#beyond fucking salvation people are getting MASSACRED
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It's literally the beginning of another month and I was JUST stabilizing from crying myself silly for days at a time bc of all the March 8 stuff and how fucking unreal it is to live in a country with such statistics and then look at what first world countries are fighting for on those areas like how the fuck am I supposed to do anything in these conditions
#NINE fucking reported femicides a day. REPORTED#how am i supposed to not fucking end it when every single day you're slapped on the face with another lost child that's#found killed n violated just mines away from their houses?????#multiple a day sometimes???#countless women killed by their own fucking partners? friends? family? coworkers??? for the crime of being a woman????#and dont fucking get me started on transfemicides i cried myself sick last public case this fucking country is SICK this government is#beyond fucking salvation people are getting MASSACRED#i couldn't even attend the march#here it did use to be like in the US like just a few years ago the organizers used to disappear there are still some out of the country bc#they had to run away to save their lices#lives#but nowadays attendance is widespread enough in most capital cities you can safely upload pictures the day after#not of the black block ofc but of yourself ig#but I couldn't even go i was fucning bed bound bc i had spent the prior fucning week bawling my soul out. for what??? what did i accomplish.#what good did it even do me. what cause did it even support#like I can't walk much so i probably wouldn't have marched either way lol but still#idk im just tired ig#tired. angry. in pain#vent#personal#mine
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I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.
this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!
Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.
To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.
He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.
His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.
What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.
He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!
So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.
But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!
(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)
So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.
Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN
(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)
And then they're mates.
And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.
and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.
She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.
Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.
But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.
Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.
It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.
The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.
Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.
Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.
But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.
But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.
Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?
Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.
If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)
But Cassian lives.
Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.
And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.
Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?
And then the massacre happens.
And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.
The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.
(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)
It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.
It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.
Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.
He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.
(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)
Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.
Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.
There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.
(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)
(He is, in fact, far worse)
When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.
Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.
The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.
His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.
It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.
Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.
And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.
A circle closed.
But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.
Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.
When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.
He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.
They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.
It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.
It has to be worth it.
#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist#and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight#he's SO HURT#But's turning all that hurt into anger#and an even stricter paranoia#its all catching up to him#everything from imperialism#to the shitty way he treated his friends#to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him#this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up#by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime#and like#I do think Rhys hates himself too#but for wildly the wrong reasons#and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right#Cassian's death was a cost to them#as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong#the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon#will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever#and the wrongly ignored underdog#when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons
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SnK 115 Thoughts
-munches popcorn-
Dude. Can you imagine how screwed they’d all be if plot magic wasn’t a thing?
Can you imagine how screwed they all still are even though plot magic is a thing?
The rest of the world doesn’t even need to be here for this. If they wait long enough, everyone on Paradis will kill everyone on Paradis, and then in the near future titans will stop showing up.
Good End.
Wait, no. Uh.
Bad End.
Oh, but this chapter gives me a headache. Zeke gives me a headache. Eren gives me a headache. Like, giving me a headache is not way up there in difficulty, but these people and their convoluted euthanasia plans.
Usually chronological musings are my friend, but I think this time I’m going to just head in whatever direction I can make head or tails of.
The good new is that Yelena wants to help me with that. Thanks Yelena. Color-coding all the characters is a great shortcut for understanding who’s on whose side, and I can’t see any of our plucky protagonists ever taking advantage of that.
White for the Yeagerists, Red for the scared traitors, Black for enemies. Cute. White flags for surrender, red for blood on their hands, and black for--oh, I guess that’s a pirate reference. Does Paradis have pirate references?
Yer marked with the black spot, matey. Not a one of us foolhardy enough to accept a heading from a man so cursed.
In any case, I do appreciate that we’re having people point out that a bunch of parties are doing the pointing Spider-Man meme. Yes, we are imitating Marley. They created a clerical helpfulness, why wouldn’t we imitate that?
Yes, we are imitating the evil Eldian Empire. They had power, why wouldn’t we be fans of that?
The happy days of the Volunteers buddying up to the Scouts seem far away with Yelena unmasked and at the helm. I fully expect that some, like Onyankopon, aren’t perfectly at ease following through on this, but. Well.
These are the people who have survived Marley’s destruction of their homes. They follow Zeke to see Marley collapse. They kill, spy, and betray in pursuit of that cause. They’ve always been dangerous. Paradis has been cautious with them, but Yelena’s right about the dual nature of that caution. They’re cool being friends with Paradis, and maybe if that had gone both ways no one would have to be held hostage, but these have always been the methods they’re willing to put into play.
A very angry little boy from Shiganshina once wanted revenge so badly that it put veteran soldiers on edge.
These people were soldiers before they became spies. They are the adult version of that vengeance. Paradis is new to the world. Their only enemies have been titans and each other. Titans are now mostly gone. They only have other humans to deal with, and they’re flopping hard.
The Volunteers have lived in the outside world. They have actual, viable strategies to deal with these fledgling chicks.
All it takes is some wine, and they’ve gathered all Paradis’ military force to Shiganshina. By asking politely and pointing a few guns along the way, but still. Paradis is completely overthrown by a few drinks and Zeke having power that they invited to the island themselves.
Yelena herself continues to be entirely too much fun. That isn’t really the right word for it, but she’s a pleasure. She knows the full plan, and deeply admires the Titans to the point of fanaticism. Zeke is her God, and the number of things standing between that assertion being true is...
Eren?
Basically?
Part of what makes this chapter so... oy is that these people have taken so many complicated problems and simplified them with their destructive stupidity, only for those simplifications to create further complicated issues while the actual solutions for them are so minimal and limited that the direction of the plot is really quite simple.
We were dealing with Paradis needing help reentering the world.
Now we’re dealing with keeping Eren and Zeke as far away as possible so they don’t sterilize all the Eldians.
If people we care about live through all this, maybe then we will go back to caring about Paradis’ international relations, but as of right now, there could not be less of a point.
So the name of the game is keep away, only since absolutely nothing except bad weather is impacting that, the secondary name of the game is oh no oh hell oh fuck Eren how much do you actually agree with your brother do we have to kill you aw fuck.
Starring Pieck.
What I keep coming back to is how complicated this nonsense is.
It stands to reason that what Eren wants is not in line with what Zeke wants. More on that in a bit, but for the purposes of right now, if Eren and Zeke are in total agreement, the Eldians are going to be sterilized and the rest of the manga will be spent trying to feed Eren to someone while Zeke is nommed by Historia, and then the new Founding Duo resets everything and oh gee hey is that the entire world outside our door?
And you know, maybe the outside world would be a little less bloodthirsty if Eren hadn’t murdered a bunch of people during an international spectacle, but apparently following Zeke’s plan is important.
Even though they don’t need Zeke for the Founding Duo, because they have Historia.
Wait no, she’s pregnant because Zeke said she had to be, even though any child she has could potentially undo all his work, so she can’t eat Zeke, so Zeke has to be part of the Founding Duo.
Like... Whatever Eren is planning on doing.
He needs the Founding Titan powers. Right? That’s settled.
So, naturally, the thing to do is to massacre a bunch of innocent people (while massacring some very non-innocent people), making every other country pissed enough at Paradis to start a joint military operation to wipe them out, and that will all be absolutely fine because between him and Zeke, after the rest of the world bombs Paradis to kingdom come, yay, no more Eldians.
Also no living in peace for their final days, no exploring the outside world, no anything really, just a lot of war.
“Hi I’m Eren, I just found out if I touch a royal titan I will have enough power to rewrite DNA, along with who knows the fuck what else, I think cooperating with Zeke in a plan all of my superior officers have vetoed and telling them nothing about what I’m really doing is the way to go.”
As far as I can tell (and we’re on the train of Eren having something else going on here, as will be covered... later), the only reason Eren causes so much destruction at the festival is because it’s in Zeke’s plan, and a happy Zeke is easier to smuggle onto an airship without anyone noticing.
Only people did notice.
There’s a person who stabs a guy this chapter who most assuredly noticed. She is there stabbing someone because she noticed.
Noticing happened.
I’m just going to throw this out here:
If you need the Founding Titan’s power that badly, turn Historia into a mindless titan.
Seriously. Tie her down, have larger chains at the ready, and just go for it.
This is not hard. Looking at the plot, who gives a fuck that the Queen isn’t around? She’s clearly not doing anything, jab her in the neck and go for it. Mindless titans are functionally immortal. You wouldn’t need to worry about her having kids or waiting for those kids to be old enough, or trading off to the next heir when their time comes. Or heck, consent.
One person. One sacrifice.
Boom, you have magic powers now that you can do... honestly at this point I’m more waiting for what they can’t do.
The amount you do not need Zeke for a plan requiring the Founding Titan’s powers is ridiculous.
So why is it so important to go along with his plan?
It make for a meta point in this meta, but unless Eren has something of his own going on here, there is very little drama to this situation. Eren and Zeke meet, their version of the Snap happens, we all go home sad. Paradis has lost so badly already they might as well be waving those white Yeagerist armbands over their heads.
Something has to change for the plot to move forward and for everyone to not die. The rest of the world is coming for them whether or not Zeke and Eren’s Snap goes off.
But it is completely beyond me why any plan would require hitching up to Zeke’s orbit for so long. Zeke’s plan is really only good for Zeke’s plan. Sterilization means no more Eldians eventually. The living Eldians still have to deal with everyone newly pissed at them because of the Yeager Bros’ stunt.
Looking at Zeke and Eren’s conversation...
Geez, just look at Zeke’s face when Eren calls him “brother.”
Zeke is a broken boy from a broken home, and Eren is his brother. Someone who’s been through the same things and can understand the world the same way. His little brother is finally talking to him, talking about all the horrible things their horrible father did, and instead of agreeing with Grisha, his little brother looks at him and says that their plan will create a beautiful new world.
You could not script a faster way to Zeke’s heart.
Eren talks about Grisha’s obsession and rejects it.
He talks about being a mistake.
He talks about ending it.
Together.
We haven’t seen any thought bubbles from Eren. This conversation with Zeke is the closest we get to... anything, really, except for his very long talk with Reiner.
But we’ve seen his perspective of Grisha’s murders before. We’ve seen what it does to him, and how desperately he wants to be erased from the world. We see him begging for death, because his life just makes it all so very hard for the Eldian people.
We see him doing everything he possibly can to cut that thinking out of himself.
Eren’s leaving something out in his recreation of events.
Two things, sort of, but the same thing.
“If those children stayed alive... I’d have been gobbled right up to give the Founding Titan back to the royal family.”
“Never having to be born in this world...
Is the greatest salvation of all.”
Eren’s alive because one of the royal family’s children survives, and decides not to eat him. There’s no telling if one of the other Reiss children would have made the same decision, but it would have been a decision. Historia has that decision dangling over her head for chapters until she finally decides, while Eren’s begging for his death, that all of it is fucked up and she’s out.
Someone makes a choice.
Eren lives.
Way back in Trost, which is a sentence I will probably never be done typing, we have our first introduction to what it means to our main character to be born.
“When we’re born… all of us… are free. People who reject that, no matter how strong they are… don’t matter.”
--14
The thing Eren leaves out when he talks to Zeke is freedom.
There was a royal child left.
That child saves his life.
From the moment they’re all born, they have the power to choose. They can make their own decisions. Their own mistakes. They can fight their own battles.
“He’s already great. Because he was born… into this world.”
--71
Eren, and Eren’s mother long before him, believed that being human is pretty rad. Being born, and being free, is extraordinary, and Eren starts off on his own journey to become the freest person he can possibly be.
It starts from birth.
Eren and Zeke’s stated plan flies in the face of everything Eren has fought for. He’s had moments where he believes the world would be better off without him, but never that it would be better off without other people. Eren parrots back Zeke’s exact ideology regardless, and calls him his brother.
The conversation is too doctored to be anything but intentional, much like his discussion with Armin and Mikasa. He is going after the exact heart of the situation, and making his case mirror Zeke’s so well that Zeke doesn’t flinch at sharing everything with his little brother he’s never known. Eren crosses the ocean to talk to him, and they do, and it’s great, and they’re going to save the world!
We’ve learned what Zeke thinks of his plan.
I would argue we have yet to hear a single honest thought from Eren about it. Everything he states belongs to Zeke.
Which makes the lengths he’s going to accomplish Zeke’s wishes sort of dodgy.
Like literally everything Eren does seems kind of dodgy.
Including what the Yeagerists are doing in gathering up all their military personnel in Shiganshina.
YEAH I SURE AM GLAD NOTHING SUSPECT OR ALARMING IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN OH BOY HOWDY.
The one thing Eren had left on his checklist was looking out for spies, and speak of the devil, Pieck! He asks and she shows up! Impressively, it’s surprising enough for Eren to bother looking surprised, but. it’s.
It’s still exactly what he wanted. Congrats, you found an infiltrator. You win.
Though Pieck... What the heck do you think that gun’s going to do?
Oh well, go Pieck. Go Team Proactivity. Win some for all the kiddos. Except you’re probably on Marley’s side (I would so love for you not to be), so I want you to win precisely nothing, but. Well, you can hug Gabi maybe.
So did anything else happen this chapter? No?
I’m going to go with no.
Little Ymir Fritz patching Zeke up amongst the stars is a total no.
So is Levi pulling half a Marco.
Memeception, there.
Yeah... Levi was in trouble before he and Hange took a dip, so I can only imagine the number of other body parts he’ll be losing now. Gosh.
This had better not turn Evangelion.
I will only be slightly less miffed if it pulls the Madoka it looks like it’s wanting to.
The Code Geass in the middle of it all is unavoidable at this point, just embrace it.
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Going Darkside
They left me. They fucking left me. I felt my rage bubbling over. It was all bullshit, all of it. I never tried to make people like me, I never cared, but they left me. All alone. They never liked me. They never cared about me. Worik, Yubel, Angie, all fucking liars. How could they do this? Perhaps this wasn’t the best place to start. Where I should’ve started, was the Battle of Adamant - 24 hours earlier.
I was on a team with three other people, Simon, Rowan, and The Iron Bull. Everything was going great, we finished off the demon that we were supposed to kill. A little while later, then the second team came in… and that was where it all went wrong. A dragon appeared, an honest-to-the-Maker dragon. Clarel, the Warden Commander, just barely managed to throw it off, but in the process destroyed the bridge some of the Inquisition (and your’s truly) was standing on. Everything happened so fast, I don’t totally know what happened, but I remember falling then… the Fade. We were actually physically in the Fade. Long story short - some shit happened, we lost some good people, but we got out. But then again, if we got out, how’d I manage to get left behind? Well that is a funny story.
Basically what happened was, well, I was pushed. I was looking over the edge of a wall at Adamant just as we were preparing to leave and bam, now I’m falling. I didn’t even see the bastard’s face, I just felt their hands pushing me and I fell. I managed to cast a force-field around myself just in time, but that only worked to soften my fall, not to negate the effect all together.
I lay there for 20 hours, bleeding and broken, waiting for salvation. But none came. No one came to find me, no one even looked for me. Eventually, I was fed up. I let my anger fuel my magic. “Few things are more powerful than the rage of betrayal” as my old mentor used to say... crazy old bat. She wasn’t wrong on this though. I felt unimaginable agony as my bones snapped back together and the sinew braided itself whole again. My magic was repairing my body cell by cell. I sat up as the hole in the back of my skull finished piecing itself back together again. Fine. If the Inquisition couldn’t appreciate me, I’d find someone else who would. And I knew just where to start.
Not all of Corypheus’s forces had been slaughtered, a few of his loyal followers quietly exited through secret passages which they assumed were unknown to Inquisition forces. Unfortunately that was not so. Just a while behind the forces, followed a group of three Inquisition spies. This was too easy.
“Hello there.” The scouts turned to my voice. Although I was wearing an Inquisition uniform, which seemed to comfort them a little, I could tell by their faces me being a qunari was making them uncomfortable. “Look fellas, I’m really sorry to have to do this, but I really can’t have you reporting to the Inquisitor anymore.” They looked confused for a moment, but once I snapped my fingers and a flame ignited in my hand, they got the message. Two of the spies drew their daggers, whereas one tried to run. Such a shame he had to die first. He died screaming as my white hot fire seared his flesh until he was nothing but blackened bone. The first spy came at me from the front, a stupid mistake really. How Leliana ever approved of these amateurs was completely lost on me. I grabbed his wrist as he lunged for my neck, swiftly snapping it in one quick move. He screamed in agony as I pressed my palm against his forehead and burned his brain from the inside out. A new trick? Cool. The second spy was smarter. While I was busy with my new trick, he came from behind and aimed for my head. A second, that’s all it takes, a second of hesitation and then it’s over. When his comrade collapsed on the ground with a blank expression on his face and his eyes little more than dust coating the sockets, that was the second. I took my chance. I grabbed him by the sides of his head and smashed his face into my knee. It wasn’t nearly as clean as good old fashioned incineration, but it did make a delightful squishing sound. I made a mental note that I’d have to kill people physically more often, it really took me back to my younger days under the Qun when I skinned my brothers alive, those were the good old days. I looked down at my uniform, it was very much not inconspicuous. I took the dagger from the still clenched hands of the eyeless spy, that has a good ring to it doesn’t it? Sorry what was I saying? Oh right, I took the knife from Eyeless Spy over there, and proceeded to carve the Inquisition symbol out of my chest. I nicked myself a few times, in hindsight I could’ve just taken off my shirt, but what’d be fun about that? Eventually, I just had a large hole in my uniform, so I decided to throw caution out the window and turned my top into little more than a breast band. It was the desert, it’s not like I’d get cold. I looked back on my mini-massacre. I wasn’t sure Corypheus would let me join him purely on good faith, I’d need something as a show of my allegiance. The man I’d killed with my knee was mangled beyond recognition, so I figured he wouldn’t be a good candidate. Eyeless Spy however, not only was he intact enough to verify he was in fact an Inquisition agent, but also it’d be a fantastic demonstration of my abilities. I grinned this plan was perfect. Or well, no it wasn’t, because I’d have to carry around a dead body for Maker knows how long, I just hoped Corypheus’s base was close.
It was not close. After a few days I started to notice the corpse rotting, so I used my rudimentary understanding of ice magic to freeze it, praying it was enough. Before long I reached the camp. It was in the Emerald Grave of all places. I don’t know why that struck me as odd, probably because I expected their base to be in a barren wasteland, not a tropical paradise. Either way, I wasn’t complaining. The camp was surrounded by Red Templars, those things gave me the heebie jeebies. I sucked in my breath as I approached the guard at the front of the camp. Immediately he drew his sword. I quickly raised my hands in a sign of goodwill, despite the fact every cell was screaming at me to burn this man alive.
“What do you want?” The guard’s voice was gruff and distorted, as if he had a rock lodged in his throat, which he might’ve now that I think about it….
“I seek a audience with Commander Samson.” I sounded very important, I almost sounded like an actual adult. It was weird.
The guard looked at me skeptically. “No one gets an audience with the Commander.” I snapped my fingers and the dead spy immediately defrosted. The guard’s eyes widened.
“Can he make an exception?”
The guard glared at me, “We’ll be watching you.”
“I expect no less.” I winked at him as I re-froze my specimen, then strutted through the camp towards the large crimson tent. Another guard stopped me at the door, but with a nod from the guard at the entrance to the camp, he allowed me entrance, and to be allowed to gaze upon the esteemed Commander.
He was ugly. Simply put, he was just ugly. His face was too long, his eyes were too big, and his nose was too long. He had nothing on the Inquisition’s own Commander, and I liked him already.
“Commander Samson.” I addressed him, my hands behind my back like a proper adult.
He looked up at me, a wild look in his eyes, “What? Who’re you?”
I smiled, “My name is Hissera Katari, I’m was with the Inqui-” Before I could finish my sentence, Samson had drawn his sword and was pointing the tip at my throat. I liked this man more and more.
“Was, Commander, was,” I smiled “I have, defected, so to speak, and as a show of good faith, I bring you proof of my allegiance.” I snapped my fingers and the corpse was on its feet, a thin layer of frost coating it’s entire body. With another click, the Eyeless Spy was defrosted and a wicked smile spread across Samson’s lips.
“This will do quite nicely Ms.Katari, this will do quite nicely indeed”
#oc: hissera katari#corypheus#evil char#darkside#commander samson#samson#raleigh samson#dragon age inquisition#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age#fan fiction#fanfic#tw: gore#cw: gore#tw// gore#cw// gore#qunari#mage#oc#npc oc#Other people's OCs
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you already know (how this will end)
just a chapter from the character analysis fic I wrote really long ago!
https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedHope/pseuds/HallowedHope
Ascension
She used to love Oregon Trail, you know. Loved the feeling of sitting beside Hanna, typing things that made people live (or die, as it may be). Loved the feeling of control, of absolute power over the game and how it would turn out. Loved the feeling of sharing that power with Hanna, a mentor, a teacher, a friend.
But you see, this is where things turn bad, because the important part of this story is that it doesn’t end happily. It doesn’t end with them growing old together, doesn’t end with sunkissed days of bliss. It ends with a car, a man, and a dead body. And after that, you can’t honestly say you expected her to be the same. You can’t demand that from her.
Perhaps though, you would never have predicted what she has become. A monster, you may say, because only a psychopath would love killing, like to see the blood drain from someone’s face and eventually their throats, adore the scent of fear and terror. But she would beg to differ. She deals with issues in her own way, and if that way happens to involve a gun and a little violent crime, who are you to judge? Look at it this way. It has made her stronger . Given her a spine of steel and heart of coal and then bestowed a body of death and destruction to match. This mind has cracked the human psyche like it was nothing but a child’s puzzle, these hands have snapped necks like they were twigs, and how can you say that isn’t any stronger, better, than before?
Maybe you’d think that she was without direction. And that would have been true. A hacker-assassin for hire seldom has a higher goal, in fact, seldom has anything else in mind other than the next kill. But this is where God comes in. Deux ex Machina, they say. The God from the Machine. Well, the God was the Machine, to her. Perfect logical reasoning skills, no emotions to drag it down, and not a hint of bad code. Sometimes she falls asleep dreaming of becoming it. Becoming God.
This is why she keeps trying to reach Harold. Keeps trying to find him, and find the Machine. Because if he made God, then what was he? Powerful, certainly. And she respects power, in all its forms. Don’t ever let it be said that she doesn’t have standards.
So you see, she can’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment when she finally meets him in the flesh. You would too, if you were in her place. Meeting God’s creator, and realising that he was just a man, as flawed as anyone else. And when she kidnaps him, holds a gun to his head, he lets out a whimper, a freaking whimper, low in his throat and thready with the hum of his desperation, and really, can you blame her for snapping?
But she doesn’t have much time with him in any case, doesn’t have any time at all until John is upon her, stealing Harold back like a mother cat would save a kitten from drowning in a raging river. She thinks that John is the mother cat in that equation, and it’s only when she remembers him sat in her psychologist’s office that she remembers no. John is the weak one, the killer who felt dirty with blood on his hands, the government-sanctioned murderer. And perhaps you think that it being legal somehow makes murder more acceptable, perhaps you think it makes it even okay. She knows John thinks that way, tries to find salvation in a higher power, first the government, and then Harold. She, she thinks that it’s a joke. Murder is never okay, but if you don’t learn to destroy others, then they’ll destroy you, and we can’t have that, can we?
And then she meets Sameen. Holds an iron to her collarbone, precise and deadly in its intent. Or at least, only until she catches the hint of arousal in Shaw’s eyes. She may have found a kindred soul, she realises, and no matter what happens she will always regret never having the chance to hear Shaw scream, to brand Shaw with iron and steel. But that’s of no consequence, not until much later in this tale. What’s important to note is that from the moment she meets Shaw, their relationship is fire, brimstone and holy hell. You can judge her for that, at least. She knows that it isn’t normal, but she doesn’t much care what you think.
See, this is how her world begins. With snippets of conversation strung together into coherency, with the psychedelic flicker of words in her ear. With a payphone, and with God. And she makes no secret of being a zealot, but how can she not be one, when even God has deigned to speak with her?
See, this is how her world ends. Not with a bang, but with an empty warehouse, and a betrayal. With a patronising gaze, and a loss. And with a gunshot wound to her shoulder, and a terrible, tearing pain. She realises then that even Harold, fucking Harold, is more powerful than her, can take her God away from her with a flick of his finger. Before she breaks, she realises that Harold is the one she has to appeal to, if she has any chance of hearing her God again.
And then she wakes, again. In a place called Stoneridge, which she feels is aptly named because it makes her want to throw herself off a stone ridge. But even though she could very easily massacre everyone in the building and sneak out, she stays. Because the Machine asks her to, and at least she can speak to God, if only for sixty-minute intervals and on a hospital payphone with patchy reception. At least God is there, even if she isn’t perfect just quite yet. And though Root isn’t particularly pleased with the constant poking and prodding, the constant psychoanalysis, the rationalisation of her insanity (as if they knew quite how deep that particular iceberg went), she is content.
But then she discovers that Ronald, dear Ron , is just like Trent Russell. Just like the man who raped and killed her Hanna, just the kind of pervert who adores gaining trust and then breaking it, taking the mind, body and soul along for the ride. And really, even you can’t condemn her for wanting to murder him, wanting to make him die slowly and painfully in the very way she made Trent Russell die. He deserves it, and if you had any sense of morality, you would be cheering behind her as she sinks the blade into his chest. But she is not concerned with whether you approve.
She is more concerned with whether God approves. And when the Machine tells her to stay her hand, she does, leaving him to wander in the chaos of her creation. The drugged air, bullet-ridden walls, blood-stained floors. She leaves him to ponder what he has done, because she told him, told him how dangerous she was, and if he chose not to listen then he deserved what he got.
But you see, Root never really escapes. She has a brief interlude, a beautiful, violent few hours with Shaw, alone in a safehouse, and a taste of being the Machine’s acolyte, truly free at last. And then Harold comes into the picture. Locks her up in a cage, as if she were no more than a feral animal. She wants to go up to him, stroke his back with a few chillingly cold fingers, and tell him that he is right. That she is dangerous, that she is savage, that she is a bomb just waiting to go off. But instead she smiles, nods, and dies a little every time she hears him leave a tray of food at the gate.
This imprisonment only ends with desperation, only ends when John is in danger and they need her to save the day. Really, she thinks that Harold should just whisk John away to a desert island and keep him there. What’s the point of having a solider you’re too afraid to use? And after, she returns to her prison willingly, because she chose to be there, and the choice matters, no matter how much you may tell her that a prison is still a prison if it’s within her mind.
It’s almost laughable how easily Control thinks she can break Root. A few needles, a scalpel and a surgery in your right ear. The thing is, Root can handle pain, can take herself away to a place where none of it matters. The thing is, Root almost breaks when Control takes half her hearing, almost shatters with fear of never hearing God again. But then God intervenes, and Root can breathe again. Because it is almost laughable that a woman, any woman, can break Root beyond how much she has already been broken.
It turns out to be a good thing though. She gets a cochlear implant, and God can whisper in her ear. A personal hotline to heaven, just for her. And Root has no delusions about an easy job, and easy life. No, she knows she was born to live fast, shoot straight and die young. And if she’s serving the Machine, she thinks she can almost be happy with what she has. And it starts to get easier, and she starts to think that maybe John isn’t so weak, Harold isn’t so blind, and Sameen isn’t too bad. Because the strange dynamic that the team has created somehow extends to retired assassins-for-hire, and you can say that she is getting soft, but she doesn’t really care. Not when she has almost all she ever wanted.
You could have told her that happiness never lasts. Hell, she could probably have guessed for herself. But she doesn’t see it coming, and that makes it all the worse when Sameen leaves. And perhaps you’ll say that she became reckless, walking on the edges of roofs and skirting the corners of the shadow map to find Sameen, but you mustn’t think of it that way. Sameen is part of the team, and the team needs Sameen (and maybe she fails to mention that she needs Sameen more than anything). So she exists through those months, barely breathing, barely living, and if you ask she’ll tell you that it’s not love, because psychopaths can’t love, not really. Maybe it’s just the need for explosions and gunfire and sparks flying every time she’s around Sameen. Maybe it’s just the need for a four-alarm fire.
So when she sees Sameen again, she doesn’t hesitate to cock the gun and place it under her chin. Yes, she feels the cool touch of metal on her flesh, but she also feels the chilling fear that Sameen will shoot herself again, and she tries to tell herself that she doesn’t care , but it’s just not true anymore and Root was never one for lying to herself. And when Sameen looks at her with a predatory hunger, Root gives in, because anything, even a loss of power, is better than not having this at all.
You know already how this ends, don’t you? With a glorious parting shot, with a conversation about love, shapes and sex. With Sameen holding off her back, with a car chase and a sniper. With a choice, a choice to save Harold instead of herself, to sacrifice her life to save the man who started this mess in the first place. And don’t you dare tell her that choices don’t matter, because this one did. It had to.
And she can’t really finish telling this story. She’s dead, after all. But you, you can figure this out for yourself. She becomes the Machine, becomes God, becomes what she has always wanted to be (you may say that she is just its voice, but she’s something more, she has to be). And in the end, she sees them through, lets John die in a blaze of glory, lets Harold see Grace again, lets Sameen live on with Bear and the murmur of her lover’s voice in her ear. And you may not approve, you may not appreciate what she has become, but she doesn’t much care for you either way. She approves, she likes who she is, and maybe, for once, she loves the life she has lived. And that’s all that matters.
When it’s all over, there’s still one thing left in Pandora’s Box. Hope.
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