#Battlefront camaraderie

[blueheartbooks]

Unveiling the Human Condition: A Review of "Grapes of Wrath" by Boyd Cable

Boyd Cable's "Grapes of Wrath" is a poignant exploration of the human spirit amidst the turmoil of war. Set against the backdrop of World War I, Cable's novel follows the journey of a group of soldiers as they navigate the harrowing realities of combat and confront the profound moral dilemmas it presents. Through vivid prose and compelling storytelling, Cable captures the essence of the soldier's experience, from the camaraderie of the trenches to the devastation of battle.

At the heart of "Grapes of Wrath" is Cable's exploration of the psychological and emotional toll of war on the individual. Through the eyes of his protagonist, Cable delves into the complexities of fear, courage, and resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. The novel offers a raw and unflinching portrayal of the physical and mental challenges that soldiers endure, shedding light on the often overlooked human cost of conflict.

One of the most striking aspects of Cable's work is its focus on the humanity that persists even in the darkest of times. Despite the horrors of war, Cable's characters retain their capacity for compassion, empathy, and love, serving as a powerful reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. Through moments of kindness and camaraderie amidst the chaos of battle, Cable highlights the enduring bonds of friendship and solidarity that sustain soldiers in their darkest hours.

In addition to its exploration of the individual experience of war, "Grapes of Wrath" also offers a broader commentary on the nature of conflict and its impact on society as a whole. Cable's vivid descriptions of the landscape of war and its aftermath paint a vivid picture of the devastation wrought by violence, while his portrayal of the social and political forces at play provides insight into the broader context in which war unfolds.

Overall, "Grapes of Wrath" is a powerful and thought-provoking novel that offers a nuanced portrayal of the human experience in times of war. Through its compelling characters, vivid imagery, and profound insights, Cable's work resonates with readers long after the final page is turned, serving as a testament to the enduring power of literature to illuminate the complexities of the human condition.

Boyd Cable's "Grapes of Wrath" is available in Amazon in paperback 15.99$ and hardcover 21.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 182

Language: English

Rating: 8/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[blueheartbookclub]

Unveiling the Human Condition: A Review of "Grapes of Wrath" by Boyd Cable

Boyd Cable's "Grapes of Wrath" is a poignant exploration of the human spirit amidst the turmoil of war. Set against the backdrop of World War I, Cable's novel follows the journey of a group of soldiers as they navigate the harrowing realities of combat and confront the profound moral dilemmas it presents. Through vivid prose and compelling storytelling, Cable captures the essence of the soldier's experience, from the camaraderie of the trenches to the devastation of battle.

At the heart of "Grapes of Wrath" is Cable's exploration of the psychological and emotional toll of war on the individual. Through the eyes of his protagonist, Cable delves into the complexities of fear, courage, and resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. The novel offers a raw and unflinching portrayal of the physical and mental challenges that soldiers endure, shedding light on the often overlooked human cost of conflict.

One of the most striking aspects of Cable's work is its focus on the humanity that persists even in the darkest of times. Despite the horrors of war, Cable's characters retain their capacity for compassion, empathy, and love, serving as a powerful reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. Through moments of kindness and camaraderie amidst the chaos of battle, Cable highlights the enduring bonds of friendship and solidarity that sustain soldiers in their darkest hours.

In addition to its exploration of the individual experience of war, "Grapes of Wrath" also offers a broader commentary on the nature of conflict and its impact on society as a whole. Cable's vivid descriptions of the landscape of war and its aftermath paint a vivid picture of the devastation wrought by violence, while his portrayal of the social and political forces at play provides insight into the broader context in which war unfolds.

Overall, "Grapes of Wrath" is a powerful and thought-provoking novel that offers a nuanced portrayal of the human experience in times of war. Through its compelling characters, vivid imagery, and profound insights, Cable's work resonates with readers long after the final page is turned, serving as a testament to the enduring power of literature to illuminate the complexities of the human condition.

Boyd Cable's "Grapes of Wrath" is available in Amazon in paperback 15.99$ and hardcover 21.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 182

Language: English

Rating: 8/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[darth-kote]

Cody headcanons Pt. 1

Loves when his name is pronounced properly, in the original drawn-out Mando'a syllables that he intended to become his name; it makes him feel like more than just a soldier, especially in a galaxy that seems disgusted with the mere idea of his existence outside of the context of war.

Cannot, for the life of him, understand Master Kenobi's fascination with things that creep and crawl. Geonosis was enough to give Cody nightmares every time he so much as caught sight of any sort of bug throughout his day, whether sentient or not – and this took months of avoidance, and then, with the General's guidance, meditation, to overcome. Despite his impressive rank (and brave face), Cody refuses to let a bug touch him, even through the plastoid armor that is capable of deterring more than a silken web or any stinger. If and when his brothers aren't around to poke fun, Cody doesn't hesitate to comm his Jedi to the rescue. And when Obi-Wan breezes in, cloaks and childlike wonder flowing after him, Cody's fear ebbs just slightly, just enough to make room for a profound admiration reserved for the man negotiating with the mantid on the Commander's pillow.

Hardly ever participates when his brothers invite him out to 79s, even when he is graced with extended leave from combat. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the camaraderie, he does, but when he finally has the opportunity to take up his own space, fill his time how he chooses.. well, it's a rare taste of freedom that he can't deny himself. As far as he knows, this could be the last time his feet are on solid ground, and he prefers to savor it rather than to drink it away; he wants to remember distinctly what the warm pull of gravity and the sun on his bare skin feels like if he were to perish in the cold fingers of space, alone, far from the rays of any solar body needed to support life.

As an extension to this, when Cody is not on the battlefront and peace is allowed to pervade, he enjoys lounging around his quarters in nothing but boxers. At all times. Rarely will the presence of a visitor provoke him to jump into his blacks, and this is always for the sake of the other person. (A brother will never intimidate him into discomfort; Obi-Wan, however..) The military-issued garments could be suffocating at times; it's not that they ever made him lose focus on the mission, but when given the opportunity, he rolled them off quick and let his skin breathe. Sweat and grime would be glued to his lab-grown, war-torn body after each battle; sometimes, there'd be blood from a wound he had purposely kept hidden in order to just be alone. Once out of the eyes of his men and his General, naked and clean, he could inspect the damage his body and mind had taken himself.

To piggyback yet again: Cody has a hard time asking for help. Like, physically cannot utter the phrase, "Please help me." It stems back to Kamino, his days as a cadet, and the things he was programmed to believe and do. Self-sufficiency, dominance, strategizing through any obstacle, putting the mission above himself.. these were qualities of a good soldier that were ingrained in Cody from birth (if that's what it could be called), and Cody is nothing if not a good soldier. When stumped on coming up with a new battlefield strategy on a whim, or when pressed into a wall by droids without a single shot left to defend himself, he is quicker to accept that this is what the Force had planned for his ending than to distract another man from the larger goal; anticlimactic, but far less so than fallen Jedi he had heard stories about. It makes his cloned heart pang to think of another soul, especially a brother, being torn from the galaxy for his sake.

[gxr25256]

Mercy in the Shadows - Sixshot x reader

🌵 If there are any mistakes, please forgive me.

--------------------------------

The black market of Cybertron sprawled beneath the grimy spires of an abandoned industrial sector, where the remnants of war and conquest had been shoved aside to decay in shadows. Towering structures—relics of past battles and conquests—cast long, harsh shadows over crowded rows of stalls where vendors hawked anything with a price. Stolen weapons, forbidden tech, scraps of Cybertronian armor, and unfortunate captives from distant planets—all of it littered the scene in a chaotic mixture of neon and rust. Each item was a trophy, a whisper of violence from a hundred other worlds, and Sixshot drifted through it with a growing, gnawing sense of restlessness.

Megatron’s unexpected day off grated against his nature; idleness felt like rust forming on his circuits. A day without purpose felt like a day stripped of his essence. That's insulting. But the boredom had brought him here, among his fellow Phase Sixers. They were scattered across the market, each drifting toward different distractions like predators prowling in the dusk.

Overlord prowled through the stalls with his usual swagger, laughing off merchants' terrified glances with mock kindness that barely hid his violent intent. Sixshot had long ago come to understand Overlord’s twisted relish for bloodshed, a brutality that went beyond any sense of duty. There was something grotesque, almost obscene, about his joy in suffering, a sentiment that made Sixshot uneasy.

Black Shadow, on the other hand, drifted between stalls with a smooth confidence, a face that alternated between detached boredom and intrigue. Occasionally, he exchanged a few sly words with some of the merchants or put his arm around some of his deceptions colleagues and appear very friendly. But Sixshot knew better—he saw through the charade. Black Shadow wasn't here out of camaraderie. No, the only reason he is here: profit. Energizing his private stockpile was his real objective. Sixshot knew as soon as black shadow got a good enough price, he’d betray them without a second thought.

Putting thoughts about his colleague aside, sixshot adjusted his posture. He leaned back against a wall of rough, rusted steel, arms crossed, optics skimming the market with a disinterested glare. His gaze skimmed over the vendors and buyers, creatures of every shape and size, each chattering in grating voices over who or what might be worth a trade. The entire place was a crowded mess, littered with broken artifacts and miserable captives. Some were quiet, others despairing, a few shouting or growling in languages he didn’t bother to understand.

But then, his optics landed on "you."

It took him a second to recognize the figure—a tiny form crammed behind the energy bars of a cage, looking so out of place it was almost laughable. Among the clanking, bulkier species of aliens, among all the caged beasts and prisoners from dozens of battlefronts, you stood out: fragile, trembling, skin pale under the harsh Cybertronian lights.

A human.

The human's fear was almost palpable. Your breathing was quick, shallow, and you clung to the far side of the cage as if hoping it would dissolve into an escape. Your wide eyes darted around the market in search of something, anything, to save you from the towering titans that prowled the area. That look was one Sixshot knew well.

He couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. What do you feel when you know your existence is utterly insignificant in a universe ruled by giants? he mused. Something about their terror was... different from what he usually saw. Battle gave him excitement, yes, but this? This was a glimpse into the helplessness he so rarely encountered.

He pushed off the wall, striding slowly toward your cage, his optics studying every detail. Your small form clung to the bars, eyes darting wildly around the market, your breath coming in quick, shallow gulps. From the trembling in your limbs, to the way you pressed yourself against the back of the cage, every fiber of your being screamed of fear, like an animal that knew it was cornered and hopelessly outmatched.

There was no bravery in you, no defiance, no hidden strength waiting to be unveiled. And yet…your fear was different from what he normally saw in battle. There was a desperation in it, a rawness that he rarely encountered. The beings he faced on the battlefield had a hardened kind of fear, a last-stand defiance, as though they had already accepted their fate before they ever laid optics on him. They were soldiers, warriors resigned to the end. You were none of those things. You were terrified in a way he hadn’t seen since his earliest days of combat, when his first foes had still been innocent enough to believe that fighting back would save them.

He leaned closer, his optics boring down on you, watching with an intensity that made the cage rattle as his presence loomed. You flinched violently, clutching the bars of the cage as though willing yourself to vanish. Your eyes met his briefly, wide and pleading, then darted away, too afraid to hold his gaze. The look on your face—it stirred something deep within him, a flicker of recognition that was more instinct than memory.

This was prey. True prey. The kind that knew only terror, the kind that understood its helplessness in the face of absolute power.

He was aware of your every movement: the small tremors running through you, the quiver of your lip as you fought to stay silent, the shallow rise and fall of your chest as you struggled to control your breath. He could practically feel your pulse racing from where he stood, a tiny, frantic heartbeat in the face of a predator that could crush you with a single motion.

Something cold and calculating sparked in Sixshot’s optics as he observed you, an old, he hadn’t felt in cycles. It wasn’t the thrill of conquest, nor the satisfaction of a worthy opponent. It was simply a glimpse into something so small and insignificant that it gave him a reminder of what he truly was: a weapon, a machine of total annihilation, one that even other Decepticons viewed with unease. His power had made him a pariah, feared and isolated even among the monsters he called allies.

Yet, he respected the strong. He valued those who fought back, who met him on the battlefield with fire in their optics. This human was none of those things. But there was still something about them, something attractive.

An annoyed sigh came from him, like a roll of thunder. “Pathetic,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. But he didn’t move away. He stayed there, towering over the cage, optics fixed on you like a scientist inspecting a specimen.

The vendor, noticing Sixshot’s interest, sidled over eagerly, his voice a grating whine. “Quite a rare find, isn’t it? A rarity from that little backwater planet, Earth." The merchant gave a smug chuckle. “Not much of a fighter, but they cower in the most entertaining ways.”

The words barely registered to Sixshot. He continued to observe you, noting every subtle tremor, every desperate shift of your eyes. He saw the way your fingers gripped each other tightly, knuckles turning white under the strain, your breathing growing shallow as you tried to make yourself smaller, less visible.

“Interested?” the trader ventured, clearly hoping for a transaction.

Sixshot’s optics narrowed. “What would I do with something so fragile?” he replied, his tone dismissive, though his gaze hadn’t shifted.

The merchant chuckled, mistaking Sixshot's interest as mere curiosity . “A toy, perhaps. Or a pet to keep your quarters interesting. Some find it amusing, having one of these creatures cowering in the corner, watching you with those little eyes. It can be… satisfying.”

The idea of taking you as a “pet” was laughable to him. Amusing? No, that wasn’t it. He had no need for amusement. His life was not about leisure or indulgence—it was about the thrill of worthy combat, the satisfaction of watching an opponent meet their end with dignity or terror. You didn’t fit into that world; you were not a warrior, nor an enemy, nor anything remotely close to a combatant. And yet, your fear called to him.

It would be so easy to snuff out that fear. One flick of his finger could silence you, end your miserable terror in an instant. It would be a mercy—a quick death, a release from the agony of knowing you were powerless.

And yet, he didn’t.

“Do you understand what you are?” he asked quietly, his voice a deep, rumbling growl that filled the space around you. The question seemed almost rhetorical, but he was genuinely curious. What went on in a mind that knew it was nothing more than prey? A creature so weak it couldn’t even defend itself, forced to rely on hope or mercy—neither of which existed here.

Your head lifted, just barely, and you managed a timid nod, your eyes wide and glazed with tears. He could see the struggle in your face, the way you fought to keep some shred of composure in the face of absolute terror.

"Then you understand this is where you die," he continued, almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather. His tone held no malice, no cruelty; it was a simple statement of fact.

Your lips parted, a faint tremble to your voice. "Please…" The word slipped out, barely audible, a plea that you knew was pointless yet voiced out of desperation.

With a dismissive huff, he straightened, turning away from the cage, folding his arms and giving you a final, unreadable look. “I’ll take this one,” he said simply to the merchant, his voice devoid of any emotion but finality.

The merchant’s face brightened with greed. “A fine choice! You’ll enjoy having a creature so… malleable. They’re delightful to break.”

Sixshot didn’t respond. He didn’t take you because he wanted a pet. He didn’t take you becausehe found any joy in your terror. But perhaps, in his own way, he was giving you a purpose. A purpose in his world—a chance to exist, however briefly. Or it would simply be a way for him to kill time.

Whatever it is, then for you, it would be the beginning of a nightmare from which there was no escape.

--------------------------------

[graylinesspam]

Dancing was an inalienable part of Shili's culture. Dancing was a focal point in all celebrations and ceremonies. It was a tool of social bonding.

Most infants learned to "dance" somewhere between crawling and walking.

But the wider galaxy didn't have the same views of it that the Togruta did.

For whatever reasons humans or near humans who had the audacity to shake their butts or display their bodies were seen as obscene. The farther from human you were the more you could get away with it but for species that were seen as sexually desirable there was a veil of sexuality draped over their cultures.

One that they'd been unable to remove.

So most Togruta, at least the free ones, refused to dance in public spaces or in front of certain demographics.

Any dancing that Ahsoka had participated in was either on Shili or in the company of other younglings who's cultures also had an emphasis on dancing.

So far she'd attended dancing festivals on her home planet almost every year. And several socials in the creche organized by other younglings. Even traded dance moves with other cultures like the MonCala or the Wookies.

That was before the war.

Because now Ahsoka was surrounded by nothing but human men. And human men were single demographic that no Togruta would casually dance in front of.

Wether her men were respectful or not it was just something that was totally ingrained into the culture of the galaxy. She'd personally seen several pinup posters of women with Lekku dressed in chiffon dancers outfits in several places across the GAR's facilities. She and her reputation alone couldn't wipe away centuries of sexualization.

So she abstained.

Ahsoka spent her time training and fighting. There wasn't a whole lot of time outside of the war, and whatever 'bonding' she did with her troops happened around the fires at night. With drinks and rehydrated rations in hand.

And she found that physical harmony in the little interactions instead. The way her troops moved in synch with her in training. The way they responded to her hand signals.

The way Obi-wan moved with her through morning katas.

The way Anakin poked, prodded, and elbowed her into familiar arguments. His hand darting out to annoy her and her instinctual dodge.

Each little gesture left her with a personal thrill, a feeling of fulfillment.

She tried not to linger too much on the feeling of longing that always accompanied the urge to dance. Contenting herself with little skips and head bops and jazz hands to work the urge to dance our of her system.

Sometimes unable to hold back the jittery body wiggles that overwhelmed her during times of celebration.

Some time into the war she was surprised to discover that the clones also had a ceremony that required dancing. Well, if you could call it that.

When Ahsoka thought of dancing she thought of swaying hips and light feet, of moving with the rhythm. What the clones were doing was closer to stomping.

Their boots slamming to the ground in unison, their hands slapping against the plates if their armor. The only beat was the one they created with the percussion of their bodies.

One step foreward, boots slamming to the ground. Fist colliding with their chest plates. Open palms slapping their upper arms. Deep-chested bellows accompany the cacophony.

To Ahsoka dancing had always felt like an invitation. A moment of vulnerability. And open hand.

This was the polar opposite. This was a warning, a threat. A show of power. A closed fist.

The hanger rang with the sound of them. Their bodies spread to take up as much room as possible. Their faces pulled down into snarls, tongues hanging from their open mouths. Plastoid knocking against itself.

But she could see it, in the lines of their formation. In the unity if their voices. The collective threat of them. This was their camaraderie. The sense of community that she'd craved.

It was strange to her but it was theirs and she had to respect that.

Battlefront to battlefront, she stood aside as they went through the routine. The ground shaking underneath her as she rocked on the balls of her feet. Battling with that familiar longing.

"Your face wouldn't scare a tooka." Jesse joked. Tup wadded up a wrapper and flicked it right into Jesse's face.

"Ladies, your all very intimidating," Echo said pushing against Jesse's shoulder in reprimand as he sat down beside the fire.

Ahsoka scoffs at the comment, foot hitting Echos ankle.

"Sorry commander, I know plenty of ladies of ladies that are intimidating." Echo apologized.

"You don't even know plenty of ladies." she snarked back.

"Ooooo" the others courused.

"Your right. I don't know any intimidating ladies, at all." he returned with a exaggerated sniff.

"whatever, I don't need you to tell me I'm intimidating."

"Maybe with that force stuff, sure, but you're kinda....small." Fives offered.

Ahsoka growled at him, her lip curling just slightly.

In return Five's mouth dropped open his tongue stretching far out of his mouth, eyes bulging.

Ahsoka's snarl deepened. Her fangs bared at him.

"Alright, you're plenty scary Commander." Rex interjected before this pissing contest could get out of control.

"Sure could have an intimidating haka face with fangs like those." Echo mused and several men agreed.

Ahsoka cocked her head, surprised, most sentiments didn't like seeing a Togruta's fangs. They found it rude.

Ahsoka curled her lips back letting her fangs glint in the fire light.

"With more tongue." Jesse urged.

She let if fall out of her mouth and down her chin like they did, tip pointed.

"And growl." Fives demanded.

Ahsoka's nose flared as her chest rattled with a growl.

"That's it. Definitely puts the shinys to shame. A few more lessons and you'll be ready for the Haka." Fives congratulated.

It might not have been exactly what she'd imagined but that was how Ahsoka found the harmony she craved with her troops, at the front of the formation her hands pounding against her chest. Their voices shake the air as their feet rattle the ground.

Ahsoka was more than an open hand. And maybe she needed to be. In a galaxy like this a closed fist found themselves in better company.

[tarnishedxknight]

The Order of the Knights of Dalmasca: Culture, Code, and Camaraderie

{out of dalmasca} While making my latest OC, Soryn, I've been thinking a lot about the Knights of Dalmasca and their very limited role in FFXII. Of course the game can't go into depth or detail with every aspect of the lives of all the characters, especially when there is little benefit or support to the plot in doing so. But considering two major characters are members of this Order, it's surprising more wasn't said about it. So much was said about the Judge Magisters, but of the Knights of Dalamsca, there was hardly any mention at all. Get ready for a ball of headcanons, below the cut!

Only Basch and Vossler are ever mentioned specifically in the game, but supposedly there was an entire Order of Knights associated with Dalmasca. Marquis Ondore references the dissolution of the Order due to most of its members being killed after the Battle of Nalbina Fortress. He says in his memoirs:

That line, "Indeed, their Defeat was to be absolute," to me sounds like they all died, but we know this isn't true. Basch and Vossler survived. So if that's not what it means, then maybe it refers to the "death" of the Order itself. That's how I've been interpreting it, and so I've assumed that, of however many knights there were in this Order, only Basch and Vossler were left after the Battle of Nalbina Fortress. I'm throwing Soryn into the mix as an OC, so obviously he would survive as well. If three members was not enough left to say the Order could continue (or two in canon), to me that means that there were a decent number of them to begin with. Likely more than ten. Maybe closer to twenty-something, as it was with the Judge Magisters.

So then I started thinking about what this Order was like and how they related to each other. Headcanons regarding Vossler's misdeeds aside, I assume there was a lot of bonding, camaraderie, and shared conversation/experiences/traumas between all of these knights. These were highly trained, highly capable, specialized soldiers who were sent to the worst battlefronts, to lead the most difficult charges, to face the most staggering of odds. Compared to the whole of the Dalmascan Army, there were not many knights in existence, so whenever they were deployed, one knew the situation was grave indeed.

As military folks often do, these knights must have bonded with each other considerably. They would be deployed to locations far from home, for weeks or months at a time, and may have spent more time with their fellow knights than with their families on average. They would have traveled together, eaten together, slept alongside one another, settled into encampments together, and fought alongside each other. That kind of shared experience fosters a lot of bonding, trust-building, and friendship out of necessity. No one understands them as well as their fellow knights do, for no one has been through what they have, to the degree they have.

But in addition to bonding over shared experiences, there would also have been a lot of shared trauma. Fighting in battles alone would be traumatic for anyone, I don't care how solid a person you are. These knights would have seen horrible injuries and death on a regular basis. They would have seen very young soldiers killed, cities lost, borders fall. They would have seen suffering, destruction, and watched the morale of the ranks plummet with every new defeat. As Marquis Ondore said, "...against the martial Might of the Archadian Army, they stood little Chance of Victory."

But they would have had to put on Brave faces for the rest of the ranks, despite those terrible chances of victory. The Knights of Dalmasca were not just a club for guys who fought well, heh. They were symbols of a higher and purer morality, they represented their king in foreign lands, they were the shields between the Archadian aggressors and the innocent civilians they left at home, and they were beacons of hope, bravery, selflessness, and honor.

Some might say all of that is cheesy, or that it is an unrealistic standard, or that Vossler is a prime example of none of that being true at all, but... first of all there were knights who did embody this code. Basch and Soryn did. They believed in it, lived it, and did their best to be those exact symbols for the masses and the military ranks that their king wanted them to be.

Secondly, the masses believed they were brave, selfless, and honorable. Whether or not each individual was a perfect follower of their knight's code, the Knights of Dalmasca were held in high regard and thought to be examples for everyone. That symbolism and representation came with great responsibility to deliver on that illusion of the White Knight trope, to embody the concept of protectors of the public that the masses could place their faith in and aspire to. It was important to their king, as well, that this symbolism be perpetuated, for traditional honor, sacrifice, and service were values King Raminas attributed to the proud legacy of Dalmasca.

Because of this, it often fell to the knights to motivate downtrodden soldiers, to rouse them to charge against terrible odds, to reassure them that all hope was not lost, and to lead by example, showing them that... yes, I am here with you, fighting alongside you, and we will do this together. Vossler didn't, and I suppose I can't comment on any of the other knights, but at the very least, Basch and Soryn did actively fill these sorts of roles on a battlefield.

So it was not only the shared trauma of war, battle, injury, and death that constantly surrounded the knights and their "family" of the Order, but also the stress of having to be beacons of hope, strength, and honor all the time. Basch and Soryn wanted this, they loved it and believed in it, so for them it was not forced or an act, but even so, it was still exhausting to keep that up, especially at a battle like Nalbina, where all odds were stacked against them.

No trauma, though, was probably quite as jarring as the loss of their own. Before the Battle of Nalbina Fortress decimated their numbers considerably, the Order probably lost other members here and there during various other military campaigns. Sometimes they were very far from home and could not bury or burn the bodies of their comrades on native soil (or sand, in Dalmasca's case). Sometimes they didn't even have a body to properly tend to, depending on how or where their fellow knight died. But when there was time and occasion for a funeral, I imagine they were very solemn, respectful things that caused the remaining knights to reflect upon their own mortality. While honoring their comrade, I'm sure many of them wondered if they might be the next to go.

There would likely have been a procedure or a running list of things that were done for and to the body in order to properly honor their fallen friend. These things were done out of respect and reverence, not only for the loss of a brave and capable knight, but for the loss of a friend, a comrade, a father, a son, a brother, etc. Depending on where the knight was killed or later died of his wounds, he would either be buried, burned on a pyre, given to the sea, or some combination thereof. Which brings me to what sparked a lot of these headcanons in my mind last night as I was listening to music to try to fall asleep...

This song, which I've loved for years, although part of an album that dealt with King Arthur, Lancelot, and the Knights of the Roundtable, gives me strong Knights of Dalmasca vibes. Imagine if they were near the shores of the peninsula, or elsewhere in Ivalice where where were beaches, the ocean, etc. Their fallen comrade would likely be placed on a floating pyre and pushed out to sea, to be subsequently lit ablaze by flaming arrows from the beach, probably shot by the friends of the deceased. The gravity of how difficult, traumatic, and heavy the lives of the Knights of Dalmasca must have been hit me hard while listening to this song. I think it gives more background and depth to the overall story of FFXII, especially the beginning, to flesh out the Order a bit more and to understand where characters like Basch, Soryn, and yes, even Vossler, were coming from.

I don't have a point to this meta other than to get down my thoughts after listening to that song, and everything it brought to mind when thinking of the Knights of Dalmasca and what they went through. I thought it was a good vehicle with which to flesh them out a little, for even though to the masses they must have seemed larger than life, they were still only men. Men who had likely suffered a lot, been through a lot, and sacrifice much of themselves in the name of protecting civilians and fighting to keep their land free.

Feel free to assume these headcanons for Basch and Soryn, by the way, if your muse knows them or would have heard about some of these traditions or battles, etc.!

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I posted this Booker/Joe/Nicky prompt on the TOG kink meme originally. No one claimed it, so I thought I might try asking you, if that is okay. Here:

"Porn with feelings is one of my favorite things, so: Five Times Joe and Nicky invited Booker into their bed and the one time they told him to stay.

You do not need to be explicit with the smut if you do not want to, although that would be lovely and much appreciated.

Just give me Joe&Nicky and Booker catching feelings throughout centuries worth of hookups while thinking that the other party is only interested in friendship and sex.

Angst With A Happy Ending, please.

Bonus for Bottom!Booker, but it is not a must.

Double Bonus for Exasperated!Andy dropping hints that they are too oblivious to understand."

Thank you for reopening your Ask Box and for considering my prompt. Have a great weekend!

A/N: Hope you’re well too, friend and thank you for the trust in my abilities! 😁 Feel free to consider your prompt filled if you’d like? It’s not as porny or as angsty as I think you were looking for but I hope it still satisfies.

--

one.

“I’m telling you guys,” Andy hisses, fingers digging into the soft dirt under her palms. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“And I’m telling you, Boss. We’ll be fine,” Booker grins sunnily, peering over the ridge to spy the military convoy transporting black-market arms and munitions. At the sight of the gleaming trucks and the stern-faced men with their faces focused on the road, the mischief dims a little.

Joe slaps him in the arm with a warm laugh. “If you get shot in the ass, you’re bunking with me and Nicky tonight. Let Andy have the big bed all to herself.” The man waggles his brows, brown eyes winking in devilish delight. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get front row seats to how Nicky makes love to me.”

Seeing that there were only two tiny Queen sized beds in their latest digs, Booker’s eyes blink in alarm, turning to her as if to ask, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you? He’s been with the family long enough that that was one knowledge he already has a too intimate familiarity with and not one he is keen to revisit.

If his reasoning hides the way his eyes always seek them out in a crowded room, that’s for him to know and only him.

Her only answer is the unsheathing of her hunting knife and the pulling of her scarf over her nose and mouth. “Better watch your ass, kid.”

two.

Nicky’s hand in his is what pulls him out of his thoughts. He must have been staring at the sea for longer than he had thought because stars dance in his eyes and he has to squeeze them shut to block out the sudden spinning of the world around him. 

Slipping away from Nicky’s touch, he sighs as he slowly feels himself come back to his stiff joints and sun-beaten face. He’s lost track of time again.

Booker feels Nicky take a seat on the sand next to him and instinctively looks around for Joe, before raising an inquiring eyebrow at him. “He has run out of his favourite colour again,” Nicky chuckles, kicking out his legs and burying his bare feet in the warm sand. 

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Nicky echoes with a smile. Their sympathies are immediate and resting solely with the poor salesperson who has to deal with Joe’s charm as he convinces them that one brand cannot be a substitute for another. They sit together, watching the tides kissing the shores in companionable silence before Nicky turns onto his side. “Are you okay?”

 Booker considers the question, still keeping his eyes on the way the sunlight dances on the waves. This beach is too warm for this time of the year and the air is the wrong tang of brine. Next to him, in the space where his wife should be with her wild laughter and her windswept hair, is nothing but empty, foot trodden sand. His heart sticks in his throat when he opens his mouth to speak and only the sound of unspeakable grief steals out past his lips. 

When Nicky wraps his arms around him, he doesn’t try to pull away. When he asks if Booker wants to come with him, unmistakeably to bring him to their bed - the one where he and Joe sleep in and not the comfortable guest bed in the spare room - he merely sighs, sinking into the warmth and strength of Nicky’s arms around him, and allows himself to be cared for.

three.

The camaraderie he feels amongst this new family is one he never thought he could have. He appreciates every new memory he builds with them and every new layer of life he lays down even if he cannot help looking behind him and long for what is no longer his.

Friendship and brotherhood are easy to grasp. What confuses him, however, is the way Joe, Nicky, and Booker have somehow developed something more than that. He isn’t unaware of the pleasures that brothers in arms share on a battlefront. Any shred of comfort and warmth to be shared in those moments of relief in finding yourself escaping Death’s embrace is one that was somehow tolerated when he had been conscripted to march for a madman. 

What Joe and Nicky have is more than that, and Booker knows it, is in awe of it, and can hardly stop admiring it. 

What they have in the moments where Nicky’s warm breath tickles against his neck as Joe presses in between his trembling thighs is one he cannot divine.

The easy way they three have fallen into the rhythm of kisses and touches, of shared quiet moments, lulled to sleep with the smell of sex on their skins confuses him and calming heartbeats. How, when he builds his first safehouse, he puts out a room for Andy but leaves the little touches for them in his own. The way he feels no jealousy when they go off on their own and nothing but elation when they fold him into the fabric of their being. And yet.

Yet, when they are together, Booker feels like his heart could stop from the guilty happiness he has coursing through his veins. When he is in the space between wakefulness and sleep held in their arms and sharing their space, it is the calmest, the safest he has ever felt since the day he walked away from Marseille. 

And Booker can’t stop but to wonder. What does it all mean?

four.

Joe stops mid-sentence and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The sounds of the other guests in the hotel percolate into their room and he has to take a moment to look at the bed where just an hour before, they’d languidly been tangled under the covers. They had arrived two days earlier just to take advantage of the privacy of the room and the luxury of a King-sized bed where Joe had pressed kisses into the quivering corner of Nicky’s lips as he tries not to laugh while Booker is playfully nipping at his jaw. 

God, has it just been an hour since he had to wrangle them all into some semblance of order so that Booker can catch Andy before she gets here? 

“What’s wrong?” Nicky asks, clear eyes catching in the light when they gaze at him. His beloved’s hands move methodically as they make the bed. The same sheets that still carried the scent that he is sure now permeate every shared space the three of them occupies on a regular basis. 

A whirlpool of emotions snake around his chest and all he is able to do is to reach out to Nicky; to the anchor in the storms of this strange life they live, to his true North. It speaks to the bond they share that Nicky comes to his side, kissing their clasped hands, patiently waiting for him to speak.

Joe thinks he can burst with all the love he has in him for this man. Then the quiet flicker of his mind to another face, another smile that he holds just as dear and he swallows down the maelstrom of words bubbling up because he knows that whatever he says now matters.

Love is not a finite source. Joe has seen enough and been through just as much to know that that is true not just for himself, but for Nicky too. Smiling at Nicky, he feels his shoulders relax, leaning into him. 

“My love, I think we need to talk.”

five.

“Come here.”

Booker hesitates but Nicky does not allow him any room to escape. Taking him by the wrist, he drags him to the quiet of an out of the way spare room in Copley’s home, eyes cataloguing every scrape, bloodstain, and healed over wounds.   

Sitting him down on the bed, Nicky begins to methodically push his fingers through Booker’s hair, brushing out flecks of dried blood and grime, bits of glass and debris. Neither one speaks for a long moment and the familiar silence is heavy between them. From this room, Nicky can pick out the quiet murmur of Copley and Nile speaking while Andy is being tended to by Joe. This moment won’t last and Nicky has to speak his peace.

“He’s hurt. We both are.”

Booker flinches but Nicky doesn’t allow him to rise from the chair, pressing him back into position, feeling some small relish when Booker obeys. “Why, Booker? Why couldn’t you come to us if you were hurting? Why did you hide from us?”

Blue eyes look away from him and down to where his leg is shaking. 

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” Nicky asks finally, softly and feels his heart break a little at all the possibilities that are slipping away with every moment they leave this unresolved. He sighs when Booker doesn’t speak, fingers moving to cup him by the jaw. 

“We love you,” He says. “But maybe that’s not enough just yet.”

“Maybe,” Booker murmurs. Moving to stand only for Nicky to take him by the hand, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“One day it will be.”

and the one.

Joe can smell the sea on Booker from the other side of the room.

Andy had levelled him a heavy look, telling him not to fuck this up with a soft smile on her lips as she leaves with Quynh in the first cab they could hail down. Nile had laughed when they asked if she was staying, telling them that she’ll be in the next city over if they needed her for anything.

Which now leaves Joe, Nicky, and Booker in a small motel room with the dying sunlight stealing through the gaps in the curtains. Nicky’s knee knocks against his and Joe has to sigh. Looking over to Booker, it is clear that the man is in the middle of some fight or flee reaction and he is tamping it down to fidget in the chair by the television set. 

Picking up one of the scratchy towels that came with the room, he tosses it at Booker, jerking his head at the bathroom door.

“Get cleaned up. We can talk after.”

Booker gapes rather unattractively at them and his look of incredulity grows into a frown when Nicky sighs around a snort. Joe can’t help but mirror Nicky’s amusement and feels his lips curl into a smile. Exhaustion clings to the way Booker looks from the towel between his hands and to them at the bed.

Joe feels a swell of affection cut through the need to clear the air before they go any further into this. He won’t make the mistake of not talking this through again. Walking over to him, he nudges Booker to his feet, pulling him into the bathroom. Brushing his thumb in an arc under his tired eyes, Joe says, “Maybe we can leave the talk for after we sleep.”

[writewithurheart]

(I’m not a Princess) This Ain’t a Fairytale: Chapter 3

Summary: A What If story: What if Nikolai and Zoya met when they were children. What if after the Rift expanded into Novokribirsk, she went to the port instead of Os Alta and found her way on to a pirate ship?

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Zoya & Nikolai (friendship), Zoyalai slowburn, Zoya/OFC

Read on AO3

TW (for this chapter): Canonical Death and Underage (Characters are 17-18)

Sneak Peek: 

War is violent and bloody. There’s no time for friends on the battlefront. 

There’s no time for enemies either. Not among the Grisha where they have to tread the line between Second and First Army. She misses the camaraderie of the Little Palace. In a fit of Rebellion, Zoya learns about the pleasure of the flesh from a First Army soldier who saves her from a volcra during the crossing. When it’s over she feels empty. Aunt Lilyana strokes her head in sympathy as she cries over the event in the privacy of the garden cottage. 

Zoya doesn’t tell Nikolai that part in her letters. She tells him of meeting a boy and how he hadn’t been as great as she expected. It takes her three tries to get the disconnectedness right. Her next lover is a Grisha boy. If possible, he’s worse than the First Army soldier, and Zoya vows to be more selective. It’s the companionship she wants more than anything.

It’s one of the medics who tells her she’s looking for pleasure in all the wrong places once she catches her making eyes at one of the First Army soldiers. 

“You can’t expect a man to bring you pleasure,” the girl whispers with her pink lips upturned in a sly smirk. “They’re selfish creatures and most of them are not good at it. If you want pleasure, you’ve got to take it for yourself.” Her smirk turns predatory and she leans directly into Zoya’s space, her eyes wandering over Zoya’s frame in a way that sends her heart racing. “Or I could show you.” 

[jwood718]

Jake Ponders (n’at): The Second World War and the American Road Trip

I recently picked up a copy of Ernie Pyle’s Here Is Your War, and it got me wondering if there was a connection between the wartime experiences of the G.I. and the post-war rise of the “road trip” in the states.

Yeah, it might be a stretch, but –

Are they smiling because they made it too Kansas, or got through it? [1]

Here Is Your War is Pyle’s book length effort to fill in the gaps in war-time coverage of the U.S. military campaign in North Africa, 1942-43.  While he was making dispatches to the dailies and weeklies like so many other war correspondents, he clearly believed that those “headlines” weren’t covering enough of the real lives of the American serviceman - and -woman - overseas.  I suppose you could say he wanted to put the humanity back in the inhumane undertaking, get beyond the usual heroics or grim statistics.  He did write of battle experiences - it would have been impossible not to - but for the most part, his focus was on what happened behind the battlefront.

Mickey Rooney entertains the boys. [1]

In expanding the picture of life in the service, Pyle described the food, boots and transportation; the tents, dugouts, and ad-hoc barracks; the myriad ways that the U.S. citizen adapted to, and adopted what was at hand, to make life as livable as possible.  What caught my attention was a reaction that Pyle reported hearing: after the initial jolt of invasion and “sleeping rough,” he was told on several occasions “I’ve never felt better in my life.”  Now, granted that this was not a sentiment spoken by someone who had just been under enemy fire, and that the book is, strictly speaking, a propaganda piece for “home front” reading that presents a positive view of the U.S. enlisted.  Still, I think there is truth in the statement.

The strenuous life. [2]

Teddy Roosevelt called it (maybe famously) “the strenuous life:” outdoor living, cold water, camaraderie of shared purpose, and in the case of the war, the ever-present fact that death might come calling.  It’s been reported by Pyle and others that these shared experiences brought people together in ways they never experienced during their peace-time lives, even if they worked together.  Unit cohesion usually came down to living and dying with their fellow soldier, regardless of the wider war effort.  Those shared experiences would not have been just in front-line combat, as combat comprised but a small percentage of the time spent in the service; those experiences would have been built on the whole of their few years following induction, the intense, compact, unit building effort that ran the gamut from boredom to terror.

Adaptations for the bivouac. [2]

This is not to shy away from the negative aspects of combat - it’s not termed “traumatic stress” today for nothin’, and certainly, the combat and combat’s aftermath did leave its marks.  Rather, consider that all of the overseas experiences would have left a marked impression on the minds of those who were “over there,” impressions that would not fade away quickly.

Aircrews - on the ground. [2]

O.K, you wonder, what does all that have to do with the road trip?  Yes, getting to that.  But first --

Maybe there hasn’t been as much written on the rise of the mid-Century Road Trip as there has been on the war, but when authors run through the changing aspects of American life that led to so many people “getting on the road,” they usually note the socio-economic factors that marked much of the 1950s and 60s.  

Thus: the expansion of the U.S. economy, which led to the expansion of middle classes who had vacation time and disposable income that previous generations never knew; disposable incomes spent on a widening variety of consumer items, and certainly a wildly expanding demand for automobiles; the increase in private auto ownership led to increasing demand for better roads on which to drive them; demand for better roads spurred a nation-wide expansion of engineered roadways and eventually the Interstate system; advertising aimed at the middle classes to get out of the house for fun and recreation.  Combining these, those who went on the road were the first high numbers of people who had the time and money to do so, they were spurred to it by the ideas and ideals of “The American Way of Life,” other middle class entrepreneurs  saw the need to supply the travelers on the way and built-out better accomodations for them, all of which made it ever easier for more folks to get out of the house and go somewhere.

Anytown, USA. [1]

And I don’t disagree with the foregoing.  What I thought was that there was probably an effect left over from the war years: the shared experience of “the strenuous life.”  I wouldn’t be surprised if the earliest of those who went out on a road trip were not getting away from it all, but were unconsciously attempting to get back something that they had experienced so viscerally a few years before.  To wit: the shared experiences, the change from the routine of home/school/office/assembly line/bowling alley/VFW post which, while safe and comfortable, likely still left something missing.  Call it adventure or adversity, but as much as everyone who went overseas wanted to go home, for some those “strenuous” impressions would have left a deeper mark, an impression that left living the daily work-home life a little flat.

Interstate driving: westbound in South Dakota. [3]

With better access to the world beyond the home town, though, that likely unconscious urge to pack up and move would have found an outlet behind the wheel of an Oldsmobile on the road to a National Park.  If the earliest adopters of this were successful, then for others it would be seen as an option not considered before.  Others who felt similar urges would have followed, then even those who felt no particular urge saw some advantage, and also followed suit.  Instead of packing barracks bags and trucks and moving to the next operating base, it was packing the tent in the car and heading out for scenery to be explored. The pleasant and unpleasant aspects of that life could be had, without the threat of death: camaraderie, boredom, new vistas, breakdowns on the road - shared experiences in a compact, intense time.

Are we there yet? Construction zone traffic back-up on I-70. [3]

Not everyone who came home later went on the road, but not everyone had the time and money to do so, and most likely not everyone felt that urge to do so.  That there were enough people who went out that it became a topic for later comment, though, means that many did feel something.  All the socio-economic factors had their effect, sure, but to leave out other factors that urged people to do something like get in a car and drive for hours and then sleep in a tent I think needs to be considered, too.

‘cause that’s the way I think.

[1] images found via the web.

[2] drawings by Carol Johnson, reproduced in Here Is Your War, photographed by Jake Wood.

[3] photos by R. Jake Wood, 2017.

Ernie Pyle, Here Is Your War; Cleveland, New York, World Publishing Co., 1943.

Carol Johnson’s drawings copyright Newspaper Enterprise Association, 1943.

Mississippi River, as seen from I-80, Iowa/Illinois line. [3] 

[crystaldynamics]

Veterans from Naughty Dog, Visceral Games, Monolith, Sledgehammer Games, and More Assemble for The Avengers Project Development Team

Today at Crystal Dynamics, we’re proud to announce that we’re continuing to expand our award-winning studio by adding 15 top industry talent to our development team in January alone. Included in the group are former Naughty Dog Creative Director Shaun Escayg who joins The Avengers Project as Creative Director, and as Director of Production Stephen Barry, a 27 year Veteran from EA/Visceral Games.

Escayg served as the Creative Director and writer of Uncharted: The Lost Legacy and led the cinematics team as the Director of Photography and Animation Supervisor on The Last of Us. In addition, he worked as an animator at Industrial Light & Magic. “I’m thrilled to join Crystal as Creative Director and be aligned with a team as passionate about telling great character based stories as I am.”

Barry held multiple positions at Electronic Arts and was formerly the Director of Product Development at Visceral Games, working on several games over his long career including the critically acclaimed Dead Space franchise. “Crystal’s been around almost as long as I’ve been in the business. The immediate chemistry and camaraderie has been exactly what I’d hoped for.”

“We’re committed to delivering an incredible, completely original Avengers experience to our gamers, and that means we are always looking to add amazing developers to our existing best in class studio talent,” said Scot Amos, Co-Head of Studio at Crystal Dynamics. “As development progresses, our studio continues to grow. The tremendous progress we’ve made on The Avengers project further drives us toward our goal of crafting something all Marvel fans will be proud of, and will play for years to come. We can’t wait to show you what we mean in the future.”

“We recently hired fifteen world-renowned industry veterans, spanning production leadership, animation, design, art and engineering, who have previously worked on games such as Batman: Arkham Origins, Dead Space, Star Wars: Battlefront and many more.” said Ron Rosenberg, Co-Head of Studio at Crystal Dynamics. “Their AAA experience adds to an already deep roster, making us well-positioned to deliver on the ambitious goals we’ve set for ourselves with The Avengers project. It’s a stellar addition of many people who fit incredibly well into our wheelhouse of building game experiences we all love.”

Crystal Dynamics has developed and published over 30 award-winning titles during its 25-year adventure. Some of the most beloved franchises include Gex®, Legacy of Kain® and most recently, TOMB RAIDER.

AVENGERS © 2018 MARVEL

[lego-sw-headfirst]

🧐 installment of the original trilogy, released in 1977. The scene was shot at the massive H Stage of Shepperton Studios, located in Shepperton, England. This scene was filmed over two days, May 13 and 14 1976, right in the middle of principal photography, when the camaraderie had grown between the main actors. The filmmakers originally intended to portray the assembly of Rebels present for the ceremony using a matte painting. However, this proved too difficult, and the scene was filmed by moving the extras to different positions in the frame until the illusion of a large assembly was achieved: the extras were first filmed at the near end of the stage, then relocated to the middle, and finally to the far end of the room. According to Star Wars: Behind the Magic, the extras were anything but reverent toward Harrison Ford and Mark Hamill, who portrayed Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. Extras believed the film would be a flop, and whispered insults, openly mocking the actors while they were walking down the set. Originally, the droids R2-D2 and C-3PO, played by Kenny Baker and Anthony Daniels, were meant to march up the aisle with the rest of the characters. However, due to their costumes' limitations, Baker and Daniels could not climb stairs, so it was decided that the droids would wait on the platform with the Princess. . 📸 Lego Star Wars b09sw The Visual Dictionary / Luke Skywalker (Celebration) . 👉🏻 Follow @lego_sw_headfirst . . . . 👍🏻 Some accounts I love and follow check them out! @my_lego_star.wars_world / @fedor_1899_sw / @star.wars.clones / @knolllaury / @legosw349 / @brick_boss_66 / @sw_mocs_n_minifigs / @legorc / @sw_and_lego_fan / @mr.lego10 / @lego_is_legit / @legostarwars_collector / @just_another_afol / @lego_.minifigures / @interstellar_brix . . . #Lego #StarWars #LegoStarWars #Legostagram #LegoMinifigs #LegoMania #Лего #Legocommunity #TFOL #Minifigure #toyslagram_lego #Battlefront #TheCloneWars #LegoStarWarsMinifigures #Legophoto #Legominifigures #Instalego #AFOL #legofigures #bricklink #starwarstoypics #legoinsta #legophotos #legotoys #starwarslover #starwarstheclonewars #lego®️ (at Yavin 4) https://www.instagram.com/p/CD4FWhRJNvl/?igshid=1fd657ko0iq5a

[ges-sa]

CRYSTAL DYNAMICS EXPANDS STUDIO WITH TOP INDUSTRY TALENT

New Post has been published on https://ges-sa.com/crystal-dynamics-expands-studio-with-top-industry-talent/

CRYSTAL DYNAMICS EXPANDS STUDIO WITH TOP INDUSTRY TALENT

[vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]Veterans from Naughty Dog, Visceral Games, Monolith, Sledgehammer Games, and More Assemble for The Avengers Project Development Team

Crystal Dynamics, the renowned developer of the critically acclaimed and world-famous TOMB RAIDER franchise, which has sold over 63 million copies globally, today announced they continue to expand their award-winning studio by adding 15 top industry talent to their development team in January alone. Included in the group are former Naughty Dog Creative Director Shaun Escayg who joins The Avengers Project as Creative Director, and as Director of Production Stephen Barry, a 27 year Veteran from EA/Visceral Games[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]

Escayg served as the Creative Director and writer of Uncharted: The Lost Legacy and led the cinematics team as the Director of Photography and Animation Supervisor on The Last of Us. In addition, he worked as an animator at Industrial Light & Magic. “I’m thrilled to join Crystal as Creative Director and be aligned with a team as passionate about telling great character based stories as I am.”

Barry held multiple positions at Electronic Arts and was formerly the Director of Product Development at Visceral Games, working on several games over his long career including the critically acclaimed Dead Space franchise. “Crystal’s been around almost as long as I’ve been in the business. The immediate chemistry and camaraderie has been exactly what I’d hoped for.”

“We’re committed to delivering an incredible, completely original Avengers experience to our gamers, and that means we are always looking to add amazing developers to our existing best in class studio talent,” said Scot Amos, Co-Head of Studio at Crystal Dynamics. “As development progresses, our studio continues to grow. The tremendous progress we’ve made on The Avengers project further drives us toward our goal of crafting something all Marvel fans will be proud of, and will play for years to come. We can’t wait to show you what we mean in the future.”

“We recently hired fifteen world-renowned industry veterans, spanning production leadership, animation, design, art and engineering, who have previously worked on games such as Batman: Arkham Origins, Dead Space, Star Wars: Battlefront and many more.” said Ron Rosenberg, Co-Head of Studio at Crystal Dynamics. “Their AAA experience adds to an already deep roster, making us well-positioned to deliver on the ambitious goals we’ve set for ourselves with The Avengers project. It’s a stellar addition of many people who fit incredibly well into our wheelhouse of building game experiences we all love.”

Crystal Dynamics has developed and published over 30 award-winning titles during its 25-year adventure. Some of the most beloved franchises include Gex®, Legacy of Kain® and most recently, TOMB RAIDER.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text] [/vc_column_text][/vc_column]