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nejackdaw · 1 year

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"Ralof of Riverwood." Aka the intro scene angst post that got out of hand. 1.5k words

The son of a blacksmith and the son of a mill worker. It was inevitable they meet and become part of each other's lives–not only because Riverwood was a small town and everyone knew everyone, but because their families so often worked together. Hadvar, who was learning how to wield a hammer but too small to help around the forge; Ralof, too young to work the mill but old enough to get into trouble, learning how to handle wood without getting splinters in his fingers. They were young when they met and became fast friends, boys with wide eyes and toothy little grins swapping secrets and bragging about how much help they were to their parents.

But boys don't stay young forever, and they aged into young men, taller and stronger and growing into a sense of pride over their work. Contests over who was stronger, faster, quiet evenings by the river talking softly about their visions for the future. It had never been a question: whatever that future was, they were in each other's. Two young men making an oath under the setting sun to always stick together–to the end.

Except, older now, they're aware of what's been on the wind without them ever noticing: the strained relationship between their families, tense words, a mask of politeness put on only for their sons. Until they came of age. Leaving boyhood behind and becoming men, they listened to their mothers and fathers, heard about the fighting over who Skyrim belonged to, the conflict over whether or not the Empire had any place in the province. The truth, no longer watered down.

[You were the one that I wasn't supposed to lose.]

They had their first full blown argument after what had started as a joke and had left each other full of apprehension. They'd once thought it ridiculous, thought the conflict over the war would never–could never–bother them here. But neither man was willing to concede, and stilted interactions became fewer and fewer, until Ralof watched his oldest friend leave for the last time, heading out of the gate towards Solitude. To join the Empire. Hadn't he been listening? The Imperials made demands and they were expected to follow them–but who was the Empire to give commands on Skyrim's soil? Initial despair slowly burned away into a sense of betrayal, and soon Ralof was leaving, too, making the journey to Windhelm to join Ulfric.

Years and worlds apart, promotion after promotion, as much as they hated it, as guilty and terrible as they felt when memories returned, they still thought about one another; it's not often you forget such an old friend–maybe even your first friend. They never saw each other on the battlefield and prayed that was enough, that they'd never have to be the one to end each other's life. And their wish was granted.

[Never again will I look into the only eyes that knew me, feels like a bullet running through me!]

It was while Hadvar read the prison logs his captain gave him after an unexpected detour that the world came to a sudden halt. The sounds of armor and weapons, voices and footsteps–everything faded, replaced with his heart pounding in his ears. He sucked in a single, shallow breath when his chest ached and he realized he'd stopped breathing and he read the list again. 'Stormcloak; Ralof; Riverwood.' His blood ran ice cold and he shivered despite the warmth of his station. He'd known the names on the list were why he was here, was why Tullius had so abruptly changed course and had ridden so hard to Helgen; they were here for an execution, or a few, and he'd already been struggling to cope with the fact, head full of cotton for the last day and a half as he assisted with preparations. It was bad enough he was here as a part of something as gruesome as an execution–death was awful enough on a battlefield, full of adrenaline and necessity–but when he realized his friend's name was on the list, everything just… stopped. He scanned the list again and again, trembling fingers tracing each name on the page, but it never changed from what he knew it was. When he came back to himself some time later–so much later that the candle nearby had burned down–he pleaded for a different assignment, a different role during the event, and each time he was harshly denied. He'd been given an order. It would be followed.

He practiced reading the names through the burning lump in his throat, and it took hours before he could speak them without breaking down.

[You were the one that I wasn't supposed to lose–I thought I'd have you for a lifetime! Have you for a lifetime.]

It had been days since the Imperial ambush, and Ralof had gotten better about hiding how uncertain he was. He was part of Ulfric's guard–he needed to appear calm, needed to keep it together for the rest of the Stormcloaks, but exhaustion weighed heavily and he knew they could see it in his glassy eyes. He had no idea how the Empire seemingly knew where they'd be, and he had no idea where it was taking him, where it was taking Ulfric and the heart of their campaign. All he knew was that they wouldn't survive wherever they were going, and while his last days would be full of fear and remorse, his kinsmen didn't have to spend theirs the same. He did his best to keep them calm, reassure them–lie through his teeth to avoid starting a panic and having them all killed somewhere in the woods instead.

He had a series of realizations once the prison caravan reached the first gate. There was Tullius, arguing with the Thalmor he'd betrayed his citizens for, here for the show; as the cart rattled along over the cobbles, he started to distantly recognize where they were beneath all the Imperial banners; and as the caravan came to a stop and something caught his eye–sunlight gleaming on wicked, curved steel in the distance–that this was going to be their last hour alive. You've prepared for this, he told himself, and he had; fighting against sleep to keep the peace, he'd done what praying and pleading for forgiveness he could to prepare himself for the death he knew was coming.

Ralof was not prepared for Hadvar to be holding the ledger when he stepped off the cart.

It had been years since they'd seen each other, but he'd know his friend's face anywhere, as often as it haunted his dreams. His chest felt tight as he watched the soldier look over the prisoners, and when their eyes met between the shoulders of everyone between them, he watched Hadvar's expression crumple before he forced it into something more presentable, bowing his head low over the book in his hands to hide the despair in his eyes and the miserable twist of his mouth. Somehow, despite the exhaustion that had him swaying on his feet and the overwhelming urge to run, get out, escape running through his veins, he managed enough energy to feel a flicker of anger. What good would Hadvar's regret do him? What good did it do as his shoulders rose with a deep, measured breath and he read aloud Ulfric's name?

"Ralof of Riverwood." Quiet, steady–steady in the way a man spoke when he was trying not to cry, steady like his own words had been hours before. Dark, miserable eyes followed him as he moved off the path towards an expectant soldier, and as they passed one another, whatever anger Ralof had mustered died out. What good did forcing himself to hate a friend do him in his last moments? Even as he passed him by and the headsman came clearly into view, he could admit to himself that all this time, he's still considered Hadvar a friend. And the darkness under his eyes, a face as tired as his own: Ralof knew without anything being said that the Imperial felt the same.

He stood as tall as he could on unsteady legs next to Ulfric, proud to stand and die beside him, as much as it terrified him–he was young, after all, had known the risks but thought he'd have more time. Hadvar, hardly a distance away, could only take in what would be the last time he'd ever see his best friend, exhausted, bound, and sent to the block by his own words. His condemnation. Heads filled with duties and regrets, both men tried to face what was coming with their heads as high as they could and wondered how much of it was for each other.

Later, they would meet again, though they were unaware–it would be sooner than they'd ever think, surrounded by smoke and ash and raining hellfire, shouting to be heard over the din. Voices straining to be heard, a desperate performance as steel shines wickedly in the firelight, two enemies knowing what their station demands and unwilling to do it, hoping, once again, they wouldn't be the one to end the other's life.

#skyrim #hadvar #ralof #LOOK THE ANGST POST WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS #BUT LIFETIME (3DG) HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A BASEBALL BAT #looklooklooklooklook #okay #it got a little out of hand #but like. the end. the END OKAY. WHEN YOURE ESCAPING #'ralof you damned traitor! out of my way!'#'you wont stop us this time!'#ITS NEVER READ AS GENUINE TO ME #THOSE ARE NOT GUYS WHO WANT TO KILL EACH OTHER #THAT IS PURELY THEATRE #DENIABILITY

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crafting-mojo · 2 months

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Oh hey isn't that that guy etho's obsessed with?

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cemeterything · 7 days

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i literally was always like this when me and my brother were little kids we shared a room and every night we would stay up for hours talking about doing saw trap shit to our ocs

#🐉#who were stuffed animals and dolls. we werent advanced enough for pure theatre of the mind yet.

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the-broken-pen · 25 days

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Hiii, I love your writing! It's so great that you're back! Could you write something like two actors are playing hero/villain in a movie or theater, but both of them sometimes just gets too in character/or just gets too stuck in character, so for like moments they actually forget that they are just acting?

“You didn’t think I’d let you die by anyone else’s hand but mine, did you?” The villain cocked their head to the side, grinning.

Distantly, the hero registered the whispering of stage commands, but tuned it out.

“You can’t just kill anyone who threatens me,” they argued back. They watched as the villain’s grin sharpened.

“Watch me,” the villain whispered, stepping closer. Fake blood was drying on the side of the hero’s head, and it itched more than usual. Must be a new brand from costuming.

“I could arrest you,” they offered, but they let the hesitation show on their face. Visible enough for the camera to catch their unwillingness, no matter how fake it was. Good enough nobody could tell the difference between real and not.

“You won’t.”

The hero tipped one head to the side

“And why’s that?”

The hero shifted, leaning in towards the villain.

“Because you’re mine,” the villain whispered, tone playful as their eyes seared into the hero’s.

The hero’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t on purpose.

Something kindled in their chest.

“Oh yeah?”

The villain shrugged one shoulder in perfect time to the script, and the hero pulled the next line to the tip of their tongue—

“Prove it.”

That was not the next line.

That wasn’t a line at all.

The villain blinked just once, the only sign of surprise they would allow, before their grin widened. Their shoulders loosened into something feral, something that delighted in this change.

Something that belonged off-stage.

“I’m covered in the blood of the people who hurt you,” the villain’s voice was smooth sliding down the hero’s spine. They shivered. “What more proof do you want, love.”

They blushed furiously at the nickname, even underneath the stage makeup, and at the pleased look on the villain’s face, it was visible.

What was the line what was the line what—

Their hands fisted into the front of the villain’s costume, dragging them closer. The villain let them, hand settling on the hero’s waist in a movement far too smooth.

“I don’t know,” the hero murmured, and they were just as surprised as the villain when their lips hovered just over the other’s ear. “Why don’t you stop trying to kill me, for starters.”

The villain tugged them closer, and the hero’s eyes went to their lips.

The villain looked at the hero like they wanted to devour them.

Fuck, what had been the line—

“Oh, but you’re so pretty covered in blood, Hero,” the villain crooned, and the hero opened their mouth to say something, their tongue a separate entity from their brain at this point—

“Hold!” Someone off-stage called, and they both froze. A second later, they were halfway across the stage from one another. Slipping out of being the hero and back into being themself felt like hitting a brick wall.

If the way the villain shuddered was any indication, they had forgotten they were playing a character too.

The hero turned away to face the tech crew, hand settling over their face to hide their blush.

The villain’s gaze was molten and heavy on their shoulders, even from as far away as they were.

“I don’t think that’s in the blocking,” the stage manager frowned, flipping through the script.

None of that was the blocking. No matter how much the stage manager searched those pages they would never find those lines.

Fuck.

“Improv,” the hero choked out, flushing. “It was, uh. A creative choice—“

From behind one of the curtains, they heard a crew member snort, muttering something about teenage actors and horniness—

The villain was smirking, a wicked thing.

“Right,” the stage manager said slowly, brow furrowed from where they sat. They murmured something into their headset, eyes shifting up between the villain and the hero, before they slid a screen in front of themself.

Just barely, the hero could make out the shape of the scene they had just filmed.

The screen went black, the room silent for a moment, before the stage manager let out a long suffering sigh.

“We’re changing the blocking.”

“What?” The hero yelped.

The villain settled their hands into their pockets, unbothered and grinning.

“We’re keeping the scene,” the stage manager nodded towards their tablet, and the hero almost passed out on the spot. They watched the stage manager eye the pleased and possessive look on the villain’s face. “For now, though, let’s call it a wrap for the day.”

Shuffling began, lights flickering off, and the hero escaped to their own dressing room, panting slightly.

Dear god, they were so fucked. They had forgotten they were acting, again—

“Improv, hm?” The villain grinned, lock sliding into place. The hero hadn’t even heard them come in.

The hero groaned. “I don’t know what happened—“

“Yeah,” the villain nodded, and they were closer than they had been a moment ago.

The hero swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

The villain raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

The hero waved one hand between them. “For, you know—“

The villain was still smiling.

It was then they remember who had fought so hard in the writers’ room for the villain and the hero to end up together.

‘Enemies to lovers,’ the villain had said, eyes dark. ‘The fans will love it. There’s been sub plot for the last two seasons.’

The directors had pushed back, but now—

Oh. The villain wasn’t mad.

They were pleased.

The hero choked.

“You,” the hero tried.

“Me,” the villain agreed, and then they were kissing, all-consuming and desperate.

They made a noise in the back of their throat, the villain twining their hand into the hero’s hair.

“You forgot you were acting,” the villain murmured against their lips, and kissed them again before the hero could defend themself. “That I’m not really your villain and you aren’t my hero.”

The villain settled the hero onto the counter, coming to stand between their legs, one hand on their hip.

“Fuck,” they gasped, and they could feel the villain’s grin against their skin.

“Mhm.”

Somehow, the hero’s arms had ended up looped over the villain’s shoulders.

“Maybe stop killing people, and I’ll consider it,” they said between breaths.

“What?” The villain pulled back slightly.

“The line I forgot,” the hero said. They could drown in the villain’s eyes, they were sure of it. “Maybe stop killing people—“

“Don’t care,” the villain bit out, and then their mouth was on the hero’s again and nothing else mattered.

Maybe they weren’t truly hero and villain—but god were they good at pretending.

Three months later, the internet couldn’t decide what was better—that finally, after years, the hero and villain had ended up together on screen; or that off stage, their actors were desperately, hopelessly in love too.

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sandyxandy · 4 months

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whats up tumblr ive been thinking about this spy again saf nation rise up

id is in alt

#ive been out of the musical theatre stuff for a couple years now #nerdy prudes must die was the spark to the flame #by flame i mean purely just starkid/tcb stuff #im limiting myself im not going back to 2019 #saf #spies are forever #agent curt mega #art tag

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treasurechestsubs · 6 months

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Author Notes from C151-C200 from 2HA Novel English Translated

Hello everyone~ ^v^

2HA Novel C151-C100 Author Notes are now available~

Please read them >> Here (viewable and downloadable) <<

For easy viewing, here are the links to the author notes for >> C001-050 << >> C051-C100 << >> C101-C150 <<

Happy reading~:D

#2ha #erha he ta de bai mao shizun #the husky and his white cat shizun #novel #author notes #fan translation #english translated #meatbun doesn't eat meat #pure love #mini-theatres #2ha story tidbits #treasure chest subs

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polite-pandemonium · 7 months

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Me to me: don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes you toei has burned you so many times before you know better than this don't get your hopes up don't get your hopes DON'T GET YOUR HOPES UP

Also me: Hopes? High. Delusions? Strong. Theories? Brewing.

#what I want this to mean: you see the movie in a new light cause the audio reveals they are SECRETLY DATING the whole movie #what it probably means: idk something I probably don't care about at all #BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?#Toei you are the villain in the narrative of my life constantly dangling this carrot in front of my face for 20 years!#i'm gonna lose it!#let me be free!#(one could argue that they already let me be free with that 02 epilogue but NO I SAY NO - they have been reigniting hope since 2015!)#ughhhh please I just want some small 100% romantic canon interaction between them please #pleaseeeeee #these dramas are being released in stickers at the theatres #and I think I am going to miss the week this one is being given away by a HAIR #which is so annoying #also last thought but when was the last time we got PURELY takeru and hikari content?#like episode 13 of 02???#goodness #anyway #watch me be crushingly disappointed #digimon #takari

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wadderz · 7 months

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Hannah Waddingham’s glorious NYC photo dump.🥰

#she is just absolute perfection #the embodiment of pure sunshine #hannah waddingham #ted lasso #Krapopolis press tour #ariana debose #roger bart #theatre royalty

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lilacthebooklover · 3 months

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shadow milk listens to pink floyd confirmed

#he's secretly a fanboy #shadow milk cookie #dark side of the moon #shdhkghkf #he's so dramatic i love him #shadow milk crk #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #cookie run kingdom #cookie run spoilers #crk spoilers #beast yeast #theatre of lies #crk theatre of lies #it's canon guys #pink floyd

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opera-ghost · 11 months

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polaroids of the majestic theatre

#feel like pure shit just want her back xx #these were taken on march 2nd after greg raoul obliterated me #phantom of the opera #poto #majestic theatre

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c-walshie · 11 months

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If my brain is a crowded theatre, then OCD is the guy who yells “FIRE!”.

And I believe him. Every single time. He’s been at it for years

#actually ocd #ocd #intrusive thoughts #pure ocd #mental health #apparently it’s actually legal to yell fire in a crowded theatre #don’t recommend it though #it’s a very bad analogy for speech regulation but a helpful one for mental health

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enter-drfrog · 10 months

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I still have so many other notes from Peter Pan Goes wrong the other night, but one of my favorite things in the preshow was Trevor making fun of American accents. He was looking for the hammer and I think a little kid said something about the way he said it so he corrected himself in an American accent and then said it sounded ridiculous

#i was trying so hard not to laugh obnoxiously #why is it so entertaining when English people make fun of American accents #especially when he’s already doing an accent #an english guy doing a scouse accent doing an american accent #pure comedy to me #if it’s not clear i love an accent #i also just love trevor #mischief theatre #mischief comedy #peter pan goes wrong #ppgw #trevor watson #chris leask

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compacflt · 8 months

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Tell me please, did Ice ever get to see "A Chorus Line" again but this time not alone? I just need Ice to share in his gay love for broadway.

unfortunately no.

#sometimes you make sacrifices for the people you love #& sometimes that sacrifice is making a blood pact never to drag him to musical theatre productions #also a chorus line is good but it’s not THAT good #it’s just ok lol #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #this is one of those plot points that’s pure self interest & wish fulfillment on me the authors part #sarah goes to new york because I SAID SO #and blah blah blah Val at juilliard & whatnot

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snap-my-kneecaps · 4 months

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Watched the Operation Mincemeat film and Colin Firth did not once break into song

I am most displeased

#it was genuinely quite jarring to see a man playing Ewen montagu #Colin firth lacked tash’s pure chaos #it wasn’t too bad though #made me want to go back to the fortune though #operation mincemeat musical #operation mincemeat #colin firth #natasha hodgson #ewen montagu #musical theatre

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treasurechestsubs · 1 year

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Author Notes from C051-C100 from 2HA novel English Translated

Hello everyone~ ^v^

Continuing from last time, 2HA Novel C051-C100 Author Notes are now available~

Please read them >> Here (viewable and downloadable) <<

For the author notes for C001-C050, please see >> this post <<

Happy reading~ :D

#2ha #erha he ta de bai mao shizun #erha #the husky and his white cat shizun #novel #author notes #fan translation #english translated #meatbun doesn't eat meat #pure love #mini-theatres #2ha story tidbits #treasure chest subs

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transxfiles · 7 months

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professional theatre companies will be like "if we don't have perfect tech + costumes + props + 100 million hours to rehearse we will Die :(("

meanwhile community theaters will be like "ALRIGHT, on the sound board we have Jim who is older than dirt and has never met a microphone in his life. that 10 year old child in the corner is our light tech, no we don't know how they got here but they work here, now. every actor is required to either bring their own costumes (if you don;t have costumes on hand may we recommend our favorite source The Local Dumpster, it's free but Watch Out) and if you can't do that you just have to perform naked ig. also we only have 1 tech rehearsal before our performance dates start, and Jim who is older than dirt has to go watch his grandkids that day, so our only techie on board is that 10 year old and also the one actor who dies in Act 1 and has touched a spotlight once in their life. sound good?"

and then just over half the time the community theater is the one thats really producing life changing transformative art

#dont get me wrong i love pro stuff but nothing has that Soulful Charm like community theatre #(that Soulful Charm being severe underfunding and pure zazz)#also if you notice this is very much from the tech perspective. well thats because im a techie woooweeee #cricket.chatterbox #theatre

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