#Doom Courser

[alphamecha-mkii]

Doom Courser Omnimech by Dale Eadeh

[cal-1maf]

The Doom Courser is friend shaped

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Griffin Reborn (Jon Connington II) [Chapter 61]

"They will try to send out ravens," he told Black Balaq. "Watch the maester's tower. Here." He pointed to the map he had drawn in the mud of their campsite. "Bring down every bird that leaves the castle [Griffin's Roost]."

"This we do," replied the Summer Islander.

A third of Balaq's men used crossbows, another third the double-curved horn-and-sinew bows of the east. Better than these were the big yew longbows borne by the archers of Westerosi blood, and best of all were the great bows of goldenheart treasured by Black Balaq himself and his fifty Summer Islanders. Only a dragonbone bow could outrange one made of goldenheart.

There's no way all this goldenheart and dragonbone bow stuff is going nowhere.

+.+.+

It was over within minutes. Griff rode up the throat on a white courser beside Homeless Harry Strickland. As they neared the castle, he saw a third raven flap from the maester's tower, only to be feathered by Black Balaq himself. "No more messages," he told Ser Franklyn Flowers in the yard. The next thing to come flying from the maester's tower was the maester. The way his arms were flapping, he might have been mistaken for another bird.

They killed a maester! How dare they! Rude.

A man flying from a tower looking like a bird is very Bran.

+.+.+

And quick as that, Griffin's Roost was his again, and Jon Connington was once more a lord.

This is about to rival Janos Slynt for shortest reign ever.

Okay, maybe not that short.

+.+.+

But Connington had no intention of "letting them come." Griffin's Roost was strong but small, and so long as they sat here they would seem small as well. But there was another castle nearby, vastly larger and impregnable. Take that, and the realm will shake. 

Spoiler alert.

"Has no one told you?" Halden Halfmaester favored her with a smile thin and hard as a dagger cut. "Storm's End is ours. The Hand awaits you there." - Arianne II, TWOW

Stannis lost the Baratheon ancestral home. Beggar king!

+.+.+

Instead his steps led him up to the roof of the east tower, the tallest at Griffin's Roost. As he climbed he remembered past ascents—a hundred with his lord father, who liked to stand and look out over woods and crags and sea and know that all he saw belonged to House Connington, and one (only one!) with Rhaegar Targaryen. 

That's his writing, not mine.

I feel like I stepped into a fanfic.

+.+.+

Prince Rhaegar was returning from Dorne, and he and his escort had lingered here a fortnight. He was so young then, and I was younger. Boys, the both of us. At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course.

+.+.+

"Your father's lands are beautiful," Prince Rhaegar had said, standing right where Jon was standing now. And the boy he'd been had replied, "One day they will all be mine." As if that could impress a prince who was heir to the entire realm, from the Arbor to the Wall.

Aww, and then Robert Baratheon came along and ruined it. ❤️

+.+.+

Griffin's Roost had been his, eventually, if only for a few short years. From here, Jon Connington had ruled broad lands extending many leagues to the west, north, and south, just as his father and his father's father had before him. But his father and his father's father had never lost their lands. He had. I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell.

I can see I'm going to need a lot of these.

+.+.+

After the Battle of the Bells, when Aerys Targaryen had stripped him of his titles and sent him into exile in a mad fit of ingratitude and suspicion, the lands and lordship had remained within House Connington, passing to his cousin Ser Ronald, the man whom Jon had made his castellan when he went to King's Landing to attend Prince Rhaegar. Robert Baratheon had completed the destruction of the griffins after the war. Cousin Ronald was permitted to retain his castle and his head, but he lost his lordship, thereafter being merely the Knight of Griffin's Roost, and nine-tenths of his lands were taken from him and parceled out to neighbor lords who had supported Robert's claim.

Ronald Connington had died years before. The present Knight of Griffin's Roost, his son Ronnet, was said to be off at war in the riverlands. That was for the best. In Jon Connington's experience, men would fight for things they felt were theirs, even things they'd gained by theft.

Theft? A bit of a stretch there, buddy.

+.+.+

He did not relish the notion of celebrating his return by killing one of his own kin. Red Ronnet's sire had been quick to take advantage of his lord cousin's downfall, true, but his son had been a child at the time. Jon Connington did not even hate the late Ser Ronald as much as he might have. The fault was his.

I'm not understanding what Red Ronnet was supposed to do. Shouldn't Jon be happy the castle remained with House Connington?

Anyway, is he saying he would have killed his kin if Ronnet was there? Dang.

+.+.+

He had lost it all at Stoney Sept, in his arrogance.

Robert Baratheon had been hiding somewhere in the town, wounded and alone. Jon Connington had known that, and he had also known that Robert's head upon a spear would have put an end to the rebellion, then and there. 

This feels like revisionist history to me.

The full depth of King Aerys's madness was subsequently revealed in his depraved actions against Lord Stark, his heir, and their supporters after they demanded redress for Rhaegar's wrongs. Instead of granting them fair hearing, King Aerys had them brutally slain, then followed these murders by demanding that Lord Jon Arryn execute his former wards, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. Many now agree that the true start of Robert's Rebellion began with Lord Arryn's refusal and his courageous calling of his banners in the defense of justice. - The World of Ice and Fire

+.+.+

King Aerys had named him Hand and given him an army, and he meant to prove himself worthy of that trust, of Rhaegar's love. He would slay the rebel lord himself and carve a place out for himself in all the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.

+.+.+

And so he swept down on Stoney Sept, closed off the town, and began a search. His knights went house to house, smashed in every door, peered into every cellar. He had even sent men crawling through the sewers, yet somehow Robert still eluded him. 

Good job, always got to check the sewers in this story.

+.+.+

The townsfolk were hiding him. They moved him from one secret bolt-hole to the next, always one step ahead of the king's men. The whole town was a nest of traitors. At the end they had the usurper hidden in a brothel. What sort of king was that, who would hide behind the skirts of women?

Cry more.

+.+.+

For years afterward, Jon Connington told himself that he was not to blame, that he had done all that any man could do. His soldiers searched every hole and hovel, he offered pardons and rewards, he took hostages and hung them in crow cages and swore that they would have neither food nor drink until Robert was delivered to him. All to no avail. "Tywin Lannister himself could have done no more," he had insisted one night to Blackheart, during his first year of exile.

"There is where you're wrong," Myles Toyne had replied. "Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at the breast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all. When the fires guttered out and only ash and cinders remained, he would have sent his men in to find the bones of Robert Baratheon. Later, when Stark and Tully turned up with their host, he would have offered pardons to the both of them, and they would have accepted and turned for home with their tails between their legs."

And just like that, one of the dumbest theories to ever hit this fandom is born.

Jon Connington will not be burning down King's Landing, and anyone who believes he will needs a parent or guardian to get them through life.

Later, when Stark and Tully turned up with their host, he would have offered pardons to the both of them, and they would have accepted and turned for home with their tails between their legs.

I don't know about that.

+.+.+

He was not wrong, Jon Connington reflected, leaning on the battlements of his forebears. I wanted the glory of slaying Robert in single combat, and I did not want the name of butcher. So Robert escaped me and cut down Rhaegar on the Trident. "I failed the father," he said, "but I will not fail the son."

Oh, but you will.

+.+.+

Though Ser Ronnet was indeed off north somewhere with Jaime Lannister, Griffin's Roost was not quite bereft of griffins. Amongst the prisoners were Ronnet's younger brother Raymund, his sister Alynne, and his natural son, a fierce red-haired boy they called Ronald Storm. All would make for useful hostages if and when Red Ronnet should return to try and take back the castle that his father had stolen. Connington ordered them confined to the west tower, under guard. The girl began to cry at that, and the bastard boy tried to bite the spearman closest to him. "Stop it, the both of you," he snapped at them. "No harm will come to any of you unless Red Ronnet proves an utter fool."

Using your own family as hostages feels pretty sinister to me.

+.+.+

He brought them forward one by one, asked each man his name, then bid them kneel and swear him their allegiance. It all went swiftly. The soldiers of the garrison—only four had survived the attack, the old serjeant and three boys—laid their swords at his feet. No one balked. No one died.

Seems to me many have died.

+.+.+

The chaos that would inevitably have delayed such a march with a hastily assembled host of household knights and local levies had been nowhere in evidence. These were the heirs of Bittersteel, and discipline was mother's milk to them.

"By this time on the morrow we ought to hold three castles," he said. The force that had taken Griffin's Roost represented a quarter of their available strength; Ser Tristan Rivers had set off simultaneously for the seat of House Morrigen at Crow's Nest, and Laswell Peake for Rain House, the stronghold of the Wyldes, each with a force of comparable size. 

Sorry, I'm slow. It just occurred to me that Davos Seaworth's family is surrounded.

Davos had fathered seven sons himself, and lost four on the Blackwater. He knew he would do whatever gods or men required of him to protect the other three. Steffon and Stannis were thousands of leagues from the fighting and safe from harm, but Devan was at Castle Black, a squire to the king. - Davos II, ADWD

Oopsies. 

(Yay, map!) Yellow means the Golden Company holds it.

I don't know where House Seaworth's seat is, but I'm going to guess it's currently occupied.

+.+.+

"We still have too few horses."

"And no elephants," the Halfmaester reminded him. Not one of the great cogs carrying the elephants had turned up yet. They had last seen them at Lys, before the storm that had scattered half the fleet. "Horses can be found in Westeros. Elephants—"

"—do not matter." The great beasts would be useful in a pitched battle, no doubt, but it would be some time before they had the strength to face their foes in the field. 

+.+.+

"The Lannisters make enemies easily but seem to have a harder time keeping friends. Their alliance with the Tyrells is fraying, to judge from what I read here. Queen Cersei and Queen Margaery are fighting over the little king like two bitches with a chicken bone, and both have been accused of treason and debauchery. Mace Tyrell has abandoned his siege of Storm's End to march back to King's Landing and save his daughter, leaving only a token force behind to keep Stannis's men penned up inside the castle."

Connington sat. "Tell me more."

"In the north the Lannisters are relying on the Boltons and in the riverlands upon the Freys, both houses long renowned for treachery and cruelty. Lord Stannis Baratheon remains in open rebellion and the ironborn of the islands have raised up a king as well. No one ever seems to mention the Vale, which suggests to me that the Arryns have taken no part in any of this."

Almost feels like we're saving them for something big!

+.+.+

"And Dorne?" The Vale was far away; Dorne was close.

"Prince Doran's younger son has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, which would suggest that the Dornishmen have thrown in with House Lannister, but they have an army in the Boneway and another in the Prince's Pass, just waiting …"

"Waiting." He frowned. "For what?" Without Daenerys and her dragons, Dorne was central to their hopes. "Write Sunspear. Doran Martell must know that his sister's son is still alive and has come home to claim his father's throne."

For Myrcella to be killed.

He's right, the Vale is far away. It's right beside the north, sitting there being idle, while we all wait for a Baratheon to win back Winterfell.

+.+.+

"But no dragons," said Jon Connington, "so to win these allies to our cause, we must needs have something to offer them."

"Gold and land are the traditional incentives."

"Would that we had either. Promises of land and promises of gold may suffice for some, but Strickland and his men will expect first claim on the choicest fields and castles, those that were taken from their forebears when they fled into exile. No."

"My lord does have one prize to offer," Haldon Halfmaester pointed out. "Prince Aegon's hand. A marriage alliance, to bring some great House to our banners."

One might ask themselves why the author is suddenly opening the door to the possibility of Aegon marrying someone other than Daenerys. That wasn't the plan when they came to Westeros.

Do you see how marriage alliance is an important component in war? (Unless you are Jon Snow or Sansa Stark in S6 - then it's unnecessary.)

+.+.+

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

"Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day," Connington told the Halfmaester. "Aegon must be free to marry her."

Shut the fuck up, pebble.

+.+.+

"My lord knows best," said Haldon. "In that case, we might consider offering potential friends a lesser prize."

"What would you suggest?"

"You. You are unwed. A great lord, still virile, with no heirs except these cousins we have just now dispossessed, the scion of an ancient House with a fine stout castle and wide, rich lands that will no doubt be restored and perhaps expanded by a grateful king, once we have triumphed. You have a name as a warrior, and as King Aegon's Hand you will speak with his voice and rule this realm in all but name. I would think that many an ambitious lord might be eager to wed his daughter to such a man. Even, perhaps, the prince of Dorne."

Isn't it fun how we're talking about Arianne Martell marrying Jon Connington right after we touched on potential marriage alliances for Aegon VI Targaryen.

+.+.+

Jon Connington's answer was a long cold stare. There were times when the Halfmaester vexed him almost as much as that dwarf had. "I think not." Death is creeping up my arm. No man must ever know, nor any wife.

Yeah, it's definitely the greyscale, and not the fact that you're

+.+.+

When the food and wine had been brought up, he barred the door, emptied the jug into a bowl, and soaked his hand in it. Vinegar soaks and vinegar baths were the treatment Lady Lemore had prescribed for the dwarf, when she feared he might have greyscale, but asking for a jug of vinegar each morning would give the game away. Wine would need to serve, though he saw no sense in wasting a good vintage. The nails on all four fingers were black now, though not yet on his thumb. On the middle finger, the grey had crept up past the second knuckle. I should hack them off, he thought, but how would I explain two missing fingers? He dare not let the greyscale become known. Queer as it seemed, men who would cheerfully face battle and risk death to rescue a companion would abandon that same companion in a heartbeat if he were known to have greyscale. I should have let the damned dwarf drown.

Is this guy serious? No shit they prefer battle over sharing breakfast with patient zero.

Stormlander Hand of the King, chopping off his fingers. Davos things.

+.+.+

"Word's reached the camp from Marq Mandrake. The Volantenes put him ashore on what turned out to be Estermont, with close to five hundred men. He's taken Greenstone."

You might remember Sylva Santagar, friend of Arianne Martell, was sent to Estermont to marry Lord Eldon as punishment for the queenmaker plot.

Connections!

+.+.+

"I'll wager you that we've got lads scattered all over half the bloody Stepstones too."

"With my elephants," Harry Strickland said, in a mournful tone. He missed his elephants, did Homeless Harry.

+.+.+

Even before they had sailed from Volon Therys, he had instructed his captains to show no banners during these first attacks—not Prince Aegon's three-headed dragon, nor his own griffins, nor the skulls and golden battle standards of the company. Let the Lannisters suspect Stannis Baratheon, pirates from the Stepstones, outlaws out of the woods, or whoever else they cared to blame. If the reports that reached King's Landing were confused and contradictory, so much the better. 

Banner Watch 2023 starts now.

A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

"As you command, my lord. House Estermont has blood ties to both kings, as it happens. Good hostages."

"Good ransoms," said Homeless Harry, happily.

Have they not heard about Tommen?

Laughing at the thought of Stannis Baratheon caring about the Estermonts.

+.+.+

"It is time we sent for Prince Aegon as well," Lord Jon announced. "He will be safer here behind the walls of Griffin's Roost than back at camp." "I'll send a rider," said Franklyn Flowers, "but the lad won't much like the idea of staying safe, I tell you that. He wants to be in the thick o' things."

So did we all at his age, Lord Jon thought, remembering.

For sure, Aegon thrives in the thick of the action.

The broken bone was speckled with brown blood, but still he lurched forward, reaching for Young Griff. His hand was grey and stiff, but blood oozed between his knuckles as he tried to close his fingers to grasp. The boy stood staring, as still as if he too were made of stone. His hand was on his sword hilt, but he seemed to have forgotten why. - Tyrion V, ADWD

+.+.+

"Has the time come to raise his banner?" asked Pease.

Banner Watch 2023 continues.

I'm sorry, I have a difficult time envisioning the smallfolk flocking to Aegon and his dragon banners. That goes against everything I've learned about the smallfolk.

"Still," she said, "the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them."

"The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends," Ser Jorah told her. "It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace." He gave a shrug. "They never are." - Daenerys III, AGOT

Not only that, we get a preview of how Aegon and the Golden Company are being received in the stormlands.

"No one's been doing any raping," insisted Young John Mudd. "Connington won’t have that. We follow orders."

Chain nodded. "Some girls was persuaded, might be."

"The same way our smallfolk were persuaded to give you all their crops. Melons or maidenheads, it's all the same to your sort. If you want it, you take it." Lady Mertyns turned to Arianne. "If you should see this Lord Connington, you tell him that I knew his mother, and she would be ashamed." - Arianne II, TWOW

That's what I would expect.

+.+.+

"Above all else, we must have Doran Martell."

"Small chance of that," said Strickland. "The Dornishman is scared of his own shadow. Not what you call daring."

No more than you. "Prince Doran is a cautious man, that's true. He will never join us unless he is convinced that we will win. So to persuade him we must show our strength."

You're in luck, he's going to be desperate. Or dead.

+.+.+

The prince arrived to join them four days later, riding at the head of a column of a hundred horse, with three elephants lumbering in his rear. Lady Lemore was with him, garbed once more in the white robes of a septa. Before them went Ser Rolly Duckfield, a snow-white cloak streaming from his shoulders.

A solid man, and true, Connington thought as he watched Duck dismount, but not worthy of the Kingsguard. He had tried his best to dissuade the prince from giving Duckfield that cloak, pointing out that the honor might best be held in reserve for warriors of greater renown whose fealty would add luster to their cause, and the younger sons of great lords whose support they would need in the coming struggle, but the boy would not be moved. "Duck will die for me if need be," he had said, "and that's all I require in my Kingsguard. The Kingslayer was a warrior of great renown, and the son of a great lord as well."

At least I convinced him to leave the other six slots open, else Duck might have six ducklings trailing after him, each more blindingly adequate than the last.

You're the most mid Hand of the King ever, sit down.

We've hit a big obstacle with the 'Ashara Dayne is Septa Lemore' theory. Jon Connington continues to refer to her as Lemore in his internal monologue, despite everyone shedding their secret identities.

Connington has met Ashara Dayne.

The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf . . . but only after the wild wolf spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench. - Bran II, ASOS

+.+.+

Prince Aegon Targaryen was not near as biddable as the boy Young Griff had been, however. The better part of an hour had passed before he finally turned up in the solar, with Duck at his side. "Lord Connington," he said, "I like your castle."

"Your father's lands are beautiful," he said. His silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy's.

+.+.+

"We've been talking with Strickland and Flowers. They told us about this attack on Storm's End that you're planning."

Jon Connington did not let his fury show. "And did Homeless Harry try to persuade you to delay it?"

"He did, actually," the prince said, "but I won't. Harry's an old maid, isn't he? You have the right of it, my lord. I want the attack to go ahead … with one change. I mean to lead it."

He's like Robb Stark, only not as fearless, cunning, or as good of a swordsman or battle commander.

At least this is better than him hanging back in camp while his sellsword army takes the stormlands.

Final thoughts:

There goes another POV. Nothing of value was lost.

George is such a troll, I have a feeling 'JON' will appear towards the beginning of TWOW, but it will be Connington instead of Snow.

-> return to menu <-

[vibrantbirdy]

Pursuit: A Ben Solo Star Wars Story - Chapter 5

Title: Pursuit Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi, Action/Adventure, Romance Setting: Post The Rise of Skywalker (Ben Solo lives!) Chapter: 5/? Main Character: Ben Solo (Kylo Ren) Warnings: Canon-typical violence; adventure peril; minor angst, mutual sexual feelings; description of sexual thoughts/arousal - slow burn do be slow burning; any further warnings will be specified by chapter. Main Pairings: Ben Solo/OC Summary: Three years after surviving events on the planet Exegol, Ben Solo is carving out a solitary life for himself in the New Republic against the backdrop of reconstruction. His pursuance of quiet redemption is interrupted when a new threat to the Galaxy emerges from an old and terrifying enemy. With the help of new friends and unlikely allies, Ben must set out into Wild Space to defeat the darkness rising and put his own demons to rest once and for all.

Pinned Post: Please find all completed chapters of Pursuit here. Read: Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4

Chapter 5: (Word Count 3795)

Chewbacca sat out on the small, wooden deck of the treehouse he had built for himself just a stone's throw away from the Republic listening post on Theod. The outpost had once been an Azurite mine, but was repurposed in the very early days of the Empire by a pre-courser faction of the Rebel Alliance. It was built into rock, set back into the cliff face, the entrance hidden behind a cascading waterfall.

The Wookie looked out across Theod's green canopy, admiring how it met the clear black of the night's sky which was filled with billions of bright pinpricks of light. He liked this small moon. It was peaceful. Green. Quiet. It was perhaps a little marshy and much colder than his home planet of Kashyyyk. Despite the thick, brown fur that covered the entirety of his body, the damp climate made his bones ache on the wetter days. The Wookie had to admit that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

It was a small outpost, staffed by only two which, currently, was himself and a human girl called Del. Chewbacca had built Del a treehouse too. The Wookie had become very fond of her over the past year they'd spent together on Theod. She was clever and kind and very good at her job. Plus, she was an awful Dejarik player, which meant Chewbacca always won their games.

Tonight, Del had sensed something was wrong with the Wookie. He had tried to be discrete, but his melancholy must have been obvious. Del had offered to take his shift without any questions.

As so often happened, his thoughts of his new friend led him to dwell on the memories of old ones. The Wookie had witnessed the Republic fall and rise more than once in his lifetime and each time, he'd lost too many of those dear to him.

In the most recent iteration of the struggle between Light and Dark, Chewbacca had lost some of his most beloved friends. The siblings Luke and Leia and, perhaps most painful, he'd witnessed the death of his closest companion, his brother in everything but blood, Han Solo. The circumstances of Han's death, killed by his own son, were almost too much to bear.

And now, Poe Dameron had informed him that Ben Solo was on his way here.

Chewbacca's heart ached as he remembered the little boy he'd known. The one he'd run through the forests of so many planets with, the one taught to fight like a Wookie, the one Chewbacca had once seen as his own family.

As Ben had approached adolescence, Chewbacca had felt him slipping away, withdrawing from those around him. Snoke was already there in his head, corrupting him, filling his head with salacious promises of the power of the Dark Side. Han and Leia, much as the Wookie loved them, didn't do the right things. They should never have sent him away. And Luke... Well, to Chewbacca, it seemed that the mistakes of the past were doomed to be repeated, even by the Jedi.

Chewbacca's young friends, Rey, Poe and Finn had been wise that day three years ago on Ajan Kloss in choosing not to involve him in spiriting Ben away following their victory on Exegol. The Wookie was certain he would have killed the young man there and then.

Almost certain.

Yet as time passed, Chewbacca learned more about what had happened on Exegol and Ben's part in it. Slowly, very slowly, his fury began to subside. The Wookie had lived long enough to understand that the Force worked in mysterious ways. He was open to believing that Ben really had been reborn, exorcized somehow by his strange duality with Rey and by the pull of the Light Side.

And the truth was that although Chewbacca had hoped that the Imperial enemy had been defeated once and for all, in recent months the whispers had started again. A mere suggestion that the Dark was rising in the far reaches of the Wilds. Rumours that First Order and Imperial remnants were rebuilding a power base in the shadows. If Ben had truly set his sights on bringing down this new threat then Chewbacca was certain that there was no one more capable of doing so.

But to forgive him for Han's death? For his part in Leia's and Luke's? Chewbacca wasn't sure that he could. He needed to look into Ben's eyes and see that child he had once known, the boy that so resembled both his father and his mother in so many ways. That's how he'd know if Ben Solo truly lived again.

The Wookie gave a series of mournful grunts to himself as he stood and padded inside. Ben was scheduled to arrive early in the morning. Maybe things would seem better then. For now, he needed to sleep. ************************************************************************

Ben stood in the Swift's leaky, sub-par shower. He was leaning forwards, palms resting against the cool metal wall. His head was bowed, eyes were squeezed shut, and his hair hung in wet, ebony strands in front of his face. The water was cold as always and he wondered if it might help freeze thoughts of Ada out of his brain.

No such luck.

He hadn't intended to get so close to her during their sparring session, but he'd felt drawn, like a magnet, inexorably towards her. Her constant proximity on the little ship was maddening and thrilling at the same time.

When they'd stood together in the training room, he'd felt the bewitching pull of her reciprocated desire for him. He had sensed it before here and there, just fleeting, an ember easily snuffed out and resisted amid her other priorities and concerns. But Ben's actions had ignited Ada's want. Her desire had suddenly erupted within her, burning incandescent like a wild flame, like a beacon in the Force calling out to him.

But this thing between them was also deeper, something more intangible than just the physical. The easy way they fell into conversation. The way they studied each other curiously when neither thought the other was looking. The way they laughed together. Ben could count the times on one hand he'd laughed like that since he was a kid.

It frightened him to death. He'd kept himself closed off from others for so long, unable to face the disgrace of having someone uncover his shameful secret, the fact that he had once been Kylo Ren.

Son of Darkness, Snoke had once called him. Ben scoffed out loud at the memory, the hollow sound echoing around the small shower room. A ridiculous, pompous title for a murderer. A war criminal. A weak, selfish, egotistical and impressionable kid led astray by delusions of power and grandeur.

In his mind, Ben conjured up an image of what Ada's reaction if she discovered his past. How her face would fall at the discovery, her eyes burning like green kyber, cycling through a tumult of confusion, anger, hurt, perhaps even fear at his betrayal. His lies. The prospect was more excruciating than he could bear.

But now, Ben feared he'd opened a door that he couldn't close. With his forwardness in the training room, he'd shown Ada his hand. She didn't need the Force to read him. Now they were both aware of how the other felt, Ben wondered if one of these days they would just give in to their mutual desire. And by the Force, he so wanted to, despite his fears.

He remembered the smooth feel of Ada's slender fingers beneath his much larger hands, that sweet, wild fragrance emanating from her copper hair, her body flush against his and leaning into him so close that he could feel her heart fluttering like a caged bird. As the cool water cascaded over his body, he tried not to imagine those fingers caught up in his hair, her rosy lips pressed hard to his, her lithe legs wrapped around his waist...

Ben slammed the shower off at the wall, both reluctant and desperate to interrupt his feverish thoughts before he lost control of himself completely. He grabbed a towel off the hook by the door, gave his hair a cursory tousle and then tied it around his waist.

As he stepped out into the corridor, Ben cocked his head to the side and listened. There was a far off beeping coming from the front of the ship - the cockpit. It was the approach alarm he'd set for Theod.

************************************************************************

Ada was sat cross-legged on the copilot's chair in the cockpit of the Swift. She was snuggled up in theblanket Ben had draped over her earlier while she'd been asleep. Her hands were curled around a hot cup of sweet Meiloorun tea. She was trying to cut down on the caf.

She knew she could be sitting in the communal area or the kitchen, but she preferred it in the cockpit. Following saber training with Ben and her shower - a cold shower which was exactly what she'd needed - she'd made her way straight to the front of the ship.

Ada always found the jump to hyperspace unsettling, but once they were cruising at light speed, she loved to watch the stars and planets fly by in a blaze of bright colour. The Swift's large, unrestricted glass view screen was perfect for it. It offered the Galaxy up to her like a temple to the stars.

The Swift's navigation system was chirping politely at her in gentle chorus with the drone of the engines. It made for strangely peaceful background noise. Reluctantly, she flipped the alarm off at the computer and her thoughts immediately turned to Tallah.

She'd be far away by now, moving at great speed in the opposite direction from Ada and Ben. To safety. To a new life. A better life perhaps?

Since they'd parted, Ada had been struggling not only with her her grief at saying goodbye to her niece, but also with her extreme guilt for the creeping sliver of liberation she felt. She was bereft at Tallah's absence, yes, but she also felt a strange thrill of excitement. She couldn't help thinking that this was her chance, finally, for her own adventure.

If Ada had the chance to relive that moment where she had to chose whether to adopt her niece again, she would do the same thing every time. Over and over and over again. Tallah was a shining light in her life. Her sister lived on in that little girl. Ada felt that she'd muddled through being a parent as best she could, but she had never planned to be a mother.

As a young girl, Ada had travelled with her father – a renowned specialist in arable farming - on business trips, selling his methods to agriculturalists on far flung worlds. She'd never been a great pilot but she was an excellent navigator.

So, despite growing up a farmer's daughter, Ada had started to shape a career for herself as a pathfinder for scientific expeditions exploring the unknown regions of Wild Space. She'd had to give it all up when she'd adopted Tallah.

She felt ashamed that despite her unconditional, unyielding love for her niece, she'd never quite been able to stop mourning for the loss of her independence, for her life of adventure amongst the stars, the one that she'd always yearned for.

She was thankful to be distracted from her morose thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind her. She swivelled around in her chair and saw Ben appear in the doorway. Ada's eyes strayed to his inky black hair, still damp from the shower. It was slicked back from his face and tucked mostly behind his ears, accentuating his aquiline features in fine, sharp detail. She quickly batted away a conjured image of him standing under the spray of the shower.

“I think we'll need to drop out of light speed a little further along our course than we planned,” Ada said, managing to tear her gaze away from Ben and back to the nav computer.

She traced her finger along their set route as Ben dropped into the pilot's chair next to her.

“See this?”

She pointed to a highlighted anomaly on the screen.

“It's called Harlen's Cluster, a nasty asteroid field. We want to avoid flying through it manually if possible.”

Ben adjusted their flight path, then moved his hands away for Ada's approval.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” Ada replied, “Believe me, I know from experience you do not want to go in there.”

To pass the time, she and Ben traded stories of flights gone wrong, joking about the over confidence in piloting ability that came with youth. But then Ben stopped talking when they were about an half an hour out from Theod. Ada didn't need the Force to feel the shift within him. He was nervous and he kept running his hands through his dark hair.

As they landed, Ada could see from the Swift's cockpit that Theod was a beautiful place. It was rather wet, but the climate clearly made for lush, green vegetation and mighty, broad leaved trees which towered high into the sky.

The Swift's side door clunked open and Ada jumped down the steps and into deep, dewy grass that came up to her knees. She could see two beautifully constructed tree houses high in the canopy and there, almost obscured through the mists of an impressive waterfall, was the outline of the listening post built into a craggy rock face.

Standing directly in front of them, but still a good distance away across the meadow, was a Wookie. He was exactly as her grandfather had described to he in his war stories. He was covered head to toe in long, thick brown fur and probably nearing nine feet in height. This Wookie was wearing a bandolier belt with silver-coloured compartments slung over his shoulder and across his body.

The muted thud of boots on grassy ground behind her told Ada that Ben had exited the Swift. He placed a hand on her shoulder and bent down to speak softly into her ear as he passed her.

“Wait here,” he said.

The way he said it wasn't an order – lucky for him, Ada thought wryly – but she found herself obeying nevertheless. There was something profound about this meeting between the two of them that Ada instinctively knew she should not disrupt it.

Ben and the Wookie advanced slowly towards each other. Ben's head was raised, looking directly ahead at the Wookie as he grew closer and closer to the massive creature. Ada saw him clench and release his fists several times and the tension in his shoulders increase as the distance narrowed.

Then, without warning, the Wookie let out a fierce roar and began to rush at Ben. Ben stopped in his tracks but otherwise didn't move. Not in attempt to defend himself, not to evade the creature's fearsome charge, not even to flinch.

Ada couldn't curb the sharp gasp that escaped from her lips as the Wookie ground to a violent halt less than an inch away from barrelling straight into Ben. The creature was so large that he towered over the man in a way that actually made him look small.

Then, something happened that Ada did not expect. Ben dropped to his knees in front of the Wookie, head bowed in what appeared to be a gesture of complete supplication. The Wookie looked down, considering the man before him. Ada could not anticipate what his reaction would be and she waited nervously.

After a heavy pause, the Wookie grunted out a series of gentle chuffing sounds and, surprisingly, followed Ben's example. At this, Ada inhaled deeply. She hadn't realised she'd stopped breathing.

The Wookie placed one large, furry paw on Ben's shoulder and the other behind his head. Ben looked up and into the creature's eyes. Then, he mirrored the Wookie's gesture, clasping him firmly by the shoulder and back of his head. The two regarded each other for a prolonged moment. Slowly, they bowed their heads together. Their foreheads met, Ben's coming to rest against the fur of the Wookie's. They stayed in that embrace for a long time.

Ada didn't know why, but the sight made her emotional. She knew something meaningful must have transpired between them. A reconciliation, it seemed, although what wrong had been done, she couldn't guess. She watched them from afar, patiently waiting across the grassy meadow.

*******************************************************************

Ben, Ada, Chewbacca and the Wookie's young colleague, Del, stood around a large and very ancient holomap console in the depths of the Theod listening post. It was cold and dark down in the control room. Damp too. No wonder Chewbacca had insisted on building tree houses for them to live in, Ben thought.

“The other day, we received reports of an old Imperial Star Destroyer at the edge of the Mid Rim. These guys are not shy. We think it was a recon mission led by this man.”

The holomap on the central console disappeared with a click and was replaced by the image of a man Ben recognised instantly. The Inquisitor.

“We've met,” Ada growled, and through the Force, Ben could feel the disgust radiating from her.

“His name is Grand Inquisitor Endo Seris,” Del said, “Don't ask us which hell hole he crawled out of, we don't know yet.”

Del clicked the remote again and the holomap reappeared. She zoomed in and pointed to a red marker she'd placed on the map.

“This is a secret Imperial archive located on a planet called Jaturra. It's filled with records recovered from the Empire and the First Order. If you want know about Seris and the new Order of Inquisitors, this place will have what you need.”

Chewbacca grumbled.

“I know, Chewie, I'm getting to that bit,” Del replied patiently.

Ben smiled. Chewbacca had graciously let Del take the lead on the briefing because Ada couldn't speak Wookie, but it seemed he couldn't help but interject even though his young colleague was doing a fine job.

“You need to land here,” The holomap zoomed in again as Del spoke, “Exactly here. This place is wrapped up tight. You need to go on foot from these coordinates for about thirty-five km. It's the only way to avoid their sensors. Our intel says they don't yet seem to have scavenged any Imperial tech to alert them to you entering the atmosphere, but as you get closer to the compound you need to look out for heavily guarded patrols.”

Chewbacca pressed a button on the computer and a slot in the machine spat out a data stick. The Wookie passed it to Ben and huffed. Coordinates.

After thanking Del for her help and saying their goodbyes, Ben, Ada and Chewbacca made for the surface. Ben couldn't wait to be outside again and breathing fresh air. Ever since he'd started attuning himself to the Light Side of the Force, he struggled with feeling trapped in dark, underground, or even enclosed spaces. Even in the Swift, a place he thought of as home, he would occasionally feel panic rising in his throat and would turn to meditation to calm and recentre himself.

Before they could exit through the gargantuan, dura-steel door, however, Chewbacca stopped and told them to follow him down a large passageway to the right. The Wookie stopped at a blast door almost as large as the external one and entered a code on the keypad on the wall.

The door unlocked with a deep mechanical clunk, but the ancient automatic opening mechanism was broken. Chewbacca took one side while Ben put his shoulder against the other and pushed, the movement of both doors causing an unpleasant cacophony of metal scraping against metal. Soon, they were standing in a massive space craft hanger.

Then, Ben spotted it.

The ship looked as good as new. Paintwork redone and bright white, the glass of the cockpit shining brilliantly, reflecting the overhead lights so intensely, it was almost dazzling. Chewbacca had been busy.

Dazed, Ben walked up to the vessel and placed a hand on the cool metal body of the Millennium Falcon.

How Kylo Ren had hated this ship. It reminded him of everything he'd lost - his home, his family - and everything he'd convinced himself that he hated - especially his father.

Now, his palm pressed against the Falcon and his eyes closed, Ben reached deep into the Force. His mind was filled with the residual energy of all the lives that had played out on that ship. His parents', his Uncle's, Chewie's. Images of his own childhood flashed before him. Playing hide and seek with his mum, losing Dejarik to Chewbacca, helping his dad fly when he finally got big enough to sit in the copilot's chair by himself and not on the Wookie's knee.

He opened his eyes as he felt Ada at his shoulder.

“This was my dad's ship,” Ben said finally, more to himself that anyone else.

It was confirmation of a fact, of a legacy, he had denied for far too long.

“This was my dad's ship,” he repeated, turning to Ada.

His voice was full of emotion and it broke slightly as he uttered the words. Ada nodded and smiled warmly at him, her eyes alight with curiosity. Ben knew she didn't understand any of this. But he could feel that she wanted to. And he suddenly realised that this reassured him as much as it scared him.

They stood there for a while, just admiring the beautiful old YT-1300 model freighter, cutting three tiny figures in the colossal space. Chewbacca finally broke the silence by giving a few soft grunts and Ben turned to look at him in surprise.

“No Chewie, I can't take her,” Ben said, shaking his head, “I can't.”

Chewbacca huffed in response.

“I know she's faster than mine,” conceded Ben, rolling his eyes but unable to stifle a small laugh.

Both his dad and Chewbacca had never once missed an opportunity in their lives to reiterate to anyone who would listen that the Falcon was the fastest ship around.

“She belongs with you, Chewie,” Ben stated, firmly.

He meant it. He couldn't imagine taking the Falcon from Chewbacca. The ship was the Wookie's by rights, through his bond with Ben's father. Ben hadn't earned such an honour.

Chewbacca gave a soft howl and then a low, breathy sound that Ben recognised as his chuckle as he reached out to ruffled Ben's hair like he used to when he was a boy.

“Yeah,” Ben replied. “Maybe one day.”

Reluctantly, he retracted his hand from the Falcon. Ada reached out to take it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Ben looked down at her.

“Jaturra?” she asked and she gave him a disarming wink.

“Jaturra,” he agreed with a smirk.

[noughticalcrossings]

Boy, flying from the walls of Troy

Babe, falling from embattled heights

Is it not the doom of sons to soar?

Their lot to swoop and scream and shatter

Icarus, Perdix, Phaethon

Take your place among them, my boy

Poplars weep on Scamander’s banks

And like the river Eridanos

Let no birds fly safely overhead

Let their wings fail as yours did

Your mother makes her partridge-clucks

Trying to soothe beyond her fright

For there is a horse inside the gates

Not one of Ares’ blazing coursers

This one breathes death-giving flame

Your father’s tomb is far too large

They say you might yet avenge him

But the sand sticks to your toddling feet

Where it shook loose from his bloodied hair

And there is nowhere to hide

Once you startled from golden helms

Before you learned your father’s face

But no proud-nosed prides of Priam are these:

Grey Calchas and sly Odysseus

Pyrrhus from whose arms you fly

All the while Andromache weeps

With hair unbound and reaching hands

Father and son slay father and son

As bright Achilles slew her father

And each of his seven sons

From the bright burning walls you fall

The last hope of Troy’s salvation

The river mutters in foam and blood

The riverbed forged with armour drowned

Scamander’s oath stays his hand

Achaeans flood the city streets

Andromache can only scream

Astyanax falls and does not fly

Authors will call this a victory

Your father waits to catch you

Astyanax

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Jasmines reaction if someone punched one of the companion.

Lets say the companion is minding their own busniess sitting/standing when a random person comes out and falcon punches their face for no good reason.

Nick Valentine: Hell no. A pure bloody rage will fill her body. He is essentially her father, and the assaulter just fucked up. She has lost her family before, and she isn’t about to let it happen again. Before anyone has any time to react, she is already on them, hitting them repeatedly until they are bloody and bruised. Nick has to pull her off and drag her away in order to stop her.

Ellie Perkins: Also Hell no. Ellie is like a sister to her, she won’t let them walk away from this. This ain’t the first person ass she has to kick in defense of her siblings. She will punch them repeatedly in Ellie’s defense, putting them in a chokehold. She will strangle them out until either they are pulled apart, or they pass out.

Nora Hale: Tag teams with Piper to rush to Nora’s defense, both of them throwing a few punches before said person is screaming apologies. Blue is too sweet to be treated like that, but she insists that next time the assaulter should be put on a proper trial before such measures are taken.

Piper Wright: Harshly punches them back before tackling them down while Piper recovers and gives them a good kick, threatening to write a long article on the person who assaults unsuspecting people.

Codsworth: If the persons hand didn’t break from punching is metal body, she will break it. Codsworth will scold the assaulter in his typical manner, while asking her to stop breaking their bones.

Preston Garvey: Knows he is too kind to do much about it. So she will punch them back for him, even if he begs her not too. She makes sure to leave them with a good black eye, it takes a shitty person to hurt someone as good natured as Preston. (Or maybe they don’t like settlements.)

Curie: Curie is too innocent and sweet to do anything but cry in pain. Oh lord the assaulter Is dead. The triggering thought of a helpless girl being punch hits to close to home, sending her into a blinding rage. Only stops hitting said person when she is either physically pulled off, or until they are barely alive. She will then help comfort Curie with a hug and kiss on the head, assuring her that she did nothing wrong to deserve such treatment.

Cait: She knows the former brawler will give them hell, so she won’t do much about it other than provide support. If the person somehow gets the drop on Cait, she will calmly walk up to them to finish the job, leaving them with a few missing teeth.

Deacon: Tenses up but other than that she will not do much. She knows the man can handle himself fine. But if he starts struggling, she will run over to provide physical support. He ends up telling people that she is his bodyguard, much to her dismay.

Danse: Pre Blind Betrayal, she will smirk in amusement. In her eyes the man deserves it, and she couldn’t care less. Plus he is all high and mighty in his power armor. Post Blind Betrayal is different however. She will rush forward to his aid, giving the assaulter a few good hard whacks until she is either told to stop, or the assaulter has been knocked out.

Hancock: Laughs at the assaulter. They are fucking doomed. She knows Hancock doesn't take kindly to that kind of treatment so she will let him deal with it. If he is too high to notice or care, she will forcefully pin them down, giving them a few good hits in his defense.

McCready: The fact the man has a child makes her more defensive of him. She will walk over and stand by in case McCready can’t handle it on his own. If he can’t, she is more than happy to swing a few punches.

X6: Goes over to make sure X6 doesn’t end up killing the person. But if by some miracle the assaulter manages to gain the upper hand, she will walk over to aid the courser.

Strong: Will look on in amusement. Said person must be drunk if they thing their little noodle punches will harm the Super Mutant. She will only intervene if Strong is about to kill the person.

Dogmeat: Hahaha, You wanna die? She will sprint at full speed and proceed to tackle said person to the ground, giving them a few good hits to the head. She will then give the pup a few good pats and loves, assuring him he is a good boy. They would both walk off with the promise of treats for Dogmeat, leaving the assaulter with a few broken bones.

Old Longfellow: She will cross her arms and stare them down. She knows that the old harbor man can handle this on his own, but she will stick around to make sure he gets enough hits in.

Porter Gage: She is the one who punched him.

Moral of the story: Don't harm the companions, Jasmine holds (almost) all of them all as family. Punching them will trigger her on multiple levels. The outcome might change if the situation is different, but they will still end up with something either missing or broken.

[scarletarosa]

Nyx

Greek goddess of the night

Nyx (Roman: Nox) is the primordial goddess of the night and is one of the most ancient goddesses to dwell within this Universe, as she had originated within the Void beyond the Universe. Nyx formed from the depths of this ancient darkness without any parents and mated with several deities in order to bring about gods who were necessary for creation to evolve. From Chaos (the formless Void), Nyx gave birth to Nemesis, Hypnos, Momus, and many others. With her first husband, Ouranus (god of the heavens), she gave birth to many deities, including Philotes, the goddess of unity and love. Afterwards, Nyx mated with several other deities such as Olethros and Erebos. With Olethros (god of doom), Nyx gave birth to Pluto (god of death and the Underworld). In ancient Greek sources, Hesiod claims Pluto (Hades) to be the son of Kronos and Rhea, yet it is the Orphics who determine him to be the son of Nyx (which Nyx confirms). 

Nyx also temporarily mated with Erebos, the primordial god of darkness, with whom she gave birth to Aether (god of the upper light and aethereal air), Hemera (goddess of day), and Eris (goddess of strife and discord). In the evening, their mother Nyx would draw her dark veil across the sky, obscuring the ether and bringing night. In the morning, Hemera dispersed night's mist to reveal the shining blue ether of day. In the ancient cosmogonies, night and day were regarded as elements separate from the sun. Eris would go upon mankind and ruthlessly spread chaos, gossip, arguments, and battles with glee- her opposite and sister, Philotes, would be the one to amend this maliciousness with her harmonious powers. Philotes is the Universal power of harmony and the ability to subdue chaos through love and understanding. She is the most beloved of Nyx’s children and is the strongest among them. She arose as dawn and hope and began working to harmonize all of existence in order to bring peace and wisdom; fighting against all hardships.

"And Nyx bare hateful Moros (Doom of Death) and black Ker (Fate of Death) and Thanatos/Pluto (Death), and she bare Hypnos (Sleep) and the Oneiroi (Dreams). And again the goddess Nyx, though she lay with none, bare Momos (Criticism), painful Oizys (Misery), and the Hesperides (Evenings)...Also, she bore the Moirai (the Fates) and the ruthless avenging Keres (Deaths)...Also powerful Nyx bare Nemesis to bring retribution upon corruption, and after her, Apate (Deceit), Philotes (Unity), Geras (Old Age), and cold-hearted Eris (Strife) were born.”  

In Greece, Nyx was often depicted as the very substance of the night- a veil of dark mists drawn across the sky to obscure the light of Aether, the shining blue of the heavens. Her opposite is Hemera (Day) who scattered the mists of night at dawn. In her humanoid form, the goddess is depicted was a beautiful woman wearing a black dress and with black wings. Sometimes she was shown crowned with an aureole of dark mists. Homer (Il. xiv. 259, &c.) calls her the subduer of gods and men, and relates that Zeus himself stood in awe of her. In the ancient cosmogonies, Night is one of the very first created beings, for she is described as the daughter of Chaos (the Void).  

At the beginning there was only Chaos (the Void), Nyx (Night), Erebos (Darkness), and deep Tartarus (the Abyss). From the collected effort of elder creator deities, the Cosmic Egg was able to be formed in the depths of the Void, and eventually the Egg burst open- exploding into light to form the cosmos of the Universe, as well as the glorious deities Phanes (Lucifer) and Eros. These two beautiful deities were separated upon birth, with Eros staying within the Void and radiant Phanes remaining in solitude within this newly formed Universe. Eventually, Eros made a less-powerful copy of himself to be born to Aphrodite, so that he could interact within the Universe as well. Phanes held the distinguished sceptre [the rulership of the universe] and guided the other deities who came into being for many ages.  

The Orphic Hymn to Nyx [16]:

“Night, parent Goddess, source of sweet repose,   From whom at first both Gods and men arose,   Hear, blessed Venus, deck'd with starry light,   In sleep's deep silence dwelling Ebon night!   Dreams and soft case attend thy dusky train,   Pleas'd with the length'ned gloom and feastful strain.   Dissolving anxious care, the friend of Mirth,   With darkling coursers riding round the earth.   Goddess of phantoms and of shadowy play,   Whose drowsy pow'r divides the nat'ral day:   By Fate's decree you constant send the light   To deepest hell, remote from mortal sight;   For dire Necessity which nought withstands,   Invests the world with adamantine bands.   Be present, Goddess, to thy suppliant's pray'r,   Desir'd by all, whom all alike revere,   Blessed, benevolent, with friendly aid   Dispell the fears of Twilight's dreadful shade.”

Appearance: Nyx appears as a beautiful and regal woman with long wavy black hair, silver eyes, pale skin, black-feathered wings, and wears long flowing black dresses with tiny stars and silver jewelry. In her ancient form, Nyx is enormous, dwarfing in size even planets; her long black hair is like a shroud. Her piercing gaze can strike terror into most other deities who come upon her.

Personal experiences: She is extremely loving and wise, loves calculating things, is compassionate, understanding, graceful, regal, mysterious, charming, and very intelligent. She is one of the most wonderful goddesses I know of and is both incredibly gentle and wise. Whenever Nyx is happy, new stars are born in the Universe. She deeply values things such as inspiration, peaceful exploration and scientific pursuits, astronomy, pharmacology, and the pursuit of one’s dreams. Nyx is more withdrawn from humans than many other deities, but for those who come to her, she grants them serenity, guidance, and nourishment. She describes herself as “the one who guides and nurtures from the dark so the day can be born”. Nyx also explains that she is the goddess who the Egyptians called Nuit and who the Nords called Nótt, since it is she who embodies the night and has been known by many names throughout existence.

Offerings: chilled sweet red wine, chilled sarsaparilla, chilled absinthe, chilled blue raspberry soda, chilled pomegranate juice, chilled cranberry juice, oysters, prawns, caviar, swordfish, baguette, crème of strawberry, gateau, cooked hare, plums, blackberries, blueberries, cherries, olives, moonflowers, black dahlias, Queen of the Night flowers, anemone flowers, purple tulips, belladonna, Chanel no. 5 perfume, Jezebel perfume (Black Phoenix Alchemy), Midnight Dahlia perfume, ostrich eggs (not to eat), raven/crow feathers, raven/crow skulls, black silk, silver jewelry, star maps, bat figurines, crow/raven figurines, python figurines, sea turtle figurines, lapis lazuli, labradorite, star sapphires, cats eye, tanzanite, black onyx, antique combs, handheld silver mirrors, antique jewelry boxes, antique padlocks, fountain pens, poetry, black or dark blue candles

[megacross-ground-zero-rated-r]

Psycho peppers swears Into his sentances when talking to Smartass simply because Smartass doesn't make a big deal out of it, and when they were first getting to know each other Smartass seemed to take his courser language as a sign that they'd get along great. Stupid also used to do this but eventually the appeal wore off.

Greasy used to get really bent out of shape about it because he was raised with the belief that swearing makes you look like a jackass. He’s since started throwing out a few more himself when in a Toon-only group, and won't get on anyone's case unless Wheezy’s being extra gross or Doom's irritated enough to lash out over small things.

Wheezy has the worst mouth out of all of them. Sleazy and Slimy, not much to say there, they do it occasionally.

There's a type of- Essentially magically enforced censorship applied to full-color Toons, they have a limited vocabulary compared to black-and-white Toons. If they're feeling a really strong emotion, positive or negative, this barrier is broken. Smartass is the most displeased with the "stranglehold on his self-expression", and while he's still not happy about it he's found some fun in word-dancing around these restrictions.

When he's being particularly annoying Conrad will start cursing up a storm to rub it in his face, I can do this and you can't.

[belovedquotables]

The Rune Poem

Part Three: Anglo-Saxon Version

(in Modern English)

Wealth is a comfort to all men;

yet must every man bestow it freely,

if he wish to gain honour in the sight of the Lord.

The aurochs is proud and has great horns;

it is a very savage beast and fights with its horns;

a great ranger of the moors, it is a creature of mettle.

The thorn is exceedingly sharp,

an evil thing for any knight to touch,

uncommonly severe on all who sit among them.

The mouth is the source of all language,

a pillar of wisdom and a comfort to wise men,

a blessing and a joy to every knight.

Riding seems easy to every warrior while he is indoors

and very courageous to him who traverses the high-roads

on the back of a stout horse.

The torch is known to every living man by its pale, bright flame;

it always burns where princes sit within.

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity;

it furnishes help and subsistence

to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

Bliss he enjoys who knows not suffering, sorrow nor anxiety,

and has prosperity and happiness and a good enough house.

Hail is the whitest of grain;

it is whirled from the vault of heaven

and is tossed about by gusts of wind

and then it melts into water.

Trouble is oppressive to the heart;

yet often it proves a source of help and salvation

to the children of men, to everyone who heeds it betimes.

Ice is very cold and immeasurably slippery;

it glistens as clear as glass and most like to gems;

it is a floor wrought by the frost, fair to look upon.

Summer is a joy to men, when God, the holy King of Heaven,

suffers the earth to bring forth shining fruits

for rich and poor alike.

The yew is a tree with rough bark,

hard and fast in the earth, supported by its roots,

a guardian of flame and a joy upon an estate.

Peorth is a source of recreation and amusement to the great,

where warriors sit blithely together in the banqueting-hall.

The Eolh-sedge is mostly to be found in a marsh;

it grows in the water and makes a ghastly wound,

covering with blood every warrior who touches it.

The sun is ever a joy in the hopes of seafarers

when they journey away over the fishes' bath,

until the courser of the deep bears them to land.

Tiw is a guiding star; well does it keep faith with princes;

it is ever on its course over the mists of night and never fails.

The poplar bears no fruit; yet without seed it brings forth suckers,

for it is generated from its leaves.

Splendid are its branches and gloriously adorned

its lofty crown which reaches to the skies.

The horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors.

A steed in the pride of its hoofs,

when rich men on horseback bandy words about it;

and it is ever a source of comfort to the restless.

The joyous man is dear to his kinsmen;

yet every man is doomed to fail his fellow,

since the Lord by his decree will commit the vile carrion to the earth.

The ocean seems interminable to men,if they venture on the rolling bark

and the waves of the sea terrify them

and the courser of the deep heed not its bridle.

Ing was first seen by men among the East-Danes,

till, followed by his chariot,

he departed eastwards over the waves.

So the Heardingas named the hero.

An estate is very dear to every man,

if he can enjoy there in his house

whatever is right and proper in constant prosperity.

Day, the glorious light of the Creator, is sent by the Lord;

it is beloved of men, a source of hope and happiness to rich and poor,

and of service to all.

The oak fattens the flesh of pigs for the children of men.

Often it traverses the gannet's bath,

and the ocean proves whether the oak keeps faith in honourable fashion.

The ash is exceedingly high and precious to men.

With its sturdy trunk it offers a stubborn resistance,

though attacked by many a man.

Yr is a source of joy and honour to every prince and knight;

it looks well on a horse and is a reliable equipment for a journey.

Iar is a river fish and yet it always feeds on land;

it has a fair abode encompassed by water, where it lives in happiness.

The grave is horrible to every knight,

when the corpse quickly begins to cool

and is laid in the bosom of the dark earth.

Prosperity declines, happiness passes away

and covenants are broken.

Source: "Runic and Heroic Poems" by Bruce Dikins

[hawkeyedflame]

i’m gonna take some screenshots of vannak once he learns the high jump skill! nobody ever mentioned to me that arduanatt can’t fly until it learns high jump and streak leap so i learned that the sad way. i have streak leap but not high jump and i keep waiting and waiting but he keeps learning other skills. i know he’ll learn it eventually but i’m so impatient to run around yeeting myself off mountaintops and flying over rivers and shit haha.

and i’m going to move my best girl runaan to the stables and start trying to make her a doom horse. she was my first ever t8 courser, i’ve had her for almost two years. i retired her when i finished training alketa since he turned out like a damn god, but now that alketa can be retired too i might loop back to runaan and try to awaken her into doom. alketa is just too good of a t8 to reset his stats. he’s one of the fastest 8A horses anyone’s ever trained and i don’t want to reset him.

[malcompliance]

10

Portrayal Meme for the Muns [X] | Anon

10. Are there any crossovers you’d be especially interested in writing?

Actually, I already have a handful of AUs I squished both of my characters in. (Mostly by playing both characters also on their respective twitter accounts as well as on a private forum), so prepare for another big bunch of text, because here come my favourites, aka the ones I'd love to see here on Tumblr too:

Fallout: The obvious AU for any post apocalyptic character, right? (I'm a huge Fallout fan, so I am not sorry.) Aella is a former rogue Institute Courser; now salvager and repairman. She aimlessly moves from place to place, often assisting characters with their tasks. She is accompanies by 'Gabby', her custom Mr. Gutsy robot and 'Gary 22', a former vault dweller Aella had come to adopt. Erik is a originally an Enclave Soldier yet eventually grows unhappy with their philosophy and treatment of outsiders. When a recon mission fails and his Vertibird crashes in the Capital Wasteland, he is the only survivor. Aella finds him and gets him back onto his feet, and – ironically – Erik enjoy every minute of it...

Dcotow Who. Yep, another classic of mine. In this universe we have Aella – a Timelady of the Cerulean chapter who is generally unhappy with the course of her society – team up with 'Erik', a defective, not particularly deadly, yet surprisingly smart Dalek who is equally ostracised by his society. Aboard Aella's Void Ship (She has no TARDIS, sorry for the disappointment here), they travel through countless quantum realities, enjoying the adventures and hoping to find a place they can call home one day.

Portal Aella and Erik are basically the same persons as in their base Half-Life verse, with the exception of them having stumbled into the wrong sort of facility and ending up as test subjects. They work as a co-op unit and prove themself surprisingly successful at surviving. Furthermore does Erik have exceptional fun with snarking back at GLaDOS, who both, hates and admires this quality in him and hence refers to him as a pet.

DOOM I have Aella as a generic Marine, in both, a DOOM 3 and a DOOM 2016 verse. (Unlike her other verses, this Aella is actually competent in combat!). When Hell [every single pun intended here] breaks lose on Mars, she and her drone 'Gabby' try to gather as many civilians she can in the hope of having them evacuated. (I have no Erik in this verse yet, but maybe I might change that soon ^^)

Mass Effect Once again Aella and Erik are unhappy with their surroundings and striving for a better today. With Aella being a Quarian sciengeneer unhappy with the political developments within the Flotilla and Erik being a Turian Spectre, equally unhappy with the council's overall thickness. They eventually find themself and one another at Omega, where they work as mercenaries and await good opportunities for promising recruitment.

And as a Bonus: Black Mesa I would love to see a theoretical scenario involving both characters as Black Mesa staff members previously and during the events of HL1. It has never been played before, but I picture Aella as a survey team member tasked with exploring and researching Xen, and Erik as a security officer responsible for protecting and escorting scientists. I don't really have many fix outcome wishes here, but I like the overall idea.

[randomwordsandstormydays]

The One Where Ella Gets Her Memory Wiped

This is fic #1 for my synth OC Ella/E3-47.

TW: implied/inferred sexual assault, character death, graphic depictions of violence, Ella is a synth and as such she is not treated like a person by the Institute in this fic, keep that in mind as you read

The first thing she notices when she wakes up is the blinding brightness that shines in her eyes. She goes to wince, or scrunch up her face, but for some reason something inside of her tells her that that’s bad, she can’t react, she needs to stay perfectly calm. The voice in her head convinces her and she stays still, merely blinking against the light.

“E3-47, acknowledge.” There’s a woman in front of her with dark brown hair, dressed in a lab coat, holding a clipboard and taking notes.

Somehow she knows that she’s E3-47. And somehow she knows that she has to follow instructions perfectly.

“I acknowledge.” Her throat struggles with the words but the voice warns her against clearing it.

“Good,” the woman points to the table beside her, “dress, place your hair into a ponytail, then await further instructions.”

Ella isn’t sure why she needs to put her hair up, but the voice warns against asking questions, so she complies. “Yes, ma’am.” It’s then that she notices that she’s naked, but the voice tells her to ignore it, to just follow the instruction she’s been given. It takes only a minute or two for her to dress and fix her hair. She stands completely silent and motionless as she waits for the woman to talk again.

“E3-47, you are being assigned to work with Dr. Ayo in the SRB. You will proceed there and take all instructions from him. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Three months later and E3-47 is struggling to follow instructions. She’s having issues remembering that the people around her don’t consider her a person, they consider her an object, a tool. They don’t believe that she’s alive.

Only a week ago the scientists around her began to suspect her of being conscious. They sent her to maintenance for a checkup, which came back normal. No malfunctions. Now every day she goes into work, fearing for her life. Even in her short time at the Institute, E3 knows what happens to synths that appear to have their own thoughts, opinions, or feelings. They go down the hall behind the SRB and come back a short time later. But they’re never themselves. Merely hollow shells of who they used to be, until, inevitably, they circle back around to realizing what, and who, they are.

E3 knows that she’s already been checked for a malfunction once, and another incident could mean that she’s the next synth to get reset, wiped. What she needs is a way out, and she might just have that. Rumors have circulated amongst the synths, at least the ones that are willing to admit that they aren’t just tools, that they’re people, that they don’t deserve the things that have happened to the. These rumors talk about a Courser, one who helps synths escape, gets them out of the confines of the Institute and onto the surface. She doesn’t know his designation, but she has a description: tall, like most Coursers are, light brown hair, light green eyes, and a small scar under his right eye, shallow but noticeable in the right light. He allegedly works with other Coursers, training new recruits.

Now, all she has to do is find him without arousing suspicion. A hard task when she’s not supposed to look anyone in the eye, Courser or not.

In a surprise twist, he finds her.

She’s organizing Dr. Ayo’s notes and research for the day, when the door behind her slides open. It’s well into the evening, and all the scientists have gone home, so she’s a little startled, and jumps involuntarily. Her stomach lurches and her heart stops when she turns and sees a Courser. It’s likely that he’ll question her behavior, and if she doesn’t answer correctly it may be the end of the line.

“State your designation.” His voice is calm, but demanding.

“E3-47.”

“What is your directive?”

“Every evening when Dr. Ayo leaves he has instructed me to organize and file his paperwork from the day. Dr. Ayo left approximately 17 minutes ago, average time for my duties to be completed is 28 minutes.”

The Courser doesn’t speak, instead he glances around the room for a few moments before he turns his gaze to her. For a second she imagines that his eyes soften, probably a trick of the fluorescents. “E3-47?” 

“Yes, Sir?”

“You reported to the SRB maintenance wing for a malfunction, correct?”

Suddenly, her mouth is dry. Does this Courser know something? Does he suspect her? Do the SRB scientists still suspect her? Have they sent him to reclaim her so she can be reset before the beginning of the work day tomorrow? She needs to answer, hesitation will get her wiped.

“Technically, however it was documented that I had no physical flaws, and my programing is still sound.” E3 has no idea if her voice came out steady or not. Her heartbeat has not calmed, and the very beginnings of perspiration are appearing on her forehead. Her nervousness is becoming more obvious, and all she can do is hope that he can’t tell.

“E3-47?”

Why does he keep saying her name? Is there something wrong with him? Is he malfunctioning? There’s always been a divide between the Coursers and the synths. Some synths believe that Coursers really are just machines, emotionless tools who don’t have the capacity for true consciousness, others believe that their rigorous training just makes it easier for them to hide their true selves, blend in, become the faceless, empty things that the Institute wants them to be. E3 has no idea what she believes.

“Yes, Sir?”

“What would be your response if I asked you to address me as Trevor?”

By some miracle she manages to keep the shock off of her face. This has to be a trick, a way to trap her into admitting that she thinks he’s a person that she believes herself to be a person. Still, looking into his eyes she doesn’t see anything dishonest, or evil. Then, he tilts his head and the light crosses over his face. For only the briefest of moments it illuminates his cheek, just long enough for her to see a scar, faint and nearly imperceptible, beneath his right eye.

Nothing in her programming or her common sense can keep the words from bursting from her mouth. “You’re him. The Courser who helps synths escape.”

The Courser- Trevor, she corrects -drops all forms of intimidation, replacing the signature blank stare with an easy and open grin.

“You’re correct. I read about your check-up yesterday, figured I’d see if you were ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His smile widens. “Ready to escape.”

E3 answers him with a smile, and then their planning begins. By the time she finishes her tasking she’s 40 minutes overdo, but there’s no one around to check on her, so she doesn’t bother to worry about it. However, when Trevor, who she learns has been designated X2-04, leaves, she begins to worry about something else: is he lying?

There’s always the possibility that the whole thing is a set-up, to catch her, or to catch others who she may interact with. Maybe X2 is a mole that the SRB wants to use to weed out all the synths who want to escape. Maybe she’s just doomed herself. She shouldn’t be so trusting, so nice, so eager to be friends with everyone she can. It might just be her downfall.

Throughout the night she frets, terrified that when wake-up comes she’ll be rounded up, dragged away, never to be seen from in her own capacity ever again. She worries all the way up through work call, and continues to worry until she’s given her first duty of the day. They wouldn’t put her to work if they were going to wipe her, right? Would they? She has no idea, and the anticipation grinds at her nerves. By the time everyone leaves she’s exhausted, ready to sleep for a year, all she has to do is her last duty for the day. Dr. Ayo’s files are nearly finished being put away when the SRB door opens and she turns to find Trevor standing in the entryway.

“E3.”

“Trevor.” Her voice is low when she addressed him, still fearful that she can be heard.

He walks into the room and then takes a casual position across from her, leaning on the desk with his hands braced behind him. He doesn’t walk or talk like a Courser anymore. “You know, you should think of a name to use once you’re out. You can’t go by your designation up there.”

That’s the one thing she never let herself have, E3 would daydream, come up with funny stories or jokes, imagine her life away from the Institute, but she never gave herself a name. It would kill her if she gave herself an identity, separate from the machine they want her to be, only for her to be reset and lose that forever. Even with her trusting nature she doesn’t want to tell Trevor that. Instead, she shrugs and finishes locking up the paperwork.

“Never thought of one before, didn’t see the point.” He’ll have to live with a half truth.

When she turns he’s right behind her, she didn’t even hear him move. “What about now? Is there something you’d like me to call you?” He’s in her personal space, not quite blocking her from moving, but making it difficult and a little awkward for her to leave if she wanted to.

“E3 is fine for now.” Her rejection is simple, but he seems to understand, because he steps back, giving her space to breath. E3 feels her heart rate slow, but his easy acceptance confuses her. She was expecting resistance, or a demand.

“Understood. I’ll be in contact later this week. The teleportation and guard schedule for next month will be out and I should be able to see the best day for you to leave then.” He looks up at her, like he might say something more, but instead he takes a deep breath, smiles, and turns away. “Goodnight.”

“Wait.” Trevor turns back, surprised. “Why..” she hesitates, worried that if she makes him feel awkward that he might not help her, “why did you let me turn you down?”

His brows furrow and he shifts to face her completely. “Why would I force you to do something you don’t want?”

“That’s what people do, don’t they? The scientists, the Coursers,” her eyes drop to the ground, “sometimes other synths. They take what they want because we’re not people, we’re just… things.”

In an instant he’s back in front of her, lifting her chin so she’s forced to make eye contact. There’s a fury there, but for some reason she knows it’s not aimed at her. “Never, ever, talk like that,” his tone is harsh, but his words are gentle, “you are a person, and no one should ever do anything to you that you don’t want them to.”

E3 can feel the emotion behind his words and she finds herself struggling to keep her tears in. His hand drops from her chin, and he steps back again, seemingly realizing that he was violating her personal space. “Would you… uh, like a hug?”

His awkward offer of affection has her smiling, albeit weakly. “Maybe?” She doesn’t feel panic when he, very unsurely, wraps his arms around her, in fact she finds comfort, enough to let out a few shaky tears. “Why are you doing this and not asking for anything in return?”

She feels him shrug. “I lost a good friend to the memory wipe. Before they took him away I promised him that I’d get as many synths that I could out before they caught on. It’s been two years now.” He pulls back when she stops shaking, releasing her and letting her gather herself.

“I’m sorry.” She can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose someone so close to you, she avoids friends for just this reason.

“Don’t be, I’ve had a long time to grieve. It’s an old wound now,” he offers her a comforting smile, “will you be okay until I come back?”

She nods, “I think so.”

“Well, then, I should probably get going.”

He shifts again to head towards the door but she stops him. “I think I’d like to be called Nicole.”

Trevor doesn’t turn to look at her, “then I’ll see you later, Nicole.”

“Goodbye, Trevor.”

Over the course of the next three weeks Trevor and Nicole work together to arrange for her escape, forming a friendship that turns into something more. Secret meetings in long forgotten wings of the Institute become frequent occurrences, and often times their conversation drifts from how to escape and more into who they are, and who they want to be.  As the time they spend together increases, Nicole finds herself feeling secure in Trevor’s presence. His willingness to give her space when she needs it, and comfort when she wants it, makes her feel safe when he’s around. Soon enough she feels her heart shift, she cares for him, that much is obvious, but it’s not long before she comes to the conclusion that her feelings are more than that. Nicole likes him, more than just as a confidant, as a friend. She kisses him one day, only on the cheek, but he break outs into a blush so deep she wonders where his confidence ran off to. His flustered nature fuels her confidence and before too long she finds herself in a predicament: she doesn’t want to be without him. It’s the day before her escape when she brings it to Trevor’s attention, and he’s shocked to say the least.

“Nicole are you crazy?” They’re sitting in Dr. Ayo’s office at the end of her shift, their most common meeting spot. Her ankle is in his lap and he’s rubbing gentle circles around the joint there. He doesn’t stop even as they argue.

She’s offended by his comments, but only slightly. “No, I think you should come with me. And if you don’t then… well, then I’d like to stay.”

“You can’t throw away your chance to escape just to stay with me.”

A thought, one she hadn’t considered before, pops into her head. “Do you.. not want to be with me,” she pulls her leg back and he lets her go without a fight, she rushes onto her feet and steps back before he can respond, “is this just temporary, some fun for you to be had before I go?” She’s not sure if it’s panic, anger, or sadness that she feels welling up inside of her, maybe a combination of all three.

He’s on his feet before the sentence is even out of her mouth. “No, god no, Nicole I’m not just using you,” he must sense her panic because he doesn’t step any closer to her, “I want to come with you. Watching you go through that relay is going to be one of the hardest things I do. But I made a promise, and I can’t go back on that.”

His explanation bumbles around in her head, soothing her nerves, but the weight of them hurts her. “I’ll forget you. You won’t forget me. Isn’t that torture?”

“You won’t forget me.”

“But the scientist at the SRB said-”

“Synths can’t remember details about the Institute, or the scientists, but they remember each other,” she doesn’t flinch away when he moves closer so he walks until he can take her hand, “you’ll remember me just as well as I remember you. I promise. And if I ever get caught, I’ll run away and find you. I won’t let them wipe me.”

They collapse into each other, holding tightly. Nicole clings to him, realizing that this may be the last time she gets to. That thought brings her past her breaking point and she cries into his shoulder. There’s little comfort to be found as he runs his hands over her back, trying to soothe her. The two of them stand in each other’s arms until her tears stop falling. Afterwards, they part, both of them heavy with the knowledge that the next time they see each other will be their last.

She doesn’t tell him that she loves him. He doesn’t tell her that he loves her. They both feel foolish, silly. It’s too soon for those kinds of feelings, and deep down they both know that they’re unlikely to see each other again. So, they both keep quiet, silently hoping that the other feels the same, but unwilling to say anything for fear that they don’t.

The next evening comes quickly, and Nicole’s stomach is full of knots, anticipation curling like a snake around a tasty meal. She’s not entirely sure how she makes it through the whole day without arousing suspicion, but when Dr. Ayo leaves for the evening she feels the stress of her facade fading. Soon she won’t have to pretend ever again.

For some reason she takes the time to put away Dr. Ayo’s things, it seems symbolic to her, but she can’t explain why. Maybe it’s just the repetition, or her need for patterns and stability. Really, though, all she knows is that when she shuts the last cabinet she feels complete, no final business that needs to be taken care of. She’s ready to go.

It’s easy for Nicole to sneak her way to her meeting spot with Trevor, since the night before he had provided her with the guard rotation schedule, and when she arrives he’s waiting for her. As she approaches she notices that he’s in full Courser mode, tight shoulders, rigid stance, and scrutinizing stare. In their time together, she had forgotten how intimidating he could be, and for a split second she hesitates, fear overtaking her. Before it can freeze her entirely she pushes past it, her knowledge of him overriding her natural instinct to run.

He says nothing as she approaches, only turns to lead her down the hall. They don’t speak as they walk and she’s not at all surprised when Trevor leads her through a door and into the old abandoned sections of the Institute. Even though there’s no security here they move quickly and quietly, wanting to ensure they don’t get caught. When he finally opens the door to the relay room Nicole finds it hard to breathe, this is it.

“We’re here. Now all you have to do-” He pauses mid-sentence as another Courser appears in front of them.

“X2-04, you are not authorized for rotation in this area. State your business.”

Nicole can feel the nervousness as it tingles over her skin, all she can do is hope that no one else can see it. She wonders if the Courser noticed where they came from, no one is allowed in the forbidden wing, for obvious reasons.

“X7-98, I have been instructed by Dr. Ayo to show E3-47 to her new duties. Starting tomorrow she will no longer be working in the SRB, instead she has been selected to monitor our correspondences and relay requests from field personnel.” She’s unsure if Trevor’s answer is something he had prepared, or if it was a lie he made up on the spot.

“I was not informed of this change,” X7 studies both her and Trevor with scrutiny, “why are you here so late?”

“E3-47 only completed her normal after hours tasking for the SRB staff a few minutes ago. I was instructed to ensure that her normal duties were completed before assigning her new ones.”

“One last question.”

“Of course.”

In a flash X7 has his pistol raised and trained on Trevor, Nicole has to stop herself from crying out. “Why did you bring her here through an unauthorized passage and not up the elevator?”

Trevor’s weapon is raised just as quickly, pointed directly at the other man’s head. “Don’t do this X7, we both know I’m a better shot. I trained you.”

“I wouldn’t count on that X2, I’ve been in the field more recently.”

“Please,” both men startle when she speaks, but neither lower their weapons or take their eyes off of each other, “please just let us go. You can pretend you didn’t see us, no one has to know.”

“Quiet, synth.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Trevor growls out his words.

“Stand down, this is your last chance.”

“Never.”

Even with all the hostility in the room, it still shocks Ella when the first shot goes off. It’s not often that weapons get fired in the Institute. There’s training for the scientists and Coursers, but it’s done at the ranges, away from most synths. Which means she’s not expecting the high pitched sound that the laser beam emits, and for a second she’s confused as to what actually happened. Then, she sees Trevor stumble and drop to the ground. His pistol slides across the floor and her heart goes with it.

“No!” The scream that rips from her throat doesn’t even sound like her own voice. More like a wounded, trapped, and scared creature. She doesn’t feel the floor as she drops to her knees and scrambles over to Trevor’s still form. Before she can even attempt to roll him over, see if he’s alive or not, a strong grip pulls at her arm, tugging her backwards from his body. She goes to fight it, but she’s no match for a Courser. “Let me go, let me see him! Trevor!”

Arms tighten around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. “Stop resisting, E3-47, or I will be forced to use your recall code.” She knows he will, and she goes limp. “Do not move.”

She doesn’t move, but she does speak. “Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone you helped me.”

X7 crosses the room to Trevor’s body and rolls him over with his boot. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s dead when she sees his eyes. They’re vacant, empty, lifeless.

“Even if I released you I would just be sent to retrieve you at a later date,” he turns to her, “let’s save us both the time and effort. Come.” She follows him to the elevator, leaving Trevor’s body behind. Each step feels heavier than the last and by the time she steps into the elevator she’s ready to collapse. From where she stands she can see the bottom of Trevor’s boots.

“What will happen to him?” She pictures him being sent back to the SRB, fixed, wiped, and forced to resume his duties. To her, a fate worse than death. To become fully aware, to fight for your life and the lives of others, only to have that identity stripped away from you, torn to shreds, and then not even know that it occurred? She shudders at that thought. Then she realizes that that’s exactly what is about to happen to her. It’s her worst fear come to light.

“That’s none of your concern, synth.”

The fire of rebellion sparks in her one last time. “My name is Nicole.”

“Your designation is E3-47.”

She doesn’t argue with him.

Somehow the scientists are already waiting for them when they make it to the SRB, they train their weapons on her as she enters, but it doesn’t really matter, the fight has drained out of her. She was so close, the teleporter was right in front of her, no more than 20 feet away. To have her escape ripped away from her at that moment tears any shreds of hope she has left. Not to mention what happened to Trevor. His empty eyes haunt her, as does the way his body went limp and how he died trying to help her. He loved her, she knows that now, no one would die for her otherwise. Regret tugs at her heart, she should have told him.

Numbness spreads over her body, and at first she thinks it’s apathy, that maybe they’ve finally broken her. Then she notices the needle in her arm.

“E3-47, lie on the table, face up.”

The table in question is right in front of her, but her legs feel heavy and her mind is swimming in confusion. What did they drug her with? Where is she? What is going on? Even through the foggy haze that her mind is fumbling with she finds herself climbing onto the table. Everything is cold, spreading out from the pinpoint spot where they injected her. The ice fills her veins and yet her heart feels warm, hot even. Why is it pounding so fast? Isn’t she supposed to be doing something? Going somewhere? Isn’t there supposed to be with her?

“E3-47, do not resist.”

That’s not right, that’s not who she is. With what little comprehension she has left she opens her mouth. “Nicole.” The scientist tying her wrists down, who she thinks she might know, looks at her with confusion. “My name is Nicole.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain cracks across her face and her vision is jerked to the side.

“Your designation is E3-47. Be silent, synth.”

Desperation rises quickly, filling her and replacing the coldness that has settled over her skin. They need to know who she is. Somehow she knows she’ll never remember and that someone ...someone important is dead, someone close to her, the only other person who knows who she really is. So these people, whoever they are, they need to know her name. She doesn’t want to be forgotten.

“Nicole, Nicole, Nicole.” She repreats it over and over, the only thing that’s clear in her mind, the only thing she knows to be a fact. “My name is Nicole.”

Another needle is plunged into her arm and she can feel herself slipping, still her name falls from her, again and again until her lips are too numb to form proper words. Even then she repeats it, inside of her own head, until she forgets it herself.

Blackness creeps in from the sides of her vision and she’s hit with a sudden moment of clarity. How fitting it is, that the first thing she saw was a blinding light, and now, as she slips away, there’s nothing but darkness, and a crushing feeling of loneliness.

Then nothing.

The first thing she notices when she wakes up is the blinding brightness that shines in her eyes. She goes to wince, or scrunch up her face, but for some reason something inside of her tells her that that’s bad. So she stays still, motionless, the perfect picture of a compliant synth.

**Note: This fic is in fact for my OC Ella, who is clearly referenced by the name Nicole here. The idea is that she becomes Ella later, Nicole is just who she was before the memory wipe.**

---

Click here to go back to my OC writings master list.

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

The Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem

The Rune Poem (full text)

Translated by Dr. Aaron K. Hostetter

Wealth is a comfort to every man, although every man must share it out greatly if he would obtain a portion of the Lord’s glory.

The ox is single-minded and over-horned, most savage beast, fighting with his horns, well-known moor-stepper. That is a proud creature.

Thorns are severely sharp. To any thane seizing it is an evil, measurelessly cruel to every man who comes to rest upon it.

The mouth is the beginning of all speech, a support to wisdom and a comfort to the wise, and a prosperity and trust to every earl.

Riding is a comfort to every warrior in the hall, and very trying to those who sit upon a powerful courser over the mile-paths.

A torch is known by every living being to be on fire, white and bright, most often burning where the nobles rest themselves within.

Gifts are an honor and praise of men, a support and a distinction, and to every wretch mercy and meat to those who are free from other possessions.

Joy is enjoyed by those who little know of woe, pains and sorrow, and to those who have of themselves profit and bliss and also many citadels.

Hail is the whitest of grains. It comes down from heaven’s breeze, the wind’s showers rolls it down, and after it becomes water.

Need is a constraint on the breast, although it often comes to the sons of men a help and a healing of every one, if they hearken to his demands before.

Ice is really cold, measurelessly slippery glistening clear as glass, most like gemstones a floor created by frost, and a fair face.

The new year is the hope of men, when God allows, the Holy Heaven’s King, the earth to give her bright fruits to rich and poor alike.

The yew is an unsmooth tree without, hard, fixed to the earth, a warden of fires, supported by its roots, a joy in the home.

Peorth is always a play and laughter to the proud where warriors sit in the beer-hall, happy together.

Elk-sedge keeps its home most often in the swamps, it grows in the water, and grimly wounds, it burns the blood of any man who grasps it.

The sun is ever a hope to seamen, when they carry themselves over the fishes’ bath, until their brine-horses bring them to shore.

Tir is a certain token, it keeps its troth well with noble men. It is always on its journey over the clouds of night, never wandering.

Birch lacks fruit, even though it bears shoots without seed. It is lovely in its branches, high in its crown and fairly adorned, laden with leaves, pressing into the breeze.

Horses are for earls the joy of noblemen, a steed proud in its hooves, where the heroes about him, prosperous on horseback, weave their speech, and ever a comfort to those on the move.

Man is in mirth, dear to his brother; though every one must depart to another place, because the Lord wishes, through his own doom, that our wretched flesh be commended to the earth.

The waters seem to men to be broad, if they should venture upon an unstable ship, and the sea-waves terrify them so, and the brine-horse cares not for his bridle.

Ing was first among the Eastern Danes seen by men, until he soon afterwards departed over the ways, a wagon running after him. Thus bold men named this hero.

A homeland is very dear to every man, if there he may enjoy in his household what is right and fitting, very often with its fruits.

The day is the Lord’s message, dear to men, the renowned light of the Measurer, a mirth and troth to the prosperous and the wretched, useful to all.

The oak is fodder for flesh on earth for the sons of men. It frequently ferries over the gannet’s bath. The spear-waves test whether the oak possesses reliability for noble men.

The ash is very tall, dear to men, stout in its trunk, its hilt is rightfully fixed, although it fights against many men.

A bow is for every noble and earl a joy and an honor. It is fair on horseback, support on a journey, some part of a warrior’s tackle.

The gar is a river-fish, and though he takes his food on land, he owns a lovely home surrounded by water, where he lives in joy.

The grave is terrible to every earl, when the fixed flesh begins, the corpse cooling, to choose the earth paleness as its bedmate. Fruits fail, joys depart, mankind ceases to be.

https://anglosaxonpoetry.camden.rutgers.edu/the-rune-poem/

[tairisiugirlsoofgrana]

Welcome News

Ariadne's conversation with Daifa had gone largely as she expected. As was typical in her dealings with humans, most really had no idea what the Ahib ultimately planned for their kind or for the entire world, should they succeed in their summoning efforts.

So she rode east instead of southwest, back to Grana. Grana could wait for the moment. She had word to bring to her daughter, word that she hoped would heal Zaveres of an unexpected wound.

She rode long and hard but eventually arrived at Sand Grain Bazaar shortly before the sun would set. Checking her horse in with the stablemaster told her Zav was in the village too, before she even saw the inside of the stable itself.

A sizeable crowd had gathered round the stable and Ariadne knew why. It wasn't often that a horse that carried one of the spirits of Krogdalo's daughters was seen in the world, and her daughter's mount showed the spirit of Doom, and thus the crowd, all staring, whispering, talking about the "magical" horse.

But there was no magic to it, at least not in any normal sense of the word. Any sufficiently powerful courser held the capacity to awaken the spirit of one of Korgdalo's daughters, and her niece, Meronar, known as "Mouse" among the humans, had displayed the talent for doing so with hard work and dedication. Meronar studied these days under the stablemasters of Grana except when she traveled north on Grey Company business. And thus far Meronar had awakened the spirits of Krogdalo's daughters in two coursers.

So seeing Zav's horse in the stables put Ariadne's mind at ease. She had caught up to her daughter before Zav and Keleena had set forth on yet another mission.

Her family sometimes rented a small hole in the cliff wall that was the property of a man they knew who lived in Altinova. He leased the property to those that would pay him for its use, as many came and went to Sand Grain Bazaar but few lived there for any length of time.

Entering the cool cave-like dwelling, she saw Zav laying on a bed, staring at the ceiling. Keleena was writing notes in a journal. Kel looked up with a smile at Ariadne. "What brings you here, Ari?" Zav sat up when she realized her mother was in the room.

Ariadne smiled at Keleena and said, "I am here to talk to my daughter." And at that, she turned to Zav with a smile. "I was right, Zav. She didn't know. I spoke with her at the inn in Velia today."

A hopeful look dawned on Zav's face but she said nothing, so Ariadne continued. "She sends you this message - that she never meant to cause you distress. She is a mercenary for hire and takes jobs so long as they are profitable to her, but she had no knowledge of what the Ahib plan for the world. She said that, knowing this and knowing that it causes you such distress, she will not again take work from the Ahib. And finally, she said to tell you she is no servant of Hadum, bit a servant of Aal."

Zaveres looked at her mother a long moment then quietly asked, "Will she speak to me again?"

Ariadne just laughed at that. "My dear child, she not only will speak to you but I she says she feels quite strongly about you as much as you feel about her."

Zav stood up, hugging her mother, whispering, "Thank you."

Keleena looked at Ariadne with a nod. "I think your mother and I can handle this assignment, if you want to return to Velia, Zav."

Zav looked at her aunt then asked, "What is the assignment though?"

Kel glanced at Ari then back to Zav. "Ibedor has been sighted in Valencia again. We need to see if this is true or just rumor."

Zav shook her head. "No, Ibedor is dangerous, Aunt Keleena. You'll need my sword too. I can return to Velia when we're done."

Keleena looked at her niece a long time then said, "If you're sure then we'll set out in the morning."

Zav nodded. She needed to see Daifa but she would not let her mother and aunt face such danger alone. She would return to Velia when this task was done. Hadum's minion was dangerous.

[justmockingbird]

Masterlist

I’m primarily a writer of fanfiction for The Walking Dead. My favorite characters to write are Shane, Carol, Beth, Eugene, Lori, Merle, and Daryl. I specialize in rare pairs, many suggested by my readers, so expect some almost crackshippy pairings at times.

Homestead, Georgia series

Repair Broken Men (multiple pairings)

In the Service of Others

Hummingbird Collection

Hummingbird - a series of unrelated Beth-focused short-fics, some genfic, some paired, written in response to the writer being told to stop writing for Beth.

If You're Going Through Hell series

Hell is Yourself - Shane/Michonne

Hell is Furnished - Daryl/Carol

Hell is Something You Carry - Merle/Olivia

Lost Deputy Collection

A collection of unrelated stories where Shane leaves the group before the events in Better Angels.

Silken Wings - Shane/Carol

Time to Walk - Shane/Jesus

Swim in Strange Water - Shane/Beth

We Are Made Wise - Shane/Princess, Lori/Daryl

Grady Hospital AUs

Learn the Heart's Song - genfic (Beth, Amanda, Eugene)

At Your Own Reckoning - Rick/Amanda, non-ZA modern AU

Green Farm/Family AUs

His Inmost Heart (Leverage Crossover) - Merle/Lori, Eliot/Sophie

Beginnings, Endings, and a Growing Up - Shane/Beth, Carol/Hershel

Dragons Can Be Beaten - Shane/Maggie, Eugene/Michonne

Magic and the Walking Dead series

Love Mingled With Grief - Shane/Luna Lovegood, Glenn/Jesus

Non-series Daryl Fic

Yeah - Daryl/Jesus

If the Gods Have Blundered - Daryl/OFC, Lori/Jenner, Shane/Jesus

What Makes You Family - Daryl/Carol

Non-series Carol Fic

Masks - Carol/Rick

Non-series Lori Fic

No Other Guide

Live Each Season series

While in a Grove - Daryl/Lori

Rooftop Souls AU series

The Violence of Courser Souls - Shane/OFC

Antiquity of the Soul - Daryl/Glenn

Grenade series

Life is Unknowable - Rick/OFC

Life is Unthinkable - Shane/Lori

Separate the Old Life From the New - Daryl/Michonne, Merle/Princess

Rooftop Shadow AU series

Meet the Shadowy Future - Shane/Maggie

At What Moment - Beth/Glenn

Clan Grandma Jean non-ZA series

No Evil Dooms Us - Shane/Carol

One Corner of the Universe - Beth/Eugene

[wendynerdwrites]

Meta Repost: Can We Stop with the Lemon Cakes for a While, Sansa Fandom?

Look, I get it. The show, in its patented “Let’s Dumb Down Sansa Because Teenage Girls Who Don’t Kill Things or Flash Their Titties are Totes Dumb” brand of misogyny, chose not to depict any of her myriad of interests like poetry, music, sewing (yes they show her sewing about once or twice but decided not to have her take any pleasure in it and decided she’d want to stop sewing to “her own woman” because feminine = bad), history, and literature. And instead broiled her down to “obliviously boy crazy even after becoming a POW”, “thinks ‘shift’ is the rude word for dung” and “likes cake”. Because teenage girls who don’t stab things or flash their titties are automatically stupid because feminine equals stupid.

But I’d like to remind everyone of the following!

“Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so”

“Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. ”

— AGOT Arya I

“I can answer,” Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince’s anger. She smiled at the green knight. “Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and councillor to the king, and so I name you.”

“The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys’s honor against evil Ser Morgil’s slanders.”

—-AGOT Sansa I

“Sansa remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winterfell two years before. “His armor is bronze, thousands and thousands of years old, engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm,” she whispered to Jeyne.”

—-AGOT Sansa II

“I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies.”

— AGOT Sansa III

Some of my favorites:

“The queen took Sansa’s hand in both of hers. “Child, do you know your letters?” Sansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers”

“She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.”

—- AGOT Sansa IV

“Prince Tommen sobbed. “You mew like a suckling babe,” his brother hissed at him. “Princes aren’t supposed to cry.”

“Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon,” Sansa Stark said, “and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound.”

—- ACOK, Tyrion II

“Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.”

—- ACOK, Arya III

“Sansa was shocked. “But Baelor the Blessed was a great king. He walked the Boneway barefoot to make peace with Dorne, and rescued the Dragonknight from a snakepit. The vipers refused to strike him because he was so pure and holy.”

—- ASOS Sansa IV

Excuse me, but, um….

Don’t let D&D take that away from us.

(Oh, and another reminder of D&D’s sexism… Remember in the show how Sansa and Loras had their awkward interactions and Sansa was so dumb that she could not pick up on the very obvious NOT INTERESTED cues Loras was giving?

“At the Hand’s tourney, don’t you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day.” It made her flush to speak of it. “You said no victory was half as beautiful as me.”

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. “I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see.”

He doesn’t remember, Sansa realized, startled. He is only being kind to me, he doesn’t remember me or the rose or any of it. ”

— ASOS Sansa I)

She is much, much, much more than lemon cakes. Sansa Stark is just lemon cakes the way Arya Stark thinks “most girls are idiots”. She has a favorite food. That’s it. She is much, much more than that and being pretty.