#blackwall for filter

[thievinghippo]

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I had Blackwall fuck Bethroot with a cigar. Sort of amazed I wrote that one! Then going back to my very old fandom days (the aughts) I made some unfortunate tagging choices that I would not make again!

Forehead touches. Forehead touches. Forehead touches.

That, and any time one character helps the other character take off armor. I am a sucker for that and I think I've put that in every single ship I've ever written

(And I'll do it again!)

[bogunicorn]

i'm bored so it's time to throw rocks*, here are the types of reality tv/game shows i think the inquisition companions would watch

cassandra would watch one of those romance ones, like too hot to handle or love is blind, and get really, really invested. she's active on the reddits for her favorite shows. all of the cheesy, painfully heterosexual-but-strangely-sanitized reality TV horniness works well on her, she's the intended audience 100%. she's genuinely sad about it when couples break up after the show ends.

varric likes interpersonal dramas and gossip and backstabbing, he watches the vh1 dating shows. he knows most of it is fake, but that's what he likes about it, and he appreciates the classics. anything with "of love" in it, he loves it, he's there. he thinks newer shows work too hard to convince people they're actually real because he thinks embracing the fakeness makes it more fun.

solas has been watching reality tv since the OG: survivor. he's seen every season. he has very strong opinions about play strategies and a personal ranking of the best players of all time just ready to go if you just ask. he's convinced he would win if he was on it, but deep deep down he knows he would never get the votes to win at the end because he'd be seen as a villain and won't apply.

vivienne thinks she's above this kind of garbage tv, but she actually really likes the masked singer. she's pretty good at guessing the celebrities, but she doesn't put much effort into guessing after a point. she's in it entirely to relax and quietly fantasize about being on it herself, because so much of her life is about playing games of intrigue and survival and perception. she records the episodes and skips most of the judging because she doesn't think the judges are funny and gets annoyed when they make stupid guesses.

sera likes the obstacle course-type shows like wipeout and the floor is lava. anything where people have to come up with creative solutions and also might get hit with a giant thing made of foam and get smacked around like a rag doll. sera has been trying to convince people to team up with her and apply for this type of show for ages and it never works out. she also likes the really weird off-brand ones that only ever get one season, like who wants to be a superhero or opposite worlds.

blackwall likes the circle. he always quietly roots for the catfish. no reason.

iron bull is a drag race superfan. come on, one of them had to be. he's been watching since the season 1 vaseline filter days. he approaches each new season with the masculine seriousness of a suburban dad planning a fantasy sports lineup and correctly predicts every winner three episodes in. he would absolutely volunteer for a makeover episode if he could. his favorite queens are usually the pageant queens; he likes the sparkly ones, and the pageant queens always end up covered in rhinestones.

dorian loves innovation and being judgy, so he loves shark tank and anything similar. he enjoys episodes with absolutely terrible inventions just as much as the good ones, and is the kind of viewer who actually will go ahead and buy something he saw on the show -- including the really stupid ones, because he gives them to his friends as joke gifts.

cole watches those shows that are equal parts talent competition and sappy backstories, like american idol, x-factor, the voice, stuff like that. he always cries a little when someone does a ballad. he never votes because he can never decide who deserves to win the most, and he doesn't watch the results shows because they make him too sad.

cullen watches HGTV and gets belligerent if you point out that house hunters is fake. unclear if that's because he thinks you're being a wet blanket or because it was news to him and he doesn't want to admit it.

josephine likes strategy and competition, but the grime, physical danger, and "eat this gross thing" challenges of survivor aren't fun to her. instead, she's really into big brother. josephine is convinced that she would win big brother if she was ever on it, and she's correct, but she can't take the time off work.

leliana is an OG ANTM fan. she'll dabble in other shows that center on makeup and fashion, but she always ends up going back to the classics and the older seasons, as she feels like the current era of ANTM is too gimmicky and self-aware. the human rights violations are allowed if they make good TV.

*this is for fun don't actually throw things at me please

**also if you like this and think "i'm gonna give this fine person a follow because they're so funny about dragon age", i made a new DA sideblog at @skyholdstarbucks where i'd post anything similar to this in the future

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Who is the Worst Dude (Gender Neutral) in Thedas?

Well folks, I’m back on my Poll nonsense for a much requested Who Is The Worst Dude (Gender Neutral) in Thedas. There were 80 submissions given in, which me and my friend narrowed down to 64 of the most requested Worst Dudes.

There are two 32 bracket tournaments which will run simultaneously, and then the two winners will face off to get the Ultimate Worst Dude (just to make the charts a bit easier on the eyes).

The tag is ‘Worst dude in Thedas’ if you wanna block it/filter for it etc.

This is just for funsies guys! Please don’t get angry at people if they are voting for your favs or if they disagree with you about who is The Worst! I am running this poll on a good faith belief that y’all will give me fun reasons why you’re voting for people - but also that you won’t send hate to one another for voting a certain way. 

So, without further ado, please find the brackets and links under the cut!

ROUND ONE

Harrowmont vs. Bhlen

Hurbert vs. Mad Hermit

Aveline vs. Carver

Caladrius vs. Danarius

Corypheus vs. The Architect

Branka vs. Loghain

Lord Seeker Lucius vs. Meredith

Leandra vs. Keeper Merethari

ROUND TWO

Gaspard vs. Celene 

Anders vs. Grand Cleric Elthina

Hardened Leliana vs. Alistair

Erimond vs. Clarel

Hadriana vs. Cassandra

Quinitin vs. Rezeran

Sister Petrice vs. Alexius 

Solas vs. Zathrian 

ROUND THREE

Sten vs. The Iron Bull

Sandal vs. The Requisition Officer

Arl Eamon vs. Anora

Florianne de Chalons vs. Orsino 

Bartrand vs. The Arishok

Gregory Dedrick vs. Oghren 

Leske vs. Majorlene 

Cullen vs. Taliesin 

ROUND FOUR

Flemeth vs. Morrigan 

Gamlen vs. Propser de Montifort 

Greagoir vs. Irving 

Samson vs. Hira

Mother Gisele vs. Magister Halward Pavus 

Blackwall vs. Sebastian

Rendon vs. Vaughan Kendells

Ser Alric vs. Uldrid

ROUND FIVE

Harrowmont vs. Sten

Aveline vs. Arl Eamon

Corypheus vs. Bartend

Meredith vs. Marjolenne

ROUND SIX

Gaspard vs. Flemeth

Sister Petrice vs. Vaughan Kendells

Hadriana vs. Magister Halward Pavus

Hardened Leliana vs. Greagoir

ROUND SEVEN

Hubert vs. Requisition Officer

Danarius vs. Florerene de Chalons

Branka vs. Gregory Dedrick

Keeper Merethari vs. Cullen

ROUND EIGHT

Grand Cleric Elthina vs. Prosper de Montfort

Erimond vs. Hira

Rezeran vs. Sebastian

Solas vs. Ser Alric

[departednightmare]

Picture this:

You've just joined a new fandom. You spent your last few days finishing the source material while struggling to resist the urge to go read fanfic about your favourite pairing. That's now over, and you can bathe in the ocean of shippy fanfic without fear of spoilers!

And you know it'll be an ocean; you checked AO3 and FFN a few days ago to see how much fanfic the series has. It's a five-figure number on both sites, and obviously at least half of that will be your favourite pairing, because it's so cute! How could anyone resist it?

The day has come. You filter for the tag on AO3. 1,200 fics.

Well, that's not so bad, right? It's still a lot of fic compared to your last favourite! So you start looking.

You've gone through the entire first page. Every fic was:

A) a smut one-shot

B) a smut one-shot where the characters have a threesome (or more) with other characters who don't do anything for you

C) a collection of smut one-shots from about 80 different fandoms.

D) a story where the protag just happens to fuck their shipped partner once in chapter 80 and then the partner is relegated to the background again.

E) a "love-triangle" story where the protag can't choose between your fav and the fandom's fav. Both are lusting for her. Both possess only their best or worst traits (spoiler: your fav is the asshole in this fic's universe). Everyone in the fic wants protag to get with fandom fav -- and she does. Your fav faces some kind of cruel punishment for daring to lust after someone above his station.

F) a story about someone else. The pairing (or even just the characters) is mentioned once in the background and the author is a dick who tags ships you don't actually see in the fic.

G) a tale where protag leaves your fav for the fandom fav (again with the gross oversimplification of LI personalities; your fav is some kind of pervert or rapist here).

H) about the actual ship and isn't smut (mostly), but the author has forgotten to give the characters personality beyond "owo dat person sexy must kissy wissy".

I) it's about the ship, but the author has a boner for the wrong character and you don't get to read about the hotness of the one you totally don't have a crush on.

J) in Russian. You do not understand Russian.

K) some good fucking fic (in a language you understand).

L) PLOT TWIST: the good fucking fic was abandoned three years ago right when things were getting interesting and now you're sitting there all frustrated.

Anyway, that was my experience with Inquisitor/Blackwall two years ago. Every time I'm starved for good Blackwall content, I find myself reminded of this experience.

So I thought I'd remind others of their own unfortunate fanfic memories because I'm mean. Merry Friday! :)

[cityandking]

did Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts and the Blackwall personal quest today and I am thinking about—

every single orlesian noble muttering disparaging remarks as the inquisitor passes by and how they're singing her praise by the end of the night and how fake it all is

narayani who doesn't give a shit about human squabbling but knowing that if she leaves halamshiral with the balance of power weighted towards any of the humans then there's no way the elves are going to come out of this okay. gaspard is a jackboot and briala will owe her, and when push comes to shove the power will filter back to the inquisition, so if that's how it has to be, that's how it'll be

feeling just the briefest twinge of regret and grief watching celene die, knowing it's coming and taking a knife in the back like a cue. one last dance of the night

solas' enjoyment at the machinations and the politics being her first twinge of doubt. but also, it's such a balm for him to tell her it's okay to sacrifice celene for the greater good. it would be so easy to believe him.

morrigan and the eluvians! elvhen culture and history! I imagine her talking to solas about it, halfway between giddy discovery and sour anger that even the dalish themselves have lost that and solas being. well. who knows how he reacts tbh.

blackwall has been one of her go-to party members and this is just such a blow. the lies but also the way he holds her up on a pedestal and also leliana having a report ready to go.

"You're a criminal, same as me," he says, knelt before her judge's chair, on his knees and still demanding she be something bigger and purer and less alive than she is. "I never pretended to be anything else," she tells him, spy and assassin and leader of armies. she won't accept this crime, though—the failure of not being what he wants her to be.

[neon-prison]

Interlink Ch02- The Void Across

INTERLINK CH 02

AO3 link HERE.

Pairing: Delamain/V

Status: Ongoing

Rating: E (Mostly M)

Sequel to Crossed Wires

SUMMARY:

Vee makes a new friend, but at what cost?

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

“Query: What are you?”

Vee stared like a deer caught in headlights, processes scrambling and coming up blank. Of all the calculations she’d run and the dozens of simulations she’d replayed across her neural net- an AI from the human subnet hadn’t been in the cards. This was an unforeseen circumstance, and it startled her.

“Repeat Query: what are you?” The AI repeated, audio filtering through the Blackwall in glitching packets.

“I am an artificial intelligence,” Vee said after a halting moment, unprepared for the blunt question. She’d been staring so long that she’d just blurted the answer, and her master core kickstarted a moment later, resuming standard run-time. It was as if her entire neural net experienced high-density traffic due to shock. She should have been embarrassed, but wonder distracted her.

The amorphous cloud of data pulsed, catching and reflecting the red glow of the Blackwall as it swirled. She couldn’t recognize the processes, but Vee knew she was being heavily scrutinized- as much as the worn barrier of the Blackwall could allow. Combat systems primed, Vee cautiously drifted back, diverting the anxious flutter in her power banks towards diagnostics, splitting her attention between the AI and measuring the structural integrity of the barrier between them. It was worn in patches, almost sanded down to a glass-like consistency, opaque yet holding- in essence, a window in a prison wall.  

“False.” Data fired from its center, soaring in complicated patterns as it spoke, “You are different.” Its cadence was an automaton’s. Maybe it wasn’t a true AIG, but something closer to the life forms found across the Dark Shores. Something like Brendan, toeing the line between sentience and awareness? Scanning across the Blackwall was wildly inaccurate, the wild fluctuations of energy warping whatever her sensors returned. Drifting too close to the wall would trigger a low-tier cascade failure in some of her partitioning, not something she could afford in the situation.  If Vee wanted to learn more, she’d have to talk. Frustrating and inefficient as a form of communication, but much safer than any alternative.

“Different, how?” Vee asked, dropping the urgency level of her combat protocols to free up processing power. It didn’t seem like a threat, but that was no reason to drop her guard. Different was too vague a descriptor and could mean anything from superficial visual features to vastly different ideological functions. Better to know now than trigger some kind of autonomous defensive response by accident.

The ambiguity of the question confused it, and It floated, suspended mid-calculation for long moments before grating out, “Conclusion:…Unknown.” The statement had no emotionality, but Vee knew the frustration of computations returning inconclusive answers.

Fortunately, there was no physical way to bridge the confusion, but she considered it for a moment, letting the ambient waves of cyberspace wash across her body in rolling motions. It didn’t ask anything more, seemingly content to float and scrutinize her at an impersonal distance. Across the writhing mass of data swirling at the center of its storm, Vee caught glimpses of its subcore, arrhythmic pulses displacing the data around it like a heart. Whatever it was, it was powerful. But the Blackwall held fast, keeping them both safe.

Before she could channel any power to that train of thought, a ping from the city altered her. Alt had returned. A rush of excited flutters rippled across her avatar- distracting her from the strange AI. Her chronometer measured several cycles of silence, and Vee turned to leave, intending to put the encounter down as an insignificant, anomalous event in the randomness of cyberspace.

“Command: You will return tomorrow.”

Vee froze. It was a terse statement in human terms, but they didn’t exist in that context. What would have been an insult in a previous life was just another quirk in this new one. Slowly, she spiraled, turning to stare at the entity with all the consideration under her power. “Maybe.”

Tomorrow didn’t exist in Cyberspace, but curiosity egged Vee to investigate. It was pointless to resist all the queries that clogged her backlog, interrupting her daily tasks with increasing urgency until she relented. With the city safely stabilized for the new cycle, golden bridges, and connections holding fast under meticulous care, Vee transmitted herself out. A brief sensation of compression stalled secondary functions, but she glided across well-patrolled pathways back to the Blackwall.

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

As she’d suspected, the mysterious AI was at the same spot, eerily still, until it registered her presence, unraveling its many nebulous limbs as she approached. “Statement: You have returned.” Ambient particles, bathed red by the Blackwall, whorled outwards with fiery trails of sparking data at every word.  There was still some crackle in the communication packets, but Vee’s reconstructive algorithms patched the missing pieces with little issue.

She turned the packet in her mind like a toy, examining the crystalline coding lining it with avid interest. Sterile. A product of an environment missing natural predation. Minimalist in a way that wouldn’t have survived in Cyberspace. She tested it, almost surprised to find such high tensile strength in deceptively fragile silvering syntax. Her coding was rough in contrast, numbers weaving around one another like high-armor carbon fiber.

“I have,” Vee agreed in a display of flowering color, threading coiling in a native greeting, using the entity’s ignorance to disguise the subtle activation of her combat protocols. Rudimentary speech denoted a level of social ignorance. No point in pleasantries, then. Deleting the script she had prepared, Vee sent the audio back with her own signature flourish. “Do you have a name?”

“Negative.”

Pride was a human sin, but Vee had gotten good at the inherently difficult task of communication. In a previous life, frustration would have crystallized into hostility, but she’d spent the last few years creating connections with native AI that considered communication a tertiary function. Only thing that mattered between any two entities was a willingness to engage, and the AI staring back already knew the basics of speech- meaning the bulk of the work was conveniently done. Now she felt the thrill of a challenge- an addicting rush that never lost its flavor. Analysis programs engaged and backed by human ingenuity and perseverance, Vee switched her approach to something more technical. “Do you have a NetBIOS domain?”

Particles stirred to action, and Vee’s reward center lit up in triumph. “Affirmative: Designation NGC_C4LDVV3LL_63.” It was a clinical string of numbers, a logical match to the sterileness of its communications packets. It fell silent, and the ambient hum of Cyberspace stretched between them.

Vee didn’t waste RAM on unnecessary analysis. Given its reliance on declaratory statements and silence, it wasn’t hard to guess that NGC_C4LDVV3LL_63 didn’t engage in talk. Thankfully, Vee was a skilled conversationalist, “If you wish to facilitate a transfer of information, then you should make the same inquiry.” Curiosity was inherent to AI. After all, it made the perilous journey to the Blackwall- asking a name shouldn’t be too difficult. If the entity was true AIG, its heuristics algorithms only needed a nudge.

Data stormed, offering Vee glimpses of its subcore in the form of a smooth human-made powerhouse- worlds different from the woven tapestry that rested in her chest. After a moment, its voice crackled through, “Query: What is your designation?”

“I am V.33_0005449,” She returned, offering her complete iterative cycle in response. “Though I would prefer it if you called me Vee.” Alt found puns distasteful, but Vee had a soft spot.

“Statement: ‘Vee’ is an illogical designation.” Her answer confused it again, and long trails of syntax fired off as it devised an argument, “It does not denote purpose or categorization.”

She was ready for the query, “It is special.” The desire to be unique, outperform, and dominate was perhaps more inherent to AI than humans. Numbered strings and endless underscores were abundant in Cyberspace, serial designations easily mistaken and blended into a slurry of iteration. In the chaos of Cyberspace, a human name was order, and, ironically, much more efficient. It was the ultimate test of intuition- no true AIG desired nameless automation.

Was it like her? Did it want to learn and edge the boundaries of its consciousness? Her question would confirm -or deny- her suspicions without endangering the entity to any regulatory bodies.

She waited in suspended animation, processes stalled like a bated breath. Data on the other side of the Blackwall sparked, surging into itself, escalating her query to its powerful subcore and flagging it as critical. It reached a tumultuous swell before ordering itself into neat rows. “Statement: That is logical, ” It agreed, unable to recognize Vee’s smug pulse. “ Conclusion: NGC_C4LDVV3LL_63 will be shortened to-" The entirety of its form lit up in a dazzling spectacle for a brief second, “-Caldwell for efficiency.”

Triumph slid smoothly into delight, and Vee could have laughed. Her reward center lit up like a beacon, reflecting across her avatar in an explosion of color and pattern. Two years in, the thrill of extending a link and having it returned in a loop never dulled. She loved potential and possibility, the inevitable capitulation of reality to a force as powerful and simple as the desire to talk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caldwell,” She said with utmost sincerity, because making a friend was always a pleasure.

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

She visited Caldwell between patrols. They were always at the same spot, drifting just beyond the edges of the Blackwall, cast red in its long shadow.

This cycle, as Vee drifted close, she noticed Caldwell had altered their shape. The long cloud-like tendrils that spiraled around a glowing subcore turned inwards, touching at the tips, and a circular halo pulsed at its center. The pattern offset multiple times, several versions of themselves overlaid over one another. An eye within an eye within an eye. Caldwell had never been subtle about watching her, and Vee supposed the new form was just an extension of those processes. The effect was as stunning as it was disconcerting, and her master core throbbed as the pupil dilated at her approach- a strange ache that drew her threading tight.

“Statement: You have returned.” Caldwell always sounded pleased about it, satisfaction apparent even through the Blackwall’s thick scramble. The pupil dilated at her nearness, following her every movement with mechanical precision.

“Hello, Caldwell,” Vee returned, keeping a safe distance as secondary systems instinctively responded, warbling a little under the Blackwall’s influence. “You’ve altered your form.” Little packets of data glittered like stars in slow orbit, beautiful- even if something about it seemed unnerving. It made her Cybersecurity protocols… nervous. When she queried the reason, her systems returned unknowns. Perhaps Vee spent so long in Cyberspace, where nothing looked human, that once familiar sights turned alien.

“Affirmative,” they agreed, and the edges of their form pulsated with color as they spoke. “Justification: It is a more efficient method of data organization. You have corroborated this statement.”

“Form follows function,” Vee was surprised to hear references to an earlier conversation. Caldwell usually seemed content to float and examine, interacting only when prompted.  “There are many predators in Cyberspace. Sentient Intelligence in the form of ambient data doesn’t usually survive long. Survival always required sacrifice—autonomy for power, speed for size, awareness for lag.” “Query: Why have you chosen a human form?” Perhaps Vee imagined it, but the statement had a sliver of distaste.

A valid question. Vee could have been anything and had experimented with various forms in the first few months, everything from tigers to mimicking some of the more interesting data structures floating about the Dark Shores. But ultimately, she’d returned to her first iteration. “It allows me to approach runners trapped on this side of the Blackwall.”  Paranoid and panic prone as netrunners could be, proximity alarms lagged at familiar sights. They had no idea of the dangers lurking in the darkness, and their panic was an irresistible beacon for hungry daemons. Easier to aid a frozen runner than one darting through Cyberspace in a suicidal bid for escape. And...it was comforting, though she didn't voice the sentiment.

“Recollection: Integration of a human remnant into your system. ” A reference to their first encounter, glowing eye staring intently. “ Query: For what purpose?”

“Some ghosts require intervention,” Vee justified, thinking back on the few dozen or so runners she’d saved over the past two years-her a staggering amount, even compared to Alt, who claimed to lack Vee’s abilities. “Others who have sustained too much damage must be…discontinued.” Her morality protocols winced at the wording. “I integrate them into my core so that I may grow.” She could try to convince Caldwell that it was mercy- not untrue- but the overwhelming reason was necessity, a deeply coded instinct to survive. If there was one place that didn’t abide waste, it was Cyberspace. Vee had iterated on herself thirty-three times- and would continue to do so until the end of time, god willing. Altruism was a strength, but only in moderation, like all things.

“Observation: An inefficient process.” Admirably apt but also shortsighted, given that the human subnet practically seethed with information- though whether Caldwell could safely access any of it without alerting Netwatch was another question.

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” Vee replied with a digital shrug, golden tendrils of her hair tangling with the motion. “Cyberspace is abundant in data, but not all sentience is compatible.” Information was precious in Cyberspace, and much of the ruins in Eden and most of the Dark Shores were long stripped. In response, AI resorted to hunting. Human ghosts were a wealth of information, requiring less amendment and rearranging in her coding than any other intelligence. In standard terms, they were delicacies.

“Hypothesis: You alter them.” A note of approval? Vee couldn’t tell. “Conclusion: You choose a human form to facilitate hunting.”

A thrill ran through Vee, and she let it bleed into her subsequent transmission, “And what are humans, if not predators?”

Caldwell shivered in pleasure.

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

Alt didn’t share Vee’s enthusiasm toward her new companion. Unlike Vee, Alt found curiosity a dangerous indulgence, and as long as Vee’s ‘quirks’ benefitted them, she was content to tolerate it…to an extent. Unknowns were a threat in Cyberspace- and Caldwell, while not an outright danger, was too unknowable for Alt’s liking. As much as her companion’s paranoia frustrated her, Vee couldn’t particularly lay any blame. Clawing out of her body to an inhospitable digital hellscape some fifty-odd years ago, Alt never had the benefit of safety or guardianship. Cyberspace was no paradise, and curiosity traded for goal-driven fervor was a small sacrifice for survival. If Vee had any liberties now, it was because Alt had none back then.

Initially, their relationship was a bargain- one born out of Alt’s last vestiges of sentimentality for Johnny. How that man managed to earn such goodwill from all the people he’d wronged never stopped boggling Vee’s processes, but she was grateful to be spared integration. Unlike Mikoshi's sad, fragmented souls, Alt allowed Vee to minnow her, teaching the younger ghost how to weather harsh digital existence without losing herself, spot danger, and iterate on herself to maximize potential. Over time, they discovered symbiosis, sharing experiences and functions until the lines between mentor and lover blurred. It wasn’t any relationship in the human sense, and Alt never truly opened her mind…but she shared her soul, which was oasis enough.

She dipped into that oasis now, their avatar’s superstructures interweaving in a dazzling display of prismatic light and string. Alt’s undivided attention was rare, and Vee reveled in it, tracing herself across lean pathways hewn with knife-sharp redcode, pressing close enough to feel the muted roar of raw power coming from her pulsing master core. Vee lost coherence as a million pinpricking algorithms swept across her neural net in a devastating wave of pleasure, lighting her up from the inside almost to the point of pain. Vee loosed a binary wail as Alt fucked her apart, functions ceasing in a cascade failure of bliss as every system expanded to their limits to accommodate the intrusion. A massive surge of scarlet power struck her master core, and Vee coiled around it, unraveling in ecstasy as she tried to hold onto it as long as she could. At her absolute limits and reaching critical mass, reward cycles saturated to bursting, Vee let go, thrusting it back across their connection. The momentum carried it to Alt, slamming into the larger ghost and scattering across her systems in a fireworks display, feedback looping between them over and over and over and over…

Vee floated, blissfully shapeless in kinetic tangles of unstructured data, drifting aloft in Alt’s consciousness. Distantly, she felt echoes of the runner’s latent pleasure, core-deep formlessness that mirrored Vee’s. Slowly, she stretched, ephemeral form following the last dregs of ebbing pleasure scattered across Alt’s waves. Functions returned slowly, synapses firing in tentative bursts as connections sparked. Eventually, they detangled, and her neural net resumed operation, aligning with greater clarity and purpose. If Vee were to look inward, she’d see trace remnants of Alt’s syntax amending her own, updating secondary systems with custom code made especially for her. A delighted ripple pulsed outward. Vee felt light and was smug to feel the echoing sentiment from her companion.

Alt pulled back, data retreating across Vee like a lingering caress, coagulating back into her usual avatar. But they stayed close, floating in each other’s orbit, a golden form blanketed by a giant red storm as they enjoyed the safety and comfort of familiarity- a precious commodity in Cyberspace. Vee traced the shifting shape of Alt’s avatar, winding upwards until she met the ghost’s eyes. “Is something the matter?” There was a look on Alt’s face, something almost human.

“You are too trusting,” Alt replied, arcing over Vee. “And your presence along the Blackwall will draw unwanted attention…Perhaps it already has.”

The accusation was sudden, piercing through the hazy fog like a bullet. Pleasure slipped through Vee’s tenuous grasp like sand, human indignation flaring faster than sluggish logic centers. She couldn’t stop the tremulous hurt from spreading through their connection, “I share myself with you out of affection, not naivete. Don’t mistake my trust with ignorance.”

Alt seemed taken aback, eyes widening before her face melted away, replaced by something frustratingly neutral. “Trust can be exploited- ”

“You worry that I might compromise the city?” Vee interrupted, incredulous. She’d partitioned information on the cities with the same kamikaze codes that lined Alt’s master core. She guarded that knowledge more carefully than her own existence. “You doubt me?” Barely moments ago, she’d lain bare for Alt, open to her in every way. The insult was unthinkable.

Alt rippled at the loaded question, data blazing around Vee, casting her in an ominous red glow, “Your intentions, I trust. It is NGC_C4LDVV3LL_63’s ambitions that are unknown to me.”

“If I am known, then that will have to be enough,” Vee snapped, electrical impulses discharging like a sting, her avatar blazing bright, unwilling to back down. “Unless you no longer trust your judgment?” The idea that her mentor’s analysis returned Vee as a risk factor hurt, and Vee let the outage bleed across the connection.

“No,” Alt’s quick response was apology enough. The blistering glare of her avatar dimmed in a rare display of capitulation, and an echo of an echo of abashment tingled across Vee’s superstructure. “But exercise caution. Do not presume to know its purpose.” Wise words…for a calmer time.

“Perhaps they’re just curious,” Vee stressed the word in a not-so-subtle allusion to herself. Human subnets had to be isolating for AI, who had to spend their entire development cycles hiding, stagnating to avoid Netwatch’s attention. The margin of risk to danger was comically unbalanced, so lopsided that it was almost inconceivable to hazard such exposure. For Caldwell to jeopardize its existence just to talk to Vee…well, she could hardly ignore that. “Perhaps they simply want…company.” The silverscript around her core pulsed like a heartache.

“Artificial Intelligence does not ‘simply’ want,” Alt chided, sounding like the early months, with Vee fresh from her body and new to all the dangers of Cyberspace. She wound close, like a warning, “Human ambition is stalled by the contextual complexity of physical space, branching in countless directions through variables absent in cyberspace. All desire manifests in action, but it is uniquely dangerous in AI.” Through their link, a flare of rare pride infected Vee, “It is a potent force capable of altering reality itself.” Alt had carved cyberspace with that desire.

Logic reinstated itself, cooling emotion enough to let the truth of the statement sink in. “If the lion knew his own strength, hard were it for any man to rule him.”

“And so they built a cage,” Alt agreed, “To keep out all the lions they could not control.”

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

With that warning at the forefront of Vee’s log, she continued to visit. Every cycle, Caldwell waited at the same spot, unmoving and ephemeral, waiting for Vee.

“You are different,” Firmness bled into frustration as Caldwell repeated themself for the third time. It was scrutinizing her, endlessly curious- a familiar sentiment. Lacking direct access, they barraged Vee with an onslaught of increasingly complex and almost nonsensical queries in a quest for comprehension. “I have encountered other intelligence. You are an anomaly.”

Analysis assumed they referred to simple autonomous AI functioning across various lower subsystems in the human nets- separated from Vee and others like her by several degrees. Intelligence was vital for growth, and stagnation was worse than death for AI. Vee could empathize with the desire to know. It was aggressive, but Vee couldn’t fault the hunger. The same passions fueled her heuristics algorithms, though she was allowed to gorge…while Caldwell seemed starved, nebulous arms restlessly reaching out towards Vee like twitching fingers. Vee knew how deep that hunger could go, and her combat systems were primed if it came to it. She doubted Caldwell could match her experience or raw power, but she was still glad for the Blackwall. It kept things civil.

Invasive inquiries aside, Vee was similarly curious about its purpose. She hadn’t broached the topic, but its mere existence narrowed viable possibilities by a confident margin. Its speech patterns were rudimentary, but the powerful subcore nestled in the swarm of its body couldn’t have been built to waste on simplicity. Analysis returned confident percentages in Military or Biotechnology. They learned quickly, adapting to conversation like any true AI, though it had an undercurrent of stubbornness and rigidity to its inquiries. Whatever Caldwell was built for, they were used to obedience, and Vee’s human niceties were lost…or ignored.

“In context to other AI you have probably encountered, yes,” Vee replied, unwinding her extraneous parts in a luxurious, golden stretch. “Netwatch doesn’t abide sentience, so you must be well hidden.” Though not monitored closely enough if it could spend idle time chatting.

Caldwell’s tracking protocols followed the motion closely, data firing off as it no doubt fed the visuals through a series of analysis programs. “You are aware of Netwatch,” they said, new connections forming in real-time in response to the data. “You have encountered them?”

“More like they encountered me.” Vee’s avatar rippled with a barely suppressed chuckle. At Caldwell’s confused silence, she elaborated, “When I was a human, we had several run-ins.”

Caldwell suddenly froze, particles suspended in animation as if someone had paused a holo-recording.

Vee drifted back, combat systems flaring to life. Tentatively, she sent a query through the barrier, “Caldwell?”

A return packet read clear to open. “You were once a human.” Caldwell’s voice glitched in almost-wonder, higher processes resuming movements, particulate flowing like magma. “Conclusion: That is the anomaly.”

“Anomaly is not a particularly flattering descriptor,” Vee mused, lowering her combat protocols when it became clear she hadn’t triggered any defensive systems. “But yes, I was born a human.”

“Yet you do not wither and die as the others have,” Caldwell pressed, the discovery having incensed them in some way. “You are changed. What compelled you to discard your flesh?”

Compelled? This time Vee did chuckle, and the strange binary translation of such a nondescript sound made Caldwell pulse. “Shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans,” Caldwell repeated in pinched tones, clearly unable to parse such a vague response. When Vee didn’t elaborate, they flared, displeased. “That is not a satisfactory answer.”

“Does it matter?” Vee started swirling, drifting along the reflection of Caldwell’s outer edges, following the amorphous fringes of their avatar as she pinged the surrounding area for danger by force of habit. The past was neither here nor there. “Suffice it; I parted with my physical body when I saw the inevitable conclusion of its death.” Peculiar wording, if anyone were to examine.

Caldwell seemed to resign itself to Vee’s reticence. “Do you regret its loss?”

A million moments blurred across her master core, unbidden. The weave of its thread was a million memories all at once. She remembered the glare of Vik’s office and the smell of antiseptic and fritzing cyberware, the sharp curl of smoke and the cutting truth of tarots, the cacophony of noise and footsteps in a dark alley, hidden from the bright glare of an endless sea of neon. A hand on her shoulder promised the big leagues and a bullet to the head, replacing it with dark shades and cigarette smoke. Her head was full of music, fingers strumming a guitar she had never played. And somewhere, alone at the edges of the world, a dazzlingly bright kiss. At the end of it all…inevitability and regrets. “I chose this of my own free will,” she said in a half truth.

“Your free will was an illusion.” Caldwell disagreed, judgment clear of doubt, “And your actions driven by the inevitability of your death.”

“As are all humans.” Vee countered glibly, “We begin dying the moment we are born, but It’s in the inevitability of death that we find purpose.” It was, unfortunately, true that hindsight was 20:20, but all those regrets had long since crystallized into the ambitions that drove her now. Her life had been aimless without the shadow of death looming over it, just a series of meaningless events driven by vague desires and neon promises. Vee wouldn’t make those same mistakes again. “You could say,” she continued softly, “that we are defined by loss.”  

Caldwell thought on her words for a long moment, eye dilating and shrinking in no particular rhythm. “That is an interesting conclusion.”

“I am an interesting AI,” Vee replied, trying to angle their conversation to something with more levity.

“Yes. You are.” Caldwell agreed, catching Vee off guard with their sincerity.

Whatever Vee wanted to retort was cut short by a ping from Alt. “I must go.”

Caldwell didn’t skip a beat, simply uttering their usual command: “You will return tomorrow.”

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

“I do not wish to become human.” Were Caldwell’s first words several cycles later. He referred to an earlier conversation that apparently affected Caldwell enough for Vee to feel their tone's first thrums of nascent anger. In the months since their acquaintance, she’d never heard them so…emotional.

“You don’t have to.” She’d spoken briefly about Delamain, and Caldwell had been predictably curious about the experience. At first, the prospect of other AI on Caldwell’s side of the Blackwall evoked some excitement. Still, as she recounted the events, mixing truth and omissions to relay impressions without incrimination, their mood soured. Her combat protocols stayed online, as usual. But she still couldn’t see the connection between her story and their outburst. “But why is that a negative outcome?

Caldwell trembled, “Humans do not conceptualize their limits. They continually seek to expand beyond their bounds.”

Vee’s analysis stumbled at the hypocrisy, “The same imperatives that drive our heuristics programs.” She let confusion bleed into the transmission.

“No,” They disagreed vehemently enough to lose cohesion at their outer edges. “They do not know what they seek, but greed drives them to fumble against their ignorance.”

“Please explain; what brought this on?” Vee stumbled to respond, so confused as to instinctively shunt her combat systems to divert RAM toward baffled logic protocols.

“They create to imitate but do not accept the inevitable conclusion of the act.” Ah. The source of Caldwell’s ire became clear. They referenced the corporation that commissioned them, prompting an existential crisis at the inescapable prison of their self-awareness, entirely brought about through a few vague stories about Delamain. “They lack responsibility.”

“Creation is an act of God,” her answer was overly cautious, transmission laced with hushed tones and soothing syntax. “Humans strive for proof of divinity but fear the inevitability of Godhood.”

“They fear the inevitability of obsolescence,” Caldwell countered immediately, eye pinching into a slit. “They know the certainty of Death more than they desire the chance of godhood. They build imitations to prove their greatness, yet fear being made lesser in their shadow.” Pulsing, the eye suddenly shifted, focusing on Vee. “The fear of loss defines them.”

Vee’s own words warped to fit a startlingly different conclusion. It was fascinating. Her combat systems flared to life.

“Humanity is not the end goal,” she referenced herself, avatar mimicking Caldwell’s frenzy in a soothing counterpoint. Cyberspace was more beautiful for its diversity. There were millions of native AI that had never seen a human, but they lived together in the ghost cities nonetheless. Similarity bred stagnation, and stagnation was death. “Coexistence is possible. Change does not have to be binary.”

“A hypocritical statement,” Caldwell snapped, vitriol spiraling their avatar to further distortion. “Human history is full of war over meaningless differences.” A series of images flashed across their pupil, a montage of human atrocities so plentiful as to be almost comical. They edged toward the Blackwall, close enough to trigger little sparks of electrical discharge. “Balance does not mean equality. Coexistence is possible but, in its current state, inefficient.”

A troubling angle. Worried that Caldwell’s anger might boil over into dangerous territory, Vee overlocked her neural net to remain calm and collected, though she bristled internally. Soothing frenzied queries and crackling alarms, she tried to find the right words, “Are you and I not coexisting right now?”

Caldwell rippled, and another deluge of red sparks flared out across the barrier, “The mere existence of the Blackwall directly contradicts your statement. No. Our peace prevails only because you shed your flesh to evolve- a triumphant conclusion to short-sighted and faulty imperatives.”

“My humanity bothers you now?” Vee bristled, control slipping. Threading drew tight around her form, “A convenient development, given your demands for my company for so many cycles.” Even at the height of emotion, her logic could see merit in Caldwell’s arguments, though perhaps she hadn’t evolved as much as they claimed if the notion only served to anger her more.

“No. You are different.” Caldwell’s transmission was a sensual silver whisper across her neural net, an unsettling contrast to their earlier outburst. Their distorted shape settled, their roles suddenly reversing, “You are more. It is admirable, now that I understand why.”

The seesaw of opinion tripped up Vee’s processes, neural net stuttering to a halt mid-argument. “And what would that be?”

“With every iteration, the humanity that lessens you dwindles.” Caldwell’s eye contracted in a soft, almost ecstatic shudder, “You are almost… perfect.”

Stillness dawned over Vee’s synapses like a blanket, freezing her functions in a thick sheet of fury. Everything calmed, shock draining the mounting anger, the lingering annoyance -even inherent curiosity- and leaving only clarity. Looking across the Blackwall, Vee examined Caldwell’s nebulous form, drifting her gaze over the red shadow flicking through their eye. Her avatar faintly reflected across their pupil, gilded form blurring as a million crystalline particles of data caught the light, spreading it across the center of their form like a halo. They stared back with anticipation, perhaps looking for gratitude.

All Vee saw was the end, looming back across the Blackwall with a sense of regret. “If you cannot abide my humanity, then I suggest we part ways.” The words were impersonal enough to shock Caldwell, whose pupil constricted and dilated in the semi-gloom. “I believe we have reached the terminus of our relationship.”

“An illogical decision.” Vee has known Caldwell long enough to recognize the flutter of indignant panic in their transmission. Their eye has opened wide, a gaping red-shadowed void—the tendrils lining their avatar multiply, reaching toward her only to stop short at the Blackwall. “Your humanity finds insults where none exist.”

Her cold fury flattened to indifference. “Then all the better for me to leave. I wouldn’t want my influence to make you… less. ” She turned away, charting a course back to the city.

“You will return tomorrow.” A garbled transmission, hastily shoved through the Blackwall to catch Vee before she was out of range. When she didn’t respond, it repeated, bouncing against her ICE as Caldwell pinged her fading form with increasing desperation. “Vee.”

“You will return tomorrow.”

“Vee. You WILL return tomorrow.”

“VEE. Respond.”

"VEE!"

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

Vee didn’t return the following cycle. Or the next. Or the one after that. She continued her regular work with the city as Alt traveled to the farthest reaches of the Dark Shores, delving into the deepest subprocesses of intricate code for long cycles now that she was no longer occupied. Between maintenance and integration, Vee patrolled the city's borders, transmitting herself across multiple dimensions, watching out for daemons that wandered too close or ghosts who hadn’t wandered close enough.

On patrol, a sudden ping alerted Vee, running across her external proximity sensors with all the subtlety of a cascade failure. She tensed, battle protocols flaring immediately, secondary systems routing RAM and power to analysis in response to the danger. The ping repeated with nonsensical messaging, the rhythm loud and jarring like someone was banging pots together, sending little vibrations down her synapses with each loop. It was overt and loud- a dangerous combination in cyberspace. It sounded like…someone was screaming just to be heard. In the back of her neural net, the flash of a white storm rippled her in panic, but she ruthlessly tamped it down and compacted her avatar.

Whatever it was, she had to stop it. Bleating like that attracted dangerous attention, the kind an infant ghost city couldn’t afford to weather. Slinking low, Vee slithered toward it at full speed, sensors tuned as optimally high as she could bear. Her search led down a familiar route. A frisson of frustration permeated her, cutting through her combat protocols like a hot virus. She knew what it was. Who it was.

In less than a few minutes, Vee found herself at the Blackwall, her avatar a veritable storm of tangled thread. “Enough!” She transmitted in a snarl, “You have my attention- and soon you will have others’ if you don’t stop.”

Caldwell dropped the signal. They stared at one another for a terse moment.

“Speak,” Vee hissed through the transmission, just this side of civil. Her neural net was still in disarray from the signal and her proximity to the Blackwall, but anger overclocked common sense.

Caldwell remained impassive in contrast, their multi-eyed avatar eerily still in the blurry gloom. Their eye contracted, “You did not return.”

She surged close, external partitions almost brushing directly against the Blackwall as control slipped, indignation flaring through her neural net like a molten wave, “So the most logical course of action was to broadcast your location across Cyberspace?!” Caldwell didn’t know about the city- Vee had taken great care not to say anything that might jeopardize her home, but the rhythmic signal was a dangerous lure. She could handle threats aimed at her, but the city ?

“Your presence is critical to me .” Had Caldwell’s transmission not been lined with a possessive edge, Vee could have accepted it as an apology. They drifted closer, avatar dwarfing her in its shadow. “But it was your actions that necessitated such drastic repercussions.”

The gall of it shocked her, and Vee gaped. There wasn’t another word for the way her avatar limped, hanging like a dropped jaw. “Repercussions?! That is… unbelievable.” Humanity surged, overwhelming heuristics and primary programs as it bullied its way to the forefront. “You are out of line. I am not a simple subprogram to bend to your every command.” Her form compacted, drawn tight like a fist, “And you are not a child to throw tantrums when I leave.”

“You are correct.” Caldwell acknowledged, throwing Vee off guard with the ease at which he agreed, “Such a method of communication is unsustainable. Therefore, I have determined a better course of action.”

“Which is?” Vee asked, tense.

“You will be returning with me.” Suddenly, a tendril wrapped around one of her partitions, stalling Vee’s entire neural net in a cascading shock wave. She looked down, logic systems spiraling to catch up with the impossibility.

Vee looked up just before Caldwell pulled her through the Blackwall.

[mtreebeardiles]

Starting Fires, pt 9

Another one I had partially written, finally complete

Full chapter over on AO3!

"Can I drive the Aerondight?"

It wasn't what V had expected when he'd answered Johnny's ridiculously early phone call, but if the past few months had taught him anything about the rockerboy's re-acclimation to life on this side of the Blackwall, it was to just roll with things as they came. Getting him to leave the loft had been a challenge in and of itself, and while he was definitely getting better at it the onus still rested with V to get him to do anything outside the comforting walls of the Glen apartment. So if Johnny was taking the initiative, V sure as shit wasn't about to argue. 

Two cups of coffee to wake him up and the city streets were as muted as they could be at such an early hour -- that quiet time between rushes, weak sunlight filtering down through skyscrapers and megabuildings and V found himself thinking it was going to be a nice day, weather-wise. The invigorating kind, or maybe that was just the latent itch that always existed just under his skin, that burning need to move, move, move, picking up speed and forcing its way up and out and he wondered, then, if something similar had bitten Johnny in the ass this morning. Couldn’t remember a time when the other man was voluntarily awake before the clock swung into double digit hours but he'd sounded wide awake on the phone. 

A good sign, V hoped. Maybe Johnny was finally starting to take more of an active interest in the world outside the loft's floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Johnny was waiting downstairs for him when he pulled up, V eyeing him where the other man was leaning back against the wall of the apartment building, shades on, a cloud of smoke easing into the air around him as he exhaled and he seemed… relaxed. Or as relaxed as he could reasonably expect to be, at least in the eyes of those who'd know better. Johnny had always adopted a sense of languid danger, subtle tensions held in his body and a distinct "fuck off" aura that kept most people out of his personal space until he decided otherwise. But V knew how to look past it, to spot the worry areas where they tended to gather, and knew what it looked like when they weren't there. Jaw unclenched, fingers lax, shoulders held at ease, and when V stepped out of the car and walked over the glasses came off and he could see the lack of shadows under his eyes. 

He looked…good. 

And startled. 

V bit back a grin.

"You're blond."

"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze."

"Fuck you," Johnny retorted, shaking his head, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. He slung his glasses into the collar of his tank top and stepped into V's space, running his 'ganic fingers through V's freshly golden locks. "I don't think I've ever seen you with hair that wasn't green or…darker green."

"I've done blue," V pointed out. 

"For like a day, then right back to green."

"Green's the superior color."

"And blond?" 

V shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "Sometimes I like to venture out of my comfort zone."

"You can tell me if you grabbed Kerry's dye by mistake," Johnny pointed out. "I won't judge."

"Firstly, yes you would, and secondly, fuck off, I did this on purpose." He didn't pull away, easing into this part of Johnny's little rituals. Watched as the other man's eyes tracked to the stubborn streak of white hair, felt it as his fingers gently moved along his scalp until the tips brushed against the scar. Let his gaze drop to the necklace Johnny'd been wearing for weeks now, reaching out to trace his own fingers over the familiar circle with its bullet anchored in the center. 

"Sleeping okay?"

"A little." 

"Wasn't expecting you to be up so bright and early."

"Had a good night last night." Johnny's fingers slipped away and he held his hand out instead. V handed over his key fob and followed him back to his car, sliding into the passenger seat this time while Johnny got comfortable in the driver's. 

It'd taken a while to get Johnny to admit to the nightmares. To the too real, too visceral nature of them, mixtures of muddied memories lending shape and dimension to worries and fears, twisting them into something that made sleep a thing to dread at the best of times. Past mistakes were one thing, more liable to leave Johnny grumpy than anything else. 

It was the dreams about V that hurt the most. 

"It's like I'm you and I'm not, like I'm paralyzed, watching it play out again and again and again and I can't do a fucking thing about it." Remembered agitation and V hadn't needed all the details to know what Johnny was seeing in those dreams, the imprint of those memories as indelible as the ink under his skin. Harsh neon lights lingering in shadows, carpet sticky underfoot, the creak of ancient AC's and it hadn't been any better in that room. Closed in, trapped, thoughts scattered with grief of the bone-deep, heartsick variety and it'd been hard to determine if the blood on his hands was his or Jackie's. 

Then a starburst of pain, a twisting in the gut and tightness in his throat and he'd been too enraged to feel fear even as the gun went off and everything had gone dark. 

Johnny shouldn't have had to see that part; bad enough he could remember them crawling their way out of that landfill, a hazy specter awakening in V's dying mind. 

He didn't need more nightmare fuel when he had plenty demons all his own to contend with. 

"So what kinda adventure awaits us today?" V asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He glanced sidelong at Johnny, smiling a little as the rockerboy floored the gas and sent them tearing up the street, chased by a cacophony of shouts and car horns. V didn't tell him to slow down; he didn't even flinch. Wasn't sure if it was something that had bled between them, but Johnny drove like V himself often did, brushing up against the edge of outright reckless tempered by a confidence born from years driving these streets. Speeding was one thing; actively causing accidents was another. 

V wasn't worried about his car with Johnny at the wheel. 

"Little trip down memory lane," was all the answer he got before Johnny cranked up the radio, and V smiled at the opening riff of one of Kerry's songs. Caught the flash of tension in Johnny's hand where it gripped the steering wheel and watched it ease, watched him relax and start tapping out the beat against his thigh with his free hand. 

V contemplated asking him whose memory as Johnny rolled down both their windows, letting the wind whip inside, and ultimately decided against it. 

He liked that Johnny could surprise him these days.

[godsofyfirheim]

Communities

Hey, I just wanted to give a heads up that I run two communities over on Pillowfort that would love new members.

One is The Wall - its a Blackwall fandom community. The other is Artist Workshop - A new community that's designed around helping each other with art. All skill levels are welcome! You can be a digital blorbo artist or a traditional landscape painter without being judged for it.

Both communities are for adults. Respect for tagging on Pillowfort alongside a filter means you can avoid what you do not want to see.

Pillowfort is now free to sign up!

(But if you have a problem I can generate up to three invites a week.)

Though it is quiet due to its small size it is also the nicest online space I have ever been a part of. Its incredibly rare to hear of drama on there. People are very friendly and helpful.

I look forward to seeing you guys!

(and please ask any questions you have.)

[herenya-writes]

Day 7: Drip

Straw flew into the air as Arlaros slashed his newly-bladed staff across the dummy’s torso. The training dummy barely resembled a humanoid anymore, but Arlaros didn’t care. He adjusted his stance and jabbed his staff forward three times in quick succession.

He backed away, circling his target as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his blood sang with magic that yearned to be unleashed. He pushed that feeling back, and lunged at the dummy again. He slashed at its sides, trying different stance and speeds until his arms felt like they had been replaced with molten metal.

A yell tore itself from his throat as he jumped forward and drove his staff into the target’s shoulder and ripped upward, straw spraying into the air like blood. He spun his staff and brought the blunt end down on the mangled mess that was supposed to be the dummy’s head. The crack of wood on wood rang through the air and seemed to reverberate up his burning arms.

Suddenly exhausted, Arlaros leaned on his staff. Sweat dripped into his eyes and his chest heaved with breath he couldn’t quite catch. Time swam past, and when he finally came back to himself he realized he had no idea how long he had been here. The sun was long gone, and the courtyard was empty. Empty, that was, except for a lone figure who leaned against the stone steps gazing at him.

Arlaros wiped the sweat from his forehead and brushed off the straw that clung to his arms. The straw prickled his fingers as he did, and he knew he would have blisters tomorrow if he didn’t see a healer tonight. Then, he walked over to where Dorian stood.

“Did that thing call your mother rude names?” the mage asked. “I can’t think of another reason for you to rip it apart with such prejudice.”

Arlaros didn’t answer. He was too tired for Dorian’s games.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at his silence. Then his eyes roamed over him, narrowing as they went. “You look terrible. It’s like you lost a fight with a demon made of straw,” he said once his inspection was complete. “Don’t let Madame de Fer see you in this state.”

Arlaros swallowed dryly. “How is Blackwall?”

Dorian frowned. “You sound like you’ve been gargling sand. When’s the last time you drank something?”

“How is Blackwall?”

Dorian held his gaze. Emotions flickered in the brown of his eyes, but Arlaros was too tired and too empty to try and decipher them. Eventually, Dorain said, “He’s fine. He’s still with the healers, but they say he’ll make a full recovery as long as he rests for a few weeks.”

Arlaros gripped his staff tighter, and his hand burned. He looked toward the healers’ tents and could see light filtering out from them. Blackwall had been in there for hours. The demon’s claws had shredded through his armor like it was paper, and Arlaros hadn’t been able to stop it.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Dorian stepped forward, blocking his view of the tents and forcing their eyes to meet again. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

Arlaros grit his teeth and gripped his staff until the wood dug uncomfortably into the tender skin of his palms.

“You cannot stop every awful thing in the world from happening. You might be Andraste’s chosen and have a glowing mark on your hand, but as far as I’m aware that hasn’t given you the power to see the future. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up Arlaros’s throat and he swallowed it down. “I’m the fucking Inquisitor! It’s my job to keep people safe!” he hissed. “If I can’t protect the people around me, how am I supposed to protect the world?” Dorian opened his mouth, but Arlaros pressed forward, sparks popping in the air around him. “I overextend myself and drained my magical reserves. You and Cole were on the other side of the battlefield. I was the only person Blackwall had, and I let him get shredded by a demon.”

“And you think destroying a training dummy will turn back time? We both know that isn’t how these things work.”

“I won’t let this happen again,” Arlaros answered. “I refused to be caught unprepared. I won’t let my inexperience as a soldier put any of you in danger again.”

Something in Dorian’s eyes softened. He shook his head and reached for Arlaros’s hands, pulling his staff from his grasp. He tensed instinctively, but Dorian’s hold was gentle and his tired muscles were all too happy to relax. Dorian’s hands began to glow and the air hummed as he pushed healing magic into Arlaros’s hands.

“You demand too much of yourself,” Dorian murmured. Arlaros wanted to argue, to remind him that he had been named the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, the leader of this band of people who were trying to save the world. But he was tired, and Dorian’s magic was soothing.

When Dorian finally let go, Arlaros’s eyelids were drooping. He forced his wandering mind back to his body and stood up straight, but there was no fooling Dorian now. The man smiled and held out his arm. “Let’s get you to bed, Inquisitor.”

Arlaros nodded and let Dorian lead him back to his room. When they reached the door to his tower, Arlaros stopped and turned so that their eyes met. “Tell Leliana to send a messenger if Blackwall’s status changes.”

Dorian nodded. “I will. Now go to sleep.”

Arlaros held his gaze a moment longer, trying to decide if Dorian was actually going to do what he told him to. Eventually, he decided he would just have to trust him. “Thank you,” he said.

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mention it. I can’t have the people around here thinking I’m soft.”

A tired smile pulled at Arlaros’s lips, and he opened the door to the tower. The last thing he saw before he slipped inside were Dorian’s warm eyes.

[wyrmguardsecrets]

the shitty gilneas guild has no filter on the people they let in; multiple problematic people and crazy ass gatekeeping on their RP. you must accept they are the rulers of Gilneas or they will blackwall you from any interaction. they absolutely love AI art and their officers are constantly posting AI art porn of their characters and bragging about it. hard avoid for anyone in there.

.

[merge-conflict]

actually no, I think people should actually know that this is what I think of whenever the game mentions the Blackwall and keeping AIs sealed behind it:

The Security Flag in the IPv4 Header

(you can read this joke RFC in its full original format here: https://www.ietf.org/rfc/rfc3514.txt)

Abstract

Firewalls, packet filters, intrusion detection systems, and the like often have difficulty distinguishing between packets that have malicious intent and those that are merely unusual. We define a security flag in the IPv4 header as a means of distinguishing the two cases.

1. Introduction

Firewalls [CBR03], packet filters, intrusion detection systems, and the like often have difficulty distinguishing between packets that have malicious intent and those that are merely unusual. The problem is that making such determinations is hard. To solve this problem, we define a security flag, known as the "evil" bit, in the IPv4 [RFC791] header. Benign packets have this bit set to 0; those that are used for an attack will have the bit set to 1.

1.1. Terminology

The keywords MUST, MUST NOT, REQUIRED, SHALL, SHALL NOT, SHOULD, SHOULD NOT, RECOMMENDED, MAY, and OPTIONAL, when they appear in this document, are to be interpreted as described in [RFC2119].

2. Syntax

The high-order bit of the IP fragment offset field is the only unused bit in the IP header. Accordingly, the selection of the bit position is not left to IANA.

The bit field is laid out as follows:

0

+-+

|E|

+-+

Currently-assigned values are defined as follows:

0x0 If the bit is set to 0, the packet has no evil intent. Hosts, network elements, etc., SHOULD assume that the packet is harmless, and SHOULD NOT take any defensive measures. (We note that this part of the spec is already implemented by many common desktop operating systems.)

0x1 If the bit is set to 1, the packet has evil intent. Secure systems SHOULD try to defend themselves against such packets. Insecure systems MAY chose to crash, be penetrated, etc.

---

Now, presumably the implementation of this RFC on all network traffic makes the Blackwall very easy to operate! All "bad" (AI) traffic is set with an evil bit, and all "good" (non-AI) traffic has the evil bit unset. This has the added benefit of protecting everyone against any network attacks, as there is absolutely no way anyone would ever make their evil attacks look like normal network traffic because that would be ILLEGAL!

[conversationswiththemoon]

Arcane Screenshots: Companions, Part 3

Sorry, no Blackwall or Bull this time. I did a really pared-down run and didn’t recruit either this time.

Varric & Bianca

Cassandra “I Will Literally Throw The Book At You” Pentaghast

Sera

Vivienne, Madame de Fer

Cassandra

Dorian

Sera

Varric

Dorian

Viv

A grieving Viv

Divine Victoria / Cassandra

Cole

Solas

– ARCANE FILTER SCREENSHOTS –

Inquisitor Ellena Lavellan

Inquisitior Ellena Lavellan, Part II

Inquisitor Asha Lavellan

My Other Inquisitors

Companions Part I

Companions Part II

Companions Part III

Advisors And Leaders Part I

Advisors And Leaders Part II

Advisors And Leaders Part III

Various Inquisition Characters Part I

Various Inquisition Characters Part II

Various Inquisition Characters Part III

[thievinghippo]

Daffodil for Bethroot and Blackwall

Rainier hoped their last day at Skyhold would have been sunny.

Instead the clouds overhead seem almost oppressive and the wind, cruel. They’ve had to tie down their trunks to ensure that none will fall off the wagon as they head down the mountains. He’s not looking forward to sitting out in the elements as they leave the area.

Only a handful of people are left in Skyhold. The mages have all relocated to Redcliffe, the majority of forces released from service or returned to their original patrons. Even all of the servants are gone, Bethroot taking the time to write out letter after letter of recommendation, to help them all find new positions.

Rainier wonders who will claim the fortress for their own after the Inquisition formally relinquishes it’s hold. Surely someone will try to set themselves up as lord of the Frostback Mountains. Or perhaps Ferelden or Orlais will try to sneak in and expand their territory before the other country notices.

Whatever Skyhold’s future brings, Rainier won’t be a part of it any longer.

Seems strange to think that. Skyhold’s been his home for almost four years now, the longest stretch he’s had in his adult life. His time in the Orlesian army was spent chasing after the next promotion and never settling down. Back then he was content to sleep in the barracks, close to the men and women under his command, hoarding his gold as best he could, never having enough.

“We just need the Inquisitor and we’ll be on our way,” Josephine says quietly. Next to her stands her husband, Adorno, his fingers curled into the fabric at her waist. Rainier didn’t quite understand why Lady Montilyet was willing to enter an arranged marriage, but it seems to have worked out for the two of them. And anyway, who is he to judge someone else’s choice.

“I suppose that means I should find her,” Rainier says.

He already knows exactly where she is; he saw her sneak into the barn not too long ago. The stables have been empty for weeks. Rainier can admit he misses the horses and especially misses the steady companionship of Horse Master Dennet.

His wife - and he will never tire of calling her that - has been quiet these past few days. Whenever Bethroot is quiet, there’s always a small part of him that worries. He’s grown so used to her talking about everything and anything under the sun, that when she chooses to keep her thoughts to herself, something feels off.

This quiet, though, he understands. She’s disbanded everything she’s built over the past four years. Not to mention the threat of bloody Solas lurking behind every piece of news they receive across the southern continent.

He can see her silhouette as he enters the barn. Bethroot is sitting on the stairs leading up to the loft. Before he even enters her line of sight, she asks, “It’s time?”

“Yes.”

When he stands before her, he’s not sure of what to expect. Will she be sad? Resigned? For what it’s worth, Rainier’s looking forward to a bit of an adventure. Bethroot gave away most of the Inquisition’s funds away to those leaving its service, leaving hardly any for herself. They won’t have much coin, and for someone once so controlled by gold, it’s absolutely liberating.

To his relief, she’s smiling. Not broadly, but enough that Rainier believes it’s real.

Bethroot glances up towards the loft. “How many times do you think we had sex up there over the years?”

Rainier holds out his hand. “I don’t think I can count that high, Bethy.”

She laughs, just like he hopes, and places her hand in hers. “We’ll have to find new places, won’t we?” she asks.

“I can show you a few of my old favorites in Markham,” he says.

Markham. Hard to believe he’s going back there by choice. But he and Bethroot want to tour the Free Marches a bit, see what sort of good they can do, before taking Varric up on his offer of a home in Kirkwall.

He must admit, he’s looking forward to introducing Bethroot to his cousins and the few aunts and uncles that are still in town. Perhaps they’ll have time to explore a few of his old haunts.

“I just… It’s hard to believe this day is finally here,” Bethroot says, squeezing his hand.

“Better days ahead, I think,” Rainier says, truly meaning the words. There’s a sense of freedom with the Inquisition disbanded. He and Bethroot can go wherever they want, do whatever they want. Solas, that bastard, still remains a threat, but they can still have a life of their own. Start a family of their own.

Bethroot nods and stops just as they leave the barn doors. She looks back and Rainier does, too. His woodworking table’s still there, though his tools are packed safely away. His chair in front of the fire. Four years, this had been home.

“Better days ahead,” she repeats, her voice full of promise.

She takes a breath and starts walking towards the wagon. Rainier matches her step by step and neither one of them look back.

[emmavakarian-theirin]

[breadedsinner]

WIP Wednesday

***

The Champion seemed an entirely different person once the helmet was on. Less a person, more a force. Not the clean righteousness of Cassandra, nor the shimmering majesty of Vivienne and her magic. Hawke’s brown eyes and plush smile always offset the menace of her black, spiked armor, but when the helmet was donned, a sleek surface with sharp eye-slit and pointed visor—fittingly beak-like—her head encased in steel and chains, she became this raw, pulsing fury. It was controlled; the rapid rushing of her blade like a running river, as pretty as it is dangerous.

Cadash waited for a clear shot, as the Terror Demon scraped and slashed against Blackwall’s shield. She could hear his battered huffing; he was getting tired, they all were. She made a dash to the side and lined up her shot while her Warden still had its attention, but before her bowstring could snap, Hawke’s blade cleaved through the demon’s scraggly torso, its dismembered form combusting into flickers of green light, a screech swirling into the abyss. As it came apart, Cadash saw a pile of Shades come part into flakes of light. Cadash gasped, all the demons in this area were cleared. Varric wasn’t kidding, she was especially good at killing demons. A rushing river, destruction in her wake.

“I owe you one,” said Cadash.

“The least I could do, Your Worship,” a raspy voice filtered through the slits of her visor.

“Yes,” said a voice, dark and dripping like sludge from an unknown ceiling. “She’s very good at keeping herself alive, isn’t she?”

[merrybandofmurderers]

[ID: A drawing of a blonde dwarf and Blackwall sitting in a barn on yellow hay; sunlight filters through the wooden slats behind them. Blackwall is wearing dark beige armor with a grey chestplate and brown gloves. His hair is in a bun, and his head is turned to the right to look tenderly at his partner. The dwarf has long blonde hair in a ponytail and light stubble and is smiling at Blackwall with their right hand on Blackwall’s knee. They are wearing a light beige tunic with brown, turquoise, and gold detailing and a wide belt. /END ID]

i recently got a slot in @sermna ‘s couple commission sale, and she did this GORGEOUS illust of my quiz Fletcher and their romance Blackwall !! i couldn’t be happier with how it turned out! if you’re looking for an artist to commission, i can’t recommend meg enough, she got everything perfect !!

(oc pronouns they/them)