#i love writing emeros being. like this

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

i'm back! hopefully!! (yes i know i'm a day late but STILL-)

sorry i havent been doing wip wednesdays, i'm only now really recovering from the exhaustion of last semester. that being said, thank you to the lovely @skyrim-forever for tagging me!!

i'm tagging the amazing @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @oblivions-dawn @totally-not-deacon and @archangelsunited !!!! if you're not tagged and wanna join, feel free to tag me back regardless, i love seeing what you're all working on!! <33

this comes from chapter 31 of "Cycle of the Serpent", and is a longer piece of an excerpt i posted recently. warning, it is, indeed, long. i hope you enjoy!

Mid-morning nestled uncertainly atop the high mountains at the edge of Solitude. The sun peaked its head out hours ago, and the daylight colors took it as their sign to sprawl over the sea, a chill in the air as Last Seed came to its end. A constant breeze trailed off the sea, fumbling along the multicolored flags strung between buildings, high above the trios heads as they made the brisk march to Castle Dour. The constant exchanging of shade for sun between buildings, of money for goods in the nearby market, and the eternally-present sounds of the blacksmith and his apprentice at work pushed their feet further towards the grand doors, Emeros' chin held high. He'd woken up late for the first time in a very long time, and that fact alone had done its best to unravel his senses for the first few minutes of his day. Breakfast had been a brief affair. While Athenath looked pleased to be done with all of this and finally make their way to the Bard's College, Wyndrelis shared in the uncertainty. Would Tullius really let them go, just like that? Would he sign off on their pardon and consider them free in Imperial-controlled Holds? Did it matter? They'd done what they'd set out to do, and even more, so if he didn't pardon them… Emeros tried not to think too far into the future on this. Take it one step at a time, one seagull's call after another.

The doors parted with the same, loud announcement of their entry in the creak of the hinges, and Emeros kept his head high as he walked the length of the chamber, General Tullius and Legate Rikke already engaged in some sort of disagreement over the shining pins stuck deep into an old map. Still, Tullius took his bent posture with his large hands firmly against the table, studying its every fleck of ink, every trailing of pathways and roads and borders. As he approached, Emeros got a look at the layout, the wooden pegs shifted since the last time the trio had been in this room. Some of the shifted pegs were a bright blue, and closer to the red pegs than it seemed the General liked. Legate Rikke stood near Tullius with furrowed brow, her hair catching the light, concern plain on her face. She pressed a finger against a section of the map and said something to the General, who waved a hand as though dismissing her suggestion. When Emeros cleared his throat, she looked up, surprise overtaking her features for one vital moment before settling into a small grin, the calm approval, the sturdy folding of her arms over her chest. "Welcome back. You lived." "Your fort is cleared. If you would like it to remain that way, then I would suggest sending troops there at once," Emeros stated, the stern edge to his voice accentuated by the way he appeared to be peering downward at the General's bent posture, the Legate's short and broad stature. If one were to see through the tall Bosmer's eyes for a moment, they would find he was instead staring at the corner of the table.

"Excellent," Legate Rikke motioned for a couple of nearby soldiers, speaking to them quickly, the shuffle of their feet out the door catching against the air. She prodded the tip of her tongue to the inside of her cheek, thoughts scuffling about behind her blade-sharp eyes. "You know, I'm impressed." "That's very well and good, but as previously discussed, we're here to acquire an Imperial pardon, nothing more." Emeros maintained the calm in his voice, but his patience waned thin. He understood which gears turned in her head, the same damned urge to bring them into the fold of the Legion she'd joined more than thirty years ago. Loyalty to the Empire had solidified like the cement which bound cobblestones into perfectly smoothed paths in the Imperial City, and Emeros would make it clear he shared no such loyalty. They had done all of this to save themselves from the possibility of another false imprisonment. Fort Hraagstad had been nothing more than a means to an end. He watched the Legate bite the inside of her cheek, running a hand over her head. Perhaps she was thinking of something else now. She shifted her stocky frame to face the table fully, her hands plucking another red pin and sticking it into the map, marking something important, the very piece of debate which had left she and Tullius unaware of the trio's presences until he'd made a sound. Tullius rose at last, straightening his posture. As he turned, Emeros noted the weariness in his eyes. A man visibly running on less sleep than normal, especially clutching dozens of lives in his hands and bearing even more on his shoulders, is a very volatile thing. The Bosmer swallowed down his questions, instead opting for the arching of a brow as the General took stock of the three, his focus squarely landing on Athenath's new sword for a moment. Accepting the strange, glowing thing sheathed at the bard's side, he turned again to Emeros. "You know, I've sent troops to that fort before." He shifted his weight side to side, one foot, then the other, his bulky arms folded over his barrel chest. Perhaps the Empire had sent him to handle the Civil War for his intimidating appearance, or perhaps it was an isolated post used to give disgraced soldiers another chance. In either case, he spoke again, "do you want to know what happened to them, mister Nightlock?" A pause as if awaiting an answer that refused to come. "They would come back wounded. Some, not at all. But you three strangers took it for the Legion. And not a scratch on you that I can tell."

"Riveting," Emeros droned. "And what does this have to do with our pardon?" "Don't you get it?" Tullius pushed. "You survived Helgen, took Fort Hraagstad, and killed a dragon in Whiterun! Stories get around, mister Nightlock, we know about the Western Watchtower and what you three did there." He gestured a hand to the map behind him, Rikke taking her chance to go, already following some other soldiers out of the antechamber. In a lower tone, the General continued. "This war is taking its toll. We're hardly a year into it, and yet it's taken many of our men. The Empire is straining its resources, and Skyrim and all its people are suffering for it. Anyone who can turn the tides against Ulfric and win this Civil War will be-" "A hero." Emeros' patience threatened to snap. The words caught at his incisors. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest. "I'm well aware of the rewards of heroism. A nice home in the Cyrodiilic countryside may appeal to you, General, but we've no time for such fantasies. Should we continue to traverse the Empire-controlled portions of Skyrim, we run the risk of being captured by your Legion as criminals for, need I remind you, a case of mistaken identity. I understand your desperation, really, I do, but I do not intend to drag myself nor my compatriots into such conflicts." The room dropped into a cold silence. Eye-to-eye, Emeros and Tullius stared one another down, the Bosmer's jaw grit tight, nostrils flaring. The door to Castle Dour parted, Legate Rikke on her way to lead a garrison to the now-empty fortress, Emeros figured. Athenath stood back with Wyndrelis, both of them having decided long ago that it was best that the alchemist handle this situation. The General flicked his gaze to them, then inched it from one face to another, from Emeros, to Wyndrelis, to Athenath, before giving an audible sigh and pressing the crook of his thumb to his forehead, massaging the stress-lined skin.

"Very well. You may have your pardon," he reached for a letter, the ink dry, already written and signed for the three elves, "but you'll need to take it by the Blue Palace yourselves." Emeros narrowed his eyes. "Why is that necessary, may I ask?" "We send word to the other Holds on our own. However, since you're already here in Solitude, you get to do the leg work yourselves. Take it by the Blue Palace and give it to the scribe, Phoebe. She'll officiate it." The General passed the paper gingerly to Emeros, the stamp of the Empire glaring back at the elf as he clutched it tight, unfolding it, scanning the writing rapidly. "I'm sure that you'll find it's all in order." "Yes, I'm sure," Emeros replied sourly, not looking up once from the paper. He read and re-read the words over and over, let them settle into the pit in his stomach, by the orders of General Tullius, Military Governer of Skyrim… After one final read-through, Emeros looked up and gave a curt nod. "Thank you for your time, General Tullius. Best of luck." He folded the letter along its preexisting creases, turning on his heel. The sound of his boots echoed through the chamber, the other two Mer exchanging a look of mild confusion before they followed suit, Athenath giving the General an awkward half-wave as they walked behind Emeros, eagerness in every step the three took. Whether this meant the end of their troubles or the beginning of new ones was a mystery, obsfuscated by the mid-morning sun and the glint of metal as soldiers trained for battle in the courtyard. Emeros clutched the letter tightly in a talon-like grasp, and prayed through the poundings of a stress headache to gods he strained to believe in that this would be over.

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

SEVENTEEN AND HIGH, Nikki Darling swaggers down the middle of Garvey Boulevard, a busy thoroughfare in the San Gabriel Valley, as cars swerve around her: “��Three Days’ by Jane’s Addiction is playing on my Walkman and I feel like I’m in a movie, like I’m an assassin.” She stands in the street with a cigarette hanging from her lips, with “someplace to be or maybe nowhere to go.” She taunts the cars as they pass: “Fly around me, motherfuckers! Fly around me like I’m not even here!”

In an opening scene brazen with feminine adolescent rage and emotion, Nikki Darling the author dares readers of her debut novel, Fade Into You, to come in close. By writing in the New Narrative style popularized by Eileen Myles (Chelsea Girls) and Michelle Tea (Rose of No Man’s Land), Darling keeps the veil between fiction and nonfiction purposefully thin, and having her protagonist carry her name builds intimacy. In an interview with the popular feminist podcast Call Your Girlfriend, Darling said she named her character Nikki because “being in the interiority of a teenage girl is not something readers are always familiar with.” In Fade Into You, Darling gives us more than an intimate view of a teenage girl; she gives us an intimate view of a young, mixed-race Chicana living in the suburbs of Los Angeles, the kind of portrait that is nearly nonexistent in L.A. letters.

Luis J. Rodriguez’s Always Running: La Vida Loca: Gang Days in L.A., an award-winning 1993 memoir that shares the tale of a young man struggling to survive gang life and addiction in the 1980s San Gabriel Valley, is the most notable and celebrated literary depiction of Chicanx teen life in Los Angeles. But not every Chicanx can identify with living “la vida loca.” Darling’s protagonist struggles to find her identity in a city that says to be Mexican can only be one thing, an issue many Mexican-American/Chicanx Angelenos understand. As Nikki thinks,

It would be my luck not just to be half-Mexican, but the wrong kind of Mexican. I am not from East Los. My people are borderlands, the frontera. I am a pale ghost of a bloody past. A daughter of the viceroyalty. A lady of Spain. But I’m not that either. I’m me. I’m SGV. I watch from the schoolyard as the sad boys mark up the EMF, throw down the emero. I live in the cool shadows of libraries.

I grew up in the SGV in the ’90s, and when I was 17 I liked to wear loose-fitting, faded blue jeans with a white T-shirt and blue Chucks. It’s how I felt most beautiful. One afternoon as I was sitting on the front stoop of my grandparents’ Boyle Heights home, my party-crew cousin from La Puente, in stiff Dickies and dark hoodie, looked down his chin at me and asked, “Eh, you like a rocker? You a skater? What are you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I read his questions to mean, Why aren’t you more Mexican?

On a different day, a friend from my hometown of San Gabriel came with my family and me to that same Boyle Heights home for Sunday menudo. When my father parked in the driveway and I slid open the door to our Dodge van, she refused to get out. “I’m going to be shot!” she screamed, tears running down her face.

Her shocked reaction meant, I didn’t know you were that kind of Mexican.

By the late ’90s, I had not yet seen in books or TV these disparate expectations of what it meant to look and act Mexican. But I had seen them in two movies: My Family (1995) and Selena (1997). The latter, written and directed by Gregory Nava, put into words how I often felt, a dilemma perfectly articulated by Selena’s father, played by Edward James Olmos, as he rants to his family about the possibility of Selena touring in Mexico:

We gotta prove to the Mexicans how Mexican we are. And we gotta prove to the Americans how American we are. We gotta be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans both at the same time. It’s exhausting! Man! Nobody knows how tough it is to be a Mexican-American.

But Selena grew up in Corpus Christi, Texas, a vastly different setting from Fade Into You’s San Gabriel Valley, California, which in Darling’s hands becomes its own character. Schools, streets, and favorite hangouts of this L.A. suburb east of downtown are namedropped with acute knowledge, and the dialogue between Nikki and her friends — with all its dudes, mans, and bitches — is so accurate to the time and place it sounds more like transcription than fiction.

As I read, I was in awe of how much I had in common with Nikki. I, too, had a gorgeous, gay best friend I was in love with. I, too, studied theater. I, too, got high and went for pancakes at Denny’s before driving up to the mountains because they were close and we could. But as I moved further into the novel, I noticed another layer of the Mexican-American experience that is specific to the suburbs. Nikki narrates,

We are the kids of LA.

They write books about us. They make after-school specials about us. And none of it is the real us. None of it really captures who we are. But we eat it, digest it, and let it redefine us until we no longer know what is real and what is fake.

Nikki inhabits the parts of the SGV where teen movies and TV series such as Pretty in Pink and My So-Called Life are filmed, but these stories never center people like her. When she says, “They write after-school specials about us,” the us is never really us. The best we could hope for was to be the quiet and queer best friend, the Rickie Vasquez to the story’s Angela Chase. Hollywood used our streets but not our faces, and this became a kind of trauma.

I attended a private school in Pasadena not far from Casa Walsh and Dylan’s surfer bungalow (RIP Luke Perry), and my friends and I behaved as if we were characters on Beverly Hills, 90210 even though we were in 91107 and a good 25 miles from the über-rich neighborhood. Like Nikki attending a party at a midcentury home at the edge of South Pasadena, nearly everything we did felt cinematic: “Chelo and I walk into the party and I can tell things are about to get real cinema tonight. It’s a night when this city we live in really shows itself.”

To keep the fantasy alive, many classmates bleached their hair, and when people started driving, a good number opted for convertibles without concern for the make or model. But our proximity to Hollywood teen life affected more than our outward appearance — at least for me, it corrupted my very sense of self. I remember one day bounding into my house after being dropped off by a friend in her white convertible and catching my reflection in the large mirror that hung across from the front door. I didn’t recognize the person I saw. The image of my own brown face shocked me, and for a moment I was invisible.

Latinx people make up nearly 50 percent of the population of Los Angeles, with the majority being Mexican or of Mexican descent. And yet even though most films and TV shows are made here, I can count on two hands the number that center Mexican-American stories. In the afterglow of the 2019 Oscars, Los Angeles Times features writer and taco historian Gustavo Arellano tweeted, “Still waiting for Hollywood to give love to Chicanos.” Sure, over the last six years a Mexican director has won Best Director five times, but these are Mexican nationals, which is a very different experience. What of the immigrant families, children of immigrants, and multigenerational Mexican Americans who live in this town and help make it work?

The literary world maintains a similar sparsity. As a senior in high school in 1998, I read The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros in my English class. Though it is set in Chicago, I saw a young, Mexican-American character in literature for the first time, and the book thrilled me. In my 20s, I obsessed over Michele Serros’s Chicana Falsa: And Other Stories of Death, Identity, and Oxnard (1993), and in my 30s I fell in love with Isabel Quintero’s Gabi, a Girl in Pieces (2014), which follows a 17-year-old, light-skinned Chicana who lives in the Inland Empire and loves poetry and hot Cheetos. Author Helena María Viramontes (Under the Feet of Jesus) also tells stories about young people living in East Los Angeles, but a nuanced view of growing up Chicana in the L.A. suburbs has been missing until now.

We SGV kids live close enough to Hollywood to be infected by its story lines and cultural sprawl, and yet only our streets are worthy of making it onto film. We live close enough to East Los Angeles to know we aren’t the right kind of Mexican, and yet we’re at the same time too Mexican. We are pushed into the margins of pop culture. So while Nikki Darling the character is walking down the middle of Garvey Boulevard dying to be seen, it’s Nikki Darling the author who’s shouting: We’re here! We matter! We live on these streets! And that’s a reflection I recognize.

¤

Women Who Submit co-founder Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo’s work has appeared on Terrain.org and in KCET Departures. She is the author of Posada: Offerings of Witness and Refuge (Sundress Publications, 2016).

The post Invisible No More: How “Fade Into You” Reflects the L.A. Chicanx Experience appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2JR8b01

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 ♥

you already know what time it is!!

thank you to the lovely and incredibly talented @skyrim-forever @your-talos-is-problematic @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter and @dirty-bosmer for the tags this week!! i've been having an amazing time reading/looking at all your wips, and i know i say it always but i can't wait to see how your works turn out, whether writing or art!! wednesday has easily become my favorite day of the week bc of this community <3

i'm passing the tag to @umbracirrus @wispstalk @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @aphocryphas @gilgamish and YOU! if you wanna hop in, tag me back, and no pressure as always!!

this week i've got a bit of a treat: i'm working on some art! it's one that's really pushing me out of my comfort zone in terms of pose, expression, and perspective, and i'm extremely excited to finish it and show what i've been up to! featuring the beloved Cicero, of course

aaaaaaaand since i posted chapter 14 of Cycle of the Serpent this past weekend, i'm gonna give you guys a long snippet of chapter 23. >:3c emeros is asking for the group's imperial pardon from general tullius, and it comes with a catch. fair warning, the snippet is LONG bc i am incapable of being normal about this fic. are you ready, because i sure fucking am

Emeros stifled a scoff. Athenath did not. Instead, the Altmer made a step forward, the Bosmer eyeing him with a quirked brow. The bard said, "we helped Hadvar, he said he'd help us out if we needed it." "Precisely." Emeros leveled. "In fact, he said that should we wish to acquire an Imperial pardon, to come directly to you, General Tullius." He lowered his brow. The General waited, shifting from foot to foot as he considered this, before waving an enormous hand and resting it again on the table, facing the map sprawled before him. Wooden pegs painted in red and blues littered various points, stuck in deep with metal ends. The light landed along the metal gleam of his armor, golden color running rotten in the days glare. "You know, not many survived that place. If you could give us a hand, Legate Rikke-" he motioned to the woman beside him, stray hairs catching the light, "-could have some use for you. Besides, I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a big misunderstanding." Wyndrelis cleared his throat and looked up at the Bosmer, already making a slow, calculated stride to the General, his teeth grit together. With a deep inhale, he spoke, ignoring the light twitch of his under eye, the pittering in his chest. "General, I do not wish to waste your time, nor do I believe mine is of any less value," he began, "however, my compatriots and I have come a long way to be here. Not to mention, the scene we witnessed in your town square-" "Roggvir, the traitor," Tullius scoffed, shaking his head, disbelief clearly running courses through him, "he opened the gate for Ulfric Stormcloak after he murdered High King Torygg-" "And started this bloody Civil War proper, yes, I'm well aware of the stories, sir." Emeros interrupted in a bored drone, his wrist making idle motions. General Tullius craned his neck to peer back at Emeros, one wrinkled brow raised. His face had the character of a man well beyond the usual glory days of a soldier, a war and weather-battered face, with the scarred and sun-roughened arms to match. He was no man to be trifled with in the slightest, and yet (despite the atrocious nerves burdening his every action, the weight of every word weighed heavy on the blade the General carried to cut out sharp-tongues like his) the alchemist bothered not with patience nor obedience here. Instead, the Bosmer lifted his chin, his posture taking all the hallmarks of Aldmeri society, his arms straight at his sides, his spine taut, his eyes skimming the face of the Imperial like a bird to a field mouse among the brush. "We are here for our pardon. Nothing more."

General Tullius turned again to face the Bosmer. "And we're low on men. Our ranks are thin enough as is. If you want your pardon, you'll have to earn it." He made no motion, no step, nothing to indicate intimidation, but the bead of sweat down the back of his neck brandished his demeanor, the stress he was under already. In the shadows, Emeros observed the bruise-dark circles forming under the man's eyes over the past few weeks of sleepless nights, the kind he'd seen on many an Imperial soldier returning to Cyrodiil from the front lines in the Great War. He'd been younger then, thought nothing of the bloodshed. But here? He saw the thirty years aftermath and the absurdity of the Civil War plain and simple.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse." Emeros simply turned on his heel and began the walk down the antechamber, guards unsure whether to apprehend the Bosmer or allow him to step away. General Tullius watched in disbelief, and as the doors parted, gave a great sigh.

"Wait, now."

Emeros stood on the precipice, light filtering in, casting his shadow long behind him. He turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I understand the urgency of your request, elf-"

"Emeros Nightlock."

General Tullius sighed again. "I understand the urgency of your request, mister Nightlock, but I can't grant something like that on a whim. I need to know you're not here to cause trouble. I know your winding up on the Helgen prison cart was probably just a misunderstanding, as well as these…" he gestured vaguely to Athenath and Wyndrelis, who were halfway through the antechamber and to their friends side when he'd turned back at the General's request, "…fine young people. But until I can verify that you've no intentions to make me regret that decision…"

"Ah," Emeros ticked, "a deed for a deed." He shut the doors, and made a solid march back to the war room as though nothing had happened. "Really, General, I would prefer if you had said so in the first place."

General Tullius inhaled deeply through his nose, leveling out whatever turmoil brewed behind his cold exterior. He made a motion to the Nord, Legate Rikke, who watched the trio with bewildered amusement. "You will speak to the Legate here, and do what she asks. Only then, can I grant your pardon."

"Thank you for your time, General Tullius." Emeros approached the Legate with a polite smile, the kind that barely graced his eyes, and spoke again. "What can we do for you, Legate Rikke?"

The Legate, her eyes keenly examining the three before her, barely tamped down the burgeoning smirk on her lips. "You three survived Helgen?" She shifted her light-hued gaze between their faces. Wyndrelis' nervous fidgeting, Athenath's fingers combing through his dark curls, and Emeros' cold expression, his posture high and solid - he silently hoped the shaking palms eluded her. "Not many made it out alive, you know. I've got a good feeling about you three, and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut."

"Legate Rikke, I appreciate the sentiment deeply, but I would like to know what it is you're expecting us to… Do, exactly." Emeros watched the Legate as she lifted her brow, internally mulling something over before she spoke up again.

"You know, bravado gets soldiers killed."

"Fascinating. I will note that down for any soldiers I may meet."

"Emeros," Athenath hissed quietly, tugging his arm. The Bosmer seemed to come back to the room around him, as though he had been operating in some sort of pre-determined mode, a Dwemer automata wound up and gaining sentience. For a moment, his eyes flashed cold-sweat panic to the Altmer, then narrowed sternly. He returned his gaze to the Legate.

"Well," Legate Rikke breathed, sliding a palm over the map before her, "I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use for your corpses."

An icy fear grasped the trio, but Emeros merely cleared his throat and spoke again. "What is the purpose of this assignment?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you three are going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Mark it on our map, and we'll be off by morning." Emeros made a gesture behind himself, Wyndrelis fumbling with the map he tugged from his pocket, passing it to the Bosmer. He allowed Legate Rikke to make scratches along the surface with a quill, easy lines detailing the best path up to the fort, her face stern as she passed it back over to him.

"Good luck."

[throughtrialbyfire]

Director’s Cut!

"It's a rare edition these days. Keep this between us, but with Whiterun's neutrality, my buyer can't exactly come marching up the city steps."  "Stormcloaks?" Wyndrelis murmured, stepping closer. Belethor shook his head. "I'll give you a hint, if you're so keen to know." He made a sweeping motion with his index finger along his ear, bringing it up high along the side of his head. Emeros' blood ran cold. "Thalmor," he whispered. He'd recognize the Breton sign that indicated standard Thalmor earcuffs anywhere, the shape of an eagles wing that would arch out from the ear of whatever Justiciar wore them.  Belethor nodded gravely. "And if he doesn't get what he wants, well..." Belethor trailed off. Eventually, he turned on his heel, murmuring about writing a letter, something about a delay in the shipment, no problem, he'd miraculously get his hands on another edition, leaving the three to watch him as he shut the door to his shop. Athenath looked from Emeros to Wyndrelis, then back again. Wordlessly, the trio split to wander separate parts of the city, the conversation repeating in their minds like a stanza in a particularly cruel poem.

OOOOOOOOOHOHOHO okay there is a lot in that scene and i love it, thank you for sending this! >:3c

alright. with this scene, my main goal was to show that, well, there are consequences to not getting enough information and just grabbing whatever was wanted (whether to themselves or to others). athenath's actions in the previous chapter - stealing the Book of the Dragonborn - was done with good intent at the end of the day (hey, you and your new friends were just told you're dragonborn? okay, cool, get information on what that means), but… well, it was impulsive. and dangerously so.

this scene is like a warning, in a way. athenath stole something that was being sold to a thalmor justiciar (ondolemar, actually), but had no idea that was the case because they didn't even bother to search for information, didn't think this through, just went "i need this, he has it, i'll take it". if athenath had more foresight, they would have thought to check records in the shop, and while this wouldn't have changed their mind right now in the story, it would make him think this over a bit more. he would have hesitated.

it also acts to prop up the next chapter's conflict between emeros and athenath, two people who despise the thalmor for different reasons. some personal, some moral, and gives me a great way to show their perspectives. and it shows that while athenath is a damned good thief, that doesn't mean he always makes the best decisions. in my notes on this chapter, i have the sentence: "With how severe the consequences for Belethor could be, Athenath's impulsivity has the potential to cause genuine harm to others."

also it gave me a chance to give a nod to my headcanon thalmor jewelry >:3 which i need to draw more art of, bc it's very fun.

thank you again for sending this ask!!!! <33333333333

director's commentary

[throughtrialbyfire]

A (Cycle of the Serpent), G, K, and Q for the ask meme!

hi lex!!!!!!!!!! <33

A: How did you come up with the title to Cycle of the Serpent?

its part of this song, specifically this section:

Oh ouroboros The cycle of the serpent Look close It's something like a spring Pull out It looks like it's a helix Push in And wear it like a ring

it's always read to me as a contemplation on fate, on repetition and on bad habits/past traumas which never quite end. actually, i'll paste something from discord to do some of the explaining in how it relates to the fic CotS, since i think i typed up a similar question response recently!!

essentially, alchemical imagery and cycles that persist, in spite of what may be wanted. and observing those cycles from an outside view, looking close to see the details, pulling it out to see its shape, and wearing it on your hand as an acceptance. or thats my reading of it specifically applied to the fic, anyways. and the title is "pillar of Na", which can be taken as a "pillar of null/nothingness", or "pillar of salt", something which crumbles away.

also the different verses, ive tied back to them. the first/opening verse is emeros, the middle "shall i lay awake" is athenath, and "call in 'i will always love you' to the radio" is ironically wyndrelis, but any time "love" comes up for him, its a love for his friends, for his work, and for the family members he used to be close with who are now gone and to tie back to the song, i always see the "turn all eternal" part at the end as being the aedra, daedra, the people whose lives they've touched, a sort of thing saying they're not the only ones stuck in cycles. and of course the part before it is just the trio, hgjkdhfgjk. yes i grew up on amvs and songfics how can you tell-

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

a mix of both! right now, i've been trying to write CotS in chronological order, but i do have scattered scenes that i've pre-written and am building up to, plus planned concepts for things to happen later!

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

i've got dozens lol, but one of them takes place several years after CotS, where athenath gets poisoned and only has enough strength left to collapse at emeros' door. athenath nearly dies, and emeros wrote for wyndrelis to come soon bc he didnt know if he could cure whatever poison it was in time. :3

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

i like them! i havent done any in a while - mostly bc i'm very focused on my own ideas rn - but i've done collab fics in the past and greatly enjoyed it!!

thank you so much for the asks!!!!! <333333333

fanfic asks

[throughtrialbyfire]

RUZ- for the fanfic asks!

howdy!! thank you so much for sending these asks!! <3333

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

for traditional/published writers, i was heavily influenced by markus zusak, jandy nelson, william faulkner, vladimir nabokov, and the dozens of others whose work i inhaled as a teenager. for fic writers, yes!! a lot of my mutuals are writers i've been influenced by, whether it be word choice, imagery, or how i characterize canonical characters when i write them!! i'm not gonna tag ppl in case they dont want the notif, but tesblr's thriving fanfic community has been a gigantic influence

U: A pairing you might like to write for, but haven’t tried yet.

if we're talking oc/canon, i haven't really written any emeros/serana, despite them being one of my main ships for emeros. i really wanna write about them getting to know each other and growing into their relationship eventually!

as for canon/canon, i want to write so many different pairings tbh. i want to explore the intricacies of astrid and arnbjorns relationship - the hint of bitterness mingled with the deep love they share, it's fascinating to me. i want to write about enthir and gallus, and gallus and karliah, and i definitely want to write about elenwen and legate rikke. that ship grabbed me and didnt let go, but i dont have ideas for them at the moment lmao

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

i do!! i write and read it, because it sometimes offers a really interesting take on events or can be a satisfying end to a characters story, and the aftermath of those left behind fascinates me. i don't think there's a character whose death i just cant handle, but i dont like to read about cicero dying, BUT i will if the fic is good and i will actively enjoy the rest of the fic. emotional support clown, i swear.

thank you again, AU!!

fanfic ask meme

[throughtrialbyfire]

🌧️, 🌳, 🌌 for any OC you'd like!

oooo!! i'm gonna go with the trio again, if thats alright! :3

🌧️ What is the favorite thing for you OC to do on a rainy day?

Emeros - if he had a permanent home, he'd use the rainy day to tidy up his lab, arrange some things around the house, do basic chores he often puts off, and settle down by the fire with tea, a book, and some cozier clothes. rainy days are best for menial tasks, since it means he can't go running out the door to collect samples for his alchemical research or go out to town to socialize or purchase new things for his lab or home.

Wyndrelis - honestly? rain is the best time for him to catch up on sleep. he's a night owl, so if he had a permanent home, he'd spent a rainy day taking a nice, mid-morning/early noon nap, then charge up enchantments on various belongings of his, and practice some spells that have been giving him trouble.

Athenath - practice their instruments/new songs! they'd spend it with their tambourine (and later their lute) just practicing, writing down songs they learned recently and trying to get them down to memory, and maybe writing some music of their own.

🌳 Would your OC survive for a week on their own in the wilderness?

Emeros - oh absolutely! he's done it before, and he'd be very able to do it again. hell, he'd probably relish the chance on his own, since it would mean an entire week with nothing and no one to be concerned about. he'd love it.

Wyndrelis - with other people? oh yeah. on his own? uhhhh… he would survive for sure. he's not too unskilled. he's just not a good hunter, so foraging would be his means of getting a meal, unless he packed something. he'd figure it out, but it would be a rough first two-ish days.

Athenath - ehhhhhh……………..cant hunt, could identify some berries, could probably find fruits, but would need to pack some supplies beforehand. they'd survive, but they wouldn't do too well as they are rn.

🌌 If your OC has a nightmare, what’s it most likely about?

Emeros - wayrest, or the night his parents died, or helgen, or… he has, unfortunately, a lot his mind can pull from. his dreams tend to be more literal, more flashback than "dream", though some common symbols we'd recognize would be people dying, or him running from some monster he can't see, or a disaster. he's the oldest of the trio, after all, and while he's still considered young for an elf, those years didn't just evaporate into thin air. he still lived them.

Wyndrelis - home, or the fire in his town, or his mentor with the College of Whispers and the time he spent being geared towards a purpose he doesn't want to think about. or helgen, obviously. some common things that would show up would be him falling from a high place, or snakes. but mostly, he has nightmares about things he regrets. luckily, he doesn't dream often.

Athenath - they had sort of a rough childhood. it could be any amalgamation of events from then, or from their teen years when they were basically on their own, or helgen. their dreams are much more abstract, and i think one of the most common themes in their nightmares that we'd recognize is things like showing up somewhere important naked, or their teeth falling out.

thank you so much for the asks! this gave me some great food for thought on these three >:3c

oc asks