#recognition of prior learning

[ozqualify]

Recognition Of Prior Learning

Already got years of on-the-job experience under your belt? Don't waste time and money relearning what you know. OZ Qualify's flexible Recognition of Prior Learning process can get you a formal qualification just by demonstrating your existing skills and knowledge.

[rplmesblog]

What is Recognition of Prior Learning RPL?

Recognition of prior learning rpl is the process by which your knowledge, skills and experience can be given a formal value. It enables you to gain credits within formal certificate, diploma and degree qualifications.

There is much debate concerning the potentials of this practice. One concern is that it could lead to a rigid approach to the recognition processes, with no flexibility in terms of assessment and the classification of learning outcomes.

What is RPL?

Recognition of prior learning (RPL) is the process of acknowledging skills you have obtained through formal and informal training or work experience. This can be used to award credits within a qualification or give you access to a higher level course.

The RPL assessment is done by a qualified assessor and is usually face-to-face, but can also be online or by video conference depending on the evidence you have to provide. The assessor will look at your previous education, employment or other work-related activities and compare this with the learning outcomes of the qualification you are applying for.

RPL can be applied to a number of qualifications, from foundation and associate degree courses to postgraduate diplomas, bachelor honours degrees and master’s degrees. If you want to put RPL towards a higher level course you will need to check the eligibility criteria on the course page and in the programme regulations. You can only apply for a maximum of two thirds of a full award through RPL.

How do I apply for RPL?

If you are applying for RPL for part or all of your course, make sure you apply at least 20 working days before the first day of teaching (or earlier if you are doing a workbased degree). This is to give you time to complete your portfolio of evidence.

You will be asked to submit a portfolio of evidence containing examples of your competence. This can include things like certificates, references and performance evaluation reports. The assessor will consider all of this and match it against a qualification.

Your assessed previous learning could count towards subject credits within formal certificate, diploma and degree qualifications and provide access to undergraduate and postgraduate courses. The assessment may also identify areas where you have gaps in knowledge or skills which you can address with additional study. RPL is often used by people who want to start a new career, but aren’t quite ready to commit to full-time study.

What happens if I’m accepted for RPL?

Turn your skills, knowledge and experience into accredited Australian qualifications that will fast-track your career.

We recognise the learning you’ve gained through a variety of sources, including formal and informal work, hobbies, sports, volunteering, and education courses. You can receive credit for modules that align with your previous experience, meaning you don’t have to study them again (and don’t need to attend lectures or write exams) but may be expected to complete the associated assessment tasks.

As part of the process of applying for rpl queensland, your portfolio is assessed by an AEATS Trainer Assessor who will provide you with validation on the quality of your evidence before it’s included in your application. The assessment process is free for most courses, but there’s a fee if you’re using RPL to apply to the second or third year of a degree. These fees will be clearly outlined in our application forms.

What happens if I don’t get accepted for RPL?

The value of your prior knowledge, skills and experience is recognised when you apply for RPL. It can speed up the time it takes to complete your course and mean you don’t have to repeat subjects you already know a lot about.

It also means you can start your qualification at a higher level, meaning you have to study fewer subjects to gain the same qualifications. This can save you time and money on course fees.

The rpl assessment process is not easy – demonstrating your learning takes work and effort, but it is possible for most. It is usually done against qualifications offered by CPUT and can be applied to both formal and informal education, including life experience such as volunteer work, hobbies and interests and workplace training. Successful credit applications appear on your academic transcript with the code EX. You still need to attend classes for the subjects that you don’t get credit for.

[getskillednow]

Want to get nationally recognized RPL Qualifications, we at Get Skilled can be a big help. We will help you choosing from a wide range of vocational courses available depending on your earlier qualification, experience and future goals. Here, we provide a platform for aiming persons to reach different academies and RTOs to support them get skilled and job ready.

[e2vssocial]

Through the RPL process, individuals gain a deeper understanding of their own capabilities, building confidence in their skills and abilities. This recognition can boost self-esteem and motivate further personal and professional development.

Get your Recognition of Prior Learning (RPL) in Australia now- Consult Our Senior Consultants Ritika Chawla Contact 0433695773/0431029583

[rplit]

Learn How to Get Qualified in Australia Through RPL Assessments

If you have skills and experience but no formal qualification, Recognition of Prior Learning (RPL) can help. It’s a smart way to earn certificates without studying again. With RPL Assessments Australia, you can get recognized for what you already know. Whether you’ve worked in trades, business, or community services, this is your chance to boost your career the easy way.

[get-qualifiednow]

Recognition of Prior Learning (RPL) is an essential framework in education and workforce development, enabling individuals to receive formal acknowledgment for skills and knowledge gained through non-traditional learning paths. Get more information read this blog.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[blackmoonoracle]

How to stop overthinking?

——————————————————————

pile i

You literally have so much physical evidence that things are getting better babe, you need to interact with them more whole heartedly and learn to trust again. You may be jaded from past experiences, you could’ve felt in the past like no one was trustworthy- as if you were completely alone and as if you would never find anything to suit you or stabilize you.

Well the past has come & gone, you are in a season of developing this desire, want, need, goal, etc…

If you don’t pay mind to the energy you’re putting forward while developing it you could delay it further.

Pick your head up, stop tweaking, and trust that you have the strength to overcome all obstacles.

pile ii

By remembering ur literally that bitch, ur popular, ur likable, ur important to either ur family, community, or friend circle/group, etc.. or maybe even to ur ancestors! You’re very liked & appreciated, a lot of what you perceive comes from a place of lack & of fear. You could have gone thru a very difficult past in this lifetime or the one prior where u weren’t loved and appreciated!

By having gratitude for all aspects of your life, by appreciating your moments of success and recognition & your moments of peace & internal quiet.

Be at peace within yourself.

pile iii

Girl, if you don’t take your ass outside and start drinking more water & eating healthily!!! Your mental health is suffering because your physical health is suffering. You don’t need to get healthy for anyone but you. It isn’t about losing weight, or being perfect- it’s literally about taking care of yourself. For some it could be that y’all are not eating enough and for others it could be that you need to be eating food w more nutritious value.

Spending more time off of social media, engaging with YOURSELF. Finding more meaning in your day to day life & passions. You don’t need to be like influencers or people you see online, even if they’re spiritual a lot of the time influencers are genuinely not the people you should be molding yourself after.

Some of you may need to break free from the LOA hamster wheel and look deeper bc u are very gifted but there’s more to learn out there for you

[aestophobia]

I will forever stand by the fact that Blitzen and Hearthstone are some of the most interesting characters that Rick Riordan has ever written.

Hearthstone is the first mortal in centuries to practice rune magic, a skill that only Odin possessed before Hearth came along. He faced what I fully believe to be the worst trauma in the riordanverse (people often forget that in addition to being shunned for his deafness, being blamed for his younger brothers death, and having to live with the Wergild, he also had to skin the monster which killed Andiron all by himself at eight years old and he wasn't allowed back inside the house until had finished skinning the entire thing) and despite that, he still managed to return to Alfheim not once but twice to face his father. (and it's implied that it also happened another time prior to the story because Alderman knows who Blitzen is in THoT)

Blitzen is a misfit among dwarves, being the only one of his kind who isn't a builder by nature, but that doesn't mean he doesn't create by nature. He cares so much for fashion that he makes it his own craft despite not being given the recognition for it. He makes his own degree, he turns fashion into something that even the other dwarves can appreciate, and he succeeds in opening his own shop. He shows that he is willing to do anything for his friends on multiple occasions, and he has so much love to give even after losing his father, the only person who ever understood him. Because of this, he is able to recognize being a demigod for what it is, something that many other demigods don't like admitting all the time.

Neither Blitzen nor Hearthstone fit in among their own kind, but together, they form a bond unlike anything else Rick has ever written. Most of the MCGA fandom can't look past them being "not canon," but that's wrong. They aren't "not canon." They're nuanced and complicated with a relationship that might surpass platonic, but maybe it doesn't. (For my good omens fans, I would say they're thoroughly ineffable) That doesn't matter because they love each other, which they state in the text multiple times. Just because it never explicitly says "Blitz and Hearth are in a relationship" doesn't mean that they aren't in love. Just look at the things they do for each other.

Hearthstone, who doesn't show much emotion and is usually very restrained, but whenever he's been separated from Blitz, immediately rushes to hug him. Blitz, who once yelled at Hearth's abusive father with so much unbridled fury that Magnus thought it was Odin himself.

Blitzen can't survive in light, and Heartstone needs light to survive, so Blitz brought sunlight to a world of eternal darkness for Hearth. They call each other "my dwarf" and "my elf." Blitz learned an entire language for Hearth, and he expresses jealousy whenever Inge is around. Hearth faces abuse to save Blitzen even after Blitz begs him not to.

You can't have one without the other. They need each other more than anything else in the nine worlds. They weren't written just for you to go, "Oh boring, they aren't canon because they never kissed"

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 4)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 4 Enough

Alastor struggled with the prior expectations others had of him, but you eased them away with gentle hands. And to your great comfort, Tommy’s absence is noticed but not entirely shocking to anyone. With that concern behind him, finally, Alastor gives in to his own selfish wants and asks for your help with his “work.”

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! No pussy eating! No fingering! It took away from the important events and Alastor’s mental health (I know he’s not real but he’s KINDA REAL?) so I didn’t include it. Next time! , Murder, dead bodies, allusions to bad things by bad men, Alastor has had bad times and will have bad times, bad kind of choking, domestic shit, Detective Brady, Obvious Sin」

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream. 

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’). 

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to  finish or he could say he did. 

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons. 

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase. 

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking. 

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first.  His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it. 

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.” 

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.” 

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening. 

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character. 

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…” 

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool,  Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to. 

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall. 

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little. 

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face. 

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path. 

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past. 

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames. 

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ 

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved. 

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new? 

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel. 

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it? 

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home. 

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image. 

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it. 

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals. 

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face. 

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night. 

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a  dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap. 

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much. 

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it. 

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in? 

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight. 

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened. 

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs. 

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date. 

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own. 

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you. 

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors. 

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you. 

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?” 

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat. 

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine. 

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other. 

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck! 

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else. 

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy. 

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return. 

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds. 

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry. 

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both. 

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.” 

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist. 

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far.  And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men. 

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous. 

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning. 

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out. 

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream. 

Part 5 is halfway done 👌

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

[thatswhatsushesaid]

the part of this first face-to-face confrontation between shan gudao, fang duobing, and li lianhua that is hitting me the hardest on my second mlc watchthrough is how, given the camera angle during shan gudao's evil villain monologue, he doesn't even seem like he's looking at li lianhua. and he's standing right across from him.

listen to shan gudao speaking about li lianhua like he isn't even here, standing directly across from him with tears streaming down his face, having to speedrun all the stages of grief for the brutal murder of his understanding of his relationship with his shixiong. like that's what is really at the bleeding heart of this confrontation: they have profoundly different understandings of what is happening here, and only one of them is remotely compatible with reality.

(spoilers, it's not shan gudao.)

screenshots alone don't do cheng yi's microexpression game justice here. he's incredible. give this man all the awards for this role, he deserves them.

contrast shan gudao's abject refusal to look li lianhua in the eye throughout his entire villainous monologue with fang duobing's laser focus on li lianhua--which i think deserves praise and recognition all on its own, quite frankly, because he, too, is going through it! this is his first time speaking with shan gudao since learning that he's his father, rather than his uncle--since he was a disabled child struggling to swing a sword from his wheelchair--and this? this is the reception he gets, from the man who called him trash and abandoned him? but compassion and kindness come as naturally to fang duobing as avarice and resentment do to shan gudao, and so it is no hardship for him to shelve his feelings while li lianhua is clearly just barely holding it together next to him. right now, fang duobing has both the strength to carry them both through this moment, and the willingness to do it. because he loves li lianhua (again, however you choose to interpret that love, be it romantic or platonic--that's what it is), sincerely and artlessly, and he doesn't want to see him in pain.

which is a real bummer for fang duobing because, well:

of course, li lianhua's agony here has nothing to do with being the 'joke' that shan gudao is making him out to be, because li lianhua has never looked at his relationship with his shixiong as a scale in need of balancing, or as their time training together as martial siblings, and then running the sigu sect, as a ledger of wins and losses to be scrutinized and tallied up. (i may come back to this paragraph in the future because there's something specific to unpack here about li lianhua's very particular feelings re: how he failed the sigu sect, and his shixiong, and his shifu and shiniang, and how this failure--to recognize shan gudao's resentment and contempt for what it really was--is just the last nail in the coffin when it comes to his feelings about his life as li xiangyi. but i can't quite get the thoughts to come together. rip.)

now shan gudao is willing to look at li lianhua, and once again i don't think the screenshots do the flicker in shan gudao's expression justice. it's this minute, blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of surprise and uncertainty, which to me only emphasizes how unnecessary all of shan gudao's machinations prior to the battle at the east sea really were. because over and over and over again, we see him confronted with concrete evidence that his perception of himself, his relationships, and his place in the world is at odds with how things really were, and are. and frequently, reality was not even to his detriment!! or rather, it didn't have to be, but each time he encountered one of these crossroads and diverging paths where an alternate path was available to him, he balked at taking it.

because to actually walk these diverging paths, shan gudao would have to put down the giant chip on his shoulder long enough to recognize that there was someone else walking along the path beside him, willing to help him carry that burden.

[mswyrr]

Rhaenyra has a type when it comes to women

The common thread for me between Rhaenyra's desire for Alicent and Mysaria is that both women play the role of "lady wife" (or we could call it the role of "the beloved" to a lover) to her. I went into this as it relates to her loving Alicent in a prior meta. But here I want to focus on what they have in common that seems to compel Rhaenyra.

Between the two of them, we have a portrait now of what her "type" is in women. She likes a femme woman who is intelligent and capable of advising her, who cares about her goals and standing in the realm and who she can trust to act on her behalf, a woman who recognizes and basks in the love of Rhaenyra's desire to be knightly and noble and act as a monarch - to hold power and use it to act and protect and cherish. A woman who wishes to be caring and affectionate with her, who shares her body in acts of erotic intimacy as well as comfort and tenderness - young Rhaenyra really meant it when she told Alicent that she loved lying with her head on Alicent's lap as Alicent read to her in shared moments of peace and tranquility. She leaned into to Alicent's touch; she casually held her hand or touched her or stared at Alicent like she was the whole world; she grounded herself with her girl's love.

Mature Rhaenyra awakens at the way Mysaria appreciates her; tells her she's noble and worthy. Tells her she looks good with a sword, expressing those knightly/butch or masc leanings Rhaenyra had in her youth and never got the chance to explore. When Mysaria tells her that, in a lifetime of learning not to trust the world because it has been so cruel to her, Rhaenyra is a rare person she trusts and believes in - a safe haven, a heroic figure, Rhaenyra moves quickly to hug her and keeps hugging her, her urgency to connect growing more intense, fingers digging into her flesh in need, and strokes her cheek across Mysaria's skin like she's found an oasis in the desert.

I relate to that; I feel that way about women too. While watching the way Rhaenyra just *blossoms* under Mysaria's admiration and appreciation I felt teary eyed - Rhaenyra has been starved of recognition and love of whole parts of herself since she lost Alicent. It's terribly sad. It's also why she seems so painfully young in the Sept scene and so thirsty but also vulnerable and emotionally naked with Mysaria - the parts of her that are open to women have never gotten to be satisfied, to grow and come of age.

I consider the feelings in myself Rhaenyra's behavior speaks to toppy and gnc, because I am a gnc female top, but Rhaenyra is a switch and hasn't had a chance to explore gender/sexuality much at all and doesn't have language for it so I'm not sure what labels she'd decide upon if she had the opportunity to relax and enjoy herself and her partner(s). From the text we have, there's many different potential readings of Rhaenyra's complex gender AND sexuality feelings. Is Rhaenyra masc and if so in what way? Bi with a split attraction that actually leans to women or 50/50? 50/50 switch or leaning top or bottom or differently with different genders of partner or different partners? Monogamous or polyamorous?

None of these possibilities have been foreclosed, all have been rather more opened up. Much to the consternation of the bigots who are review bombing the episode!! And the antis in fandom who have harassed artists for drawing masc Rhaenyra and shamed and degraded Rhaenicent for years now.

I think that's a good thing, since LGBTQ lead character representation on a big show like this is so rare. It also is in character for the setting and world Rhaenyra lives in: there's simply little opportunity to explore, sadly. But, at the same time, it's great that so many people can connect to Rhaenyra - can feel that sense of kinship I got to feel watching on Sunday. It's great that Emma and Sonoya had the courage and love to come together to make this happen - so this part of Rhaenyra can have a little more time to live and breathe and we can appreciate it.

I am not certain of one gender/sexuality reading of the character, though of course I have my preferences. The one thing I am certain of now, though, is Rhaenyra's (main or possibly only?) type in women. And I think it's pretty gorgeous. I think the way she loves women is breathtaking and achingly beautiful. I relate to it and it makes the tragedy even more poignant to me that her society denies her the opportunity to have a lifetime with the kind of woman who draws on her heart so powerfully.

[altraviolet]

Just reread the echo garden again and I must say that Soundwave’s character development throughout the story has been both beautiful and extraordinary! (Even I was proud of him)

There is something that I’ve been curious about tho. What if Soundwave somehow got the chance to reunite with his universes Megatron at some point after the events of TEG? What might a reunion between them look like?

Thanks for the reread! =D

This is a popular question! I've been asked several times: it's something people are definitely curious about.

I never had an answer because I always knew we wouldn't be going back to SW's dimension in the fic. And even if we did, his Megatron would be dead or altered beyond recognition, due to the internal logic of the universe. I never needed an answer. And it felt like it would be very complicated and Too Much Work to figure out.

Unsatisfying but true, lol.

But, okay, let's do a little mind experiment. Off the cuff. No prior planning. Let's say that, somehow, SW's Megatron is preserved and in a recognizable state, and that the last we saw of him in TFP is also true in universe. And for some reason, SW wants to go back. And for some reason, they've run into each other.

The last we saw of Megatron in TFP, iirc, he'd just been freed from subjugation under Galvatron, and he stated that he never wanted to feel like that again, and he would not do it to anyone else ever again.

So disregarding RiD2015 as any possible source of further characterization...

...I feel like this Megatron would avoid Soundwave and the other Decepticons for a long time. He really sounded like he wanted a Very Long Time Out. His character change was stark, in those last few on screen moments, and there isn't much to go off of, regarding what New Directions he would head down.

He had a very calm air about him when he said it... but he's not an innately calm character. He's been driven by anger for a long time. He had expectations of being fully obeyed for a long time. He has just been handed the reveal of his life: that everything he did was extremely awful and he's only learned that because it happened to him.

So we have a character in an unknown state. How much growth will there actually be? Or will there be a backlash, a backslide into something similar to what he was before? There are no real answers (as far as I know of, in canon), so this becomes the domain of the fic writer.

And that's what I mean when I say this sounds like Too Much Work xD How do I proceed with an arc that feels Megatron-y, doesn't copy any other arcs we've seen, feels authentic to the character and world... what happens when you push a character to the destruction of their core values? How do they build themselves up again?

I don't know :D I'd have to rewatch TFP and then sit and think about it for a long time, and I'm not interested in doing that. I see several courses his arc could take, but I'm not sure which one is the most 'authentic.'

But, okay, people keep asking me.

Let's say TFP Megatron has been scrounging around, somewhat pathetically, on Cybertron (I honestly don't remember what state Cybertron was left in, at the end of TFP, but we're far into the future so uhhhhhh idk it's rebuilding), and our main characters meet because SW has returned to his home dimension for supplies. I assume SW would be accompanied by a few friends, probably including Rodimus.

There'd be some kind of first contact scene, but the thing the readers most want to see is SW and Megatron alone, so we'd have to plot for Rodimus & friends to go somewhere else (be amenable to giving them alone time, or get distracted by something, etc). So now we have SW and Megatron. And they're staring at each other.

SW is looking at the mech who destroyed him, rebuilt him, and then used him for millions of years.

Megatron is looking at the ultimate example of his tyrannic rule: a mech he shaped into a perfect servant.

SW sees Megatron as a pitiful thing, obviously living off scraps [since in this character arc branch we won't let him backslide into dark energon use or his tyrannical tendencies], obviously alone and doing terribly.

Megatron sees SW as a faded and scratched up, but obviously healthy mech, who initially arrived with allies. Allies who wear the Autobrand.

What next?

Well... I don't know. I'm going to give you some possible reactions Megatron has to this:

-immediately starts calculating how he can use Soundwave to his advantage. this Megatron IS clever enough, in my opinion, to possibly recognize that SW's associates are not Of This Universe. perhaps, he thinks, he can appeal to SW's loyal nature

-truly feels sorry for what he did to SW: either does or does not know how to apologize for it

-"Even you, Soundwave?" though Megatron has sworn off his old ways, he's still disappointed that his most loyal soldier has switched sides. it's a reminder of his own weakness and failure. he couldn't even keep Soundwave loyal

Some possible reactions SW has to seeing Megatron:

-!!!

-correctly recognizing him as the pitiful figure he is, and perhaps even going so far as to identify with the long process Megatron has ahead of him for healing, should Megatron even be able to find people to help him through it

-anger. despite the pitiful appearance, Megatron still did bad things, and unlike 0001 Megatron, never apologized or made any amends

-perhaps the most biting response: SW could look at Megatron for a moment and then just walk away. maybe Megatron calls out to him, but he keeps going. he lets Megatron see that he's healthy and thriving, and that he doesn't need Megatron, and that he doesn't care about him. he doesn't even need or want an apology, or any kind of response. he assesses and moves on, like Megatron is just another piece of scrap

or, of course

-some kind of hilariously inappropriate troll response, lol.

so yeah. as you can see, anon, there are quite a few ways things could go. there's an infinite number of ways things could go!

the way you choose which thing to do would depend on what you want the story to say. is there some kind of message about forgiveness? or is the message that there are some things you just can't forgive, and so you must move on for your own sense of self and preservation? cut ties, and so forth

and so that's the answer: there are too many answers and I'm not particularly interested, at this time, in figuring out which one is the best. I always say, hey, you never know: if I ever do feel like writing out this scene, I will

hope you enjoyed ✨

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hi! I recently adopted a Zorua, but I don't have any prior experience with dark types. My other Pokemon are a Reuniclus, Togekiss, Munchlax, and Yamper. Are there any things I should keep in mind when taking care of this Zorua?

zorua are a bit of a tough dark type to start with. they can be pretty reclusive until they get to trust you. it may avoid your togekiss in particular for a while.

the most important thing with starting out with a new zorua is learning their illusion tell. it's kind of hard to describe, really...but when you get to know a pokemon that can shift its shape or create illusions, you eventually start to figure out ways to know when you're looking at them vs whatever theyre copying. a friend of mine has a zorua whose illusions have a tendency to float a centimeter off the ground. you can use your zorua's pokeball to test your recognition skills.

the second most important thing is feeding all your pokemon at the same time so you're not accidentally feeding your zorua 5 different times. i've heard of it happening.