#we have seen many people of the Citadel that do not have the issues she has lmao some of that is just who she is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-firebird69 · 7 months

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You have a couple things to say one is we don't want our son to be endangered by creatures like you always say you want and we see you trying to get in Gator up here we're knocking you down taking you out and pushing you around and eventually they're going to be dead we have a lot of you on file we're doing that stupid s*** like the Indian next door and his snakes and we're taking the snakes and we're using them on you if you say you can't tell we're going to use them today it's fresh in your brain. And we're sick of you by the way John remillard and you're going to die real soon a lot of us don't want to see you driving that bus and that's why.

-the crabs are up the river a little bit moving fast. They're also on the shore but a half mile in and the big ones are coming and they have to get out of the way and the little ones are eating people and they're flowing in real fast about 40 or 50 miles an hour and they're probably at 2 miles right now someone says 3 miles and they're moving fast and are eating a lot of idiots who are standing there watching a bunch of them left and a bunch of leaving 30-ft crabs and 40 foot crabs are stopping cars and ripping the cops off and people are screaming as they're mandibles pull them out and it's a nightmare huge numbers are dead and John remillard and company are going to be lit up and we'll have to stop them using absolute Force and the other is getting it.

-there's a massive number of people up at the border and they're getting ready massive numbers of idiots evacuating the South we're moving in heavy to repel them now and tell them to head north or west really it's the latter. Huge huge groups and streaming over and some are finding their way back and heading up the northern route and a large groups are hit and others are turning around they're going back up

-there's more chatter and talk and they are getting decimated by the crabs and the blockade they're losing in Pennsylvania and they're being obliterated before they can attack at the citadel he's not too many doing that and are getting killed trying to reestablish their bases and that's not that many hordes and hordes of them are getting killed in the cities in their City areas are getting taken over and people are coming from other countries to do it right now this huge numbers of ships coming. Bullock chips are moving to intercept and are being decimated and blown to bits by the way and more ships are arriving due to the resistance is a huge show and really it's mostly McDonald's Stan and Biden and they are flowing in and they're holding the line but they don't have to fight up north yet that would be the empire we were trying to get into the upper Midwest and they're getting slammed and that's the morlock and hammered

Missouri to flowing in more a zerg are flowing in and they are going into the bunkers rapidly on Pennsylvania and they're spreading now they're decimating what's in Pennsylvania and we use it as a conduit. The empire is sending for reinforcements and they're amazed how many are flowing in it's huge

More shortly

Thor Freya

We know about Thor and Freya we know about us and I hear you I do see it too what you say is I grew up this way I can handle it but boy they rude and animals and it's true and we are sending hell it's really gross and it'll probably be the same thing but it'll be worse if we didn't then you agree. It's good it's a deal. And she says it's going to get worse with the idiots and that's the max if they break through and we know that. And a foreigners are finally coming in. And we're seeing them come in. It's intense there's so many of them and we really need it we are doing our best to try and work through these technical issues you're having we need to use a lot more force and I'm calling for it. Our car business is great and that little car is awesome that Rolls-Royce is just one of the best things I've ever seen us come up with and I remember you saying something they're rolling around with his cars making fun of people dancing on everyone's Graves and nobody seems to notice or care and we will show them what it's like because we're selling most of them to the morlock and they're running around saying what they're doing and what they did and they're horrified and see that with your mouth open you really don't do well but they're going to probably start talking anyways some of them have it and are talking their asses off and people are beating the s*** out of them and it's like a souvenir or something and a lot of them buying it because it's made by us and they say that the production won't last and things like that so they're buying them up like they're going to be relics and so forth and they will be but not not that sense. Right now we're making about 500 million a day soon we'll be making a billion a day and demand is much higher no they can't believe the rolls royces. So we have to find some Mercedes dealers to our BMW SOB or Audi anything like that to put them at even a Citron dealer although those are more expensive and there are interested and you said you can take a few and he knows how it works and so we're going to talk to him

Zig Zag

A heads up I'm not Garth but really I should sell these cuz Max are buying them too and people are dumb and I know how much this purchase is for us as dealer and you make a bunch of money and he says he probably sell thousands of days start and so I can't stand it and you'd be famous and people love it and you probably get the full size in there soon enough so I can't stand it that's ridiculous and I know what you're saying you have yachts and real estate but the yachts are a big deal where we are usually which is the Mediterranean and it's Spain and he has a different model but there full blown yachts and I can get a spot at the show and everything and so he's going to try and contact me and I got to try and contact him and they'll try to meet up maybe even the bar this weekend and no it works because he can seem in movies and really they have to be sold locally it's a huge thing to buy a big guy it's a personal thing and what I heard you say before was really really good it's like a Viking with added safeties and people need that cuz most the time they're drunk and said our people are not that bad when we're drunk it's actually true a lot of the times when you're drunk or reasonable and I think it slows to where it should be and we sit there and look at things and let some stuff go or think of it later rather than jumping on it. So I was thinking of driving by and there's some ladies that are from here as soon as I get that too and driving the car by we'll send them out here I guess we know how to get in touch with them and they know who I am but I can announce who I am and that's perfect I mean that is a real company and it's one of our people's who help design it and it's related to Hera and it's one of her grand uncles and father of a schlep hahaha and they're saying that and it's going to get more business from that which is good and one of those guys that usually helps and is not mentioned and it's kind of tough cuz these guys are rude that women do I understand that and that's why they'd help they do jobs and things to do and this is one of them and I like doing that kind of thing and I do get that I'm going to attract some ladies mom and I do hear that it's Sharon Stone and I get that too so we are going to open shop hopefully at these cars are wonderful they're real rolls royces and they're designed by the best and build by one of his Giants it's really his father and mother-in-law and he calls him father and mother and because they are very high ranking and we are going to get interest but it's Hera's side and he designed the whole thing and Thor and Freya our friend is saying are saying no we designed the whole thing all four of us but zigzag picked it up and did it but really he made sure everything was to current Rolls-Royce spec and it really is intense. And he did make it come forward to production from the drawings and kept it Rolls-Royce quality and standard and that is a task and he said methods too and his hand assembled and he has to hire more people they talk about hiring people but it takes a certain type of person they can do the work and even Ken can't do it at this time it requires you to make decisions to do quality work which are too hard so these people might be assembling it and I'm going to get to dealership where I am because it's not really near their stronghold

David Bammens

We're off and we're going to hear some other people maybe they all want to dealership including Stefan but we have to say we're sorry Stefan we don't have any work for you or money or anything. No not you Carlo. And definitely not you Wanda blonde idiot. You're a moron and going to beat you up for asking. And Jesus Christ Lily stay home and button your pants up you pig. There are others who are offering and yeah they're messing with David Bammens and says I don't understand it. He wants to send Rolls-Royce dealership of his special edition Harley Davidson for Rolls-Royce and he says no for the time being and then he says how about just special edition that Harley is issuing and this is that would be great and then Stefan can as you know so he's laughing and he says this is awesome he's such a jerk it's like look we're already eating french food okay

Zig Zag

Olympus

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w1ndrunn3rblog · 3 years

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Female Gamers, Sylvanas Windrunner, and Sexism: Gender Politics in ‘World of Warcraft’

When Sylvanas Windrunner herself is the focus of actual academic study and is used as the primary example of how Blizzard's writing of women and it's treatment of trauma survivors is part of a larger issue regarding how society treats them, you know it's a serious problem.

I happened to find this paper purely by accident. In essence, it carry's out open-ended surveys to empirically address three questions:

In what ways does World of Warcraft (re)construct cultural ideas about gender within the game? Through Sylvanas Windrunner in particular?

Do the ways that WoW (re)constructs cultural ideas about gender affect how female players are treated in the game?

How do women talk about the ways in which they negotiate gender in the WoW community?

Much to my pleasant surprise, I found it extremely validating for what so many of us, particularly in this fandom, have been saying about Blizzard's writing for years. Furthermore, it makes a number of observations I had not even considered before. Although it was written in 2014 (at the tail end of 'Mists of Pandaria'), almost all of the observations made about Sylvanas's character, and female characters in general, are still just as relevant now. It is a daunting 87 pages long, and there are some parts which you could argably skim read, but I highly recommend my fellow Loyalist followers take the time to read it and spread the word to help other WoW fans understand where we are coming from.

Finally, it goes without saying, but ample **Trigger Warnings** for discussions regarding certain aspects of Sylvanas's story that may be too sensitive for some.

Below I have attached a few excerpts from the paper to give you an idea of what it focuses on but, as mentioned above, I strongly recommend reading the whole peice to do it justice.

Sylvanas’ story as an example of r*pe is problematic because it continues the stereotyping of women who are victims of this abuse. As O’Hara explains, “Popular r*pe myths about r*pe victims include: ‘only bad girls get r*ped, victims ‘ask for it’ by getting drunk at parties or wearing provocative clothing, and women who claim they were r*ped are lying, have ulterior motives, or wanted sex at the time but changed their minds afterwards” (O’Hara). The treatment of Sylvanas after hersoul is ripped from her body by Arthas is a perfect example of these r*pe myths as she is never sympathized with by any of the leaders of the factions, or even by the people whom she died trying to save. By using this trope of r*pe within the text, the developers continue a discursive practice in which r*pe is continued to be talked about in a way that is harmful to victims of r*pe.

Part of the insinuation of r*pe and death being linked in Sylvanas’ story sends the message that r*pe is a death, and that the way Sylvanas is able to break away is only through another life, a life of undeath, but she is no longer the high elf Sylvanas. Sylvanas’ sister Vereesa, even refuses to acknowledge Sylvanas as her sister and considers her sister dead when the player speaks with her in Dalaran. While it may be possible to argue that the developers intended to showcase the negative treatment of r*pe victims in order to eradicate callousness towards victims of r*pe, Sylvanas’ character continues to be written as a “bad girl”, a “bitch”, and she has yet to be redeemed in a way for the audience to view her as a hero.

Despite her large role in the defeat of the Lich King—there is in fact an entire dungeon in which Horde players work with her to try to defeat him, as well as bases in Northrend to bring about his downfall—she is absent from the final defeat of the Lich King in the Icecrown Citadel raid and cinematic. She also lacks a spot in the statue built in one of the main cities, Dalaran, to celebrate the heroes who brought about an end to the Lich King. Her omission completely leaves her out the minds of players as they experience the final raid and cinematic. For players, the raids and subsequent cinematic are usually very important to understanding the story line currently taking place within the game. Why, despite her large role within his defeat, is Sylvanas subsequently left out of the celebration of heroes? The omission of her in the victory statue and her character in the final battle cinematic could perhaps send the message that she is in fact not viewed as a hero, and furthermore that she lacks importance within the story. In fact, none of the figures in the final battle against Arthas or in the victory statue are women. Only men are able to be the heroes at the end, despite the large role of Sylvanas, as well as another female character, Jaina Proudmore, in bringing about his downfall. Her disappearance from the final defeat of the Lich King stresses the point that Simone de Beauvoir made in her book "The Second Sex" that as a woman, Sylvanas is secondary. After her disappearance from the final scenes of the expansion Wrath of the Lich King, her character falls into the background and subsequently is either forgotten or treated as a villain instead.

The negative treatment of Sylvanas can be further seen in the way she is treated by even other members of her faction—other leaders who are supposed to be her allies. The following conversation occurs during the WoW expansion Cataclysm, which follows the death of Arthas, between Garrosh Hellscream, leader of the Horde, and Sylvanas. The conversation taking place is primarily concerned with the problem the Forsaken are currently having with the numbers of their people falling in battle. Sylvanas believes she has found a solution: raising the newly dead as Forsaken since her people cannot procreate. While I think the argument can be made that indeed what she intends to do—raise her dead enemies as her own people much like the Lich King did to her—seems abhorrent, Garrosh Hellscream makes judgment on Sylvanas, as though her crimes are more terrible than his own, and calls her a “bitch.” We use it for the woman who doesn’t back down from a confrontation. So let’s not be disingenuous. Is it a bad word? Of course it is. As a culture, we’ve done everything possible to make sure of that, starting with a constantly perpetuated mindset that deems powerful women to be scary, angry and, of course, unfeminine (Zeisler). Sylvanas is powerful, and because she is powerful, automatically she is painted as a scary, angry, and unfeminine character through the word “bitch” and the story writers don’t work to change that in any way—in fact, they reinforce it.

#trigger warning #sylvanas windrunner

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 3 years

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idk how many people would even want to see this BUT i wanna yell about Leela and Brax so here's a list of all their scenes togethr/scenes pertainng to them that i can recall (pLEASE add on if i missed anything/ you have any additional thoughts!! i could talk about these two all day!)

right off the bat in Weapon of Choice when Leela is on the outskirts of the Citadel and Brax goes to bring her back (which is interesting in and of itself, bc usually i would imagine a chancellery guard would go do that so what made Brax decide to instead??), Leela kinda goes off at him bc she's hurting and instead of trying to actually explain what's going on Brax doesn't even try to argue he just says "we need you" which is great bc Leela has that instinctive desire to be needed and to help people and he's speaking right to that -- also as far as we know, this is Leela and Brax's first actual meeting in canon? it's implied that they know of each other, which makes sense, but it doesn't seem like they've ever directly interacted before: Brax seems almost slightly uncertain, and Leela is combative, but when he's gentle with her she's actually quite receptive

the literal next scene after that, where the OT4 is all in one room for the first time (they still kinda hate each other at this point but still !!!). Narvin explaining Gryben and being a real jerk about it and Leela (understandibly!) questions if Gryben is a prison world, and Brax (who to this point has been mostly quiet as Narvin and Romana brief Leela) jumps in to both clarify Narvin's previous xenophobic statements while also maintaining the inherent questionable/negative connotations

(btw it's actually pretty important to note that Romana self-edits herself a lot when talking to Leela, especially in the earlier seasons; you can actually hear her revising the things she says to put it in terms that she thinks Leela will better understand. and i mean she does it out of genuine consideration for her friend associate but it often comes across as varying levels of patronizing. Narvin also obviously "dumbs things down" when dealing with Leela early on, but like... Brax never does that on any level. the only difference i can tell in how he addresses Leela vs how he talks to anybody else is that he seems much more kind with her than almost anyone else???)

their conversation about the Matrix in The Inquiry: this is REALLY important (and if you've ever talked to me on ao3 i've probably gone off to you about it lol) because it's layered. they're talking about the Matrix but they're also not because in answering Leela's question Brax is making a very thinly veiled allegory (which he outright states a minute later) to Time Lord society/politicians/most importantly HIMSELF -- he's actually strangely open about his morals/beliefs in this scene and i'm living for it tbh -- and i find it very interesting that even though he does directly explain what he means ("how do you know all this?" / "because i am a politician.") he also leaves it for Leela to work out the implications. like it's a very nuanced conversation bc there's double meaning in it and most people on Gallifrey seem to think that Leela is tone-deaf and can't pick up on that stuff (even Romana sometimes oversimplifies things to her) but Brax totally just lets her take from it what she will bc he believes her intelligent enough to understand. he doesn't think her any lesser because she's human.

ALSO on a secondary note to the above: the fact that Leela has a question/needed clarification (sorry, haven't listened to this in a while i forget how it actually happened) and actively sought out Brax to talk to about it?? like she knows Romana better she could have gone to her but i feel like Leela kinda imprinted on Brax and someone she can go to for help if she needs it; maybe it's partly bc she knows he's under marginally less pressure than Romana is but also the truth of the matter is that Brax was the most genuinely helpful person to her in the previous stories and that probably means a lot to her (esp. bc he acts like the essence of everything she hates about Gallifrey but he doesn't treat her the way she would expect from that). btw this topic is gonna come up again in a hot minute

that part where Brax gives her that information that might help her re: the Andred thing, even though he really probably shouldn't have done that -- it kinda makes me think about what he must have been like with Theta tbh???

actually this is mostly my own conjecture but there's some neat stuff in Spirit bc during the *waves hand vaguely* bodyswap dream sequence thing, Romana is very "!!!! Brax can help us !!!" which is tecnically Leela brain talking, so like there's the implications of the stuff i've said above about Leela having this idea of Brax where she knows he's someone she can go to for help

can u tell i'm soft for them

Leela sounding really sad/distracted when she talks about how Brax isn't there YES i'm grasping at straws but a lot of this relationship really is conveyed through the voice acting bc of how little direct focus there is on the characters. there's actually several scenes in Mindbomb where she mentions him and she outright says that she misses him during her discussion with Matthias

that implied scene with them in Mindbomb!! i have a Lot of thoughts about that!!! it's all conjecture and fanfic fodder!!! but the reason i mention this is because it seems pretty meta that out of the whole Gally Gang, it's Leela who first sees Brax when he comes back to Gallifrey and in turn she's the first person (besides Matthias, i guess) that he sees upon his return?? idk i just feel like that's somehow a meaningful detail??? also her reaction of utter shock after spending the entire episode missing him and how worked up she is when she tries to tell Romana, like I desperately need to know what happened in this missing scene MR RICHARDS PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED

Leela insisting on going with Brax when Pandora starts hurting him and their whole conversation there is just. so good. like they're both just so soft and then when Darkel comes in Leela instantly goes into protective mode. like they just have such an open relationship bc Brax doesn't even try to be all pretentious with her, like he doesn't even try to keep up any facades when he's with her he's just very genuine and it really says a lot about both of them -- Leela is so good at seeing people, like getting down to the core of who people are and what makes them them (which is why she's good for Romana, btw, bc Romana has a lot of identity issues) and Brax is so tangled up in who he presents himself as that he barely knows who he actually is anymore but Leela can see that and she makes it so he can truly be himself and he doesn't have to hide. also she's so gentle with him when they talk about Pandora, she's very caring and empathetic and wants to make sure he's okay and i am WEAK

it's been a hot while since i listened to Panacea but I think i remember Brax being really soft with Leela when he first brings the gang to the Axis, like just sounding really glad to see her

ok other than the fact that Brax is lowkey relatable in Reborn (daydreaming fanfic about yourself/people you know? simping for Mary Tamm Romana? yeah mood, my man) there's that scene where they're first appraoching the Citadel on the alt!Gallifrey and it seems like none of them, and Brax specifically, have seen it from the outside in a good long while bc he's very in awe and he tells Leela that he wishes she could see it and he sounds sO hEcKiNg sOFT oh my word-

and once again with Leela thinking of Brax as someone she trusts for help: in Dissassembled when everything is going to crap she straight-up says that she wants to go find Brax bc he'll know what to do/be able to help

at the beginning of Annihilation when Romana is depressed and questioning if Brax truly was her friend and Leela INSTANTLY, NO HESITATION assures her that he was; i lost where i had her exact lines written down but she actually kinda goes off to make sure Romana gets the point

literally forcing myself to talk about this bc it makes my brain stall out but like,,, the Brax Hound in Annihilation,,, Leela being like "goodbye, Braxiatel... again" she sounds so sad and like UGH i always kinda forget how sad it actually is for them to lose Brax in Dissassembled bc like, it was so sudden and they didn't get to say goodbye and Leela is always losing people and i have many many feels about this scene and how all that emotion is made very clear in how they each respond to the Hound (might make a separate post abt this later if anyone is interested ::eyes::)

Enemy Lines is utter bullcrap about these two and I will never stop being salty about how they not only sidelined the very good, very subtle friendship they had in s1-4, but they??? made Leela acutally not trust Brax??? when literally this entire time she's been the one person who probably genuinely trusts him the most?? what the heck, David

I haven't heard TW3 or 4 yet but i'm assuming there's nothing worthwhile in those with regards to this duo (correct me if i'm wrong tho lol, i would love to be mistaken in this assumption)

TL;DR Leela and Brax mututally imprinted on each other and have probably the most open and healthy relationship within the OT4 and it is an absolute CRIME that nobody besides Gary Russell and Justin Richards cared enough to actually build on it in canon

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westerosoliviapope · 2 years

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After blasting onto the political scene on campaigns for the likes of Selwyn Tarth and Robb Stark, Sarella Sand is rising through the ranks of crisis consulting to become one of the republic's best-known fixers. While she refuses to dish on her top clients, she chats with us about her dual heritage, sisterly bonds, how she got into politics, and free advice to help celebrities avoid scandals.

On Her Heritage "I take great pride in having two homelands." But don't expect her to reinforce any reductive stereotypes about the Dornish or Summer Islanders. "I, unfortunately, dealt with a lot of coded language about my 'spicy' and 'inherently sensual' background when I first came to Westeros, but that's not what I take from my heritage," she says. "Growing up in two rich and distinct cultures taught me to be more open to the world than people who strongly identify with being one thing or another."

On Being Raised by the Ultimate #GirlDad "A man with my father's reputation shouldn't have been enthusiastic about raising a brood of girls," Sarella says of Dornish Prince Oberyn Martell, who famously fathers eight high-achieving women. A friend once said I grew up in a 'training camp for badass girls.' He wasn't entirely wrong."

On the Importance of Sisterhood "It's like being born into a sorority," she muses. "We have matching tattoos. We do an annual Solstice Eve sleepover with just the eight of us. As we speak, I'm packing for the King's Landing Tennis Open [her sister, Elia Sand, is the early favorite]."

On Keeping Her Cool in Tense Situations "My mother [Summer Isles High Court Judge, Jolona Qo] and her mother are extremely poised, some of it is genetic," she says. "Years of archery practice help, too," she answers. "You can't hit your target when you're panicked."

On Her Jump from Academia to Politics The former history and linguistics student credits her Citadel advisor, Maester Marwyn, with changing the course of her career. "He was big on tying his expertise [ancient cultures and anthropology] to the present day with guest lecturers from outside academia."

She planned to become a professor/researcher until she attended a guest lecture by political consultant Wyman Manderly in her third year. "I think it was called 'Mythology in Modern Politics' or something similar. And it helped me see how the seemingly abstract topics I studied still play out in modern power structures. I was hooked."

On the Craziest Problem She's Ever "Fixed" "I make problems disappear, so I'll never tell." But she's willing to share a recurring issue: celebrity sex tapes. "Just don't do it," she advises. "They always land in the wrong hands. I've seen too many of you [famous Westerosi] naked."

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623448

#scandal abc #dornesolstice #dorneedit #dorneuniverse #sarella sand #modern sarella sand #dorne #modern dorne #modern westeros #modern asoiaf au #asoiaf modern au #house martell #modern martells #sand snakes #scandal westeros #scandal westeros magazines

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

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Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter X

The royal retinue reach the courtyard outside the Leville just as the ground beneath their feet began to shake. At the same time, Noctis grabs his head and winces. Images flash through his mind, but he couldn't make sense of them. Shaking his head, the pain and vision subside. Gladio, who was the closest to the prince, noticed his painful expression. "What's wrong?"

"My head just started throbbing," Noctis replied, hiding the details of the vision he witnessed.

"You all right?" Prompto asked worriedly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"A headache at the exact moment of an earthquake," (Y/n) hummed. "I would say it isn't a coincidence."

"Indeed," Ignis agreed.

"Doesn't matter. It's gone," Noctis said.

They enter the Leville and stand in the lobby to wait for Iris. Gladio crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently against the tiled floor. He wasn't sure what was taking his sister so long, but she descended the stairwell a few minutes later.

"Gladdy!" Iris chanted, hurrying down the stairs.

Said boy looked up and smiled at his sister. He was relieved to see she was uninjured and safe from the hell raised by the empire in Insomnia. Although he lost his father, at least he still had his little sister. "Iris."

The young Amicitia glances around at the faces of the boys. She had yet to spot (Y/n) due to being hidden behind Ignis' tall, lithe body. "Look at you guys, holding your own out there."

Prompto smiled with slightly red cheeks. "What can I say? You look good."

"All things considered," Iris exhaled heavily. "You guys are staying here, right?"

"That's the plan," Ignis said, taking a step to the side and revealing the girl hidden behind him.

Iris noticed the fifth member of the group and blinked in surprise. She searched her memory and tried to remember seeing someone as beautiful as her before, but she couldn't recall anyone. She hastily took a few steps towards her, signaling the beginning of a throng of questions. "Who's this? Is she a crownsguard? But that outfit is way too nice." Iris circles (Y/n), examining her appearance closely. Reaching the front, she saw the slitted eyes and gemstone. "Wait, you're a guardian! But I don't remember any of the guys except Ignis having one. Now that I think about, I don't see her here."

Gladio stopped his sister after seeing how uncomfortable (Y/n) was becoming. "Take a breather, Iris. You're freakin' the girl out."

Realizing what she was doing, she gasped and promptly apologized. "I-I'm so sorry. It's just...I've never met someone so beautiful before. If I had, I would definitely remember."

"Oh, um...thank you, Iris," (Y/n) shyly replied.

"Pretty sure you've met (Y/n) before, Iris," Noctis stated. "But you've never seen her human form until now."

"That name..." Iris' voice trailed off before her eyes widened. "You're really (Y/n)? That little bundle of white fur is you?"

She nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Oh, wow. This is... You look amazing!" She praised. "I never imagined you were this pretty. I mean, I imagined you to be a little more than average, but I am blown away!"

The guardian did her best to analyze her appearance. Without a mirror, it was difficult to examine her entire body. She glanced down at her dress before lifting her head. "I really don't see what's so special about me."

"You're kidding, right?" Prompto spoke up. "You didn't notice all those people staring at you when we first got here?"

"And not just here. Wherever we go, people stare at you," Noctis added. "Can't believe you haven't noticed."

That's when (Y/n) started to worry. "Am I drawing too much attention to us? If that's the case, I can always change forms and-"

Gladio held up his and silenced her. "Slow your roll, munchkin. We drive a super fancy car that already sticks out like a sore thumb anywhere we go. With you taggin' along, no one even looks twice at Noct."

Noctis glanced at his shield with a scowl. "Am I supposed to be offended by that?"

"Take it as you will, Highness." Gladio focuses his gaze back on his sister. "Putting all that aside, when you have time we have catching up to do."

Iris nodded. "Sure. I've got time now if you guys do. We can talk in my room." She leads the group of five up the stairs and into one of the many hotel rooms. As they got comfortable, they were joined by an old man and a young boy. Gladio easily recognized the two. "Jared and Talcott! Is it good to see you."

Talcott smiled sweetly as he addressed the member of royalty among them. "Prince Noctis! Iris is safe with me!" You could tell the young boy admired Noctis just by the gleam in his eyes.

Jared patted Talcott on the shoulder, smiling apologetically to the prince. "Please excuse my grandson. He has yet to learn his manners."

Noctis smirked. "I like it."

The older man lowered his head in a slight bow. "Your Highness is very kind, but we shan't impose. A very good night to you, Your Highness." Taking his grandson with him, he left the room so the group could talk. Iris closes the door behind them as they leave before taking a seat alongside the others.

Noctis was a little hesitant to ask, but he wanted to know some details of the invasion. "So Iris, what was it like inside the Crown City?"

Iris winced slightly as she remembered the day of the signing clearly. "Not pretty. The Citadel took a beating. But a lot of outlying neighborhoods made it through in one piece."

Ignis' eyes narrowed as he gazed at the carpet. "The empire had tactical targets in mind."

"If they incapacitated the Citadel from the inside, it would make it difficult for the crownsguard and Kingsglaive to deploy," (Y/n) said.

"Think they had a man on the inside?" Gladio wondered.

"A possibility we cannot dismiss," Ignis stated.

Iris glanced around at the dejected faces of the group. She clasped her hands together in her lap and focused her gaze on Noctis. "You know if there's anything else, you can ask me."

Noctis lifted his head, slightly taken aback. "Yeah, uh, thanks."

"So...about Lady Lunafreya. I keep hearing she was in town. Apparently she left right away, but at least it means she's okay."

The prince wasn't sure how to feel about Lunafreya. He wasn't sure if she was alive or dead and he was worried about her. However, Iris' words did provide a small amount of relief. "Good to hear. Thanks."

Iris then stands, brushing off her skirt. "Yeah, well, get a good night's rest." She then leaves the room.

Ignis stood up as well. "I shall procure rooms for us."

(Y/n) glances at him. "That was plural."

"I shall ensure you get your own personal room, (Y/n). It would be ill-suited for a lady to remain in a room with four men."

She watched him leave the room, blinking in surprise. She uncrossed her legs with a huff. A grin tugged at the corners of Gladio's lips. "You seem disappointed."

"No, just surprised. We had no issues sharing a room in Longwythe or Galdin Quay. What's changed?" She pondered.

"You think it has to do with the fact you spend more time in your human form than your spiritual one now?" Prompto asked.

"Or maybe Iggy wants you to have your own room so he can make a surprise visit to you in the middle of the night," the brute said.

She glowered at him. "Why do you think Iggy would have an ulterior motive?"

Gladio looked away, trying to act innocent. "No reason."

Her eyes scrunched up in an accusing manner. "You know something that I don't."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But it's not my place to tell. Hopefully us guys can snap some sense into his uptight ass and get him to tell you."

(Y/n) wanted to question him further, but held herself back as Ignis returned. She accepted the key he offered her and read the number attached to it before heading to her room. It was only a few doors down from Iris' room. She entered the room and looked around. There was a small couch, a coffee table, and a double bed with a nightstand beside it. It was decent, but she felt lonely. Why had Ignis suddenly wanted her to have her own room? Was it really because she's been spending more time in her human form like Prompto said or was there another possibility?

Her shoulders sank while trudging towards the bed. She sat down on the edge with a huff of frustration at her busy thoughts. She pushed them aside by remembering the intimate moment she shared with Ignis earlier that day. It was nice to be in his arms, a sensation she's enjoyed ever since he first hugged her when he was only five years old. As the years passed, the hugs became scarce in number due to his duties to the crown. He became more prim and proper, meaning casual hugs were deemed inappropriate. She had watched the boy grow into a man, his personality changing from sweet and caring to reserved and stoic.

Of course, he had his moments where he would show her how much he cared about her. Those were few and far between. However, that somewhat changed after they left the city. Even with Noctis as his first priority, his time with her had grown as if they had reverted back to their younger years. It brought a smile to her face, but it quickly vanished. She wanted to be his first priority. Was it a selfish thought? Perhaps.

Hanging her head, she hid her face behind a curtain of (h/c) tresses. She mentally scolded herself for thinking in such a manner. All she wanted was Ignis to love her with all his heart just as she wanted to do the same for him. But there was another thing stopping her-their roles. She was his guardian and he was her master. Was it appropriate for a human and spirit to be together?

That's when her eyes gleamed with hope as she recalled Jasper and Luca. They were clearly in love with each other and are engaged. She lifted her head and glanced out the window, coming to a decision-she would meet Luca tomorrow and discuss how he and Jasper overcame such obstacles or if it was only her self-doubt that prevented her from confessing her feelings.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts when she heard a knock on her door. She went to answer it and saw Prompto was visiting her. Noticing he was alone, she wondered what he wanted. "Is there something I can do for you, Prompto?"

"You're gonna join us for dinner, right?" He asked.

Checking the time on the clock located on the nightstand, she saw it was a few minutes past five. "I didn't realize it was that late already."

Prompto grabbed her hand with a smile. "C'mon, the guys already left to make sure we get a table."

(Y/n) was taken aback at the sudden sensation of his hand on hers. "Prompto, your hand."

He looked down at their connected hands and blushed. He had unconsciously grabbed hers. "S-Sorry..."

She couldn't help but admire how kind and gentle he was. In order to smooth over the situation, she offered him a gentle smile. "It's fine. Let's go."

They left the Leville and headed to Surgate's Beanmine near the main thoroughfare. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were sitting at one of the tables and had already ordered for everyone. The eatery was packed and only a couple tables were left vacant. Sitting in between Noctis and Ignis, (Y/n) glances across the table when Gladio kicked her lightly in the foot. "Took your time, munchkin."

"I was thinking about a few things and didn't realize how late it was," she explained.

He took a brief glance at Ignis before looking back at her. "Like what?"

"Luca. I want to help him with his dream project. Spirits could use a good reputation. I also want to warn him about the empire."

"Y'know, all the people I've talked about guardians with adore them," Prompto said. "I can't believe people discriminate against your people, (Y/n)."

She crossed her legs, placing her hands gently in her lap. "I can't even imagine what it's like to be a masterless spirit in a society like this. It must be very difficult for them to live normal lives."

"Oh, yeah. Specs mentioned that rite of annulment," Noctis chimed in.

"I do hope I did not overstep my bounds," Ignis said, glancing toward the girl sitting beside him.

She shook her head. "Not at all. The rite of annulment has been used in both good and bad ways. Guardians have undergone the ritual to escape their abusive masters and humans have used it to get rid of their guardians. If the threat of corruption wasn't high, it's possible the rite wouldn't be so bad."

"What's this corruption you're talkin' about?" Gladio pried.

"Masters act as buffers for guardians when it comes to mana flow. If a guardian cannot control the flow, it builds up in their body and they soon lose themselves. Some spirits have massacred humans in such a state, but most of the time they commit suicide once it's too overbearing. A guardian's risk of corruption goes down if their master is still alive. But once that soul vanishes from Eos, the risk of corruption is extremely high. There are spirits who have learned to cope through the madness to keep their minds intact while others have never suffered from corruption."

"Okay, yeah, none of the books I've read mention any of this..." Prompto mumbled.

"Neither do the vast collections I've perused," Ignis said.

(Y/n) stared down at the table. "Not everything is written down in books or documents. If the rite was vastly known, I fear my people's reputation would be even more soiled."

"Let's just hope Luca doesn't know about it," Gladio stated. "And if he does, he'll leave it out of his book."

Their food arrived as their conversation ended. (Y/n) stared thoughtfully at her serving of bird-broth rice with curry before picking up her spoon to enjoy the meal. She listened to Noctis and Prompto as they exchanged playful banter while eating.

Once everyone was finished, they left the eatery and headed back to the Leville. As they passed through one of the alleyways, a disembodied voice reached (Y/n)'s ears. He body became stiff while listening to it.

Come...of Pneuma... Heed...call... Costlemark...altar...

A strange sensation overtook her body. Feeling a trance consume her mind, she no longer had control of her body. Listening to the voice, she wandered aimlessly down another alleyway and wound up separated from the boys. Unaware of her surroundings, she was heading straight for the road.

As she was about to step off the curb and into the street, the sound of a blaring horn bounced off the buildings, but it didn't snap her out of her trance. It was only when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to safety before she was hit by a car that caused the trance to fade. The sensation of hands on her cheeks resulted in her to blink a few times. Her vision cleared and all she could see was a pair of familiar emerald eyes behind a pair of glasses. As the faint ringing in her ear ceased and she could hear the sounds of the bustling town, she realized Ignis was her savior and was trying to get her attention.

"(Y/n), can you hear me?" Ignis asked as her slitted pupils narrowed.

She looked around as best as she could and saw Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto standing behind him. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you'd clarify."

"Weren't we on our way back to the Leville?" She asked.

Prompto stepped forward. "You...don't remember what just happened?"

"No."

"You just suddenly walked off. We tried to get your attention, but you weren't listening. You wandered out into the middle of the street and was almost ran over by a car. Luckily Specs saved you before you were flattened," Noctis clarified. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." (Y/n) took a step back when Ignis removed his hands from her cheeks. All she could remember was hearing the voice and then they were standing by the side of the road. "Maybe I just need some more sleep."

"You looked like you were in some kinda trance," Prompto said.

Ignis examines her face and noticed she looked sickly. "You've become pale. Let us make haste back to the hotel."

"Need a piggyback ride, munchkin?" Gladio offered.

She shook her head. "No, I can walk."

Ignis placed an arm around her shoulders and escorted her back to the Leville. He took her to her room and asked her to sit down on the bed. When she did, he kneeled down in front of her and took her gloved hands in his own. "What truly happened tonight, (Y/n)?"

"I-I honestly don't know, Iggy," she answered sincerely. "I heard that voice again and then realized we were standing by the road. I did feel something come over my body, but I don't know what. I'm sorry..."

Ignis raised one of his hands and caressed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "You need not apologize, darling."

She was shocked at hearing the term of endearment, but welcomed it. "I just hope visiting Costlemark will resolve this and put an end to the voice."

He removed his hand from her face and gazed deeply into her sapphire eyes. He loved how they sparkled just like the gemstones in his necklace. It was like getting lost in the ocean. "Will you be all right by yourself tonight?"

"Yes. I'll probably turn in early after a shower."

"If you need me, you know where I'll be. Please, do not hesitate to call upon me."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. Good night, Iggy."

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annoyed-galaxy · 3 years

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Post-Destroy Ending

I bring from the grave of the beyond a fix-it fic serving up fresh angst and some fluff. Mass Effect destroyed my heart and with that major fucking cliffhanger, I just had to write something. But since there's a lot, I decided to break this up into chapters. Well, who knows how many chapters there will be, but just stick around I'm sure you'll have a great time. My writing is still rusty as hell, but I needed to get SOMETHING out. Anyways enjoy this! It's also on AO3 if you want that link.

Go!

It was the last thing she had ordered when she ran off into the jaws of death. He hated watching her go. Hated seeing her run back towards the beam with Harbinger raining down death. Tali had to tear him away from watching her run, dragging him back into the Normandy.

Garrus was on his fourth bottle of alcohol. The other three bottles were littered across Shepard’s nameplate. He ran his fingers across each letter of her name. It had been a couple weeks and Garrus still refused to put her name on the memorial wall. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he sure as hell wasn’t letting someone else do it.

They were still grounded on the uncharted world they had crashed into after the blast from the Citadel. While the Normandy was relatively fine, there were still some repairs that had to be made. There was also the issue with EDI. When the blast caused the Normandy to crash, EDI had suddenly collapsed, no longer functioning. Whatever the blast was, it didn’t kill just the Reapers.

The mass relays were destroyed, comm buoys were in pieces, so communication was very limited. Whatever happened back on Earth, whether people had recovered or not, was not making it to the Normandy anytime soon. The Reapers were defeated, but at what cost?

The door to the lounge opened and Liara sat next to Garrus. She grabbed a bottle of wine and began to pour herself a glass. “How are you feeling?” she asked, taking a sip.

Garrus grumbled to himself. He was drunk, his mind fuzzy and numb. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

Liara nodded, not buying his story, but knew he hadn’t been okay in a while. “Tali has been working on EDI. She also brought Glyph back. In return, Glyph has been helping Tali with bringing EDI back,” Liara explained, hoping some good news would brighten his mood.

He looked at her, his face plates shifting. Part of him was annoyed that she would bring that up, knowing the possibility of Shepard truly being gone was most likely. But he was happy for Joker at the very least. “That’s good,” he mumbled, returning to his drink.

Liara frowned, worry crossing her face. “Garrus...I know you’re hurting, but...” Liara stopped herself. She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Garrus. I know Joker has been talking about trying to make it back to Earth. But with the mass relays out, who knows how long it’ll be until we get there. Communications have been scrambled too.” Liara put a hand on his back. “It’s going to be okay Garrus. I promise.”

He stayed silent. He had nothing to say. He wanted to go back to Earth, back to the Citadel. He wouldn’t put Shepard’s name on the memorial wall until he had seen her cold corpse himself.

After a few minutes of silence, Liara finally decided it would be best to leave the turian to his sulking. She left with comforting parting words.

༻✧༺

“There’s a body over here!”

Her head was pounding. There were noises. Faint. Distant. Her body burned, stung, felt battered and bruised. She was breathing, but it stung. The voices came closer. She could no longer make out words, but she saw blinding lights come into view. She felt a weight lift from her, probably some rubble, and she couldn’t make out any faces. There were just blurred shapes and bright lights.

“Holy shit, it’s Commander Shepard!”

More shapes rushed over to her. Rubble was being dragged off of her. The light began to fade, her breathing slowing. She felt something cover her nose and mouth. Air filled her easily now. Her eyes fluttered shut and the noise faded away.

༻✧༺

“EDI!” Joker cried out as the robot sat up, blinking. He hugged her, tears forming in his eyes.

“Hello, Jeff,” EDI replied, slightly confused. She returned the hug, tentatively patting his back. He moved out of the way, allowing her to stand on her feet. “What happened?” she asked, looking around the room. She was in the AI core, Tali, Liara, and Glyph all stationed behind Joker, watching with held breaths as she was brought back to life.

“The blast from the Citadel took you out,” Joker explained, his arms on her shoulders. “But the Reapers were taken down too. Tali and Glyph have been working day in and day out to bring you back.”

EDI looked back at Tali and Glyph and smiled. “Thank you, you two. I did not realize I had...died.” EDI looked down at her hands, stretching her robotic fingers. “It felt like I had just stopped working. There was no afterlife.”

Joker put a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “It’s okay, you’re here now.” She smiled and took his hand.

“So what did I miss?” she asked, as they left the AI core. Awkward glances were shared between Tali and Liara.

Joker cleared his throat and took EDI to the bridge of the ship, letting her settle back into her usual co-pilot seat. The door to the cockpit closed as Tali and Liara stepped in. “Shepard activated the Crucible,” Joker began to explain. “Whatever it did, it destroyed the Reapers and other synthetic lives including you. But it also destroyed the mass relays and left comm buoys in scrambles. We’ve been stuck on an uncharted world for about a month now, trying to get you working again.”

“We didn’t feel safe, nor comfortable, taking off without you working again,” Liara added, offering a small smile to EDI. “That and the fact that the Normandy is currently offline.”

“You keep the Normandy in full function,” Tali tagged on.

Joker nodded. “Now that you’re back online, we’re hoping to make it back to Earth. The only issue with that is...”

“We don’t know how far away we are, nor how long would it take, or if we could even get there via FTL,” Liara explained, her voice low and sad.

“Is there a specific reason to going back to Earth?” EDI asked, pure innocence and naiveness in her robotic eyes.

Joker looked at Tali and Liara, asking for some backup with his eyes. Tali rubbed her hands together nervously. “We want to try and find Shepard.”

EDI tilted her head. “Is Shepard alive?”

The three of them exchanged looks once more. “We...we don’t know,” Liara sighed. “But Garrus seems determined to find out.”

EDI lowered her head. “Oh. Right. Garrus and Shepard were in a romantic relationship weren’t they?” Everyone nodded. “I will begin to run diagnostics on the ship then, to see what repairs will be required to get us off the ground once more,” EDI said, more optimistic and hopeful. It seemed to work as Joker, Tali, and Liara smiled a little more.

“I’ll let Garrus know,” Liara said before leaving the cockpit. She went to the crew deck, in the lounge looking for Garrus, but he wasn’t there. She went to the other side, the starboard observatory, but he wasn’t there either. She went to the main battery, wondering if he had gone back to calibrating to distract him, but he wasn’t there either. Liara could think of only one other place he would be grieving in.

As she suspected, the door to Shepard’s cabin was open, a somber tune of a piano playing through the speakers as she stepped out of the elevator. Laying on the bed was Garrus, a picture in his hand. Liara could tell it was the picture of the Normandy crew they had taken back on the Citadel. “Good news, Garrus,” Liara greeted, standing next to the fish tank. He looked up at her, his mandibles parting in curiosity. “EDI is back online. She is going to run a systems check and see what it will take to get us back to Earth.”

Garrus sat up, putting the picture on one of the bedside tables. “That’s what everyone wants to do?” he asked, not looking at her, still looking at the picture.

Liara moved closer, sitting on the end of the bed. “Garrus, you’re not the only one who wants to find Shepard. I, for one, do not want to see her name on that wall either. I want to at least see her body if she is...gone.”

Garrus snorted. “Weren’t you the one who recovered her body last time? After the Normandy’s first destruction?”

Liara nodded. “I was. Until I found her, I never lost hope. Even when I recovered her body, I still didn’t lose hope, especially since Cerberus planned to bring her back. I thought it was crazy, but they did it.” Liara smirked. “Death and Shepard are not good friends. She defies him at every turn.”

“I just...I don’t want to put her name on that damned wall. Because if I do, then it may be as well saying she’s gone. I...can’t accept that.” Garrus’s voice faltered, weak and strained. Liara couldn’t hear his sub-vocal very well, but she knew it was worse than his regular voice. She knew the pain of losing Shepard would be hard on him.

“Then let’s hope we can make it to Earth soon,” Liara comforted, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He silently nodded as she left the cabin.

༻✧༺

Another month had passed by, the Normandy was still grounded, but basic functions were online. Power kept the basic necessities alive, powering Liara’s room where she spent most of her time, using her Shadow Broker resources trying to gauge the aftermath of the Reaper War. No matter how much she tried to get any information, with comm buoys out of commission and them being on an uncharted world, anything she received was scarce at best. She still had received no status about the Citadel, Earth, or what state the galactic civilization was in. The only information she could glean, was what everyone already knew; the Reapers were dead and the mass relays were broken.

Voices were raised in concern about food supplies. There was still plenty of food for everyone, including Tali and Garrus, but supplies would run out soon if they didn’t restock. James, Cortez, Tali, Garrus, and Javik all decided to explore the uncharted world in hopes to find some food. Tali had a scanner in her suit that could identify whether something was poisonous and dextro-friendly or not. The only thing they had managed to find was some berries for everyone except the quarian and turian.

“Great, we’re going to be living off berries,” James groaned, picking the bright red fruits from the bush Tali had just scanned.

“Be lucky we found anything at all,” Tali retorted. “Garrus and I still have to find food that we can eat.”

“To be fair, you guys are the only dextros on board so you’re not going through your supply as fast,” Cortez pointed out.

“Hopefully we won’t run out in general,” Garrus said, looking aimlessly at the horizon. The system’s sun was equal to the sun, Sol, providing the same warmth and light on this world’s surface.

“If we do run out of food, we can just eat one another,” Javik suggested. Everyone turned and looked at the Prothean.

“Of course the Prothean would say that,” James cackled. “Talking about salarian soup and shit.”

“Let’s try to avoid that outcome,” Cortez suggested.

The idle conversation continued as the group continued looking for more food.

“Liara.” EDI stepped into the Shadow Broker’s cabin, her arms behind her back as she waited patiently for the asari to notice her.

“What is it EDI?” Liara looked up from her computer screen, frustration painted on her face.

“I found something. Upon doing an internal scan of the Normandy, I discovered a signal that was sent about two months ago. A distress signal,” EDI explained.

Liara looked at EDI in curious surprise. “Oh?”

EDI motioned for Liara to follow back up to the bridge of the Normandy. Joker was sitting in his pilot’s seat, the seat turned to face the door of the cockpit. His hands were templed together and worry was bright across his face. “Jeff and I have already listened to the signal. I had to clear it up in order to understand it since the signal was so ruined.” EDI explained as she stood next to Joker.

“Keep in mind, it’s two months old,” Joker grumbled as EDI used her omni-tool to play the signal.

There was a lot of crackling in the beginning and then a cough. “Help...” Liara strained to listen to the static in the voice. “This is...Com...mander...Shep...ard. I’m...still alive...Please help...” The signal cut off then with one more cough from the sender.

Liara’s eyes widened as EDI and Joker looked up at her to gauge her reaction. “Don’t get your hopes up. The signal is two months old,” Joker repeated.

“Do you...do you know if this signal was received by anyone else?” Liara asked, her voice soft and quiet. It was hard to determine what her reaction was.

“No. As I said, I just received this signal when I was doing diagnostics on the Normandy,” EDI answered. “I cannot determine if the signal was sent to any available ships or if it was sent to the Normandy specifically.”

Liara crossed her arms, bringing a hand to her chin, stroking it thoughtfully. There was a reason Joker reiterated the fact that the signal was two months old. With no knowledge of whether or not the signal was received by anyone else, there was no guaranteeing Shepard was alive. Liara sighed. “There’s nothing we can do about it. But whatever you do, don’t show it to Garrus. Unless we can find out whether or not the signal was received by someone else, there is no reason to bank our hopes on this.”

Joker nodded. “I agree. And honestly, Liara? As much as I want to hope...I don’t think she made it.”

Liara smiled sadly. “We can only hope she did, Jeff.”

༻✧༺

Not sure if turian heaven is the same as yours, but if this thing goes sideways and we both end up there...meet me at the bar.

She was standing in the forest. There was no child there this time. No copy of herself. She was alone. There were voices surrounding her. She looked around. Her body didn’t hurt. She couldn’t feel anything. There was a bar on the opposite end of the forest. She could have sworn she saw a turian sitting on one of the stools, a bottle in its hand.

Her legs began moving, but like all the other dreams, she moved slowly, felt weighed down by a crushing force of gravity, moving impossibly slow.

Shepard.

She heard his voice again. All around the forest. She reached out towards the turian sitting at the bar. She wanted to call out for him, but her throat tightened and no sound escaped. Fire started to form around the turian and the bar.

Not again. Please. Not again.

Come back alive. It’d be an awfully empty galaxy without you.

The flames consumed the bar and the turian, just as his head turned to look at her; the blue eyes, the blue colony marking across his face, his visor, his mandibles parting at the sight of her.

We’re in this until the end.

She tried crying out, but the flames consumed him and the noise of the Reapers echoed all around her. A bright flash of red came into her view. She felt sluggish as she brought her arms up in a futile attempt to block the beam from disintegrating her. But the pain never hit.

༻✧༺

Six months had passed since the Reaper War ended. Food supplies had started to run short, even for the dextros on the Normandy. Despite all the exploring the adventuring party had done, they still found nothing more except for berries for everyone else. However, progress on getting the Normandy back online was going well. EDI had predicted that the Normandy would be airborne within the week.

The mood on the ship was tense. Everyone was excited to be airborne again. Garrus still kept Shepard’s nameplate close to him. People stopped talking about the possibilities of Shepard’s fate, not wanting to further upset the turian and the rest of her close friends. Games of poker were used to distract crew members from the low running food supplies and the restlessness of being grounded for so long on an uncharted world.

“Man I can’t wait to get the hell off this planet,” James chattered, fixing himself a plate of berry flavored scrap food. “We’re pretty much out of food and have been surviving off of berries and MREs for six goddamn months. We haven’t been getting nearly enough proteins we need in a daily meal.” He sat down at the lunch table where the other crew members sat. Tali and Garrus looked at him pointedly. He lifted his shoulders. “What? You guys still have food.”

Tali scoffed. “Barely. There wasn’t that much dextro-food compared to your guys’ food. So we started running out around the same time you guys did.”

Cortez smiled, offering some hope around the table. “It’s okay guys. EDI said we should be taking off here soon.”

“Yes, but how long until we get to a known system?” James countered. “The mass relays are still screwed and we haven’t even received communications in forever.”

“Not to worry,” piped the synthetic voice of EDI who had just rounded the corner of the mess room. Liara stood next to her, a small smile on her face. “Communications have been reestablished.”

Liara sighed softly. “The only problem is that the communications we do receive are delayed. Say, if something was sent four months ago, we would just be receiving it now, or later. So any news we do get is going to be late.”

“Fantastic,” Garrus mumbled, looking down at his plate. He had barely touched his food and Tali was half-tempted to snag what he didn’t eat.

“Getting communications up at all is a start,” EDI admitted. “As I said, it shouldn’t be long before I can get the Normandy back into full motion.”

“Please hurry,” James begged, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sick and tired of this planet. If we had more resources, I wouldn’t mind living here. But I’m gonna lose it if I managed to survive the Reapers just to die to starvation six months later.”

Cortez raised a glass towards James. “Cheers to that.”

Liara rolled her eyes just as Specialist Traynor rushed around the corner. “Everyone! Come quick! I just received a message from Admiral Hackett!”

Everyone perked up a bit at that statement. Most of the communications they received were garbage or were so insignificant that Liara had immediately deleted them. But a message from Admiral Hackett? This had to be good.

Everyone rushed to the elevator, cramming inside of it before stepping out into the CIC. Traynor rushed over to her computer and pulled up the message. “I haven’t listened to it yet, I just saw who it was from and decided to call everyone up.” Joker was leaning on the opposite side of Traynor, by Shepard’s personal computer. There was a glint of hope in his eyes at the news of the message from Hackett.

Admiral Hackett played a huge part in the Reaper War, commanding the forces that brought the Crucible to the Citadel. If he was sending a message directly to the Normandy, then hopefully it was good news. Or news in general.

The message came up, but the frequency was all scrambled, too much static to even hear words. A few tweaks later and the old man’s voice finally came through.

“Normandy. This is Admiral Hackett. With the comm buoys in disarray and mass relays destroyed, I don’t know if and when this message will reach you, but you need to come back to Earth as soon as possible. Do whatever the hell you have to to make it back.” There was a pause in the message as everyone looked at each other. Then the voice spoke again and the words that came out struck everyone.

“We found Commander Shepard. She’s alive.”

#mass effect #mass effect 3 #mass effect post destroy ending #mass effect legendary edition #mass effect remastered #mele #garrus vakarian #femshep #femshep x garrus #shakarian #mass effect shepard #mass effect garrus #OC: Lyris Shepard #writing #my writing #ao3 #G-W76 #GalaxyPlaysMELE

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sugarbubbleslove · 2 years

Text

Long rant - under cut

So, because of the Mass Effect statistic that is going around,

apparently, people are a bit...annoyed that some people missed out on recruiting Garrus (mind you - it doesn't tell you if they failed to pick him up on the first try or got him when he reached the elevator but whatever)

and I'm just like...is it really that hard to believe that some people just might...NOT like Garrus?

I mean...people are pretty much encouraged not to like humans (Sorry but it is true. How many times have I seen people gleefully leave Jacob in the vent to die? Or how many times that they gleefully leave Ashley/Kaidan to die on Virmire? Or they let their LI from ME2 shoot Ashley/Kaidan during the Citadel coup - apparently, it's...popular for Garrus to shoot Kaidan...so...yeah. Or even mock Miranda for her death in ME3 should she die at the hands of Kai Leng).

We all have our likes and dislikes.

My preferences run toward Kaidan/Miranda/Tali/Thane (FemShepard for all of them, thank you).

I admit it - I'm not the biggest fan of Liara (Mostly down to my first PT) but I blame Bioware. Liara had potential. But Bioware has made it clear they have a major hard-on for her and well, it shows (in my PT since I never romance her and apparently, for some reason, the game kind of goes hard on a non-romanced Liara instead of a romanced-Liara?)

Garrus...isn't my type. I tried to like his character but I couldn't get into it. I eventually did steer him into a paragon route but that got dumped on in ME2. So I tried again and yeah, mixed feelings left on it.

So it just got to the stage that instead of trying to force myself to like him, I just don't bother with him.

I never have this issue when it comes to Dragon Age. You are perfectly within your rights to leave whoever you want. Kill whoever you want.

1 out of 4 pt I recruit Zevran (And that is only when I romance him). 1 out of 4 pt I recruit Wynne and that's only when I'm romancing Alistair!

Yet...when it comes to Garrus...apparently he MUST be in the party? He MUST survive ME2? You HAVE to like him.

It just seems weird to be focused on the fact that people don't recruit Garrus instead of just play and live?

I mean - why do they have to recruit Garrus?

And I'd love an explanation that doesn't involve 'Because there is No Shepard without Vakarian' cause that doesn't fly in my game. Or that 'He's the best bro' cause he's really not in my game. Or that 'He's the best romance for a FemShepard'...is he really? Or that he is 'Ride and Die' cause yeah, not the best one to use on me cause I don't really care for 'Ride or Die' characters.

#Please don't read if you are a Garrus Fan #Mass Effect #Anti-Garrus Vakarian #Garrus Vakarian Critical #Not for Garrus Fans #Just venting #Semi-Anti-Liara #Sorry for that part #I personally blame Bioware for that

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ethanlivemere · 3 years

Text

Half-Life²: Anticitizen - Chapter 2

(Prologue and chapter 1 can be found on my profile)

Chapter 2

Friendly Faces

Barney Calhoun was a valued member of the Black Mesa Security Force. He did his job well and was particularly respected by the other security guards for his ability to passive-aggressively give a piece of his mind to some of the more pompous scientists who treated the security team as their inferiors, without ever directly disobeying their orders. He was the kind of guy you could grab a beer with after work – something I had been meaning to do for a long time before the… incident. I had always felt I had more in common with him than any of my fellow scientists: not only did we both have the bad habit of not being the most punctual, but he also gave a me a good run for my money when it came to my high scores on the Black Mesa Hazard Course. While other scientists were busy competing for grant money, I was out trying to one-up Barney at the shooting range.

I thought he was dead. That he had been lost in the aftermath of the Resonance Cascade, eaten by a bullsquid, or worse, turned into a grotesque zombie like so many others. And yet, here he is, standing in front of me with his arms spread as he cheekily grins at me, now sporting the black Metropolice uniform instead of the familiar BMSF standard-issue bulletproof vest and helmet. His face, previously hidden behind the white gasmask, looks older than I remember. The first hints of gray have started to appear at the base of his dark hair and in his 5 o’clock shadow. His face looks tired and worn out beneath his cheerful expression. The eyes are what give it away: I’ve seen the same exhausted eyes on every citizen I have encountered so far. They’re the eyes of a man who has been through hell. Well, I guess that’s one more thing we have in common.

“Surprised to see me?” Barney asks, noticing the probably visible confusion on my face. “Well, that makes two of us, Gordon. Where’ve you been? It’s been ten years, man!” Ten years. So the man in the suit was telling the truth. It’s really been ten years since Black Mesa. What happened in that time? “Sorry about the scare earlier, I had to put on a show for the cameras,” Barney says, pointing over his shoulder at the disabled scanner on the ceiling. “Listen, I know you have a lot of questions but I can’t keep you here too long. I’ve been working undercover with Civil Protection, we need to get you out of here before they get suspicious. All I can tell you for now is that if you thought Black Mesa was as bad as it could get, well… you’re in for a nasty surprise.” He turns around and starts fiddling with the console. Symbols flash on the screens, the same symbols that I saw on the Consul’s broadcasts and the red bands on the shoulders of the Metrocop uniforms. Whatever they are, Barney seems to understand them.

“Okay Gordon, we’re gonna try to get you to Dr. Kleiner’s lab. It’s not too far from here, in an old warehouse in an industrial part of the city.” Kleiner? Does he mean… Isaac Kleiner? Could he be alive too? “I can’t take you there personally unfortunately, I have a shift to get to if I don’t want to blow my cover. But I’ll let one of my guys in the streets know you’re coming, he’ll show you the way.” Barney walks to a small window that looks out over an equally small courtyard. He opens it and looks out. “Go through that door over there. You should be able to get to the plaza. My guy will meet you there.” He walks back to the desk and starts putting the front of his mask back in place.

I look through the window. It’s about an eight foot drop; nothing I can’t handle. The claustrophobic courtyard is empty save for a trashcan lying on its side on the mossy tiles. The door Barney was talking about is the only entrance or exit. I look back to the once again unrecognizable Barney. I briefly thank him, and he salutes me with two fingers. “I’ll see you later, Gordon. Try not to draw any attention to yourself,” his distorted voice sounds through the mask. I nod him goodbye and swing my leg over the windowsill, effortlessly jumping down and landing safely. I look up and see the window being closed. I guess I’m on my own again.

The rusty door takes me to a small boiler room, which leads into a short corridor. I let my instincts and the faint sound of the Consul’s voice guide me through the station and I soon find myself in the entrance hall. Like the rest of the building, it is a dilapidated remnant of former glory. What once were ticket booths have been transformed into some sort of dispensing machine, which slowly spits out featureless brown packages into the eager hands of the shabby citizens who form a long, patient queue under the watchful eye of Metrocops. Above them, the Consul spouts the same repeating message: “Welcome to City 17.”

A woman walks by, clutching her newly received package against her chest. I can now see some of the alien symbols on the brown, paper-like exterior, as well as some readable text: 4 rations. She glances at me but quickly directs her eyes back to the ground in front of her as she walks towards the exit. I follow her to the large, wooden double doors. She takes one hand off the ration packet to open the door, but in doing so looses her grip on the packet and drops it on the floor with a soft thud. She nervously glances around as she quickly picks it back up again, and I decide to help out by opening the door for her. I try to give her the warmest smile I can fake as she walks by. “We can’t be seen talking to each other,” is the only thing she mutters to me under her breath as she heads out into the daylight.

Although… daylight might be an exaggeration. The sight that greets me when I step outside is no different in tone than the station and the train ride before it, yet it still shakes me to my core. The plaza consists of a small, empty fountain surrounded by dead hedges and flanked by two tall pillars, each topped with a bronze statue of a prancing horse. Plastic bags, empty bottles and other kinds of small trash litter the otherwise empty street surrounding the plaza, and the only vehicle is a large armored car surrounded by a patrol of Metrocops. The few citizens that walk the street keep as close to the surrounding buildings – abandoned stores and boarded-off hotels – as possible. It is then that my eye falls on the gigantic structure that emerges beyond the buildings. It’s a looming spire of rust brown metal that forms an irregular shape I recognize from the various posters around the train station. Its exact height is impossible to tell as it disappears into the greenish clouds that obstruct the sky, but there is no doubt it is incredibly large – so large, in fact, that I’m amazed it took me so long to notice it. Several of the metal plates that layer the outside of the structure seem to move at very slow paces, almost as if the building is alive, and sometimes it looks like something flies in to or out of one of the many slits and crevices in the jagged exterior.

I tear my gaze away from the ominous sight and scan the plaza more attentively. Barney said he would have a guy tell me where to go once I got out of the station, but I can’t spot a single citizen not minding their own business like their lives depend on it – which they probably do. I walk down the stairs in front of the station’s entrance. I follow the citizens’ example and keep close to the buildings, heading the opposite way of the Metrocop patrol. I duck into a shadowy doorway to get out of their sightline and look around again when I hear a hushed “Hey!” coming from a bit further down the street that sprouts from the plaza. I see a young man beckoning me from another doorway. I glance around for Metrocops, decide that the coast is clear and hurry towards him. He is dark-haired, wears the same familiar citizen’s uniform and looks to be about my age… come to think of it, what is my age? Barney was about my age at Black Mesa, but the ten years since then are clearly visible on him, while the few times I’ve seen my own reflection since my ‘awakening’ hadn’t shown me any changes in my own appearance.

The man pulls me out of my thoughts when he grabs my arm and pulls me into the shadow of the doorway. “You’re Freeman, right?” I nod. “The name’s Jeremy. Barney told me to get you to Kleiner’s.” He looks at my chest, where Samuel had earlier noted the absence of an identity tag. “We won’t be able to get you through checkpoints since you’re not a registered citizen. Just follow me.” He starts walking down the street and looks at me over his shoulder. “It’s great to have you with us, Freeman. There’s no doubt you’ll be a great help in our fight against the Combine.”

I follow Jeremy through the abandoned streets of City 17. He seems to be excellent at avoiding Civil Protection, because we never cross them; I only ever see them in adjacent streets. Sometimes they are accompanied by an armored vehicle, sometimes they are stationed at a barricade of black metal, watching people get scanned before a gate opens to let them through. I guess these are the checkpoints we can’t pass through – or at least I can’t. While we walk, my guide confirms what I already knew: after the Resonance Cascade, Earth was invaded by an alien empire he calls the ‘Combine’, who laid waste to the planet and enslaved humanity. The otherworldly skyscraper in the middle of the city – called the Citadel – is their bastion. Apparently, every city has its own Citadel, but the one in City 17 is special in that it is also the residence of the Consul – Earth’s new leader.

He then tells me about a resistance group fighting back against the Combine rule. He says there are many resistance fighters outside of the city, but that Barney and Dr. Kleiner lead the more covert operatives within City 17. He remarks that I probably know Kleiner and I nod. I don’t just know Isaac Kleiner, he was my professor and mentor at MIT. I was one of his favorite and ‘most promising’ students (his words), and when I applied for the position of research associate at Black Mesa, it was Kleiner’s recommendation that got me the job, where I worked alongside him on the Anomalous Materials team until… Well, let’s try not to think about that too much now. It seems there are bigger issues at hand than regret.

Even though we successfully evade the Metrocops and their checkpoints, the Combine is visible everywhere in one way or another. For a start there is the Citadel always towering over the rooftops, a menacing silhouette on the dark sky. But the old, human-built buildings have also been corrupted by Combine technology. Large, complex locking mechanisms cling onto old wooden doors like tumorous growths. Smaller versions of the enormous wall I saw surrounding the city fill up gaps they themselves made, obsidian metal swallowing brick and stone. Watchtowers and other Combine structures have been planted on top of buildings, walls and roofs bending under their weight. Cables and pipelines run across and through walls like vines sprouting from concrete. There’s something almost fascinating about how the stoic, geometric order of the human city and the clean, essentialist order of the Combine tech overlap in a patchwork with chaos and destruction wherever they meet.

A rhythmic sound has been growing louder for a while now. Upon listening more closely, I realize it’s the sound of marching. An army marching. Jeremy rounds a corner and stops dead in his tracks. “Damn it… not good.” Down the street, at an intersection with a wide boulevard, I see dozens of soldiers walking in formation. They look a lot like Metrocops, but their masks are dark gray and they wear thick padding in camouflage colors instead of the black uniforms. They carry automatic rifles and their heavy combat boots send echoing thuds through the streets. I see several people standing by, watching the military procession walk down the street. My companion walks closer and I cautiously follow him. “Really not good. We have to cross this street, but this parade blocks our path.” He looks to both sides as if estimating its length. “I can’t even see the synths yet. This could easily go on for another twenty minutes. We can’t wait that long.” He looks up at the buildings flanking the street and points to a skyway that connects two apartment buildings on either side. “There.” I follow him down the street as he heads towards a large opening in the wall of the apartment building with the skyway. The opening is closed off by a cast iron fence, but its lock seems to have been broken for a long time and Jeremy simply pushes it open. It turns out to be a passage to a courtyard between the apartment buildings, with dark, vigilant windows and balconies looking out over it.

“Okay, you’re not supposed to come here if you don’t live here, so technically we’re trespassing,” Jeremy says to me as we make our way to the exterior staircase on one of the high walls surrounding the courtyard. “Then again, you were already illegal, so-” He cuts himself off abruptly freezes, seemingly listening. Over the still loud marching I can hear a soft, mechanical whirr with an occasional beep. Jeremy looks up and immediately grabs me. “Combot!” he shouts as he pulls me in the direction of the nearest door. I catch a brief glimpse of a floating drone with a single yellow eye before a bright, white flash blinds me. I stumble backwards and Jeremy, presumably also blinded, starts swearing with panic in his voice. The slow beeps of the drone turn into an alarm as I slowly regain my sense of sight, and when I can properly see again I find it’s still hovering in the same spot. By now I have seen enough examples of Combine technology to recognize that this so-called Combot is another one. Four metal flaps surround its eye, which has now turned red as it shines its flashlight onto us and continues its alarm.

Jeremy grabs me again and pushes me towards the staircase. “Look, it’s too late now. They know we’re here, there will be Metrocops swarming all over this place in half a minute. You gotta get out of here and get to Kleiner’s. I’ll hold them off.”

I try to object but am interrupted by a distant female voice echoing through the air: “Attention, Civil Protection team: unauthorized civil activity detected in residential block 67B. Investigate and report.”

Jeremy looks to the sky as if he’s looking for the source of the disembodied voice and then looks back to me. “Go through the residential block across the street, through the industrial district. Barney will meet you at the Manhack Arcade.” He points to something on the wall next to the stairs: between the various graffiti is a familiar Greek letter drawn in orange paint. “Follow the lambdas. They indicate safe routes for Resistance allies. Go!”

I hesitate for a second. I don’t want to leave him behind in the clutches of Civil Protection, but he doesn’t seem like he’s planning on going anywhere, so I give him a respectful nod before turning around and running up the stairs. I go as fast as I can, and I am almost at the top when I hear footsteps and the shriek of the broken gate. I look down and see several Metrocops run onto the courtyard with their batons ready. Jeremy puts his hands on his head before he gets grabbed by two Metrocops and forced onto his knees. One Metrocop steps forward. He looks different than the others, wearing a trench coat and carrying some kind of radio pack on his back. He asks Jeremy a question I can’t understand and when he doesn’t get an answer, he gestures to one of the Metrocops holding Jeremy down. A flash of blue as a stun baton is planted in Jeremy’s side. His body shakes a second before he falls to the ground. The trench coat-wearing Metrocop, probably an officer, barks a couple of brief orders. I can only understand a couple of words: “There were two”. I have to get out of here.

I ascend the final steps as quickly and as quietly as I can. There’s a wooden door at the top. I fidget with the handle. It’s unlocked. I open it, slip inside, and close it behind me. No time to rest. I hear the Metrocops coming up the stairs, and the Combot’s light seeps through the crack under the door. Got to keep moving. I scan the hallway. Apartment doors. Staircase. It’s dark: there are no windows and the lights don’t work, but there is daylight coming from around a corner down the hall. My footsteps echo on the brown ceramic tiles as I run past the closed doors and onto the skyway we had seen from below. Down in the street, the Combine troops are still marching. There are different units among them now. Hulking, mechanical figures, appearing to be almost eight feet tall, carrying enormous alien weaponry no human would be able to carry. These must be the synths Jeremy mentioned. Nestled deep in the armor between the bulky shoulders is something that doesn’t seem completely mechanical. I don’t stay to have a better look. Something tells me it would only disturb me.

I hear Metrocops banging on doors as I start making my way down the stairs of the building on the other side of the road, occasionally followed by a crash of splintering wood. The Metrocops bark orders at panicking citizens as they search the apartments. I use their preoccupation to put more distance between us, sincerely hoping my actions don’t get any of the inhabitants into serious trouble. I descend creaky stairs that wrap around the grating of an elevator shaft. A man stands in a doorway, curious about the noises that echo all the way from the other building, while a woman behind him urges him to go inside and close the door before they get here. I make brief eye contact with the man as I descend. My look must give away that I’m the cause of the tumult, because he whispers to me: “Go through the back door on the ground floor. I never saw you.” Another plea from the woman and he retreats into his apartment and closes the door.

I’m not sure I can trust the man. He might be leading me into a trap, or maybe he will point the Metrocops to where I went when they come knocking on his door. But right now, I have little choice but to accept all the help I can get if I ever want to reach Dr. Kleiner. When I reach the ground floor, there is an entrance hall with rows of mailboxes and a transparent door that leads out into a large street. I can see why the man told me to go out the back: it’s the street where the hordes of soldiers are still marching. I look around for a back door and find it in a windowless, unlit room filled with cardboard boxes. I have to move some of them to get the door open. Beyond the door is a courtyard much like the one where we got spotted by the Combot. The coast seems clear.

I can already tell which way I have to go. Amidst a tapestry of graffiti, there is another lambda drawn in orange spray paint next to a narrow passage. As I follow its guidance, I wonder why they chose this symbol for their ‘safe passages’. I mean, I can certainly guess where they got it from. Word must have gotten out about the Lambda lab’s part in stopping the Resonance Cascade – though, ultimately, it hardly saved Earth. Plus, no one at Black Mesa can really be praised for solving a problem we caused.

Having time to think again as I walk through the alleyway, I ponder exactly what happened to me during the ten years I was in the dark void. By now, I have come to the conclusion that I haven’t aged. My hair and beard haven’t grown, I haven’t gained or lost weight, my joints and muscles aren’t sore. But at the same time, my wounds and bruises from the Black Mesa incident seem to have completely healed. None of the clothes I’m wearing are clothes I have ever owned, yet my glasses are the ones I had on me during the Black Mesa disaster. The ones I managed not to lose throughout all the perils I faced and were cracked and stained with blood by the end, but now rest on my face clean and unscathed.

My memories of the void are a blur, like a distant dream. If it weren’t for the radically changed world I find myself in, I would think it never happened. On top of that, my memories from before the void have also gone blurry – or, rather, before Black Mesa. I can remember Black Mesa like it was yesterday, but my life before Black Mesa (MIT, high school, my parental home…) feels like a vaguely remembered childhood memory, even the things that happened when I was well over twenty. Is this his doing? Is he trying to erase the person I was, only to leave a mindless fighting machine in his stead? Or is it merely a result of the deterioration of a mind over the course of ten years of isolation?

I’m no longer walking between apartment buildings. The streets are narrow and the walls are all brick and pipes and steel beams. Steam rises from grates in the ground and mixes with the faint fog that hangs between the buildings. There is a constant whir of machinery coming from behind the walls. A train passes overhead on the elevated tracks while a lone Combot combs the empty streets. I try my best to stay out of its sight. The train sounds its horn. The Combot rounds a corner. I get the impression the sky has gotten even darker since I left the station.

A strange contraption stands lonely on the sidewalk. It’s a cylindrical tank filled with red liquid, cradled in a humming machine with green gauge lights and power cables running into the wall behind it. Like all other Combine technology, it looks extremely out of place, like someone just dropped it on the street and punched jagged holes into the wall to fit the cables. The Combine clearly plant their machines and facilities wherever they need them without a care for whatever was there before. It makes me angry, of course, but the irony doesn’t escape me. After all, it’s exactly what we did on Xen.

There is a silhouette in the dark liquid. Vaguely humanoid, curled up into a fetal position. I can just about discern a large red eye, half-closed, on the creature’s head. Even through the thick liquid, the shape appears… familiar. It seems impossible to believe, but it almost looks like…

“The Freeman.”

The voice behind me startles me and I spin around. Before me stands a green, hunched over figure with shackles around its long neck, wrists and ankles. All of its red eyes are on me and a vestigial third arm extends itself towards me. If there was any doubt about the creature in the tank, here it is unmistakable: I am standing in front of a Vortigaunt.

“At last, the Combine’s reckoning has come.”

Chapter 3

_________________________________

Yes, you read this right: chapter 2 of Anticitizen, which has been in production since July 2020, is finally finished! And boy, is it a long one! 4000 words, and yet we still haven't even gotten to Dr. Kleiner's lab! (Don't worry, we'll get there soon).

Anywho, here are the accompanying images:

Beta Citadel

Combot

Metropolice officer

Combine Guard synth

Industrial district

Vorti-cell

I'm very excited to finally have this done and ready to be read. I think (and really hope) the next chapter won't take as long. As I said in the last progress update, I have been doing a lot of overarching planning for the story which will make writing easier.

I have made a rough estimate of the story and predict it will be about 32 chapters long, though it's much more likely to be more than that than less, judging from the fact that it's taking 3 chapters just to get to Kleiner's lab. The thing is, you can't predict the length things will have in this story by looking at their length in the game. The opening requires a lot of describing and mood-setting so it's much longer than the short intro in the game. Story parts will be longer than they are in the game, while action parts will be shorter than they are in the game (looking at you, 'Canals' and 'Highway' sections).

By the way, I have started uploading Anticitizen to Reddit now under the name EthanLM427. Do with that what you want.

Anyway, that's it for me. I promise I won't take as long for the next one.

#anticitizen #half life #half life 2 #half life 2 beta #my writing #fanfiction #gordon freeman #barney calhoun

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lions-arch-chronicle · 4 years

Photo

Issue 6!

Image ID under read more

Title: Have we unmasked masked roller f?

Story: There has long been debate and conjecture on the true identity of the famed Masked Roller “F”. Scholar Courica along with Consultant Teekay, have conducted a deep dive investigation into who Masked Roller “F” could potentially be.The first potential suspect has been alluded to being no other than Pact Marshal Logan Thackeray. Theories suggest that it could be Thackeray because of the lack of action that he currently sees as the Pact Marshal. The high intensity and adrenaline that comes with roller beetle racing along with the lower impact on the body would be the perfect replacement for the usually intense environment that a battlefield produces. The main argument against this point is mainly Thackeray’s most noticeable feature, his hair. There could potentially be an argument for a wig being used to further the masked persona, but a wig would potentially be impossible to keep in place due to the high wind speeds that racers experience.Another candidate for the identity of the masked roller is the originator of the sport as well as the creator of roller beetles Gorrik. We are aware that Gorrik is in fact, an asura, but dear readers we would like to point out that transformation tonics are also an item that an ingenious asura could create fairly easily and have a ready supply if not a never-ending tonic. The knowledge that Gorrik has about the beetles as well as the creation of the mount lines up with the skills and abilities seen in the masked roller.The final and most controversial option is that Masked Roller “F” is none other than the Krytan noble, Lord Faren. It’s unlikely that the busy lord would have the time or the skill set necessary for him to be the masked roller. But the build, hair, and voice all seem eerily similar to the rider making him a strong candidate.Unfortunately, all three potential riders declined for interviews leaving this an unsolved mystery.

Title: Logan’s Luscious Locks Investigated?

Story: Everyone from Rata Sum to Amnoon knows about the seraph captain’s devotion to his Krytan Queen, but even more widely acknowledged is the phenomenon that is Logan’s Luscious Locks! How exactly does such a busy man manage his miraculous mane? We’ve all got our theories, from flaxseed oil to conditioner laced with bloodstone dust, but what this writer wants to know is who does Queen Jenna’s hair? Is it really patriotic or romantic devotion that keeps Captain Thackery so glued to her side? Or is it an excuse for an extensive beauty regime, known only to the Divinity’s Reach elites? We may never know, but I know I for one would split a lot of ends to learn that secret!

Title: Upcoming Tyrian Weather Advisories

Story: Reports have been coming in from Central Tyria that branded rifts have still been appearing periodically. The areas where the predicted rifts will be opening are : Rancher’s Wash, Vitpeln Hills and Giant’s Passage. If you have any plans to be in these areas within the next day we advise caution as the it will be dangerous until the rifts are sealed. Recommendations state that if you can use the detour to get to your destination that it is highly recommended to do so, if not The Lion Guard highly recommend carrying a weapon to fend off the branded that will be escaping through the portals. As mentioned in previous weather reports, improvised weapons are ill advised and experts recommend exotic or better weaponry to be used in the case of brandstorms.

Title: A spicy review from the Black Citadel: too hot to handle

Story: I recently toured the Black Citadel to see how it was. I grew up in Divinity’s Reach and this was a culture shock! It was so dark and drab! And worst of all, there was so much LAVA! Lava of all things! In the middle of the biggest city in Ascalon! I don’t know how people live here! Someone named Pove the Sleepless even told me they have accidents in the area the lava was in! It’s not safe! I even saw a cub running around! I also talked to a gentleman named Unglot Sootmane who told me the area was named after his mother, which is actually kind of sweet. If you want to check out the Lava it’s in the southeastern corner of the city near the scrapyard, though I don’t know why you would. Editor’s Note: Kittyblog was informed multiple times that the “lava” that she observed were actually forges filled with molten metals used by the charr legions. This however did not persuade her away from her opinions on the Black Citadel. We must also point out Kittyblog’s potential bias within this story, we aren’t quite sure what that bias is but...it’s there so please read this article with a bit of salt.

Title: Boasting Hall: The Superior Salt

Story: In your last issue, a writer at the Lion’s Arch Chronicle said that they drank bloodstone coffee, “which packed a punch so powerful that I was afraid my soul may have left my body. I think my skeleton may still be suffering the aftershocks and I would recommend avoiding all foods laced with bloodstone dust.” The argument that avoiding all foods that have used bloodstone dust as a spice is absurd! Starting your week off with a piping hot cup of bloodstone coffee is just what every Tyrian needs. The energy that you obtain when you combine coffee grounds with bloodstone dust is without compare! Sure, the after-effects and potential heart failure are a downside but consider how productive you’ll be before then!I always say that bloodstone dust is the most versatile cooking ingredient, and if The Commander has given my bloodstone food their seal of approval, then that should speak for itself.

Title: Skritt Union Recognized by Lion’s Arch Chronicle

Story: The Lion’s Arch Chronicle is happy to report that negotiations with Skritt Harmony in Negotiating Employment, or SHINE for short, has come to a successful conclusion in which the needs of our skritt coworkers have been met. There was an outpouring of support from the local community in support of the skritt seeking fair treatment by their employers. One such voice was popular skritt based blog Skrittposts who made the statement, “We at skrittposts would like to express our sincerest solidarity with skritt and support their demand for fair wages and equal opportunity shiny insurance!!” They continued their statement clarifying their lack of a formal petition as well. “We do not have a signed petition, as most individual skritt cannot write; however, the perceived eloquence of this elocution should suffice as proof that many skritts support #skrittrights!”The demands of SHINE were presented to Editor-in-Chief Courica and owner of the LAC and the Black Lion Trading Company Evon Gnashblade and were accepted after a week of debate and compromise between both parties. Our skritt coworkers will now receive salaried positions equal to their writing and editorial counterparts along with vacation hours, dental, and the highly sought after yet controversial shiny insurance that will be provided by the Black Lion Trading Company.We are extremely happy to report that skritt produced content will resume next week with the first installment of Kuritata’s Fashion Review thanks to the several wonderful submissions that we have received thus far.

#Lion's Arch Chronicle #Guild Wars 2 #gw2 #skritt union #Thank you skrittposts for that awesome addition to the last paper it was fun to include it here

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damienthepious · 4 years

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im..... aaaaaaaaa

A Moment As An Optimist (chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love , (alas…….), miscommunication followed quickly by communication

Summary: It is one of Damien’s favorite events of the entire year, all revelry and romance and joy, and he cannot wait to share it with his lovers. Or- with one of them, at least.

Chapter Summary: He promised he would not spend his evening moping. However, Arum is a notorious and consummate liar.

Chapter Notes: This is too soft even for me. I literally can't read it again or i'll fucking evaporate. byeeeeeee.

Arum tries to sleep. He does. Not particularly long after they leave him, in fact, Arum sighs and sags and gives up pretense, gives up any illusion that he is doing anything at all besides thinking about the humans, thinking about the celebration he cannot possibly join them in, thinking about the dance they cannot share, thinking about how- how beautiful they always look, together, how beautiful they look without him-

He gives up the pretense, and he curls up in bed.

Sleep fails to find him, though.

How many more such nights will there be, in his future?

How many more celebrations, how many dances, how many embraces will he be summarily excluded from? It is none of their faults-

He curls his arms around his own chest, a tangled parody of an embrace.

It is none of their faults. But the world, such as it is, will always hold Arum away from so large a part of their lives. When already Arum is a new and awkward third to their years of familiarity and knowledge and understanding-

Arum cannot resist the slow bleed of helplessness in his chest, the distinct sensation of inevitability. It has been some time since he has felt the feeling so sharply. Not since the early days, when their relationship felt so tenuous and fragile and Arum himself felt so certain of failure, not since those days has he felt so... resigned. His bond with the both of them can never possibly measure against their bond with each other, least of all while they are busily creating new memories and new bonds with each other while Arum-

While Arum curls and waits, wide-eyed and sleepless, for them to return to placate his hurt.

A recipe for resentment, if ever Arum has heard of one. He, resenting their happiness without him and despising himself for it. They, despite their kindness, their understanding- certainly they will tire of expending their energy in the pursuit of his elusive comfort eventually. His ill-nursed wounds will become their burden, with time, and one day they will look at him and they will sigh and their frustration with him will outweigh their affection.

Damien nearly chose not to leave at all. Nearly insisted upon staying, in fact, because the little poet is more compassion than good sense, and he is kinder by far than Arum deserves.

Arum cannot stop thinking of that. Of the cruelty in his own hands, the potential to dig his claws into the pair of them and drag them down into the dark with him, of how easy it would be to ply Damien with guilt and keep the pair of them all to himself-

An obvious cruelty. He would never forgive himself, of course, and he is certain as well that such efforts would only cause their resentment towards him to fester even more, in the long term.

He curls into an even tighter ball, hissing between his teeth.

Amaryllis would scowl at him and flick him in the nose if she knew how ridiculous he's being, at the moment. But then, she is not here, is she? The entire issue is that he is alone, and they are hand in hand somewhere beyond his reach, and Arum does not believe in fate but this certainly feels like what is meant to be.

Foolish. He squeezes his eyes shut, and then he wastes what feels like nearly an hour attempting not to think at all.

He gives up on sleep at long last, as he gave up on working earlier in the evening, and he drags himself from the bed with a heavy sigh. The Keep accommodates gently, no hint of teasing in its voice as it opens the way to his greenhouse, giving him soft bioluminescence to light his way.

He walks slowly, carefully, picking his way between the foliage and distracting himself with all the numerous marks of Amaryllis' hands upon this part of his home, the little labels she has affixed to sticks stuck like miniature flags in the dirt beside the less easily identifiable herbs, the cartoonish unhappy faces she has used to demarcate the more... deadly of his floral charges, the even rows of newer greenery she has introduced-

It only hurts a little, her fingerprints in his soil without her presence in fact. He is unsure whether or not he should feel lucky, that Damien's presence here is so much more ephemeral. If Arum allowed himself, he could still his mind enough to hear the echo of honeysuckle's poetry, whispering between the leaves. He has spoken so many lovely words here, between the trunks and bramble, Arum is certain that they must still be flitting in the shadows like moths and motes.

At least, he thinks, their mark will remain upon his home, upon himself, even after they have grown tired of humoring him.

He is unsure how long a time he has expended in this melancholy observation before he feels the Keep hum, before he feels a small spike of delight from the structure. After a moment, however, it goes oddly quiet. Suspiciously so, perhaps.

Arum raises an eyebrow, frowning vaguely upward.

"What?" he grumbles. "What are you up to now?"

It hums noncommittally, hedging, and Arum's frown deepens.

"What do you mean, nothing? You cannot hide from me, you enormous fool. What are you up to?"

It pauses for a long moment. Arum feels the silence as if the creature is holding up a metaphorical finger, and his impatience spikes, his frill fluttering as he gives a warning snarl, but the Keep ignores him for nearly another minute before he feels it pulse with a strange little shiver of excitement and-

He scowls. Something like mischief. Never a good sign, where his Keep is concerned.

"Do not give me that mood. I demand you explain yourself, you gigantic meddling-"

It opens a doorway before he can finish the sentence, and Arum is surprised first of all to realize that it is only showing him the way to the other side of the greenhouse, to the section dominated mostly by thick-trunked trees (which Amaryllis insists on labeling as the orchard), and as Arum stomps through with a snarl half formed into further complaints, the words disappear from his lips.

His Keep has strung vines among the branches above, lighting the wide, leaf-strewn space with blooming bursts of warm orange bioluminescence, and standing together beneath that canopy, Arum's humans are smiling, hand in hand.

He has never seen them dressed so elegantly. The rich blue and soft brown of Damien's kurta ripples in the light as he turns, smiling, the subtle weave of the silk only barely catching the eye with a near-imperceptible floral pattern. Amaryllis glows just as brightly, draped in a warm brown that matches the accent of Damien's clothes, glittering with carefully woven beads in an asymmetrical river curling down from her shoulder to her waist.

Arum remembers, when the portal closes at his back, to breathe, and then he remembers after another moment how to speak.

"I... y-you are... you have returned much... much earlier than I expected," he manages. Eventually.

Amaryllis grins a little too wide, visibly pleased with herself, and then she pats Damien's arm and the knight, his own eyes gleaming and soft, steps closer to Arum himself as Amaryllis tugs lightly on one of the nearby vines.

"I'm glad that we have found you still awake, my lily," Damien says softly, his tone utterly earnest, and Arum struggles to think beyond the pounding of his heart. "I feared that we may have left you alone for too long."

"O-oh?" Arum blinks, and then shakes his head quickly. "I- rather. I told you, honeysuckle, I have been perfectly- perfectly fine. What are you-"

"Just trust us for one sec," Amaryllis says, flashing him a sharp, striking smile, and Arum's words vanish yet again. Her smile softens at whatever look she has stunned onto his face, and then she reaches up, placing her recorder in the bell of a large pale flower the Keep has provided, gently amplifying the whirring sound of the machinery kicking on throughout the space as the Keep lowers the bioluminescence even further, slipping towards the quality of candlelight without the flicker.

There we go, Amaryllis' voice says mildly on the recording, and Arum can hear the sound of footsteps on stone, the light chattering of people, the laughter of hatchlings- children, rather-

All the gentle, rumbling murmur of a festival in the evening dimness.

"Amaryllis," Arum says, soft, and the humans step closer. "Did you-"

"Shh," she says, wrapping an arm around Damien as they slip close. "Trust us."

"Would you care to accompany us tonight, Lord Arum?"

Arum feels himself go still, the warmth of the attention of these shockingly gorgeous creatures almost too much to bear, and with a rattle in his chest he manages, just barely, to nod.

They reach, both in the same moment, and take Arum in their arms.

Amaryllis leaves one hand settled at Damien's lower back, the other she slips up over Arum's shoulder, her fingers brushing light along the back of his neck. Damien leans closer, letting his cheek rest on Arum's other shoulder as one hand wraps around his back, the other still clinging to Amaryllis on the other side, a tangled little triangle of limbs further complicated when Arum instinctively lifts his own arms to embrace them in return.

They hold him, they hold each other, and Arum blinks, both pleased and confused, but he does not have time to worry deeply as chattering on the recording quiets only a moment before the music begins.

The song is slow, gentle strings and rumbling drums and something bright and chiming, low murmurs from the crowd overlaying the instruments as the two humans hold him close, and this is- Arum is warm, and held, and he feels overwhelmed in perhaps the best possible way.

"Wh-what are you-"

"Close your eyes," Damien murmurs, his fingertips pressing against the scales of his back.

Arum blinks again in surprise, but after only a breath of pause he obeys, trusting their hands to hold him as he ducks his head.

They begin to sway with him, just slow, and after a long moment of music and murmurs, Damien begins to speak, his tone melodic, reminiscent of a spell.

"We arrive just after the sparring has finished, the feast midway through. The stalls have been cleared from the market square, and the wide tawny and peach flagstones beneath our feet look nearly golden in the light from the lanterns that have been strung in a gleaming, delicate web above our heads, as if the stars themselves have descended to grace us with their light from an orbit we can nearly, nearly touch. They've hung lanterns on the darkened buildings surrounding as well, and the flickering flames touch everything with fingers of light so diffuse and mellow that all within their glow take on the quality of dreams. It is the sort of light that plays across features, that makes movement from stillness, that echoes and accentuates a dance.

"A dance, such as the one we intend to share with you, this night. The musicians enter, smiling and shaking hands with the sparring performers as they pass, and the crowd stills with anticipation and delight as they tune their instruments and confer low about the piece with which they should begin. But then- I suppose you've heard that part already, have you not?"

Arum keeps his eyes closed, feeling their hands, feeling the beat and the way the humans are swaying him along with it, and when he realizes that he cannot make his voice catch he simply nods, certain that Damien can feel the motion.

"They begin with something soft. Our Rilla rolls her eyes, having hoped for a bit more excitement-"

Arum's mouth pulls into a helpless smile as Amaryllis makes a noise of mock-betrayal, jostling the three of them as she swats a hand at the knight, but Damien's voice only goes warmer as he continues.

"But she smiles nonetheless as I take her hand, and we both take yours. Perhaps you frown as well, reluctant to be drawn into the romance of such a moment, but- will you... will you allow us to take your hands, my lily? Will you dance with us?"

His throat is too dry, his heart beating far too fast, but-

"Of c-course I- always, I- you know I will-" he manages, his eyes still dutifully closed, and Damien breathes a laugh.

"Thank you. Thank you for indulging me, my loves-"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"So," he says, and Arum hears the edge of laughter in his voice before he drifts back to his sonorous, enchanting tone. "So, we draw you out into the center of the square, and no one is bothered a single whit, not a single creature looks at us twice. No- this is my story, my lily, and I will tell it how my heart has made it. We are long past such concerns here, in this moment, in this space. The flames paint Rilla's eyes rippling liquid dark, your scales gleam beneath the soft twirl of your cape, and none look our way except to note how beautifully my partners glow. We lift our hands, my love, we take you safe within our arms, and... and together, my love, we dance."

They sway with him, slow and measured, warm and close, and Arum-

Arum can see it. Can see this gleaming fantasy that Damien has woven around them, and the sting is so much duller when Arum can feel their embrace, can feel their hands and their hearts, and he could almost believe himself truly there. Truly included in this part of their lives, their celebration and joy. He could almost believe that if he opens his eyes now, he will see the swirling crowd, miraculously safe, and his humans safe as well in his arms, bathed in billowing lamplight.

I miss him, Damien says on the recording, his voice so terribly small, and Arum's breath catches as he holds the poet tighter.

We left him like an hour ago, Amaryllis says, practical and mild. And we'll be back home as soon as we're done here. She pauses, and then after a moment she sighs. But... yeah. Me too.

Perhaps... Damien says, so soft that the edges of his voice crackle through the mechanism, perhaps, someday...

Someday, Amaryllis agrees, and then Arum can nearly hear her smile. But we'll worry about someday when it's a little closer. Let's just keep working on tonight.

Arum breathes slow, struggling to keep the drumming of his heart under control, struggling not to hold them tighter and tighter and tighter, struggling not to collapse entirely under the weight of his affection, and Arum could still dig his claws into his fear, could still worry over every frayed edge and every moment of potential friction, could set his eyes on the uncertain future and fixate his fear on the idea of these creatures tiring of such beautiful, meaningful efforts for his sake, but-

But Amaryllis is always so much more clever than he, with such a gift for economy of language. Let us keep working on tonight, he thinks, another string of words with the strength of a spell, and then he finally opens his eyes again.

They are still the most beautiful creatures he has ever, ever seen.

"I love you so dearly," he rumbles, and his voice is unsteady, catching on every sharp edge as it comes up, but he cannot bring himself to care. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I cannot love you in the light, as you deserve. It is not right for you to be relegated to solitude and darkness with me while you both burn so brightly-"

"Don't you dare," Damien says, sharp and fierce, and Arum smiles.

"It sounds... beautiful, honeysuckle. It sounds like a dream." He inhales slowly, still feeling the scene that Damien described dancing around him like fireflies in the air. "I- I cannot help but be sorry that I am the cause for you both to have pulled yourselves away from such beauty."

"It is far more beautiful for the sharing," Damien murmurs. "If we wished to stay there, to simply drink in the evening for ourselves, rest assured that we would have done just so, my love."

"We'd rather be right here," Amaryllis says softly, smiling as she brushes her thumb over his cheek, lifting his chin. "With you."

She leans up the rest of the way, kissing him slow and thorough and certain, and when she pulls away Arum feels breathless for more reasons than one.

"Your presence in our lives does not diminish us," Damien says, his voice wavering with feeling. "Do you think I would have looked so closely, remembered so clearly, drunk in the evening with such fervor and care, if I did not wish for the memory to crystallize, if I did not intend to set this gem for you? Arum-" Damien leans back, enough to kiss Arum's cheek once, soft and sweet. "Arum, love is a living thing, nourishing as it is nourished, and even if circumstances are such that we cannot share every moment we wish with you in truth, in the most literal sense, that does not mean that we cannot share our lives. It does not mean that we cannot give ourselves to each other. If our love must exist in the shade to survive, that only means that we must attend to it with more care, that we must nurture each other and our love with every ounce of passion it deserves."

"We love you," Amaryllis says, and her own tone is shockingly full, unsteady, her eyes bright when Arum blinks in her direction. "We love you, and we're better for loving you. And we're gonna keep loving you until you're completely sick to death of us."

Arum barks a laugh, short and surprised, and then he gives up any remaining mirage of self-control and squeezes his arms around the pair of them, lifting them into the air. "You won't be rid of me that easily," he growls, burying his snout in Amaryllis' neck as she yelps a laugh. He spins, still holding them, a slow turn to the rhythm of the song still playing beneath all of their words. "I... I am-" He swallows, nuzzling closer, feeling their laughing breaths and their sturdy hearts beating, safe against him. "I love you. I pity the creature I was before I met you. You- you make me wish to be better, you make me wish to make the world better, for your sakes, and- and I can no longer imagine the shape of my life without you."

"Good thing that won't be a problem, then," Amaryllis says, breathless but still unbothered as she cradles his head in one hand, pressing a kiss to the scales just beside his frill. "Because we aren't going anywhere."

"No," Damien agrees. "Not so long as you will still have us."

#elle's fanfic #a moment as an optimist #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #the keep #[yells in aggressive fluff and comfort]

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preservationandruin · 3 years

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Rhythm of War Liveblog, Part One Part Four (Chapters 12-15)

Onward! I feel like these posts are pretty long and don’t cover a lot, but then i remember that a lot of Part One every time is setting up what’s happening, and this one in particular we have an entire year’s worth of stuff to fill in, so I guess it’s warranted.

Kaladin hangs out with friends against his will, I remember that Adolin is a Horse Girl, Mraize talks about the interplanetary economy, Teleporting Fucker is a Legendarily Sore Loser, I have high hopes for spren necromancy, and Kaladin asks Zahel for advice.

We’re back to Kaladin, who is...not having a good time. He feels like he has to appear strong for Syl and the others, and not to let his problems affect them; he’s also hit hard by the feeling that Bridge Four is something that was in the past, not something that’s consistent and now.

“Hey,” Leyten said as they reached the tower entrance. “Rock! Got any stew for us maybe? For old times’ sake?” Kalaidn turned. The word “stew” pierced the cloud.

Rock can’t, he’s busy, and Kaladin goes to his rooms--which are sparse and empty, even though he has pretty good accommodations--and tries to self-isolate, which...mood. He starts going into what seems like a panic attack (paralyzed, curling into the fetal position, thoughts spiralling to what Moash was talking about) when the door is near-literally kicked down by Adolin and Syl.

(will i use this every time Adolin does things? probably)

Adolin manages to drag Kaladin out of his room, in what is--honestly--a pretty good way to do it for someone who is depressed--he makes the point that Kaladin doesn’t have to be happy, he doesn’t have to pretend to be happy, but he should be miserable around other people. And he does it in just...a very Adolin way:

“You spend too many evenings alone, bridgeboy,” Adolin said, glancing at the nearby exhaustionspren, then grabbing Kaladin by the arm--something few other people would have dared. “I like being by myself,” Kaladin said. “Great. Sounds awful. Today, you’re coming with me. No more excuses. I let you blow me away last week and the week before.”

I love that “blow me away” is Roshar-slang for “blow me off”

Kaladin tries to lash out and say maybe he just doesn’t like being around Adolin, Adolin dares him to say, with an oath, that he should be alone right now--and Kaladin can’t, because--of course--Kaladin shouldn’t be alone right now.

“Ha,” Adolin said, tugging him along by the arm. “Come on, Brightlord Master Highmarshal Stormface. Change your coat to one that doesn’t smell like smoke, then come with me. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to talk. But if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well do it with friends.”

This is so good. I think on some level when you self-isolate, what people want (or at least, what I want) is to have someone willing and able to drag you out of it despite the fact that you don’t want to be around people--and I’m so glad that Adolin is that person.

Kaladin demands to know why Syl got Adolin of all people, despite that scene literally showing why Adolin was the perfect person to bring, and Syl responds that she needed someone Kaladin couldn’t intimidate...and, in the end, Kaladin ends up thanking her.

And then we go to Adolin’s favorite bar, where Veil is waiting, where the gang just start hanging out--and Adolin and Veil start talking about trying to set Kaladin up with someone. This is about the moment where I crowed in victory, because while I didn’t see this specifically coming up, Adolin and Veil being drinking buddies who are a) overly-invested in Kaladin’s love life and b) end up talking about attractive people together IS something I called at the end of Oathbringer. Bi Disaster Drinking Club lives.

(Casper, Adolin isn’t confirmed bi-- Listen. listen. give me this.)

“Oh, don’t be sour,” Veil said, smacking [Kaladin] on the shoulder. “You didn’t even glance at her. She’s cute. Look at those legs. Back me up, Adolin.”

I love all the Veil and Adolin banter we get here, because it only gets better--Veil asking for details of one of Adolin’s past relationships, Adolin trying to get out of it, Kaladin getting to enjoy time with his friends even when (maybe especially when) those friends are ridiculous. And then we also get another good moment of Adolin and Kaladin friendship when Veil goes off to gamble--Adolin asks Kaladin for advice for how to help Shallan with her own issues, but the advice Kaladin gives is also good advice for dealing with Kaladin, which Adolin knows and did on purpose. Kaladin asks why Adolin hasn’t become a Radiant yet, to which Adolin says that he’s not a good fit, he guesses--but the real reason, of course, is that Adolin refuses to give up Mayalaran.

Listen--by not giving up Mayalaran, Adolin is proving himself the Edgedancer she deserves and I will die on this hill.

And then things go back to being sad, because Rock is leaving--going back to his people to recieve judgement for breaking their rules by killing Amaram. He says he probably won’t be returning and hugs Kaladin, who gives him a few other members of Bridge Four as an escort--some of his kids, including Cord--the Shardbearer--stay in Urithiru.

I deeply suspect this will not be the last we see of Rock, because there’s no way in hell, but it was both touching and really sad at the same time.

We move back to Shallan the next morning, going through her day while Adolin is out horseriding; I can’t believe I nearly forgot Adolin is a Horse Girl, despite literally everything about Adolin being prime horse girl. Shallan gets a message about a spren coming to negotiate--probably one of Sja-anat’s spren--and she visits her brothers as well, sketching by their fire.

We get that she’s researched DID--or, the Rosharan understanding of DID--and the results haven’t been heartening, with people who have DID mostly being objectified and ridiculed. It also notes that memory loss is a common symptom, which Shallan notes she doesn’t really experience.

Mraize shows up at her brothers’ house, both as a threat--his cover is an older soldier who is known to be clumsy and could, in theory, injure someone around him--and to talk to Shallan. We get more of the goals of the Ghostbloods--they’re trying to set up an Investiture trade across the Cosmere. Which is actually super smart--investiture is pretty easy to come by on Roshar, which is the entire reason Vasher/Zahel is there. I can see Nalthis in particular loving a way to sustain their gods that, uh, doesn’t involve sucking out souls.

Mraize also basically confirms his mole is a lightweaver, which...I’m really hoping this isn’t the case, but I’m starting to suspect the mole is perhaps Formless, or a similar Alter of Shallan’s. She’s had some weird logic gaps that she doesn’t understand, and we just got the mention of alters maybe not able to remember what each other are doing.

Now, I really hope that’s not the case, because that’s a tired old trope with DID--the evil alter ego. It’s really tired and awful for people who have DID, so I hope that’s not the twist here.

Anyway, Mraize gives her her next job, which is going to find Restares--who is in the honorspren citadel of Lasting Integrity. Mraize says when she meets Restares, she’ll know what to do, and that once she completes that, she’ll get all the answers she could want from the Ghostbloods.

We go back to Venli in Kholinar; a new group of Fused are here for bodies, and Leshwi is worried about one of them in particular--one of the fannahn-im, Those of Alteration. We meet the Nine, leaders of the Fused who are in pillars fused to the floor of their chamber, which Venli points out is just dooming the people whose bodies they took to a horrible form of entombment.

Venli can feel Odium watching, which I responded to with “come on motherfucker, 1v1 me.” Listen, I would die, but what a way to go.

The Teleporting Fucker--Lezian the Pursuer--is one of the Nex-im, Those of Husks, who are the Ninth Brand. He doesn’t defer to the Nine and claims Kaladin has to be Fourth Ideal because he “couldn’t be defeated by an ordinary human.” Which is hilarious, because he was. You were defeated by an ordinary human whose powers were blocked. Kaladin is just that good.

Anyway, he claims he now has to go kill Kaladin because his whole deal is that he murders any human who kills him:

“Milennia ago, Lezian was the first Fused to be killed by a human. To avoid the shame of such a death, upon returning to life, Lezian ignored all orders and rational arguments--and went into battle seeking only the man who had killed him.”

So he’s a loose cannon who everyone goes along with because they can’t stop him and because he developed a legend around his stupid decisions? Got it. I’m really amused that this guy’s entire thing is just being Roshar’s Sorest Loser. Anyway, Leshwi disputes his claim and says that she has first dibs on killing Kaladin--Venli notes that Leshwi probably doesn’t even know that she’s trying to protect Kaladin.

Guys, I can’t believe Fused war tactics operate on the dibs system. Also, this feels just like a continuation of my joke that everyone in this series has a type and that type is Kaladin.

Anyway, then we meet the new lady who Leshwi is worried about--Raboniel, the Lady of Wishes. She was one of the Nine but stepped down to become more active; Leshwi talks about how she is a scientist without morals, whose plan the last Desolation was to release a plague that would affect Singers as well as humans and actually did, but fortunately didn’t have as great an effect as she hoped. So now biological warfare is coming onto the table.

Raboniel pushes to seize Urithiru to strike against the humans; she created the anti-powers Fabrial and now wants to reverse the “Sibling’s heart” to nullify radiants in Urithiru, although she notes that Fourth Ideal ones could pull through--and she wants to experiment on the Sibling, who is effectively a deadeye.

This is interesting, because we’ve already seen a deadeye start to respond to people--Mayalaran. Is spren necromancy going to get a day in the sun in this book? Please, please let spren necromancy through the power of friendship be a plot point.

Anyway, Leshwi offers Venli to Raboniel as an aide, while wanting Venli to spy for her on Raboniel’s plans; Venli is happy about being on this strike, because she wants to see if she can find someone who can teach her how to be a Radiant.

We also get this good note from Leshwi, which--to me--calls back the fact that there’s a whole narrative about if war can be honorable happening here:

“Extinction is the natural escalation of this war,” Leshwi whispered. “If you forget why you are fighting, then victory itself becomes the goal. The longer we fight, the more detached we become. Both from our own minds, and from our original Passions.” She hummed softly to abashment.

We get back to Kaladin, who pushed through the worst of his depressive episode (although I would note that this could support the idea that something Odium-y is making it worse; now he’s in the Tower, it’s Regular Depression which he’s better at dealing with). Sigzil has now been put in charge of administration for the Windrunners; Kaladin tried to make it Teft but Teft was like absolutely not, fuck you for suggesting it.

Kaladin goes to find Zahel, wanting to talk to him, and finds him doing laundry; on the way he talks to Rlain, who is overseeing people growing plants by gemlight and music, which is how the listeners used to do it. Rlain gets excited at the mention of an honorspren who will work with him, but when Kaladin explains the situation, he demurs--understandably.

“I will wait for a spren who will bond me for who I am--and for the honor I represent.”

Rlain--in particular Rlain, who knows the experience of being forced into partnerships and jobs you don’t want--doesn’t want a spren who sees him as a burden or something that they don’t want to bond, and that’s completely valid of him.

Anyway, Kaladin finds Zahel hanging up bright scarves in the laundry; Kaladin asks Zahel if he should join the martial ardents as a solution to what he should do next, noting that Zahel “couldn’t give up the sword.”

“Oh, I gave it up. I let go. Best mistake I ever made.”

YEAH, AND NOW YOUR SWORD SON IS TERRORIZING ROSHAR, VASHER.

Well, not terrorizing. Mostly it’s just with Szeth, who is...somewhere around here, probably. Somewhere Zahel is avoiding at all costs bc Nightblood would take one look at him and just start yelling.

Zahel spars with Kaladin, fully exploiting the colored cloth around them and his own style of fighting while talking to Kaladin about why he fights. In the end, he says he can’t sponsor Kaladin--because Kaladin still loves fighting too much for him to really be an ardent. Kaladin also notes that Zahel fights like Azure--Zahel irritably corrects that she fights like him.

God I really want to see Azure and Zahel on the same page. Vasher you can’t run forever.

There’s also a meta discussion; Zahel talks about the different levels of invested beings, and how he’s had to update it from the time in Warbreaker he did the same thing. He notes that for people like him:

“We’re spren masquerading as men. That’s why she takes our memories. She knows we aren’t the actual people who died, but something else given a corpse to inhabit...”

So that’s both interesting and rather somber; “she” in this case is of course Endowment. I’m not entirely sure what to make of this bit, other than that it’s sad and interesting in that it draws a comparison with the Fused, who do a similar thing but instead of taking the shape/personality of the corpse they’re inhabiting, kill it and replace it.

Also, I’m not sure Zahel is right, here, because Lightsong did remember his past as the story went on, and did remember emotional connection to people from his past. So there might be more there than Zahel is giving it credit for.

#row spoilers #row liveblog #the stormlight archive #venli and the long con #ghostblood activity

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

Setting up a side blog at @bigskywritings to have a place to put all my original work, commissioned work, and commissioning guidelines for both fanfic and original work, as well as other services offered like developmental edits, etc.

That’s why I’m going through so many old files, lol. Probably gonna be a lot of posting going on over on that one today. Got a lot to go through, and not to be dramatic on main, but there’ve been enough points over the past several years where I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to actually do anything with any of this, that tbh, I’d rather just have it out there in some form that can actually be enjoyed by people rather than just sitting in my files. I’ve always been heavy on the world-building, with that usually being considered one of my strengths, that I’ve got a ton of settings that could work for any number of short stories that wouldn’t take anything away from the longer novels or projects I have going for them.

*Shrugs* Or maybe they’ll just sit there like they do in my files, lol, its honestly not a big deal either way, its just I’d rather err on the side of potential interest these days.

Here’s a snippet set in one of my primary shared universes, something I call the Citadel ‘verse. Basic premise is its a fantasy universe where the universe itself is sentient, but more of a raw, primal sentience than having a fully formed consciousness. But it derives and evolves its own consciousness from the presence of sentient beings, after the first ones evolved on their own without design, and so it knows it wants to be more than it is, but the only way to do that is through sentient beings. So long ago, it shaped the focal point of its power and consciousness into something that would be seen as embodying power to anyone who saw it, and thus the Citadel was made. The Citadel is the universe, the universe is the Citadel. Its all the power of creation, of godhood, contained in one place....but just lacking the will and the imagination to make use of it on its own. For that it needs people, and those people are whomever end up within the walls of the Citadel, claiming the various Rooms and the forces each embody for their own, and in doing so, becoming gods.

But entropy is the natural state of all universes and the one thing the Citadel can’t abide is stagnation, so whenever a god or gods becomes bored or content with whatever they’ve done with that power, whenever they stop creating, changing, manipulating, and just sit back and rest on the fruits of what they’ve already done, the Citadel takes back its power and begins a new cycle of someone new coming across it or seeking it out, and becoming the next god or gods. Some cycles there’s only one occupant of the Citadel, sometimes two or three, sometimes entire pantheons of gods each with their own Room or Rooms, it varies. The last cycle of importance only had one god, and upon his death, the entire First World erupted into war and chaos as people vied to find the Citadel and claim its power.

Many Rooms were claimed by people whose first acts of godhood were to attempt to seize as many more for themselves as they could, and the whole world was being torn apart and in danger of being destroyed.....so when one of their number, Seshan, finally seized control of the Throne Room, the ultimate seat of power within the Citadel, she sealed each of the other new gods in the Rooms they’d already claimed, and split the Citadel and cast its various pieces to the edges of the universe, where reality was still shapeless and unformed. The exiled gods used this to form new worlds of their own making, via the power of their individual Rooms. And thus their war has continued throughout the eons, as they continue to try and seize control of more and more Rooms and consolidate enough of the Citadel’s power that they can finally force open the doors Seshan locked behind them and challenge her for the Throne Room itself.

(Just FYI, before anyone asks if I’ve read Brandon Sanderson, the answer is yes, I’ve read some of his earlier stuff. This universe was in no way influenced by his work, as I started building this setting back in high school, lol. What I think IS likely is that we were probably both inspired by the same works. I was a big fan of the multi-world nature of The Deathgate Cycle, and I really liked the shared multi-verse setting Michael Moorcock uses for his various protagonists like Elric and Corum, and those and more are pretty clear inspirations, lol. Like....I don’t have an issue with being accused of ripping off someone else, I just want to be accused of ripping off the right people, the people I’m actually ripping off of, loooool).

This particular world, the setting for the snippet below, is one of the worlds created by Pelk the Harper, the god of music (among other things). One of his claimed Rooms is what amounts to a concert hall, and its hidden away on this world, the one he formed from it before moving on to make new worlds. A wide range of cultures and religions formed in his absence, but a common concept many of them circle back to is the idea that all of creation has two parts, existing as both a Shape and a Sound. Some have different names for this, some call it the Shape and the Voice or the Shape and the Song, or Form and Function or Substance and Speech, its defined differently in various parts of the world, but all ultimately contain the idea that there’s a physical component to existence, and a non-physical.

A small percentage of people on this world, usually called something like unbinders, have the ability to find the thread that binds the physical and non-physical aspects of a thing together, and temporarily unweave it, leaving two separated parts. The Shape, which exists unbound as an image without substance, a seeming illusion that has no mass, sound, scent, etc....and the Song, which exists unbound as the essence of a thing, but without form to concentrate it and define it. Once created, its the nature of a created thing to exist as a complete whole, and so being Unbound is an imperfect state of existence. Meaning as soon as an unbinder stops concentrating on keeping the two halves apart, they’ll snap back together and rejoin the way they’re supposed to.

Except centuries ago, people invented devices called mirrorflasks and echo-catchers.....to catch and contain these separated halves of an unbound thing, and keep them separated. Mirrorflasks are glass vials of any size, whose interiors are coated with an alchemical mixture that acts as a mirror that keeps a Shape eternally reflected and never fading, as long as the flask is corked. Echo-catchers are metallic vials whose interiors are coated with a similar mixture, that keeps a Sound or Song eternally echoing and never fading, as long as the stopper is in place. An unbinder is necessary to separate the two halves so they can be caught and contained, but after that, anyone can uncork the containers, the effect is the same no matter the person: the Shape and Sound will immediately rejoin, no matter how physically distant the mirrorflask and echo-catcher are from each other.

That’s irrelevant, the important part is that both flask and catcher need to be opened, and so they’re fairly useless except in pairs. If you uncork a mirrorflask but not its accompanying echo-catcher, the Shape or image of the thing will be released, just as if you uncork the catcher but not the flask, its Sound will escape as a formless thing that briefly can be heard or smelled or even felt, before its lack of a Shape leads it to spread out in all directions without boundaries, diluting it to the point of non-existence then.

So a fire that’s unbound and contained, will just be the illusion of flames if just its flask is opened, while if just the echo-catcher is uncorked, there’d be the sound of flames, the sensation of heat, but it’d be there and gone in a matter of moments. Anything can be unbound and contained, physical objects like weapons or forces like fires or even storms (the trick of unbinding is seeing something as a whole thing unto itself. An unbinder who sees a storm as disparate elements will never be able to unbind the whole storm, just pieces of it like a lightning bolt. But one who sees the storm as one singular thing can unbind that whole storm and store it in a flask and catcher.) Even animals can be unbound. The only thing that can’t is human beings, but with one exception....unbinders can’t unbind anyone else, but they can unbind themselves. Separate themselves into a bodiless voice and essence as well as a substanceless image...a kind of astral projection that’s exceedingly rare as its viewed as extremely reckless and dangerous....because while in that state, even an unbinder can be trapped in a mirrorflask and echo-catcher, the same as anything else.

Anyway, that’s the scoop on the below snippet. Gonna try and be better about tagging things on the sideblog because yay organization, lol, so the tag for things Citadel related will be ‘tales of the Citadel’ and specific to this setting will be ‘The Chaos Vault.’

(That’s the title to the bigger project linked to this setting. There are legends on this world of a vault that was hidden away or lost centuries ago, but in it was stored all the greatest natural disasters and cataclysmic forces that had ever been unbound. Unbinding things like that is basically a lost art, as older civilizations could do things with unbinding that ‘modern’ inhabitants of this world can’t even dream of....as the more scientifically advanced they became, the harder it was for them to see major cumulative things like storms and other disasters as just being one single thing that could be unbound, rather than a lot of smaller, individual elements. So there’s lots of legends about something called the Chaos Vault existing somewhere. Which eventually culminates in a high fantasy heist caper FTW).

Snippet from The Chaos Vault, in which Miya kills people cuz that’s kinda her thing:

Choosing a spot a few steps from the door that separated the kitchen from the hall - close enough to get a clear view of the servers coming and going from it, far enough away for her to time things just right - Miya braced herself against the far wall, leaning as if she needed its support to keep her upright. Less than a minute later, a server emerged from the kitchen bearing a full tray of dishes, and she straightened and pivoted just as he came within reach.

Her seemingly wine-drunk stumble was nothing short of artful, if she did say so herself, and their collision tipped the man’s tray just enough that the outermost dishes cascaded to the red-tiled floor. The sounds of shattering dishware echoed loudly thanks to the vaulted ceiling overhead. The shattering of a small mirrorflask was a trivial thing in comparison, when she let it fall from her clenched fist. A minor tinkling easily lost in the chaos she’d caused, just as the sound of broken dishes was drowned out by the much louder revels taking place down the hall.

And much like the shards of the broken flask were effectively camouflaged by the mess on the floor.

“Oh, Shape and Song, I’m so clumsy!” She bubbled exaggerated apologies at the man and clung to his shoulder, keeping his attention firmly on her and away from the red and black banded firesnake that slithered rapidly away from the noise. It reached the escape offered by the ballroom at the end of the hall, and vanished into the forest of dancing legs and swirling skirts.

“Its quite alright,” he assured while attempting to be graceful about dislodging her. It most assuredly was not, if the grimace he couldn’t quite hide was anything to go by. Then again, Miya mused, anyone likely to give him grief about the matter would be concerned with far greater things in a few moments.

But only if she made sure her little friend got his Voice back before he was spotted by the revelers. With no physical mass to trip over and coloring fairly well disguised against the tile, she had some time, but not much.

Miya heaved herself off her unknowing accomplice, and with a few more incomprehensible mutterings, she staggered toward the other end of the hall. Making use of the wall once again, both for “support” and her charade, she came to a rest near a window left open so the heated air from the kitchen wouldn’t circulate.

She dipped her head and unclasped her right earring. Its intricate array of tiny chiming windpipes, while annoying, hid the equally tiny echo-catcher among them. With a single smooth motion deftly hidden by her hunched stance, she uncorked it and tossed both vial and earring out the window and into the canal below, glad to be rid of both.

A Song once released needs no direction to find its other half, and rejoining its Shape and binding itself back together took but an instant. It would only take a few seconds more for it to be drawn to the scented-oil she’d dabbed her target’s sleeve with when brushing up against him earlier. With that thought, Miya pushed herself off the wall and started down the hall again, this time at a much quicker pace.

3…2…1…

A single scream cut through all other noise and carried horrified silence in its wake.

There we go.

And then it was the silence that was shattered. People spilled out of the kitchen and into the hallway like so many confused and frantic ants. But ones with their eyes all drawn towards the ballroom, leaving nothing but backsides watching her. Her steps straightened and took back their usual confidence, her stride made short work of the rest of the hallway, and she vanished through a side-door at the end of it before anyone thought to look around.

She skipped as sprightly down the steps to the garden as her garments would allow - which is to say, not very - and reached behind her head to release her hair from that ridiculous style. Mussing it just enough to let it flow freely down her back, she sank deeper into the night’s shadows and allowed a smile of satisfaction to curve her lips.

Surely there was nothing wrong with taking a little pride in one’s work.

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randbwrite · 3 years

Text

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 4 Part 3

Words:1179

TW: Death, Graphic Violence, Blood CW: Vampires, Assassins

B: Her use of a term of endearment had Cal turning several shades of coral, a curious expression crossing his face, one neither were used to seeing...or feeling...on him. What’s this, someone’s feeling bashful? Would certainly make for good teasing material later, Derrick tucking away the information as ammunition for payback. About time someone could affect his friend like that. All the painted ladies of the court had never gotten that reaction out of the supposedly scurrilous assassin.

Things turned serious much more quickly from then on. This “Comtesse” called Cal a young man and he was again feeling like a lad being reprimanded by his schoolmarm, something he’d left behind ages ago...in the future. Oy, this difference in years was going to take some getting used to. Speaking of, Mr. Nothing Can Bother Me About This Whole Affair. Yes...long name. But called for, given the circumstances. One floating and the other walking behind, Cal had some questions for his buddy. Like, a lot of them. Especially while he tried to pretend watching Ernest and Armand being tossed around like rag dolls was an everyday occurrence.

“So...anything you wanna tell me?”

“Like what? M. la Comtesse said questions would wait till we were out of here.”

“Questions for her. You on the other hand have some answering to do.” Cal paused for a breath and gawped at fire spreading over an invisible shield. CGI could only hope to capture the incredible show he was watching. “How much of this were you already aware of?” He gestured broadly at the display, shuddering involuntarily, recognizing the snap of a man’s mind broken.

Derrick’s eyes never left the scene playing out; knowing exactly how both elements played out when combating for dominance and being caught in the crossfire. Being invulnerable and watching someone else at the mercy of one stronger was...a unique experience. Give it enough time, they’d have exhausted each other before one won out. The same sire, no particular style or finesse bothered to be learned, neither had a leg up. Soon it was over, permanently.

“All of it.”

He could list every ability the Citadel full of assassins carried and which ones didn’t have any. He knew their limitations, their quirks. Watched them spar, experiment, seen the aftermath of things they’d thought to keep secret. Cal didn’t need more of an explanation than that, knew well enough by the dearth of questions. To cut off the one his friend for once was trying to decide how to phrase diplomatically, he did Cal a favor and answered it anyway.

“Yes, I am one. Figured out yet I haven’t exactly aged since you got here?”

“Naw, assumed you were one of those blokes with great genes. This makes more sense I guess. ...Thanks.”

A look exchanged the words that went unsaid. Gratitude for keeping an eye out for him, in ways Cal hadn’t been aware could’ve been an issue, fishing his sorry behind out of a battlefield, whole lotta things that wouldn’t be spoken aloud.

That was all they had time for, as the dreaded doors all too many had walked through and met a gruesome end were right in front of them. Cal’s fight or flight was kicking back in, self-preservation typically meaning staying as far away from these chambers as possible unless unequivocally summoned. His poker face wouldn’t reveal it, but the lack of his signature grin told all.

Derrick might as well have been carved from stone. He’d never once entered these chambers, instead experienced with each and every member on the council under different circumstances. Still, with every confidence in la Comtesse, he paced after her, head held high before them for the first time in centuries. They wouldn’t be forcing him to take a knee, not today.

Whatever they’d expected to happen, neither of the pair accompanying the pure blood could have anticipated what she did next.

Would seem none of the assassins did either for that matter, which was almost more surprising. Centuries-old tacticians, strategists, generals, and rulers, people who held the whole of Europe in their merciless thrall, and together they proved defenseless against the fury of Comtesse.

Silence had greeted them upon their entry, and silence reigned in their absence. Shock? Plotting? Acceptance? ...All of the above? The council had known going after her was risky, but perhaps had become too complacent in their invincible dynasty of power. She had unequivocally proven them wrong.

No one would mourn their leader’s fall. Hyenas had more respect for the dead than would be shown a man who’s tenure had sown nothing but fear and contempt. He had until Comtesse and company left the Citadel’s gates before an eternal vengeance began. Never again would his name bring fear into the hearts of those who heard it. The threats promised died with his enhanced abilities.

The halls were abandoned, any echoes purely in the imagination of the ones remembering. The foyer too, devoid of life. If not the bodies of their fallen comrades, then the spectacle witnessed in the council room deterred any from considering an approach.

The pair offered new life did not hesitate. There was nothing about their past that could have any hold on them and...hey, the one person who had treated them with a speck of decency had given invitation. Even though she was also downright terrifying. It didn’t seem real, despite everything pointing to the obvious conclusion. How could it be anything but? Imagination had never conceptualized this outcome. However, it may take time before the implication, the reality of it all sank in. Course, seeing the leader who was the symbol of their subjugation to the Assassin’s League dethroned certainly solidified the situation.

Their answer was a unified yes. Though phrased differently.

“You will have my unwavering loyalty for the rest of my life, this I swear.”

“So dramatic! But yeah, what he said. Obviously, I don’t have an issue not fighting on the side of the angels, but if there were any such thing I’d say you come the closest. Avenging angel, maybe.”

Cal bounced on the balls of his feet, ever antsy. Better look on him than the lethargy from earlier; the waxen sheen was a mite bit concerning, however. Contrarily, an aura of tranquility radiated off of Derrick, relief hanging around shoulders pulled back as if freed from some oppressive weight. It was at him that Cal was caught gawking this time, though the typical crazy grin was soon to replace it. Aww and here he’d promised he wouldn’t get emotional. Not sure when, but eh.

“Guess you’re stuck with us, Lady Comtesse. To the ends of the earth and back, if this one’s beatific mug is any indication.”

A thumb was jerked in Derrick’s direction, only to have surprise replace the scamp’s cocky expression. Derrick used his enhanced reflexes to catch and muss up Cal’s already wild tangle into a rat’s nest, the pair behaving as bickering brothers do. Where’d he been hiding that speed?!? Ach...so much to learn.

#tw: violence #tw:death #tw: blood #assassin #vampires #ikemen vampire #au #oc #whump #whumpfic #dark fantasy #fanfiction #derrick #rapscallion #comtesse

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secret-engima · 4 years

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So - in the female!Ardyn 'Taur 'verse, how does the romantic relationship between Cor and Ardyn develop? (Nox, meanwhile, is having - slight hysterics in the background, because The Immortal and the (formerly) literally Immortal Accursed? It's like a bad joke). And, for that matter - how does everyone *else* react to that relationship? (Regis is. Not sure how to feel. On the one hand, Cor is going to be *literally his brother*, squee! On the other, Cor is *dating his sister*.)

*cackles evilly* oh THAT’S easy-

They start dating out of Pure Spite.

See, Cor has been doing everything he can to get out of formal events WHENEVER he can for years because he’s the Marshal and the Immortal and all the widows and older bachelorettes seem to think they can win him over with enough makeup, perfume, primping of their fur, and fluttering of their eyelashes and Cor HATES IT. Always has. Regis has told him that if he actually GOT A DATE with someone maybe they’d back off, to which Aulea just rolls her eyes and says that they’d turn into sharks and shred whatever poor soul Cor tried to take as a plus one. Cor agrees, he’d have to find a Plus One that was even more deadly in the political and verbal arena, as well as one of high enough status to survive the gossip, and frankly it’s not worth the effort to look for such a wonder woman.

Then Ardyn happens. Then Ardyn is revealed as female in private, and after much discussion agrees to be revealed as female in public as well and the bachelors start calling. Cor watches for like- a year at least, probably closer to two as Ardyn deals with the same issues he does only in male form, as she tears them apart with a smile and leaves them thinking they’ve been complimented and not mocked to death. He watches, and knows that Ardyn is watching him too.

Then one day, on the cusp of YET ANOTHER Gala (okay there aren’t that many but they ARE annoying and Cor dreads each and every one with a passion), he comes home to find Ardyn IN HIS APARTMENT, lazing on his couch, all four paws in the air, and staring at the ceiling as she plays with her hat. “How did you get in here?” Cor scowls.

“Picked the window lock and opened it enough to shove my knife through, then I warped.” She says casually like that isn’t the most impressive form of warping there is, to be able to slide through a space that her mind should have told her was impossible to fit through and thus prevented the warp. Before he can demand she leave, she rolls off the couch and lands on her belly and paws on the floor like she’s the felinedaetaur and not him, “Court me,” she says with a manic gleam in her eyes, so manic her blue eyes are now bright gold.

Cor wonders if Regis will forgive him if he ends up drawing a sword on the king’s half-sister because this is like all of his worst nightmares in one, minus Gilgamesh being there, “No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not interested.” He manages past stiff lips.

Ardyn hisses, low and feral, tail lashing in annoyance and wings mantling there on the floor before she settles with bland, “I’m not either, obviously. Come now, Immortal,” he growls at the hated nickname, “I thought you were the smart one of my brother’s troupe. The Gala is three days from now and we both know what that will mean, you’ll spend all evening choking on rote niceties to all the female nobles you can’t insult without it reflecting on your king and I will spend all evening wasting time verbally shredding all the male idiots who come with dreams of being a prince instead of letting me drink my fancy wine in peace.”

Cor senses one of Ardyn’s mad schemes on the horizon. Unlike Clarus and Titus, this actually makes him relax. Ardyn’s schemes are usually brilliant in a brutally unorthodox way, and if she has a plan to get them out of the Gala... “So?”

“So,” she parrots as she frisbees her hat to him, making him catch it on instinct, “court me, and we’ll have the perfect excuse to tell each other’s crowd of respective blithering stalkers to go skin themselves.” Cor’s eyebrows shoot up as he finally lets himself stalk into the living room, tail swishing in thought as Ardyn grins, her fangs glinting in the light, “Think about it,” she purrs low and seductively, tail waggling like she’s making a proposition and not plotting to help him out of all his propositions, “No woman will have a prayer of competing with me in status or prestige, I’m the king’s sister, a dragontaur and former Chancellor of an empire. At least half of them will leave you alone knowing they have no chance and the other half will be easy for me to scare off.”

Cor’s mind begins working overtime as he unthinkingly settles on the carpet in front of her, paws tucking under his chest as he crosses his arms, “And your suitors will thin enormously as well rather than compete with me, the King’s favored and Marshal of the Crownsguard.” And the famed Immortal, he doesn’t say, because he hates that nickname with a passion.

Ardyn’s grin grows bigger, “Exactly,” she rumbles seductively, looking far less like a mortal Taur and fare more like a tackily dressed succubus trying to talk him into selling his soul for a night’s pleasure, “So? What do you say? Want to give all of Lucian high society a nice heart attack?”

Cor feels his lips twitch and passes her ugly old hat back to her, a deal as good as made in blood, “We’ll need to match clothes and be seen entering the Gala together,” He says after scrounging in his brain for all the things Regis did to announce his courtship with Aulea. He paused, then held up a finger and padded off to his room. A few minutes digging through his chest of knickknacks and junk found on missions and he returns with a glittering tail-band of gold, engraved with lions and with sapphires for eyes. A prize found when wandering through old ruins, he’d only kept it out of boredom. Ardyn smiles viciously as she accepts the “courting gift” and slides it onto her tail, then pulls a shimmering ebony foreleg bracelet out of her armiger, engraved with the symbol of Lucis and with rubies set in the eye socket and outline of the skull. Cor raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question where it came from, just slides it on to make sure it fits. It does, perfectly, and he suspects she had it commissioned for just this scheme.

He expects the tailors to throw a fit over having to provide matching outfits on such short notice and in secret, but instead they start crying for joy (“No checker patters or plaids!” one sobs as he carefully cuts out the silk pattern, “Only three layers!” wails another for joy as he alternates between taking a bemused Ardyn’s measurements and dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief).

They don’t tell anyone else in the Citadel, and Cor just tells Regis and Clarus that he’ll be a bit late for the Gala (Regis eyes him suspiciously, like he thinks Cor is going to play hooky, but Cor just blinks solemnly and Regis lets him go with a sigh).

The utterly dead, stunned, horrified silence that falls over the Gala when the frazzled goattaur herald announces, “The Marshal Cor Leonis and the Princess Ardyn Izunia Caelum.” and everyone watches as they stalk slowly, languidly down the stairs in matching finery, Ardyn’s short hair done up with tasteful gold ornaments, hat nowhere in sight, the golden lion-engraved band on her tail glinting like an executioner’s freshly sharpened axe while Cor’s foreleg band of black and rubies stands out sharply against his golden fur.

They don’t have to announce a thing or say a word. Everyone present knows what this means. To bear each other’s colors and symbols, to arrive openly together, Ardyn’s arm linked delicately through Cor’s, to be wearing matching attire-.

Cor decides instantly that this entire charade is worth it when he sees several of his more annoying stalkers straight up faint and Clarus choking on his wine while Regis gapes.

(Of course, after gloriously and shamelessly fake-dating for three months, Ardyn gets bored and asks Cor out to coffee somewhere public, to really sell the whole courting thing. After that, Cor, as thank you for the help against all the harpies in his life, drags a willing Ardyn off on a prolonged mission out in the wilds where there are no people and no rules, just him and Ardyn hiking through the wilds, spying on the Nifs (blowing up the base like Regis expressly told them not to do without backup) and pushing each other into the nearest body of water when one or the other gets too cheeky/sarcastic and-

You can see where it spirals from there. XD. Nox is losing his mind a little because his Uncle and his Aunt are DATING. But also yay? They’re dating? Regis is a Crisis because how do you Shovel Talk Cor? You can’t! And he can’t Shovel Talk Ardyn either because that’s his sister dating the lion Regis raised as a little brother figure and oh no think of what those two will get up to Clarus. Think of the chaos. Aulea, literally the only person other than Nox and Titus to realize this is fake dating, is very gleeful in carefully nudging them into REAL dating with Titus’s help. By the time Cor and Ardyn realize the trap it’s too late).

#SE asks #hamelin-born asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Nox verse #Nox!Taur verse #fem!ardyn #ardyn x cor #ardyn/cor

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dgcatanisiri · 4 years

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This is too long for me to be comfortable to put out without a cut, but dear god, did I need to rant and ramble on this subject...

I always feel awkward when I want to complain about how video games portray and fandom reacts to queer men, because I feel like the conversation (at least here on Tumblr) gets focused on the female protagonists - you know, the Commander Shepard or Alexios/Kassandra debates and that sort. The things where there’s valid comments to make about how important these female protagonists are, especially in an industry that is deeply misogynistic, and, in the case of the Assassin’s Creed protagonists, keep being developed with an eye towards the female-only protagonists, only to have a male protagonist shoved alongside them, if not upstaging entirely (such as Jacob being the center of Syndicate’s marketing, or how Bayek was originally going to die and Aya be the central protagonist of Origins, or the creation of Alexios and probably male Eivor on the basis of “women protagonists don’t sell.”)...

BUT, when I want to talk about my perspective as a gay man, as wanting to play these games for that empowerment, get to enjoy these games for representing me as a gay man, because Shepard, Ryder, Alexios, etc. get to be played as such, that having these male characters who are able to be played as attracted to other men means something to me, and that leads me to not just play the male characters, but prefer them to the female characters, or even to talk about the subject of homophobia in both the games themselves and the fandoms surrounding them... I do feel like there’s this pressure to just effectively shut up and stay quiet and let the women have their empowerment, that the moment needs to be theirs, not mine, that “fandom” (meaning the monolithic entity that is ‘the fandom’ and not necessarily any singular individual who I’m referring to or anything) is pressuring for anyone who enjoys the male protagonists for whatever reason to be silent and let the women enjoy their win, even if there’s a win for underrepresented men in there as well, or even a need to address the problems of homophobia by not representing queer men. That in its way, it’s effectively saying that a win against the sexism against the industry is outweighing or more important than any win against the homophobia. (Or, since I brought up Shepard, racism, considering that Shepard, Ryder, any game with the character creator, can be different skin tones as well, but that’s outside my lane.)

Like, this isn’t a callout post or any kind of directed screed against anyone, just... I suppose it’s a cumulative effect, based on the fact that I remember what the internet in the corners I frequent was like when Odyssey dropped, focused very much (and understandably - let me be clear that I have no desire to step on anyone’s victory or enjoyment of these games here) on Kassandra, and it felt like the fact that I got to play a character I could portray as gay (don’t start me on the bloody DLC though...) was a victory celebration at a table set for one, while (to really stretch my metaphor) seeing this massive party happening across the dining room at the same time, and that (and again, I’m really straining my metaphor, I’m aware), if I wanted to join that party, they would not combine our celebrations, I would have to join in theirs, and, in my wanting to pay attention to my victory, getting laughed at for it. It’s one of those things that makes fandom feel a little alienating, because I don’t particularly have much of a place that feels like it’s a space for me to celebrate my victories, rare as they are, and on occasion, even end up with the impression that, so far as fandom at large cares, that victory I want to celebrate is somehow less important. That the importance of Alexios, playable as a gay man, meant less than Kassandra, period. And, with Valhalla and Cyberpunk’s release on the horizon, along with (maaaaaaybe?) a Mass Effect Trilogy remaster, I find myself bracing myself for this to start up all over again.

And I know some of this is based in the fact that Tumblr and the transformative elements of fandom in general are more of a space that is dominated by women in fandom, who are going to celebrate the wins for them. That’s just how things shake out, I understand that it’s as much the place I’m going for involvement and interaction with fandom at large as it is anything else. Just... I obviously don’t fit in to the areas of “straight male” fandom, and then getting to the places in the “marginalized” segments of the fandom, it still feels like I need to find my way over to the margins of the margins to feel like I have a place in fandom more generally.

Like, I understand that I have male privilege and that is a factor in things - the male characters are probably more likely to be the ones in the marketing, so I get to see that idealized image of myself individually all over the covers and posters and trailers. BUT that doesn’t remove the straight privilege of the people who are shutting down conversations about the importance of the male PCs being portrayed in M/M relationships, even starts going into the realm of casual homophobia - because no acknowledgement of how important it is for the portrayal of gay men, or bi men, IS homophobic. I mean, how often do these companies have their official accounts post images of the M/M pairings? I’ve seen BioWare account retweet FemShep/Garrus and FemShep/Kaidan things, on top of the MaleShep/Female LI pairings. I’ve even seen FemShep/Liara content, which... We could go into the way that F/F pairings get fetishized and tend to be there as either fodder for cishet male titillation or just because the female PC gets swapped in for the male PC (in the way of Peebee riding a non-existent dick in the FemRyder romance scene in Mass Effect Andromeda), I don’t mean to discount that being a thing, so queer women are getting a short stick too. But where’s the M/M relationships? Hell, remember the whole #MakeJaalBi thing? After we got that notice about the patch for his romance would come... Has any official Mass Effect account actually SHOWN content of BroRyder and Jaal?

I mean, remember the Citadel DLC? The appearances of Kaidan’s romance material included FemShep, and Cortez’s content included a split second shot of just him and Shepard holding hands, and since it was blink and you’ll miss it, that means that it doesn’t even make any effort to portray the M/M relationships. And since I brought up Jaal already, BioWare had to be publicly shamed into offering M/M relationships in equal amounts to the other pairings in Mass Effect Andromeda. Like, it’s bad that Peebee’s romance for FemRyder just had the model swapped in for BroRyder, sure. But at least that content was THERE, at release. For gay/bi men who wanted to romance male characters, we have to make sure that we get that patch downloaded (meaning if you play the game without an internet connection, you can’t get access to his romance) - and only because the outrage actually GOT a response, which is not necessarily the norm in this industry.

Hell, the disparity there actually GOT noticed - if you include Scout Harding as a romance, M/M romances are the lowest numerical romances in Dragon Age Inquisition as well, with only Dorian and Bull as options. And I didn’t even realize this until this past year, despite being disappointed in those two options. Even recognizing that Harding is more of a fling than a full romance, it’s still more than M/M romances had. The closest we got was being able to flirt with Cullen twice before he shuts it down (and the rants I’ve had on THAT subject...).

And that’s just the focus with BioWare - I saw it all through the initial release of Odyssey, while I know that the official metrics are all saying that Alexios saw more play than Kassandra, Kassandra got a lot of positive response in the fandom that was often framed in opposition to Alexios, that she was the “better” protagonist.

Like, I’m bolding this for emphasis, and so if anyone is TL;DRing this it’s eye-catching enough: My issue is the dismissal and denigration of the male PCs when building up the female PCs. It is not being against celebrating the female PCs. It’s just the way that people will, in their positivity towards a female PC, dismiss the audience who relates to and connects with the male PC. The way that I’ve seen since day one the common “joke” that male Shepard is unnecessary, condemning the voice acting, even asking why he’s there when female Shepard is “the real Shepard”.

It makes fandom a hostile place to be when you’re looking to that character as your representation, your inspiration. Yeah, it’s a joke, but when it is coming from all corners, or at least feels like it, all the time, the humor dies, and you’re left with just the words. The words telling you that this mirror for yourself is something that people don’t care about.

Again, it’s that feeling of already being on the margins and then being pushed further. You are the freak among the freaks.

But it feels like saying any of this, like I have, is opening the door to be dismissed as being sexist, or misogynistic, or lesbophobic, or anything like that, because people want to boil down what I’m saying to no more than “but what about MEN? Why aren’t you talking about MEN?” in that dismissive way that so many MRA trolls attempt to derail the conversation - except, no, I am TRYING to have a genuine conversation, about men who aren’t represented, men who need these male characters as much as women need the female ones - queer men get the short stick in a lot of cases, like this goes back to the representational matters in a lot of kids TV shows - while we can absolutely talk about the bad representation it was broadly, I remember when Voltron concluded, having Shiro, having arguably the lead male character of the show, end the show marrying and kissing another man... That was heavily ignored by Tumblr. Meanwhile Tumblr EXPLODED for Korra and Asami or Bubblegum and Marceline.

It’s seeing what is representation for me as a queer man being played down or ignored while the queer women are praised. And, again, I’m not trying to take anything away from queer women, or women in general, but... Where, exactly, am I supposed to look for that same empowerment? And, more importantly, when the same media offers the empowerment for both groups, like video games do, why does it seem almost expected that I as a queer man back off and allow this to just be for the women in general, when the whole point of a variable protagonist is that it allows that empowerment for EVERYONE?

I mean, I say it feels like “opening the door” to these comments because it has happened before, and likely will again. Because saying “this joke feels hostile to me, as a member of an underrepresented group, can we please not?” or speaking about my individual experiences and feelings - often even just in my own space, on my blog, frequently only tagged with my individual tags for organization in my space, rather than publicly shouting it through a megaphone by putting it in public tags, and somehow STILL getting attacked for these comments - is apparently all those things... That’s been the response I’ve gotten to saying things like this in the past.

And, in case I haven’t been clear with the repeated comments and the bolded statement above, it’s not about me, a man, trying to take away this thing for women. Rather, it’s me, a queer person - and fine, yes, a queer man - who wants to celebrate being seen, wants to celebrate what is still not a common thing of seeing myself in my media, and then feeling like I’m being shoved out of the way because other people celebrating their representation is considered more important, to hell with me and my mirrors.

Like, I’m not saying any of this is anything actively conscious or even intentionally malicious. It does seem like a reflexive defensive position - “men have tried to take this from us, so we’re not letting ANY man through.” I don’t want to come across as flippant or not aware of the fact that this isn’t a walk in the park for women. I get it, I really do. I’m just... It does feel like my struggles are something that I’m being told to downplay in the name of allowing others to have their celebration.

Thing is, my own experiences as a queer person already leave me feeling like I’m getting that as well - I mentioned before (and have elsewhere) that Dragon Age Inquisition’s M/M romances didn’t work for me. But I have often felt like I need to downplay the fact that I don’t emotionally connect to Dorian as a character - in the immediate aftermath of the game’s release, you could not say ANYTHING negative about him without getting shouted down as either a homophobe or dealing with internalized homophobia. Meanwhile, I’m here, pointing out that, hey, the previous games did not really have any direct homophobia, and the little bits that did lean in that direction felt more like the writers living in a homophobic society and not able to wholly divorce that in their writing than anything in-universe. To me, Thedas was a place where being gay was a difference that made no difference. And then Inquisition tore away that escape from homophobia so bluntly.

So, Dorian doesn’t empower me, you ask, so what about Bull? Yeah, I identify with “queer man” because while I’m a man romantically attracted to other men, I’m also asexual - just regular vanilla sex is in the fringes of my comfort zone. Bondage is an outright catapult out of there. At mach three. So I’m left uncomfortable by both of my “options” in Inquisition. And the response I have always braced myself for when I bring this up, when I do add my voice to the conversation about the M/M options, is “well, they can’t please everyone, and this was good for some people, so you should be content with that.” Being told I can’t have everything, so feeling uncomfortable at best is just something I have to live with, because hey, THOSE OTHER PEOPLE got satisfied, and so you should just be happy for them.

It’s that pained metaphor I offered earlier - the victory celebration isn’t for me, I’m on the outside looking in EVEN STILL. I am the freak among freaks.

Where is my place to belong, in all of this? Because it’s honestly hard to find, when all the spaces deemed “for me” still feel like an exclusionary party?

#dg rants #another angry queer rant

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curuniel · 4 years

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Where There’s Smoke

Spoilers for ‘No Quarter’ Angst, cw character death The latest living world episode gave me many feelings and got me inspired, so here’s one charr warband’s experience of civil war with the Dominion and the things they stand to lose.

When the Smoke warband trudged back from their latest shift on the battlefield against the Dominion, it was through a haze of the drizzle for which the region was named. Rain wasn’t constant but it had become a regular and unwelcome companion, and the unnatural blizzards that persisted in the north did nothing to help the climate. Someone had commented that the Iron Legion had marched out bright, polished and proud but would be returning significantly more rusted, and at this point Skoria felt rusted to her bones.

“Say what you will for Flame,” Torun grumbled as they passed the sentries on their way back into camp, “at least they can keep a place dry.”

Voska, Skoria’s lieutenant, scoffed. “If we set you on fire you’d dry out, yeah.”

“I might take that over the rain right now.”

“Go ask them, then. I’m sure they haven’t lost the knack of it.”

“Quiet, both of you,” Skoria chided them. “The last thing we need is more in-fighting on this side.”

“Didn’t think you were much for the Flame Legion as allies, Legionnaire,” Eris spoke up from behind them.

Skoria replied over her shoulder, “I trust them and their magic about as far as I could throw a fireball myself. But it’s rude to talk about it.”

The line got a few chuckles from the warband, and tired as she was Skoria smiled. As they reached their tents she turned to address the group, dropping her pack onto the muddy ground as she did.

“Alright, Smoke, we’re done for the day. Go get dry, magic or no magic, I don’t care to know. We’re on sentry tomorrow morning then back out at noon. Until then rest up. Oh, and Marix, it’s your turn to fetch dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” their engineer agreed with a grin.

There was gear to return (Marix had a sling full of broken equipment gathered up in the field for repair), armour to stow, clothes to change, and for Skoria a report to give although there wasn’t much to tell. Gained ground here; lost ground there when we looked away. Ambushes and counter-ambushes and dead charr. By the time she rejoined her warband around their small fire they had settled in for what passed for relaxation in these damp woodlands, and she gratefully accepted a steaming side of roasted meat from Voska as she sat down.

“I’m not saying they aren’t on the wrong side,” Torun was in the midst of explaining, “I’m just saying, they’re damned impressive. Look like they’re hardly out of the fahrar and holding their own against the imperators.”

“Are they, though?” Voska asked with some scepticism. “This is Ruinbringer’s show. Steel are a flashy front line, but I can’t help but feel he’s got something else going on right behind them.”

“Even if that’s true, Steel are the front line on the Dominion side,” said Eris. “Seems like every time the legions get any momentum one of them pops up to rally their troops. Or spring a trap. Or in Ryland’s case, just being loud and looking pretty seems to do it.”

“Hey,” Torun grumbled. “He’s not that pretty. S’posed to have those big scars.”

“Oh, no,” droned Eris, deadpan. “Scars. How unattractive…”

The others laughed, while Torun sulked just a little. Skoria refrained from pointing out that he had scars of his own; he’d figure it out eventually.

“Love them or hate them, they do make an impact,” she said aloud. “Seems like I hear about them in every camp we pass through. Everyone’s seen them. More people claiming to have fought them than is possible, though.”

Voska snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“Have you seen that tank that Steel likes to drop in the middle of things though,” Marix commented wistfully. “Oh, baby. How did Blood get their hands on something like that?”

“Trust you,” Grim sniggered. “One of the hottest champions of the Blood Legion turns up on the field and the engineer ogles her equipment.”

Marix shrugged. “We’d have interests in common, what can I say? Takes a trained hand to manage a beast like that.”

“The tank, or the charr in it?” “Aw, shut up Eris.”

The warband laughed again. It was nice, Skoria reflected, to have these quiet patches in a day where they could just be together. They seemed to get fewer and fewer of them as the weeks went by. Smoke hadn’t been part of the very first Iron Legion forces to come chasing after Bangar, but they hadn’t been far behind. Back then it had been all drums and cannons and crisp banners, legion ones and the new United Legions flag. Urged on by their imperator, Iron had expected to crush a small rebellion and put Blood in their place on the battlefield while they were at it. Blood were allies, of course… but putting down their rogue imperator was an honour to make a tribune, and everyone knew it.

In the Cascades they had found something different. The so-called Dominion forces may have been small when they left the rally in Grothmar Valley, but there were far more of them now than Skoria had expected. They weren’t all Blood, either - every legion was represented, Iron included, charr who should know better. The fighting was brutal and neither side hesitated to bomb an area to ashes if it meant denying the enemy a wall to stand behind. It wasn’t long before the shine came off. Now the United Legions banner was necessary for everyone, because you couldn’t tell who was on your side without it.

"Thing is, Bangar was the one who wanted Flame back in the fold," Grim was saying. "Seems crazy to think that getting rid of one big shaman makes their troops all friendly and fine now. Dunno why Smodur lets them stay." He shot a wary glance in the direction of the Flame encampment. It was laid out next to the other legions but surrounded by a verge of empty space on all sides. The eerie shamans, with unnatural eyes smouldering against the dusk, watched over their borders in silence.

"I do," Eris said wryly. "Gears over grunts, remember? Flame can boost Iron's guns, which makes them more valuable than us whether they're loyal or not."

Voska frowned at that. "Smodur's never been one to let Iron be second best at anything. He doesn’t go begging to other legions."

"Smodur wants to win," countered Eris. "Everything else is secondary. Including the legion."

"Bullshit."

"Then how do you explain how many Iron Legion charr he's executed in the last few days?"

"That's -"

"Enough," Skoria interrupted abruptly. Apparently the warm glow of fellowship was done for tonight and it was time to be a legionnaire again. "Defectors are traitors, Eris, and Iron has never tolerated traitors."

She looked at each of them in turn. "Weren't we happy enough hunting out renegades? And didn't we all agree that they were disloyal scum stuck in the past? Bangar's Dominion is the same crowd. They don’t like that the world’s changing and now they have a rallying cry that lets them believe they’re something more than deserters. That doesn’t change the fact that our imperator is here, our orders are here, and the High Legions are here. Four of them, even." She bared her teeth. "Imperator Smodur has never led us wrong before. There's a reason Bangar's jealous of the Citadel and Iron might. I know it's been a rough few days, and there's a lot of talk. But we are Smoke, and we are better than that."

“Hear, hear!” cried Voska, raising a fist, and the warband whooped in response. But not all of the warband, Skoria noted with concern; there were conflicted expressions, quickly hidden, and conspicuous silences. Eris looked like she had more to say, Marix’s brow was furrowed in thought, and Grim was quiet - though that wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

Torun was the one who spoke up. “I hear you, Legionnaire, and I’m not planning on going anywhere, but you’re right that people talk. Fighting our own… even Iron… I don’t like it.”

“And seeing Steel run rings around our veterans isn’t helping morale much either,” added Grim, to which there was general grumbling agreement.

“Charr have warred with each other before,” Skoria reminded them. “And in the end the High Legions have always survived and come back stronger. We are the blood and body of the Iron Legion.”

“And anyone who leaves the legion,” Voska added, “is a renegade. Sure, I’m sorry to see some of them go, but they’re charr and they made their choice. Just like with the renegades, if they make the wrong choice…” She thumped a fist against her paw.

In the quiet that followed, Skoria wondered what they were all thinking. Wondered if she needed to do more for their morale, and what she could do beyond tell them to trust in orders. Marix, however, was the one to break the silence.

"Those shamans sure do boost the guns, though. I've seen some things out there, and I’d love to know how they work."

Skoria snorted. At least some things were consistent in troubled times.

"Get some sleep," she told them all. "Plenty waiting for us tomorrow."

* * *

“Where are you going?”

Skoria’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Grim’s low voice, with the sudden alertness that came with sleeping on a battlefield. She didn’t move. Grim had been assigned to the first night watch; it might be nothing.

The next voice belonged to Eris. “Nowhere, Grim. Keep your eyes pointed outward and don’t worry about me.”

There was a pause. “The watch ain’t only outwards these days.” Another beat. “Taking your rifle with you to take a leak?”

“These are dangerous times, aren’t they?” “Where are you really going, Eris?”

Skoria was tense now under her thin standard-issue blanket, but she held herself still. If Grim could handle this, while the legionnaire was officially asleep and didn’t know a thing, she could forget it ever happened.

“Out. Away. This shit doesn’t make sense anymore, Grim, you know it, I know it.”

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, don’t. We’re Iron Legion, and the Iron Legion is here. Duty’s clear.”

Eris growled at that. “The Iron Legion’s out there too, in case you haven’t noticed. Tell me you haven’t seen familiar faces.” A silence; Grim said nothing and Skoria winced; she wasn't wrong.

“Everything’s a mess, but one side’s making sense and one side’s telling us to shut up and fall in line.”

“Eris.” He spoke quietly. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave us.” Skoria silently echoed him. Don’t do this, Eris.

“I’m going,” was the reply. “Forget you saw me. I don’t want to get you or the others in any trouble.”

The next sound took a second for Skoria to interpret, where she lay pressing her eyes closed and willing this situation to go away.

“Go back to bed. Please.” Grim’s voice wavered, and Skoria realised in that moment she had heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut.

“Put that down.”

“Don’t move.” “You can’t -”

There was a twang.

Skoria hurled her blanket out of the way and sprang to her feet, claws out on instinct. She started to say something, she didn’t even know what, some firm command that would bring it all under control again, but the words died in her throat. Eris clutched her side where an arrow had stuck deep; she wore no armour. Grim stood with his bow in hand, shaky, staring.

“She was… I didn’t…” he stammered.

“Never mind that." Skoria’s speech was a lot steadier than she felt. "Go find a med kit. Not a medic, unless we have to.” She waited until he moved before she turned on Eris. “Skoria -”

“You’re Smoke as long as you’re here,” she told her soldier with a scowl. “As far as I’m concerned that’s the end of it.”

Eris snarled, then winced at the pain from her wound. “It’s not the end of it. Look, I don’t want to leave the warband - if you talked to the others, we could all -”

“That. Is. Enough.” Skoria stepped towards her so she could lower her voice, knowing it would be intimidating and letting her anger show. “We stay. Smoke is loyal.”

They stared each other down in tense silence, a contest Skoria had always won before. Then a new voice broke in.

“Eris?”

Torun stood, blanket still held loosely in one hand with his brow furrowed as he looked between them. Skoria took a half step back out of Eris’s face, but before she could give either an order or an explanation Grim blundered back into their camp, his bow still out in one hand though he held the med kit in the other. Torun looked at him, then back at Eris with her paws pressed to the arrow wound, then back at Grim.

“Torun, listen,” Skoria growled. “This is all a misunderstanding and -” “Grim,” Torun spat.

“I didn’t mean to -” he protested.

Torun snapped his teeth and snarled, uncaring. “I’ll kill you!”

He leapt at Grim, catching his shocked ’bandmate a slash across the cheek before they rolled to the ground together. Skoria tried to haul Torun off but couldn’t keep hold of his flailing limbs as he did his best to beat Grim bloody. Behind her, Eris hissed in pain as she tried to move.

“All of you, STOP, right now!” roared Skoria, discarding stealth entirely. “That is an order!”

It worked, to some extent. Torun and Grim paused, Grim just holding back Torun’s bigger paws with a grasp at the wrists. Voska was already awake, she saw, and now examining Eris’s wound. Around their little camp circle, however, more charr were waking and soon they’d be coming to see what the yelling was about.

“This ends now,” Skoria declared coldly. “Torun, get off him.”

Torun glared daggers at her. “He shot Eris, didn’t he? Our own warband!”

“She was going to leave!” protested Grim.

Torun looked disbelievingly at Eris, who laughed weakly. “I was,” she admitted. “Still am, if I can get away with it. Torun, Smodur doesn’t give a shit about-”

“Traitors? No. I really don’t.”

A shiver of dread ran down Skoria’s spine. She turned slowly, with a final warning look at her ’bandmates on the ground. On the ridge not far from Eris stood Smodur the Unflinching in the flesh, Iron guards to either side.

“Legionnaire,” he drawled. “Care to explain this?”

Skoria drew herself up straight and saluted, thinking fast. “A scuffle, sir, that’s all. Misunderstanding. People are jumpy with everything going on right now; I’ll discipline my warband accordingly.”

Eris laughed bitterly. Voska chose that moment to give the arrow in her side a testing tug, a warning that Eris took heed of with another hiss and a fit of coughing. Skoria vowed to thank her second for the quick thinking later.

Imperator Smodur regarded them with an unreadable one-eyed gaze. “Discipline should be better to start with. Iron needs to set an example, Legionnaire. To show this rabble how real charr fight.”

“Understood, sir,” Skoria replied, not knowing what else to say.

Unfortunately this wasn’t enough to satisfy the imperator. He looked down at Eris, taking in her wound as she averted her eyes and gritted her teeth.

“How did this happen?”

Torun answered before Skoria could. “Him,” he growled, poking a claw at Grim. “Attacked our own warband. Bastard.”

“And did you have a reason for that, soldier?” Smodur asked. Grim looked at Skoria, uncertain, and she gave him a long hard stare that she hoped he could read.

“Uh. Jumpy. Like the legionnaire said.” Skoria held in her sigh of relief as Grim answered awkwardly. “Saw her in the dark and thought she was Dominion. Funny now, eh, Eris?”

Eyes turned to the wounded charr, who just worked her mouth and spat. Smodur’s eyes narrowed.

“Disappointing. I expected better from you - all of you. Legionnaire! Smokeheart, isn’t it? I remember you. Come up here.”

There was nothing for it. Skoria gave Grim, Torun and Eris a final warning glance and Voska a grateful pat on the shoulder as she clambered up to stand with the imperator and his guards.

“Something here doesn’t smell right,” Smodur said. His tone was calm, almost friendly, like he was confiding in her. “So tell me, Legionnaire Smokeheart. And think hard. This wounded soldier of yours. Was she going to defect?”

Skoria’s breath caught, and she couldn’t seem to clear her throat to take another. She knew what this would mean. But it was a direct question. From Smodur himself. Warband above self… legion above warband.

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling detached from the word, feeling like she had no choice in saying it.

“Thank you,” the imperator said, smugly. Skoria looked away, clenching her jaw under a wash of unexpected shame.

“And now, due discipline,” Smodur continued. “You’re all aware of the punishment for deserting. I do not tolerate traitors. Defection is death.”

She couldn’t look at him. She told herself there’d been no other way. Loyalty demanded it. The excuses sat hollow in her heart.

“Legionnaire.”

Numbly she looked up.

“If you need to borrow a weapon,” Smodur said levelly, “I can give you one.”

Skoria blinked at him, having trouble processing what he was saying. “Me?”

Unfolding his arms and raising a brow Smodur replied, “you did say you would discipline your own, didn’t you?”

“You want me to… no. Imperator. I can’t.” She said it bluntly, the realisation of what he expected driving all thought of protocol from her mind.

“Can’t,” Smodur asked, with a dangerous edge, “or won’t?”

Silence stretched between them. The rest of the Smoke warband seemed frozen in place.

“I can’t,” Skoria whispered. “She’s warband. She’s one of mine.”

For a moment he just looked at her, judging perhaps, and then abruptly he shrugged.

“Very well. Shearclaw, your duty.” Smodur waved one of the guards forward. He stepped up with a heavy rifle in hand. Eris spat a curse and shoved Voska away before attempting to stagger to her feet, though she didn’t manage it until Voska slipped an arm under her to hoist her up. The lieutenant caught Skoria’s eye, but on this occasion Skoria had nothing to offer but equal helplessness.

“You might want to stand back,” the guard Shearclaw commented as he hefted the rifle.

Eris pulled away from Voska again, swayed, but stayed upright. “I’ll stand on my own legs, thanks,” she said wryly. “I can do that much.”

Although clearly concerned, Voska slowly stepped away. Torun was less composed.

“No!” he shouted, scrambling out of Grim’s half-hearted grasp. Eris looked over her shoulder at him, and something passed between them that even Skoria couldn’t read.

“Just don’t forget it,” she told him. Then she raised her head to lock eyes with Smodur on the ridge, pain seemingly forgotten as she straightened defiantly.

“Charr above legion. Charr above all,” Eris declared, and then the guard pulled his trigger and sank a bullet into her.

Skoria’ mouth hung open. Tears filled her eyes without permission and blurred the world. Below Eris wobbled, tried to keep her feet and failed, fell to her knees. Blood welled on her chest. Her mouth opened and another bullet cracked from the rifle, silencing whatever final words she might have thought to add. It was a brave death, some part of Skoria thought. Another part silently chided, but not a good one.

“NO!” Torun roared, breaking free of anyone who might have held him back. He ran to Eris, stopped short at the sight of her blood and blankly staring eyes. Instead, the heat of his gaze found another target.

“Skoria,” he snarled, claws unsheathed. “How could you? How could you? She was ours!”

“I…” She had nothing to say.

“She was right,” Torun said incredulously. He still couldn’t look at the body. “What kind of charr kill their own warband? She was right, wasn’t she?”

It would have been good to say, I didn’t kill her. But Skoria could not say it. She couldn’t lie to him now.

With a wordless howl Torun leapt for her, clearing more distance than most would expect - more than Smodur expected, judging by the way he hopped backwards with a curse. Shearclaw was quicker, though. The rifle cracked and Torun fell heavily from the air to collapse beside Eris. Voska drew a sharp gasp and stepped back, eyes wide with horror, and finally Skoria found her spine.

“Soldier!” she snapped. “That was out of line! He is part of my warband and I-”

She was interrupted by a paw closing hard on her arm, the one she’d raised to strike without registering it. She snarled and went to throw it off, then froze when she saw it was the imperator.

“He had said enough,” Smodur said. It was meant to be reassuring, probably, but there was an icy cold edge beneath. Rage, she realised. “A traitor is a traitor. Better we weed them out now.”

“Sir…”

“If not, they’d stab you in the back later. Make no mistake, Legionnaire.” He met her eye with his remaining one, and it was hard as flint. “There will be no disloyalty in my legion.”

And with that he turned sharply and walked away, his guards quickly moving to keep up. Shearclaw slung his rifle and took a last look down at the two bodies - her friends, her family - and smirked. It took all the control Skoria had left not to punch him in his stupid face.

Her shoulder slumped with sudden exhaustion, and she let it carry her down to sit in the dirt. She pressed the pads of her paws into her eyes and kept them there to hide her weeping, but an ugly sob escaped to give her away. No one commented. Whatever audience there had been, they had slunk away back to their own bedrolls by the time Skoria was ready to face the reality in front of her again.

Voska and Grim stood over the bodies. He stared blankly, she had an arm around him and her jaw clenched so hard Skoria thought she might pierce herself with a fang.

“I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I didn’t,” Grim was repeating.

“We know,” was all Voska said. As if sensing her gaze she glanced up at Skoria. “We know.”

That almost set her off again. Instead Skoria took a deep breath and steeled herself as best she could. The warband needed her now - what was left of them. Rather than waste time with the incline she jumped down, landing heavily. When they looked to her expectantly, though, it took all her will to keep her composure.

“We’ll bury them,” she said, only deciding as the words left her mouth. “Not here; somewhere else. Somewhere… nice.” Somewhere outside this damned camp. “We could wait until morning, but…”

“I’m not sleeping,” Voska said firmly. “Let’s find somewhere.”

“We need shovels or something,” muttered Grim.

Voska nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said, and gestured towards her steel-shod staff where it lay nearby. It wobbled, and bits of mud and stone rose and wobbled with it.

“No.” Skoria shook her head. “I mean, we’ll use it, but shovels too.” She took a deep breath. “I want to help.”

The other two looked at her, but knew her better than to say anything. Voska, however, suddenly dropped her arm from Grim and looked around their ruined campsite.

“Wait,” she said, speaking low. “Where’s Marix? He should be here.”

Skoria blinked. Of course they should have the whole warband, but… “I haven’t seen him since we went to sleep.”

Grim was checking the bedrolls. “I didn’t see him leave, but he’s not here. His stuff is, though.”

Voska gave Skoria a pained look. “You don’t think he…”

They all stared at each other for a long moment, and then Skoria threw her head back and shouted the loudest, most vehement curse she could muster out into the night. The creatures of the forest and the multitude of charr in the gloom around them went momentarily still.

When she had control of herself again Skoria opened her eyes, looked at her ’bandmates and growled, “we have work to do.”

* * *

They buried their friends on a cliffside overlooking the sea. It was a long way from the red Ascalonian forests where they had grown up, but it was quiet, moody, and pretty in its own way when the sun rose. Voska used her magic to part the earth and shift the tougher rocks out of the way, and then the three of them set to work with shovels from the earthworks to dig two proper graves, side by side. By the time they sealed them over again the dawn had lit up the harbour and the charr army - presumably both charr armies - were awake and on the move.

Few words were said at the graveside. There wasn’t anything much left to say.

The warband of three trudged back down to camp, gave their signs to the sentries and headed for their tents. Skoria rounded a corner and came face to face with Marix Smokeburn, halfway through his breakfast.

She didn’t even think. Before she knew it she had him by the shoulders, digging her claws into his flesh as she hoisted and slammed him against a tree with a furious snarl.

“Ow! Ow! Burn me Skoria, what is your problem?” Marix squealed, writhing under her until his good sense took over and he went limp to avoid being hurt worse than he already was.

“You’ve got some nerve to show your face now,” she forced out.

“I didn’t do anything!”

He seemed genuinely confused, enough to give Skoria pause.

“Where were you last night, Marix?” Voska asked from just behind her. “And you might want to think about being very honest, or Skoria might just take your head off to vent some frustration.”

“Are you-” He dropped the question when he registered the look in Skoria’s eyes. “Alright, alright! I went to go talk to Flame.”

He flinched back as if expecting a blow. Instead, Skoria retracted her claws - though she kept him pinned up off the ground.

“Explain,” she said..

“I wanted to talk to some of them, the shamans, you know, about what they’re doing for Smodur,” Marix stammered. “Enhanced incendiaries and all that. I think we could use ‘em, if we understood what they can do. But I know you don’t approve of Flame, and I didn’t want you to be mad… heh…”

Skoria dropped him, and he hit the ground with another “ow!” As she stood over him trying to find her words again Grim spoke up.

“We thought you’d... left.”

“Left?” Marix rubbed at his shoulder, checking for bleeding. “What, like, to the Dominion? Come on.”

When his comment was met with deathly silence, he looked from one to another of his warband for help and a shadow of real concern, or maybe fear, crossed his face. Skoria looked away, anger draining to be replaced by exhaustion and relief.

“Voska, with me please,” she said wearily. “Grim, fill Marix in.” To their bemused engineer she added, “Marix… it’s good to see you.”

He got to his feet while Skoria walked a little way off, her lieutenant following. Voska had been quiet, but she always saw more than she let on, and she didn’t seem surprised to be called aside. When they had some privacy Skoria dropped to sit on a convenient stack of lumber and rested her head on her paws, pressing hard at the bases of her horns like it could bring her thoughts into order by force.

“I can’t stay here, Voss,” she said quietly. “Not after last night. What kind of legionnaire can I call myself now?”

“The kind who follows orders,” Voska replied promptly. “It wasn’t your fault, Skoria. They were stupid, but they knew what they were doing and where they were.”

“It’s not just that.” She lifted her head to look her lieutenant in the eyes. “Smodur - I’ve been loyal to him since I was a cub. He’s never steered us wrong. He’s supposed to be building a better future for charr. But Voss, I think I hate him. And I let him -”

Her voice caught in her throat, and it felt painful to swallow.

“I’d rather die than go over to Ruinbringer,” she said, “but I can’t serve under Smodur right now. Not today, not tomorrow.”

To Skoria’s eternal gratitude, Voska just nodded. “Alright. What’s your plan?”

Saying it out loud was hard, but she’d had all night to come to her decision. “Can you look after the warband for a while? I don’t want them to look like traitors, and they’ll need someone.”

“Consider it done, Legionnaire. And you?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I’m leaving the Cascades. For a while. I’ll tell the legion, but they’re not going to like it; probably best if you don’t know anything, actually.” Skoria quirked a smile, though it slipped away almost immediately. Instead she patted her friend on the back. “Thank you, Voska. I know I should stay, be here for everyone, but -”

“No.” Her eyes met Skoria’s and held them, and Skoria was surprised at how fierce her expression was under all the calm.

“Maybe if you leave, that bastard will understand how much you do for him,” Voska said, and she bared her teeth. “We already do. Go. I’ll keep Smoke safe.”

Unable to find further words, Skoria nodded. There were tears in her eyes again. With an impatient growl, Voska yanked her into a crushing hug. “Good bye, Voss. Don’t die out there,” she whispered.

“Like I’d die for him now,” Voska said with a snort, and against the odds they both choked out a little laughter into each other’s shoulders.

* * *

The last thing she did before leaving was visit the Iron Legion headquarters. On her way she stashed her pack in some bushes; turning up with her things packed would draw a little too much attention. The imperators were meeting elsewhere, a routine Skoria had bet on, and she found Tribune Kindleshot staffing a desk at headquarters.

“What is it, soldier?” the tribune asked after a brief glance up to see who had entered the tent. “We’re busy, as you might imagine.”

Skoria pulled a roll of paper from her belt and set it down on the desk. “I’m filing for a leave of absence. Effective immediately.”

That made the tribune pay attention. “Are you crazy?” she asked incredulously. When Skoria simply stood at attention she continued, “Imperator Smodur is not granting any leave right now. For hopefully obvious reasons.”

“I understand. I wasn’t planning to wait for permission,” Skoria informed her flatly. “The filing is more so he knows where I am. Or rather, where I’m not.”

Kindleshot’s brow furrowed. “Are you deserting, soldier?”

“No.” She pushed her papers across the desk. “And for the record, my warband have nothing to do with this. They’re staying with the legion. This is just me.”

“Well burn me, I can’t fault your guts.” Shaking her head grimly, the tribune considered her. “The imperator isn’t going to like this.”

Skoria shrugged. “If he notices one more soldier missing from the ranks. But tell him what you want.” She hesitated, but in the end this particular face of the Iron Legion had done nothing to offend her; she saluted. “Thank you, Tribune. I’ll be going now.”

No one stopped her. Grabbing her pack and swinging it onto her shoulders Skoria headed south - just one more soldier trickling out into the woods, except that she walked alone and in the opposite direction.

#tyriaslibrary #I finally have something to submit :D #Guild Wars 2 #gw2 #charr #my writing

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