front gate again, faced with the small market situated there.

The square was bustling with activity, a dense crowd - surely half the city - swarming from stall to stall, gawking at and haggling for the goods on display. The few children who could pry themselves from their mothers’ watchful eyes ran through the forest of legs, squealing like pigs.

Something caught Malekaiah’s eye. A gleam of silver, or steel. Her vision snapped to the stall on the far end of the market, selling jewelry. A woman was trying on a prospective purchase.

But there was something else, a man pushing through the crowd, the sun shining in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The woman removed the necklace. The man grabbed her mouth from behind. He raised his shining hand and jerked it across her neck, right where the necklace was a moment ago. Blood sprayed on the silver on the stall’s counter. The woman behind it, her face also spattered with red, covered her mouth and screamed.

Just as the crowd began to react to the shriek, the assassin turned around, still holding up the now-mute and struggling woman by her chin. Her head was nearly severed, so vicious and deep was the spurting gash.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

The throng devolved into chaos, women and children screaming, men shouting and shoving to escape. There was only one guard nearby, somehow, and he was slow to react, ineffectually trying to push his way through the crowd.

Malekaiah was frozen, staring at the gore of the wound. The man dropped the woman after she stopped moving, and turned back to the stall. The jeweler had fallen to the ground in shock. The assassin vaulted the counter, sending rings and necklaces and torcs to the ground with a tinkling sound that Malekaiah shouldn’t have been able to hear over the din, but could have sworn she did.

He advanced upon the jeweler, dagger in hand, blade under fist. She extended an arm to protect herself, and the assassin’s blade pierced her hand, stabbing all the way through. Her pained scream pierced the sky. The assassin inverted his grip, blade over fist, and began slashing. The jeweler took a cut to the stomach before raising her arms to defend again. The steel tore through the sleeves of her dress as well as the flesh of her forearms.

A fire ignited in Malekaiah’s throat, melting her freeze and compelling her move. She hiked up her robes and withdrew her dagger from the sheath fastened around her thigh, and she advanced through the dissipating crowd. She vaulted over the counter, knocking off yet more jewelry, and approached the assassin’s back.

Firmly gripping the dagger’s hilt, in one simple motion, she thrust the blade deep into his back, sliding effortlessly between two ribs.

Poppies bloomed around the wound, soaking into his shirt.

The assassin exhaled sharply as his lung collapsed, and stopped attacking the jeweler. His weapon clattered to the ground, and he slowly turned to face Malekaiah. With shaky breath, and through bloody coughs, he mustered, “I die for my people,” and then collapsed, dead.

Slowly, shakily, Malekaiah bent down to pull the dagger from the assassin’s back. Once the blade was free of his flesh, there was an upwelling of blood, painting his tunic a deeper black.

She looked across at the jeweler, who stared at her, frightened, tears streaking down her face. Malekaiah took a step forward, causing the jeweler to squirm backwards with a squeal.

“P-please…don’t…” mumbled the jeweler.

Malekaiah glanced at the bloody blade in her hand. Some portions were untouched, clean steel, and she could see her reflection clearly in it. But in the bloody bits, the wet gore reflected a demented distortion of her face. She screamed, too, and tried to wipe the blood from the blade with her cuff. But all she accomplished was staining her sleeve.

Malekaiah returned the dagger to its sheath on her thigh, struggling to keep her hand steady. She tried to approach the jeweler again, with open hands. “I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “I’m a healer.”

The jeweler hesitated, but nodded, letting Malekaiah come forward. Malekaiah knelt next to her and channeled Dibella’s grace to her hands, which glowed with a golden light. She began to hover them over the jeweler’s wounds, slowly bidding them close.

Suddenly, something cold and sharp lifted Malekaiah’s head by the chin. Forcibly she looked up to see one of Markarth’s guards pointing a sword at her throat.

“What are you doing, murderer?” the guard spat from beneath his helmet.

“I…” Malekaiah quavered, blinking rapidly.

“You idiot,” shouted the jeweler at the guard. “She saved my life!”

The guard seemed to finally take full stock of the situation, seeing the woman’s slit-throat corpse, the assassin’s face-down body, and his bloody blade discarded at his side.

In the meanwhile, Malekaiah continued healing the jeweler, starting with the slashes on her arms and the thankfully superficial cut on her abdomen. Malekaiah looked at the stab-wound through the jeweler’s hand with dismay. “I can’t heal this on my own,” she told the jeweler, who had mostly calmed down.

Malekaiah turned to the corpse and dagger behind her. She wiped as much blood from the blade as she could, and used it as a tool to cut a relatively clean strip of the assassin’s tunic. She turned back to the jeweler and apologized. “This will hurt.” The jeweler nodded and offered her injured hand. Malekaiah delicately wrapped the strip of cloth around her palm, tying it tightly. The jeweler groaned at the final tug but otherwise didn’t complain.

“She needs a more experienced healer for her hand,” Malekaiah said, looking up at the guard, who had withdrawn his sword to its sheath.

“I’ll take her to the temple,” the guard growled. Taking her unhurt hand, he helped the jeweler stand. As they began to walk off, he turned his head and said, “Keep your nose clean, orc.”

Malekaiah knelt there numbly for a moment. But eventually her close proximity to two corpses and so much blood became too much, and she forced herself to stand. She examined her robes, and found them surprisingly spared, save for the cuff she used to wipe the blades clean.

The market was almost completely empty now, save for a few late-arriving guards come to gather the bodies. But there was another man, fast approaching Malekaiah. His smile did nothing to disarm her anxiety after the preceding harrowing events, and she reached instinctively for the dagger through her robes.

“Easy there, friend,” said the stranger. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced at the dead woman being carried off by a couple of guards. “Gods. A woman attacked, right in the streets.” He seemed to notice the blood on Malekaiah’s cuffs, and asked, “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

“I was right there,” Malekaiah answered. She ran her hand across her bare scalp and looked away. “He killed that woman, and then…tried to kill the jeweler.” Her words felt like lead dropping from her tongue, seeming to almost hang from her lips, not wishing to be said. Her voice didn’t feel her own. “So I…I…I killed him.” She covered her face so the stranger wouldn’t see the unbidden tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. “I hope the Nine give you more peace in the future.” Malekaiah lowered her hands to look at him, just as his expression suddenly changed. He quickly reached out his hand, shoving something into Malekaiah’s. “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped this.”

Malekaiah jumped at the sudden movement, but calmed a bit when she realized it was just a piece of folded paper. “Is this…yours?” she asked, confused.

“Mine? No, yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket in the commotion.” He offered a little wave and then turned to leave.

Malekaiah was positive she didn’t have any parchment on her before this man gave her this note. She unfolded and read the brief note scrawled in an uneven hand: “Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.”

Malekaiah looked back up at the man, who was now halfway across the square. “Shrine of Talos?” she hollered. “Where’s that?”

He stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her. “Huh?” He scratched his chin. “Not sure. I don’t worship Talos, myself. I think I heard someone mention it was underneath the Temple of Dibella, in the big crag in the center of the city.” Then he turned and walked away.

Malekaiah’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then she glanced at the note again, and sighed. She folded the paper back up and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

She looked up toward the center of town, at the crag where she had just come from the Temple. It truly was an enormous feature, dominating the city’s skyline.

She checked for her dagger again, and against her better judgment, she made her way towards the Shrine of Talos.

-----

It took some walking around the crag to find the correct path to the shrine, as well as walking past its unmarked doors on accident several times. The doors were large and notable: huge brass double doors twice her height, surrounded by ornate ancient masonry. But there was no indication they belonged to the shrine of a Cyrodiilic war god.

Malekaiah pushed open the heavy doors with some effort, and stepped into the dark corridor, faintly candlelit and sloping downwards. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, but her Orcish vision quickly acclimated. At the bottom of the slope she could make out two figures: one, surely a statue of Tiber Septim, stoically leaning on a sword; the other, a man kneeling before the altar, head bowed.

Malekaiah slowly descended the corridor towards the shrine’s sanctum. She tried to be quiet so as not to disturb the man’s prayer, but despite her best efforts he still somehow noticed her approach as she neared the end of the ramp.

The stranger from the market quickly stood and turned to face Malekaiah. “You came,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems, but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time.”

Malekaiah blinked rapidly. “What?”

Breathlessly, the stranger continued, “You want answers? Well, so do I. So does everyone in the city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

Unbidden, images flash into Malekaiah’s mind: a torn open throat, poppies, and a demon staring back at her in the bloody blade.

It was as if her head detached from her neck, and began to float away. She responded numbly to the stranger in an automatic process seemingly devoid of any conscious intention. Her conscious attention was no longer in the room.

The entire conversation grazed past her like a breeze. She may have agreed to something, but the memory of precisely what was slippery. She was vaguely aware that at some point, the man - suddenly she remembered he called himself Eltrys - left the shrine. But she remained, standing before the altar, invisible to herself.

Malekaiah returned to her body, and found herself kneeling at the altar, hands clasped, muttering an unintelligible half-prayer to - presumably - Talos. She stopped herself. She had never worshiped Talos; it struck her as odd that Skyrim had shrines at all, as he was chiefly a Cyrod’s god. She felt nothing stirring in her heart from the attempt. Oddly enough, though, she felt something stirring in her gut.

Oh. She was hungry. She stood, dusted off her knees, and left the shrine.

———

Not even the warmth of the inn could take the chill from Malekaiah’s bones. She shuffled into the threshold, and suddenly all of the many eyes of the crowded tavern were on her. Whispers accompanied them:

“Is that…”

“Did she really…”

“She really is a…”

Malekaiah pressed her thumb into her tusk hard as she shambled towards the bar. She vaguely recognized that she was falling into her old bad habit, but it seemed to keep her head screwed onto her neck, so she allowed it this time.

She clambered onto a stool at the far end of the bar. She knew she needed to order dinner, and rent a room for the night, but she was an immobile statue, unable to speak. So she folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.

After a moment, a gentle male voice reverberated, “Hey, lass.”

Malekaiah lifted her head to see the barkeep looking at her.

“You’re the Orc who killed Weylin, right? Saved Kerah’s life?” He didn’t look angry, but it felt like an accusation to Malekaiah nonetheless.

Without speaking, Malekaiah nodded slowly.

The barkeep reached underneath his side of the counter and placed something on top of it. Malekaiah recoiled immediately, but her alarm softened as she saw what it was: a tray filled with food. A bowl of steaming potato cabbage soup; a thick rye-bread trencher, topped with a hefty slice of goat cheese and an entire roasted goat shank; on the side, some kind of dark-berried pie, and a large mug of what smelled like mead.

“You did good, lass,” said the barkeep with a smile. “Food’s on the house. Bed too, if you need one for the night.”

A holler went up through the room, all the whispering mouths turned to joyous raucous. A nearby Nord reached over with his mug. It took a moment, but Malekaiah realized she needed to lift her own and clank it against his. Both cups overflowed, and the coolness of the splashed mead felt good on Malekaiah’s hand.

Malekaiah was afraid to eat at first, not sure her appetite would be up to the massive challenge. But she didn’t miss a bite. She even drank the whole mug of mead, despite never having had alcohol in her life. The barkeep, whose name was Kleppr, led her to her room after the festivities became too much for her. It wasn’t long after her head hit the pillow that she fell into a deep sleep.

-----

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s dark face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull brown eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Nine forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It’s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Nine forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

-----

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the burning hot talisman hanging from her throat and, through her tears, saw Da’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

-----

Blessedly, the ancient stone walls of the inn seemed to be thick enough to stifle her screaming and sobbing. At least, no one came knocking on her door to get her to shut up.

Malekaiah knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was too afraid of further nightmares. She decided to get dressed and go for a walk.

Before she left the room, she glanced back at its dark corner. A faint gleam caught her eye; the demon talisman from her swaddling cloth. She approached it and retrieved it; it was still slightly warm. She reasoned she couldn’t blame it entirely for the dream, and after all, it could prove useful in Wrothgar - it could open some doors. She tied it back around her neck.

Malekaiah quietly left her room and passed through the stone corridor into the inn’s main chamber. Although packed and active last night, in these early hours before dawn it was dead. Everyone had retired to their beds, except for a single drunkard passed out in the corner.

In the lingering light from the fires, she caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on her cuffs. She decided on where her walk would take her.

The air outside was near freezing. Malekaiah wished she’d packed a pair of gloves. She pulled up the hood on her robes in an effort to protect her cheeks from the chill.

It seemed the guards of Markarth kept the streets lit overnight; she saw one a ways down who was tending to a brazier with her torch. Malekaiah considered asking the guard if she had a torch to spare, but she wasn’t brave enough. So she carried on by the occasional light of braziers, hoping she remembered her way back to her destination.

After some searching, Malekaiah arrived: the small stream by the blacksmith’s. (The old Orc woman didn’t seem to be there yet.) She wasted no time undoing the red sash around her waist, and then pulling her ochre robes off and over her head. All that remained was her woolen underclothes, but they still covered her neck-to-ankle.

“Pretty wiry for an Orc, aren’t you?”

Malekaiah jumped and dropped her robes into the stream. She tried to snatch them out, but the flow was too strong. She turned to try to make out who had addressed her in the dark.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t alone, so you didn’t strip all the way down.”

Malekaiah strained to focus her eyes. The woman a ways down the stream had a crate of objects that glimmered in the moonslight, and a bandage wrapped around her waving hand.

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. “You’re…”

“My name’s Kerah,” answered the woman in the darkness. “I figure the least I owe you for saving my life is my name.” She waved her hand again. “Can I have yours?”

“Malekaiah.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kerah said. She reached out with her uninjured hand and grabbed Malekaiah’s robes as they passed by her in the stream. “Come here, Malekaiah. You might want these.”

Malekaiah slowly obliged, drawing closer to Kerah. As she did, she noticed the box was filled with blood-spattered silver jewelry.

“Cleaning the merchandise before we open,” smiled Kerah as she handed Malekaiah the robes. “It needs to be presentable, of course.

Malekaiah knelt beside Kerah and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Kerah tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said with a light wave of her bandaged hand.

“No,” Malekaiah said, “I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own shaved head.

Kerah’s face hardened a bit. “It’s fine. Such is life in Skyrim. Especially the Reach.” She pointed at the bloodstains on Malekaiah’s robes. “Not the first time blood’s been shed in this city, and it won’t be the last.”

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. Attention having been drawn to the bloodstains, she began to scrub futilely at them in the stream.

Kerah idly watched Malekaiah’s attempts to clean her robes while fiddling with a necklace from her crate. Finally she said, “That’s not going to work. Here.” She reached beside her and offered Malekaiah a small round object.

Malekaiah took it gently, and her fingers brushed against Kerah’s. She had expected them to be soft, but the tips were rough and calloused. Malekaiah realized Kerah wasn’t just a jeweler - she was a silversmith. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for Malekaiah to return to her senses. She examined the smooth object in her hand. It was yellowish-white, with darker flecks throughout. “What is -”

“Soap,” Kerah interjected. “Goat tallow, potash, and a little lavender imported from Whiterun for the scent.” She waved towards the robes. “Give it a try.”

Malekaiah gave the bar of soap a sniff - it did smell faintly of lavender. She began to scrub at the blood stains with it, and gradually they began to fade until all that was left were patches of slightly darker ochre.

“Thank you,” Malekaiah whispered when she was done. She tried to hand back the soap, but Kerah pushed it away.

“No, keep it,” Kerah said. “I have plenty. Margret taught me how to make it a while back.”

“Margret?” Malekaiah asked.

Kerah winced. “She is…was…a customer of mine. She was…the one at my stall this morning. When you were there.”

It took Malekaiah a moment to piece it together. Then the image of the woman’s bleeding throat flashed before her eyes, and she quickly shut them tight. But it didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Kerah wiped a moonslit tear from her eye. “It’s okay.” She sighed, her entire body shuddering. “I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Skyrim, we celebrate our dead. Even when they’re taken from us.”

“Anvil,” whispered Malekaiah.

“Hm?” replied Kerah, tilting her head.

“I’m from Anvil. In Cyrodiil.”

“Oh. So was Margret. From Cyrodiil, I mean. Not Anvil.” Kerah smiled. “She was here to buy a pendant for her sister in the Imperial City. Have you ever been there?”

Malekaiah shook her head. “Never left Anvil county. Not until I came here.”

Kerah reached out her hands. Malekaiah accepted the offer with some hesitation, placing her hands in Kerah’s. They certainly weren’t the pampered hands of a merchant; this woman worked a forge. And judging by the quality of her wares, she was good at it.

“So what brings you to Markarth, Malekaiah?” asked Kerah.

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella,” Malekaiah answered. “I’m on my way to Orsinium to proselytize.”

“Hm,” Kerah said. “That must be a tough crowd.” Malekaiah’s face fell a bit, so Kerah added, “But maybe they’ll listen to you, since you’re an Orc and all.”

Malekaiah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

The sun was beginning to rise now, Kerah’s crate of silver dazzling in the early dawn light. “Damn,” she blurted, pulling her hands away from Malekaiah’s and burying them in the assorted jewelry. “Sorry, I really need to finish this and get ready to open.” She smiled again, wide and sparkling in the sun’s golden glow. “It was lovely getting to know you, Malekaiah. Be safe in your travels, and good luck.”

Without the warmth of Kerah’s hands, Malekaiah’s fingers felt lonely in the cold Skyrim air. “Thank you for the soap,” Malekaiah said as she gathered her wet robes and began to stand.

“You saved my life,” Kerah said as she scraped hard blood from a sapphire. “It’s the least I can do.”

Malekaiah waved awkwardly with the hand holding the soap, but Kerah was now fully engrossed in cleaning her merchandise. Malekaiah nodded and walked away.

The robes tucked under Malekaiah’s arm were dripping wet. Looking up the stream, she saw the blacksmith’s forge again, situated on an island in the center of the flow. She squinted at it in the dull morning light, and could just make out a couple of aprons hanging from a line strung between two of the hut’s posts. She still didn’t see the Orc there, so she approached.

Malekaiah had to ascend a level of the tiered city to find the stone bridge crossing the stream. At the smithy, she glanced around. On a table near the anvil she found a pair of small iron clamps. She took them and used them to hang up her robes on the line with the aprons.

Exhausted from her short sleep that night, she sat at the stool by the table. She pulled her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm, and laid down her head on the table…

-----

Malekaiah was pulled awake by a firm hand wrapping around the back of her neck and yanking up her head. She yelped and reached up her hands, but her assailant slapped them down.

“What are you doing in my workshop, whelp?”

Malekaiah was just barely able to turn her head to see the fuming Orc smith gripping her nape. “I…I…I…” Malekaiah’s sudden rip from sleep kept her from forming a sentence.

“Not thieving, I hope?” continued the Orc woman. “You know what we do to thieves in the strongholds? We take their hands, whelp.” Suddenly, Malekaiah noticed a flash of light on the steel axe in the woman’s other hand.

“Uh, Ghorza?” It was a man’s voice, albeit a timid one, coming from behind the furious woman.

“Not the time, Tacitus,” growled the woman, presumably Ghorza.

“Look,” Tacitus continued anyway. He must have pointed, because Ghorza turned. She moved her whole body to look, letting Malekaiah see Tacitus was gesturing at her hanging robes. “She’s just drying her clothes,” Tacitus laughed.

Ghorza dropped Malekaiah and moved over to the robes. Malekaiah scurried into the corner.

Ghorza plucked the clamps from the line, causing the mostly-dry robes to fall to the floor. “These aren’t clothespins, girl,” she growled. “I’ll have your hide if these rust.”

Tacitus, a soot-faced young Cyrod, bent down to look at Malekaiah - he seemed to take notice of the sheath on her thigh. “Wait, Ghorza. I know this one! She was the one at the market yesterday, who killed the Forsworn!”

Ghorza huffed wordlessly. “Stand up and let me have a look at you, girl.”

Malekaiah felt heat rush to her cheeks as she slowly obeyed, keeping a hand hovering near the sheath just in case. Ghorza towered over her, but Tacitus in the corner was about Malekaiah’s height. Malekaiah began to wonder if she was short for an Orc.

Ghorza placed her rough smith’s hands on Malekaiah’s shoulders, squeezing as she moved down to feel her biceps. “Pretty scrawny,” she said before grabbing Malekaiah’s chin and tilting her head this way and that. “And maybe not so bright - no common sense, at least - but you know how to kill. A decent sign.” She let go and turned around. She pulled something from a rack and turned back to brandish it before Malekaiah. “Here. See how this feels.”

It was a sword - Malekaiah guessed it was made of iron. She took it by the offered handle from Ghorza and waggled it around a bit. It was lighter than it looked.

Ghorza stepped back. “Give it a few swings.”

Malekaiah looked up at Ghorza’s eyes, anxious. But she did as she was told, and swung at the air a few times. They were clumsy swipes, and the sword nearly fell from her hand at the end of the last.

“Stop,” ordered Ghorza. “No training. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

Malekaiah laid the blade across both hands and inspected it. The metal was dull, without the sharp gleam of her Da’s dagger. She asked, “Is this…a gift?”

“No. It wasn’t going to be free, at least.” Ghorza retrieved the sword from Malekaiah with a delicate touch that betrayed a great respect for the iron. “But it wouldn’t do you any good without any skill. Swinging it wildly is ineffective, at best. Get you killed, at worst.” She pointed the sword at Malekaiah’s sheathed dagger. “Better off with something smaller. And staying out of trouble in the first place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Malekaiah as she watched Ghorza return the sword to its rack. She took the opportunity to retrieve her robes from the floor.

Ghorza turned back and looked Malekaiah up and down for a moment, arms crossed. Finally she said, “You did good in the market yesterday. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Malekaiah said.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes m-” Malekaiah began, but Ghorza’s eyes flared up, and so she hurried away, nearly tripping over her dangling robes in the process.

-----

Unlike in Anvil, the sun in Skyrim never seemed to rise very high in the sky, even by midday. But Malekaiah knew she’d be mostly keeping to this same northerly latitude for her journey, so she figured she’d have to get used to it.

Malekaiah had stocked up on food and supplies this morning, spending almost all of her remaining gold, before leaving the city about an hour ago. She followed the main road west as it faded from paved to dirt to cleared to tracks to footprints to complete obscurity. Now she and Magnus faced the same direction, the latter sure of his path over the mountains, but Malekaiah much less so. She knelt in the dirt and puzzled.

When overwhelmed, Da always taught her to take things one step at a time. She scanned the jagged horizon of slate-gray peaks, and looked for low passages between the rising slopes and cliffs. She followed a trail of them closer and closer until a nearby path emerged.

She stood and dusted off her knees. She was ready to keep walking, but then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see a woman there she hadn’t noticed before. She was a dark elf, a Dunmer, wearing shiny brass armor and a deep black cloak with red trim. Her hood shrouded her face in darkness, but two locks of white hair spilled out from underneath onto her shoulders.

“Muthsera?” croaked the Dunmer, betraying what Malekaiah understood as the accent natural to residents of the volcanic island of Vvardenfell, in the Ebonheart Pact.

Tentatively, Malekaiah responded, “Yes? How can I help you?”

The dark elf said, “I’m lost. Which way to Solstheim?”

“Oh, I’m not from here,” Malekaiah said with an apologetic smile. But she wracked her brain for memories from her geography lessons. “Solstheim…that’s an island, isn’t it? In the Sea of Ghosts?” She pointed east, behind the Dunmer.

The dark elf didn’t so much as turn her head to acknowledge the gesture. “Oh,” she said, staring exclusively at Malekaiah. “Thank you.” She broke eye contact briefly to glance up at the skies as she asked, “Seen any dragons lately?”

“Sorry? Malekaiah said, looking up where the dark elf did. She didn’t see anything, so she looked back down. “Dragons aren’t real, are they?”

The Dunmer’s lips spread open wide, revealing two rows of yellow, viciously sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, yes,” she said, her teeth not separating as she spoke, “Of course they’re real.” Her red-nailed fingers wrapped around the corners of her hood and peeled it from her face, the shadows receding to reveal her eyes, blood-red and wide, and the third, tattooed on her forehead, crimson ink glowing brightly. “You’ve just met one.” She rushed forward, grabbing Malekaiah by the face and pressing her thumb into her forehead.

“Praan.”

And nothing but thick blackness remained.

#tes #tesblr #my writing #skyrim #dibella #talos #oc: malekaiah #oc: dagoth valer #markarth #dunmer #orc #orsimer #nord #breton #forsworn #imperial #cyrod #cyrodiil #redguard

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didididraws · 1 year ago

Text

my tablet is currently halfway across the country for repairs (my brother's the most tech-savvy in my family and asking him to take a look at it was cheaper than taking it to a shop) so i haven't been able to draw lately. i've made a bunch of traditional sketches in the meantime, but none of them are presentable enough to post here, so i decided to take a trip down memory lane and fill out one of foxorian's influence maps!

below the cut are the names of the artists featured here, as well as a little bit of director's commentary on how they've influenced me :]

yugo limbo (website, tumblr, twitter) - some time last year, i realized something profoundly unnerving: i actually... don't like the art in smile for me's original release all that much? that's not to say it's bad, just that there isn't a whole lot about it outside of maybe its architecture that stands out to me. which is REALLY WEIRD, considering i wrote a whole retrospective about how much this game means to me. art-wise, however, it was only after smile for me's release that yugo limbo's art evolved in a way that really resonated with me; i love how textured everything is, i love the way they simplify clothing folds and the way that skin wrinkles around the joints, i love their love for puppets; all of those things ended up worming their way into my art style and tastes one way or another, and i couldn't be happier!! it didn't feel right to leave smile for me out of the equation entirely, though, so i chose a piece that was both related to that game and that i felt reflected a lot of what i love about yugo's more recent art.

echobsilly (twitter, tumblr) - oh god, speaking of yugo limbo - god. i fucking love echo's art so much i have no idea how to even do it justice in writing. like many people i first found him through his smile for me/limbolane fanart and animations - and those are some of his best work, don't get me wrong, but i really wanted to include one of his original designs to make a point that he's just fuckin great at art in general. character design, facial expressions, body language, composition, LIGHTING... he makes it all just. so so so gorgeous. i always liked "painterly" art styles for lack of a better word, but i think his art is what first pushed me to embrace that more in my digital art. i also like how he talks about dr. habit like he's his dead wife. i'm very proud to call him a friend these days :]

japhers (tumblr, twitter, instagram) - i first found japhers' art in high school and he very quickly became a HUUUUUGE influence on my taste in character and costume design. one of the big reasons i never fully bought into the idea that men's fashion is inherently harder to design is bc so much of his art is already dedicated to exploring fashion Without the restrictions of a gender binary in place which is to say that he's really good at drawing buff dudes in frilly outfits. i also think he gave me more confidence to draw more intricate costumes without having to worry about super dainty and clean lineart, bc a lot of his art looks like it's kinda been carved/rendered out of sketches, and it is Gorgeous.

moe suppe (website, tumblr, cohost) - another artist i found in high school, albeit originally from a long-gone instagram account. his art is what kickstarted my desire to have some Roughness in my art, some Texture. it may not have stuck to my lineart, but it Definitely stuck to my rendering. it helped that i was going through a pretty big angel/demon phase at the time, which meant i was pretty immediately drawn in by his delightfully weird worldbuilding. i should probably read fear not now that it's an actual serial...

val wise (website, itch.io, twitter, instagram) - a more recent influence, but a pretty significant one nonetheless. i featured the cover of délicatesse here because it was the first thing from him that i had ever read, but in general his grasp on the human body really blows me away given how deceptively simple his style looks at first glance, especially his faces. the way fat and hair sits on her bodies, and how much it varies from character to character... it's beautiful without being So glamorous that it feels untouchable. his costume design is also great. i recommend his comics for low fantasy/ursula k. le guin fans who are Dying to see more fat characters in leading roles. i also just found out that i am of two hearts is free on itch.io, so i'll be treating myself to that over spring break.

partycoffin (tumblr, twitter) - if you have known me for any amount of time at all then this should not come as a surprise to you. i actually wasn't going to include partycoffin in this map at first, because while welcome home has inspired me in Many creative pursuits, i didn't think visual art was one of them? i definitely picked up some of clown's love for dramatic lighting and thinner lines with just a smidge of well-placed hatching subconsciously, though.

ryoko kui - probably the most recent artist featured here? anyways i have a confession to make: i have yet to read dungeon meshi. i just know that when i saw a post compiling a bunch of ryoko kui's sketches from her daydream hour series, i was so overwhelmed with this feeling of, like… "oh, yeah, these capture almost everything i love about women as flesh and blood people. when i draw women this is the kind of beauty that i want people to see in them." of course, ryoko kui is a great character designer in general, but something about her women specifically really speak to me. the earthier color palettes and rendering also do a lot to endear her art to me.

shuzo oshimi - specifically his art in blood on the tracks. something that really stood out to me in that series was whenever the shadows would get really intense, and you'd get these big blocks of black with just the faintest bit of hatching to soften out some of their edges. it was always very effective in creating this sense of claustrophobia. i really want to keep incorporating that in my more intense pieces!

person918x (tumblr, instagram) - i don't work with 3d art often and i don't see myself doing so any time soon, but the composition of person918x's pieces is something i take a lot of inspiration of. i also love his sequential art, as someone who does a lot of dream journaling it's sick to see the exact Vibe of a dream be put to (digital) canvas. i also firmly believe that he's one of the only people out there who knows what he's doing when it comes to using generative AI in art.

oops i made this list too long so now i have to put the last two artists in a new block.

10. meatgiri (twitter, instagram) - definitely the artist i've known about the longest out of this selection. i think i've been following her since…. oh god. since i was in middle school. way before she was meatgiri, even. i think her influence probably shows up the least in my art, but there are definitely some characteristics that stuck with me for a very long time (the lil block of black accompanied by one or two lines for shading on the neck, the looser lineart making it really easy to incorporate soft curves and sharp edges, the Eyes, etc etc.) i chose this drawing of her oc juniper bc i thought it was both reflective of her current art And a good embodiment of a lot of things i wanted to emulate from her art as a young'un.

11. dragan bibin (website, instagram) - specifically his 'deimos' series. much like with person918x, it's his compositions that really stand out to me the most, and you probably know by now that i'm a sucker for high contrast. i find it interesting though that he uses high contrast to obscure more than he does to highlight... helps a lot with giving the deimos paintings that air of Quiet Unease. another thing i want to incorporate in my horror-adjacent art! manmade environments gone wrong!

#not art #influence map #artists on tumblr #yugo limbo #echobsilly #japhers #moe suppe #val wise #partycoffin #ryoko kui #shuzo oshimi #person918x #meatgiri #dragan bibin

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pickalilywrites · 11 months ago

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Saw the fanart of Levi as the torch runner for the Paris Olympics, makes me think that Levi really could do the entire running stunt all over the city.

That would make a great fic au. The AOT characters are Olympians and Levi, being a former 25 timed gold medalist has retired, but is asked to be the special guest torch runner and light the flame to start the games.

passing the torch

snk ensemble. olympics au. 2994 words.

The athletes wait in anticipation as the passing of the torch is displayed on the stadium’s screen. It begins on the top of the Basilica of Sacré Coeur de Montmartre, a beautiful structure constructed in the late 19th century that looks more akin to a castle than a church with its tall towers and stained glass windows. Standing beside one of the grandiose towers is a hooded figure with a mask on. In the mysterious figure’s hand is the Olympic torch blazing brightly. The camera orbits around the figure before switching to match the figure’s gaze: a view of the magnificent city of Paris. The view shifts from the bustling cobblestone streets, the river Seine, the Eiffel tower, the Louvre, and other famous Parisian monuments. The camera moves slowly to give the audience a clear view of all Paris has to offer before it returns once more the hooded figure who slowly reaches up to remove his mask and reveal his face. When his face is uncovered, the stadium filled with athletes erupts in cheers.

“Tonight is the opening ceremony of the Olympics. As the athletes wait to be introduced, we are given an apt beginning to the ceremony with someone who many consider the face of the Olympics and one of the greatest of athletes of all time: 25-time Olympic gold medalist in men's artistic gymnastics Levi Ackerman,” announces Ilse Langer, a sports announcer once again returning to cover the Olympics. A few returning athletes and many first-time Olympians chatter excitedly when they recognize her voice. The sports announcer is a favorite due to her incredible ability to break down all the technical aspects of different Olympic events clearly and concisely. “He’s returning now for his fifth Olympics, but this time as the torch bearer and not as a competing athlete. While his absence in the men's artistic gymnastics event will be sorely missed, his appearance at the opening ceremony is undoubtedly a welcome sight to his peers and newcomers as well as folks at home watching who have followed his elite career for decades.”

The camera stills on the gymnast for a moment and then the gymnast turns suddenly and begins to run across the top of the cathedral. He nears the edge of the building but rather than stop, he jumps and then miraculously lands on nearby structure. He dashes and leaps from building to building, giving the camera a chance to capture all the beautiful French architecture as he traverses the city. When Levi approaches the river Seine, there is a zipline waiting for him. Without hesitating, he flies across the river, zipping through the air on the line.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe he’s ziplining through Paris as if parkouring wasn’t enough,” Eren says admirably. He’s on the men's swim team representing Paradis, but he holds the utmost respect for the gymnast despite them being in completely different disciplines. “Isn’t that hard on his knees? I can’t believe he came back to do this. Shouldn’t his knees be, like, super fucked up from gymnastics and everything? He’s incredible.”

Pieck, an equestrian athlete, side-eyes the swimmer. A smile plastered on her face, she says warningly, “Please watch your language, Eren. Some athletes here are still quite young and impressionable and might pick up your bad habits. Just the other day I overheard Gabi telling Falco she was going to ‘raw-dog’ the shooting event. When I asked her where she learned that term, she told me you said it meant to go into something without any preparation.”

Eren’s face flushes. “Well, that is how people use it,” he mumbles.

“That’s true. It’s kind of interesting how language evolves and takes different meanings as it’s passed around,” Armin begins eagerly, but he shrinks when Pieck directs her gaze towards him. The athlete, Eren’s teammate on the swim team, coughs. “Of course, it’s still true we should be careful how we speak among the younger athletes.”

Pieck nods, the vaguely threatening smile still on her face. “I’m glad you agree with me. I’d hate to put the entire men's swim team on my watchlist.”

However, Gabi and the other young athletes are too enraptured by Levi Ackerman leaping and dashing across rooftops and famous Parisian monuments to pay any attention to what Eren and Pieck are discussing. Despite being in completely different disciplines, the youngest athletes have found a kinship with each other and have stuck to each other during their Olympic journey so far. It’s their first time at the Olympic games and they’re absolutely starstruck by all the other top athletes around them, especially the one on the stadium’s screen.

“I can’t believe he’s here! I thought he retired after the last Olympics. I can’t believe we’re at the same Olympics as Levi Ackerman,” Gabi gushes. Her brown eyes are glued to the screen, unable to look away at the gymnast performing some of his signature flips and twists as he jumps from building to building.

Udo, a table tennis player and one of Gabi’s companions, nods in agreement. His eyes are similarly fixed on the screen. The spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose make his eyes look even wider as he watches Levi with a gaze filled with awe. “I cried for an entire week after I heard he was retiring.”

Both Falco and Zofia, two more young athletes that Gabi and Udo had befriended on the trip to Paris, nod in agreement.

Petra, a rhythmic gymnast, has her arms wrapped gently around Falco. It’s her third Olympics, making her a veteran athlete that many look up to. Her charming and warm personality makes it easy for people to approach her and so this young batch of new Olympians naturally found themselves in her care. Now, she smiles down at them and asks, “Would you like to meet him sometime? I could probably arrange something once your events are over. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind meeting you all or at least having a videocall.”

“Really? You can do that?” Falco asks, turning to look at the rhythmic gymnast.

“Absolutely,” Petra says cheerfully.

“Wow! You guys must be close,” Udo says with a tinge of jealousy.

“Well, it’s something like that,” Petra laughs as the teenagers practically vibrate with excitement.

Eren frowns as he overhears the conversation. He’s been a long-time admirer of Levi and had even bumped into the gymnast in the last Olympic games, but he had struggled to strike up a conversation with him.

“I exchanged numbers with Levi at the last games, but he never texted me back,” Eren sighs. “I wonder what his relationship with Petra is that she can ask him for favors like that so easily.”

Armin and Mikasa exchange looks with Mikasa rolling her eyes.

“God, you’re dense,” Mikasa says with a shake of her head and Armin laughs beside her. Like Armin and Eren, Mikasa is also a swimmer. This is her third time at the Olympics, and she’s well on track to becoming one of the most decorated swimmers of all time if her times at the Olympic Trials are any indication.

“What? What did I say?” Eren asks. He looks at Mikasa and Armin, but neither of his friends offer him an explanation. He huffs and begins to complain about them leaving him in the dark, but someone throws their arms around Eren and Mikasa without warning and Eren yelps in surprise.

“Ah, did I scare you?” Hanji grins. The sports climber gives Eren a cheeky wink as they pull Eren and Mikasa closer for a hug. “I’m surprised to see you all here. Don’t the swimmers usually sit out of the opening ceremony because your event is the next day?”

Armin gives Hanji a shrug and a little laugh. “Mikasa also said we should take a day to rest, but Eren really wanted to go to the opening ceremony. I guess it’s a good thing we did or else we would have missed Levi’s appearance.”

Eren waves off Hanji’s concerns. “Hey, we’re young still and we rested really well on the flight here. Anyway, there are other athletes that are attending the ceremony even though they have an event tomorrow. Look at Eld and Gunther!”

At the mention of their names, both gymnasts look in Eren’s direction and give the swimmer a wave.

“Hey, Eren! Looks like you decided to go to the ceremony too! Sure as hell beats resting and missing out on all this,” Eld says, gesturing at the big screen where Levi is sneaking around the Palace of Versailles.

Both Eld and Gunther had previously participated in Olympic games and had the honor of being on the same men’s gymnastics team as Levi. The experience was something they treasured even more than the team gold they had won at the last game.

“It feels a little strange being here,” Gunther chuckles. “Levi had always sat out, so we never went until now. It’ll probably be our last time here, so we wanted to experience it at least once.”

“Well, you should have stayed in your hotel room and rested instead!” a voice says suddenly and both Gunther and Eld jump back in surprise as Auruo, a trampoline athlete, appears between them. He has a stern expression on his face as he glares at Eld and then Gunther. “If neither of you medal, you’re going to burn Levi’s legacy to the ground and everything he’s achieved will be for nothing! Of course, I’ll do well because I always do, but you two should really take care of yourselves.”

Auruo lets out an unholy shriek when he feels a sharp sting at his side. He’s sniffling even once it stops, the memory of the sudden pinch at his side still lingering. He looks sorely at Petra who smiles as if she hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Levi’s legacy is Levi’s. Eld and Gunther could never touch it even if they wanted to, but they have their own legacies to write. Stop stressing them out and just let them do their best like they always do,” Petra tells Auruo. She pokes him in the side where she had pinched him earlier and he lets out another startled yell. “Worry about your own legacy. I’ll definitely tell Levi as soon as possible if you don’t medal.”

“That won’t happen because I’ll definitely medal,” Auruo growls, rubbing at his side as he glares at the rhythmic gymnast.

“Glad to hear it,” Petra says cheerfully.

Pieck looks around and observes the other athletes representing Paradis. Some have sat out to prepare for their events taking place tomorrow, but there are some faces she doesn’t expect to see.

“I thought you wouldn’t care to attend the opening ceremony, Annie,” Pieck says. The equestrian rider smiles as she loops her arm through Annie who tries to close the gap between her arm and her side far too late. Pieck rests her head on Annie’s shoulder.

“It’s not like I wanted to go. Reiner just wouldn’t stop bothering me about it, so I decided to come to shut him up,” Annie huffs. She’s a fencer whose event doesn’t take place until a few days into the Olympic games, but Annie has never cared about fanfare and overblown celebrations. The only thing she hated more than crowded ceremonies was Reiner’s nagging. She glares at the direction of the cyclist who’s busy enjoying himself and chatting beside his colleagues. “I wanted to stay in my hotel room and sleep.”

“Poor you. Should I get someone to carry you? Maybe the wrestling brothers?” Pieck teases, referring to Porco and Marcel Galliard. She glances at someone hovering shyly behind them. With a sly smile, Pieck suggests, “Bertholdt could probably carry you. I’m sure you could nap on his back during the opening ceremony and he wouldn’t mind at all.”

“H-huh?” Bertholdt stammers, his face flushing at the thought of being in such close proximity to Annie who remains oblivious about his feelings towards her. “I don’t know-”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Annie tells Pieck. She looks at Bertholdt warningly. “Don’t you dare pick me up.”

“O-okay,” Bertholdt says, looking down at his feet so that he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Annie.

A hush comes over the stadium as they watch Levi make the final stretch of his journey. He’s approaching the Olympic stadium now and all the athletes wait with bated breath for his figure to appear. Their eyes are fixed on the entrance of the stadium and when Levi’s silhouette finally emerges, the entire stadium erupts in explosive cheers. The cheering doesn’t cease until Levi finally hands the torch off to a French athlete who takes it graciously before running to finally light the Olympic cauldron with the flame. Even though the games have officially begun with the lighting of the flame, all eyes are still fixed on the gymnast who jogs to the join his old colleagues.

“Levi! I didn’t think you’d be the type to do those types of stunts for the opening ceremony,” Erwin chuckles as he welcomes his old friend.

Beside him, Erwin’s beach volleyball partner Mike nods. There’s an amused grin on his face. “Did they pay you a lot for it? I can’t imagine any amount of money that would have you do that.”

“My agent said I would only have to do a reveal of my face at the end and they’d get a stunt person for most of it. Then the stunt person mysteriously disappeared,” Levi grumbles. “I should fire my agent for not reading the contract properly.”

“Well, I thought it was amazing. Very entertaining,” Zeke says with a grin.

Levi looks at Zeke and then at Erwin and Mike with an expression of incredulity and betrayal. “Zeke? You’re talking to Zeke?”

“Oh, come on. We’re all friends. After all, everyone is here to represent Paradis,” Zeke says. The captain and pitcher of Paradis’ baseball team throws an arm around Levi’s shoulders.

Levi shoots Erwin a gaze filled with a million daggers.

Gabi and her friends have only grown more excited now that Levi has joined the rest of them. Udo looks as if he might faint just being in the gymnast’s presence.

Sasha prods Gabi in the back. “If you want to say hi, just wave at him.”

Gabi looks back at Sasha. “Can I do that? I can just wave at him? What if he ignores me? What if he thinks I'm an annoying brat?”

“He’s actually a lot softer than he looks,” Sasha laughs. The archer gently prods Gabi again, an encouraging smile on her face. “Go on. If you miss your chance now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“Alright,” Gabi says. She takes a deep breath and looks determinedly in Levi’s direction. She waits until his gaze meets hers. She immediately wants to look down, intimidated at the thought of being acknowledged by such a skilled athlete, but she steels herself and brings her hand up in a wave. She doesn’t expect Levi to wave back, but he does and her face breaks into a smile.

“Oh my god, he waved at you!” Udo marvels.

“Me too, me too!” Zofia says. The little archer waves enthusiastically at Levi and the rest of her friends follow suit, nearly hitting other nearby athletes in the face in their excitement.

“I can die happy now,” Udo says. He brings his hand to his chest, his whole being filled with contentment after the brief moment he shared with his favorite athlete.

“At least wait until you play your table tennis match to die,” Sasha jokes. “We need you!”

Beside her, Connie yawns. The Olympic skateboarder is usually someone who enjoys extravagant ceremonies such as this one, but recently he’s been enraptured by something else. He looks over a Jean, his lower lip in a pout, and asks, “When can we go back to the Olympic Village? If I knew the ceremony would take this long I would have stuffed some of those chocolate muffins into my jacket.”

“You need to stop eating all of those,” Jean says with a roll of his eyes. “One of the chefs is getting annoyed at having to bake so many at once.”

“If Nicolo is so bothered, then he should stop being so good at baking!” Connie grins.

Petra and the other gymnasts have managed to give Levi an escape from Zeke by wrestling him away so they could chat with him. The gymnasts crowd around their retired colleague. Their smiles are so wide that it’s a wonder that their faces haven’t cracked in half.

“I thought you were retired, Levi. What are you doing back here?” Eld asks, nudging Levi in the side.

“Did you miss us? Could you not bear the idea of us participating in an Olympics without you?” Petra teases.

“Don’t be stupid. They just asked me for a favor and I decided it was easy cash,” Levi replies.

“Still, you’re here with the rest of the participating athletes,” Gunther points out.

“To make sure you guys don’t mess up probably,” Auruo sniffs.

“To pass the torch,” Levi clarifies, and his friends ooh.

“How kind of you. I’m always telling people you’re much kinder than you let on,” Petra teases. “Are you nervous that we’ll come home with fewer gold medals now that you’re not here to help us?”

Paradis is a small country and the number of athletes the island has sent to participate in the Olympics can’t compare to larger countries, but the athletes Paradis does have are a strong-willed, passionate, and talented bunch. Over the years, the performance of Paradis athletes has only improved. Even this time, the Paradis athletes have gazes filled with an undeniable flame that is reminiscent of the fire reflected in Levi’s eyes the first time he had participated in the games.

“No, not at all,” Levi replies, and he absolutely means it.

#snk #olympics au #snk ensemble #eren jaeger #levi ackerman #petra ral #auruo bossard #eld jinn #gunther schultz #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #requests

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