#cabal cut

[starxrender]

A close up of a most interesting breed.

[angelof-thevoid]

Hobbies / Scholar

Soft scratching sounds fill the room as she draws pen against paper, leaving steady and precise ink strokes in its wake. When the tip runs dry, Ikora dips it into the small bottle of dark liquid perched in the corner of her desk, metal making the slightest clinking noise when it makes contact with the glass. 

Impractical as it may be, there was something soothing about traditional writing when taking personal notes of her research. Usually, everything could be found in a digitized form available from a database or via their ghosts. But she still believed there was value in practicing good handwriting. 

You never know if something could happen where you would need it, a hard lesson learned after the red war. Lacking access to digital information and hard line connected communications as cabal soldiers trampled the city underfoot taught her that the older ways of technology still had their uses. 

Radio was a main staple until they purged the red legion and got the city networks back up. Information written down and passed through scavenged scraps of paper when they needed to share vital details quietly. She also didn’t have her personal data pad, and telling Ophiuchus every troubled thought or concern was out of the question. Some things were best kept private to a guardian’s own mind. 

Besides, there was something soothing about recording with her own writing, seeing letters brought into reality guided by one’s own hand instead of automated by a screen or keyboard. A different kind of satisfying to have something other than the boring pixel perfect font, Ikora’s work is a flowing script with the minor flaws of her real hand.

It was also a nice way to make use of a calligraphy set gift given to her as a holiday present, being astutely thought to appreciate old historical techniques and hobbies. Ikora even considered the idea of using it to do personally written letters to others closest to her, but part of her wondered who for. She would want to do it for someone who could share her appreciation of an old art. 

Zavala was a pragmatist and likely thought keeping things digitally was more efficient than taking handwritten notes. There’s Chalco, but Chalco seldom sat still enough and it wasn’t an impossibility that anything sent to her post would be waiting a while. Ikora would hope to send a letter to someone who would see it.

Someone who would also send letters the old fashioned way. Ikora finishes off her notes and gives the ink a chance to dry on the page before pulling open a drawer for storing private papers. In it she finds an old piece of hive leather with writing scratched into it by a practiced hand, its strange odor long faded from when it first arrived. Now that’s an idea. Ikora smiles to herself as she rummages around for a fresh piece of paper and checks the small bottle of ink to make sure it remains wet. Pleased with the liquid she dips the calligraphy pen, clink clink clink, and begins to write.

Dear Eris-

[ali3nboyfriend]

i’ve never seen anyone design anything the way the destiny franchise designs aliens, and i think the reason their alien designs are so unique and interesting is because they’re just completely unafraid of making them ugly.

other media wants their aliens and monsters to have aesthetic appeal above anything else; even if something is meant to horrify you, they want it to be good to look at. anything that makes a design unattractive past a certain point is usually left on the cutting room floor. and this is an understandable practice! humans are a very aesthetically inclined species!

but look at the aliens in destiny!

they’ve got weird stuff going on! cabal faces straight up look like a scrotum! psions are soooo egg-shaped and malnourished looking, and hive have a bad case of muppet mouth on top of looking like human skeletons with bug parts grafted on. eliksni are gangly and awkwardly shaped and in-game they are constantly hunched over.

a lot of the times (except for with the hive), these features are covered with armor and helmets, and i think that's pretty unfortunate because the base designs for these guys are so interesting to look at!!!

the same principals go for unique enemies like rhulk and nezarec. they're ugly!!! and that's the appealing part!!! rhulk's head is long and almost perfectly cylindrical and his feet can't decide if they're hooves or paws; nezarec has a face like a rotary phone and a second, vestigial thumb, as well as weirdly shaped monkey feet.

and it would be one thing if these features were presented to evoke horror -- but the thing is, i would argue, they're not. they're just presented. it's never a matter of "look how scary this thing is." even though we meet most of these aliens as enemies, their looks are allowed to just... be what they are. they don't look like that to scare us. they just look like that.

and i think that's a really fascinating lesson in monster/alien design! i love monster designs that are objectively appealing and nice to look at, but i honestly wish more media did things like this, because it makes the universe so interesting!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Iowa's starvation strategy

I don’t really buy that “the cruelty is the point.” I’m a materialist. Money talks, bullshit walks. When billionaires fund unimaginably cruel policies, I think the cruelty is a tactic, a way to get the turkeys to vote for Christmas. After all, policies that grow the fortune of the 1% at the expense of the rest of us have a natural 99% disapproval rating.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/19/whats-wrong-with-iowa/#replicable-cruelty

So when some monstrous new law or policy comes down the pike, it’s best understood as a way of getting frightened, angry — and often hateful — people to vote for policies that will actively harm them, by claiming that they will harm others — brown and Black people, women, queers, and the “undeserving” poor.

Pro-oligarch policies don’t win democratic support — but policies that inflict harm a ginned-up group of enemies might. Oligarchs need frightened, hateful people to vote for policies that will secure and expand the power of the rich. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the strategy. The point isn’t cruelty, it’s power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/25/roe-v-wade-v-abortion/#no-i-in-uterus

But that doesn’t change the fact that the policies are cruel indeed. Take Iowa, whose billionaire-backed far-right legislature is on a tear, a killing spree that includes active collaboration with rapists, through a law that denies abortion care to survivors of rape and forces them to bear and care for their rapists’ babies:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/16/us/politics/iowa-kamala-harris-abortion.html

The forced birth movement is part of the wider far-right tactic of standing up for imaginary children (e.g. “the unborn,” fictional victims of Hollywood pedo cabals), and utterly abandons real children: poor kids who can’t afford school lunches, kids in cages, kids victimized by youth pastors, kids forced into child labor, etc.

So Iowa isn’t just a forced birth state, it’s a state where children are now to be starved, literally. The state legislature has just authorized an $18m project to kick people off of SNAP (aka food stamps). 270,000 people in Iowa rely on SNAP: elderly people, disabled people, and parents who can’t feed their kids.

Writing in the Washington Post, Kyle Swenson profiles some of these Iowans, like an elderly woman who visited Lisa Spitler’s food pantry for help and said that state officials had told her that she was only eligible for $23/month in assistance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2023/04/16/iowa-snap-restrictions-food-stamps/

That’s because Iowa governor KimReynolds signed a bill cutting the additional SNAP aid — federally funded, and free to the state taxpayers of Iowa — that had been made available during the lockdown. Since then, food pantries have been left to paper over the cracks in the system, as Iowans begin to starve.

Before the pandemic, Spitler’s food pantry saw 30 new families a month. Now it’s 100 — and growing. Many of these families have been kicked off of SNAP because they failed to complete useless and confusing paperwork, or did so but missed the short deadlines now imposed by the state. For example, people with permanent disabilities and elderly people who no longer work must continuously file new paperwork confirming that their income hasn’t changed. Their income never changes.

SNAP recipients often work, borrow from relations, and visit food pantries, and still can’t make ends meet, like Amy Cunningham, a 31 year old mother of four in Charlton. She works at a Subway, has tapped her relatives for all they can afford, and relies on her $594/month in SNAP to keep her kids from going hungry. She missed her notice of an annual review and was kicked off the program. Getting kicked off took an instant. Getting reinstated took a starving eternity.

Iowa has a budget surplus of $1.91B. This doesn’t stop ghouls like Iowa House speaker Pat Grassley (a born-rich nepobaby whose grandpa is Senator Chuck Grassley) from claiming that the cuts were a necessity: “[SNAP is] growing within the budget, and are putting pressure on us being able to fund other priorities.”

Grassley’s caucus passed legislation on Jan 30 to kick people off of SNAP if their combined assets, including their work vehicle, total to more than $15,000. SNAP recipients will be subject to invasive means-testing and verification, which will raise the cost of administering SNAP from $2.2m to $18m. Anyone who gets flagged by the system has 10 days to respond or they’ll be kicked off of SNAP.

The state GOP justifies this by claiming that SNAP has an “error rate” of 11.81%. But that “error rate” includes people who were kicked off SNAP erroneously, a circumstance that is much more common than fraud, which is almost nonexistent in SNAP programs. Iowa’s error rate is in line with the national average.

Iowa’s pro-starvation law was authored by a conservative dark-money “think tank” based in Florida: the Opportunity Solutions Project, the lobbying arm of Foundation For Government Accountability, run by Tarren Bragdon, a Maine politician with a knack for getting money from the Koch Network and the DeVos family for projects that punish, humiliate and kill marginalized people. The Iowa bill mirrors provisions passed in Kentucky, Kansas, Wisconsin and elsewhere — and goes beyond them.

The law was wildly unpopular, but it passed anyway. It’s part of the GOP’s push for massive increases in government spending and bureaucracy — but only when those increases go to punishing poor people, policing poor people, jailing poor people, and spying on poor people. It’s truly amazing that the “party of small government” would increase bureaucratic spending to administer SNAP by 800% — and do it with a straight face.

In his essay “The Utopia of Rules,” David Graeber (Rest in Power) described this pathology: just a couple decades ago, the right told us that our biggest threat was Soviet expansion, which would end the “American way of life” and replace it with a dismal world where you spent endless hours filling in pointless forms, endured hunger and substandard housing, and shopped at identical stores that all carried the same goods:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

A society that can’t feed, house and educate its residents is a failed state. America’s inability to do politics without giving corporations a fat and undeserved share is immiserating an ever-larger share of its people. Federally, SNAP is under huge stress, thanks to the “public-private partnership” at the root of a badly needed “digital overhaul” of the program.

Writing for The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein describes how the USDA changed SNAP rules to let people pay with SNAP for groceries ordered online, as a way to deal with the growing problem of food deserts in poor and rural communities:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-04-19-retail-surveils-food-stamp-users/

It’s a good idea — in theory. But it was sabotaged from the start: first, the proposed rule was altered to ban paying for delivery costs with SNAP, meaning that anyone who ordered food online would have to use scarce cash reserves to pay delivery fees. Then, the USDA declined to negotiate discounts on behalf of the 40 million SNAP users. Finally, the SNAP ecommerce rules don’t include any privacy protections, which will be a bonanza for shadowy data-brokers, who’ll mine SNAP recipients’ data to create marketing lists for scammers, predatory lenders, and other bottom-feeder:

https://www.democraticmedia.org/sites/default/files/field/public-files/2020/cdd_snap_report_ff.pdf

The GOP’s best weapon in this war is statistical illiteracy. While racist, sexist and queerphobic policies mean that marginalized people are more likely than white people to be poor, America’s large population of white people — including elderly white people who are the immovable core of the GOP base — means that policies that target poor people inevitably inflict vast harms on the GOP’s most devoted followers.

Getting these turkeys to vote for Christmas is a sound investment for the ultra-rich, who claim a larger share of the American pie every year. The rich may or may not be racist, or sexist, or queerphobic — some of them surely are — but the reason they pour money into campaigns to stoke divisions among working people isn’t because they get off on hatred. The hatred is a tactic. The cruelty is a tactic. The strategic goal is wealth and power.

Tomorrow (Apr 21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference. This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: The Iowa state-house. On the right side of the steps is an engraved drawing of Oliver Twist, holding out his porridge bowl. On the left side is the cook, denying him an extra portion. Peeking out from behind the dome is a business-man in a suit with a dollar-sign-emblazoned money-bag for a head.]

Image: Iqkotze (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Iowa_State_Capitol_April_2010.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[unlucky-phantom]

Losing his spark: Cayde-6 x Solar Guardian reader

so, my first actual full fic. Don't get your hopes up, I've no idea if this is any good or makes any sense, tried to keep it as in character as possible. It's barely proofread and I'm only like 4 hours sleep so excuse any typos but fingers crossed it all makes some sense.

as always, have a good day lovlies and I hope you enjoy xoxox

WARNINGS: Death, injury detail, angst and violence under the cut, if you can't handle these please scroll away, I promise I'll write something fluffy and sweet.

Well, this wasn't going as expected.

Cayde and yourself had been trusted with what was supposed to be a simple in and out mission. Into the cabal stronghold, grab the intel (maybe shoot a few bad guys and look good doing it) then back to the tower in time for some piping hot ramen. His plan was flawless. or as you had called it "winging it".

Praise was reserved for quiet moments, whispers about how you were his favourite, how he had never seen such a bright solar spark in all his years at the tower, just so he could watch the blush bloom onto your cheeks and your smile. Oh, your smile, he would set aside what little pride and dignity he had to see it just once. You could point at any star in the night sky and if you asked, he would retrieve it for you. If only he had the guts to tell you this. He would eventually. He had plans, a clear summer night, hot ramen, something strong to drink with a nice kick. Just the two of you.

Well, you had always been overly cautious, but it worked surprisingly well for the pair of you. Cayde, the man with the plan and a slightly headstrong attitude and you, cautious and always with 6 back up plans. That's what he loved about you, of course, he wouldn't say that out loud, no, he had a reputation to maintain.

The mission was going well. the pair of you had crept into the cabal's stronghold unseen. Suspiciously easy. That's when all hell broke loose. The plan was lock tight. They shouldn't have known you were there but now both of you were up shit creek without a paddle...or a boat...or a life jacket. Someone must have tipped them off. Legionaries, phalanxes, gladiators, centurions, and war beasts surged out of every doorway and corridor. It was nothing either of you couldn't handle.

He thought.

As bullets flew the pair of you slowly drifted apart, swamped by cabal, the well-oiled machine the pair of you were when fighting started to rust. Soon you were just a distant blur of solar energy. His little firefly, his solar flare. He couldn't stand and watch though, as shot after shot was fired from his trusty hand cannon into the swam of red.

The ambush was thinning, he knew the pair of you would pull through you always did.

Then he felt it.

As if a part of his own light was ripped from his very being. A tidal wave that rocked the whole room, he had to catch himself from being thrown against the wall as the pure light that surged through the area bowled him over, knocking the wind out of him. No. Not you.

The red tide didn't stop, but the surprise of the explosion gave him the perfect window to see the despair as your ghosts shattered shell, lightless, scattered across the floor. The scream trapped in your throat as the gladiator speared you onto its cabal serverus blade, the stench of searing flesh permeating the air, the way your legs buckled, and body thudded against the floor as the gladiator kicked you off its blade.

The war beast that clamped down onto his left arm causing him to drop his hand cannon was first to feel his retribution. Snapping out of his trance he grits his teeth, throwing the war beast with such force it dented the steel wall behind him and grabbing ace he reloads and unleashes hell. Shot after shot echoed over the roaring screams of the cabal. Bones crunched, tendons snapped and popped until all that was left was the gladiator, your body at its feet in a gasping crumpled mess.

Cayde saw red. He doesn't know how many rounds he pumped into the gladiator. He doesn't remember ripping its jaw apart as he screams in pure unbridled anger. He doesn’t remember being beating it into a bloody unrecognisable mess.

The red tide was now a red sea. Cayde had spilt enough blood in his lifetime, and he would spill more in future. But now wasn't the time to dwell on his crimson-stained past.

It was Sundance who snapped him out of his anger, his body tense, chest heaving. "Cayde....they need you" Sundance says quietly.

Cayde is at your side in an instant, hand barely able to cover the ragged wound in your abdomen as he pulls you onto his lap. "No no no no no" he mumbles his hand instantly soaked in your blood. You had always been a paragon of strength, the pair of you often rough and tumbling in the tower, sparring in the training room, but now in his arms you felt fragile, body trembling as you gulped for air.

"h-hey" you rasped weakly a pained smile on your face. "We...we sure showed them."

He choked on his words "Yeah, we sure did”.

"I’m sorry"

Why were you apologising? You shouldn't be apologising. He should have been beside you; he should have been better; he should have done more. It should have been him. His thoughts fly a million miles an hour.

"Don't you dare apologise" he rasps, his voice synthesiser becoming more staticky.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have been more" you whisper, his hands stroke your hair as he rocks you gently.

"Wasn’t supposed to be like this. Was supposed to take you back home, treat you real nice" he growls in frustration. He couldnt loose you, not now. Not after there was so much he wanted to do, so many words left unsaid. He had saved so many cheesy pick up plines, so many date ideas, crimson day, festival of the lost, the dawning festival.

He had plans for every single one with you beside him. He removes your helmet, if he was going to say this if he was going to hold you in your final moments, he wanted to see those eyes he loved so much. the ones he would think about late at night, the ones he longed to see when he would turn in bed to the emptiness of cold sheets. Sheets that would remain cold. That would never see your warmth.

"Oh yeah? tell…Tell me about it" You begin to cough, and his arms tighten around you, he can feel the visceral rattling gurgle that accompanies each breath and he knows it will haunt him.

"Was gonna take you to that ramen spot in the city, you know, the really nice one in the city, has the pretty lanterns outside? yeah, I’d get you whatever you wanted, on me, really spoil you. Then I’d take you to our spot-"

"That little overlook on the city wall?" your voice, quiet and scratchy barely reaches his audio receptors.

He nods smiling through the pain to keep you relaxed, he had time to scream and shout and cry later, right now you were the only important thing "that's the one. Bring with us a little something to drink and watch the sunset. Maybe we would have a little slow dance under the stars. Always said I’d take you dancing one day didn't I?" the static in his voice was becoming more prominent as he had to force the words out, willing his body to stop trembling, trying to comfort you.

“Sounds nice”

“Then I'd tell you everything, everything I should have told you months ago” he mumbles burring his face in your hair, if he could cry he's sure he would be in floods, just another reason he despised his exo body.

“It's okay, I knew”.

“You knew?”

You weakly nod and struggle to put on a smile, bloody lips barely managing to up turn, your face was pale. You were fading fast, trickling through his fingers like sand and no matter how hard he tried it was like trying to catch water with a siv. “Always knew. I love you to”.

He can feel your faint heartbeat getting harder and harder to pick up under his blood-soaked fingers.

“I love you”.

Sundance didn’t have the heart to tell him they were already gone before he said those three words. She wasn’t ever going to tell him.

You knew.

You had always known.

Traveler help the poor bastard who tipped off the cabal about their arrival. Because no force within the known galaxy could protect them from Cayde-6

[borninwinter81]

I've been rediscovering my love for Clive Barker this week due to finally managing to see The Ultimate Cabal Cut of Nightbreed (some kind soul has uploaded it to YouTube) and then re-reading Cabal, the book it was based on.

Cabal is amongst my favourite books ever written (though as a bibliophile that list is extremely long!) and one of my favourite movies. I originally saw it in the early 90s when I was probably far too young, and read the book not long after.

I backed the Occupy Midian campaign in 2012 when the lost footage was being searched for and reintegrated into the movie, and I attended a screening of one of the early edits where I met Nicholas Vince and Simon Bamford (Kinski and Ohnaka in Nightbreed, but better known as two of the Cenobites from Hellraiser). This led to the eventual DVD/Blu-ray release of The Directors Cut (which I got a physical copy of) and then The Ultimate Cabal Cut (which I didn’t, and which I haven't seen until now).

It's an oversimplification to call Barker's work horror, especially in Cabal/Nightbreed - this was the mistake the production company made when originally editing and marketing it.

Clive Barker's vision shows us the beauty of the weird, the macabre, the abnormal, and the supernatural, and the true horror in his work comes from the "normal".

In Cabal/Nightbreed his monsters are not evil, they're simply different - undead, mutants and supernatural beings, a metaphor for anyone who has ever felt othered by society. Midian is a place where they can live safely with no fear or judgement. The evil characters are "naturals", humans who hate and fear the monsters for being different even though they pose no threat, and ultimately try to destroy them.

As a member of the LGBT community it's easy to see where Barker's motivation for this metaphor came from, but it could equally apply to just about anyone who feels like they don't fit in. Certainly as a lonely, bullied, weird child when I first read/saw it, who then grew up into a reasonably weird adult, I'd love for the monsters to come and take me away to Midian.

Anyone seeing this who isn't familiar with the book/movie, I'd urge you to look them up, as well as others by Barker. More of my favourites by him are Imajica, Abarat and of course The Hellbound Heart, filmed as Hellraiser. The Forbidden from short story anthology The Books of Blood was also filmed as Candyman.

Below I've linked The Cabal Cut of Nightbreed. Even if you know and love the original theatrical release I'd still urge you to watch this (quick as you can in case its removed due to copyright!).

In addition to doubling the movie length from 1 hour 40 mins to 3 hours 20 mins, a number of the actors voices have been re-recorded as they were overdubbed in the theatrical version for some reason, notably those of Rachel, and Lylesberg, played by Doug Bradley. It was a crime to remove that man's beautiful voice and wonderful to hear it back where its meant to be.

Also, rather than being a standard horror movie heroine who seems to be there only to scream and be rescued, in this version Lori comes across as much stronger and more well-rounded character.

As it says in the opening text, although much of the footage was of good quality there are some sections where all they had available were degraded VHS tapes, some of which were without audio. This means the editing is also a little clunky in places. However the makers of this version wanted to include everything they possibly could in order to bring it in line with the original shooting script and Clive Barker's epic vision for the piece.

[redheartedtramp]

KA-DON!

Jaune: *pins Weiss to a tree*

Weiss: Ooh, Jaune~ You're being so direct today. Did something happen?

Jaune: I just thought you'd like this kind of thing.

Jaune: *proceeds to grip Weiss' chin and tilts her head up* Do you?

Weiss: Ooh, I definitely like this.

As the two get closer, there is a loud clearing of the throat. Both of them look over their shoulder to see Ruby.

Weiss: ....Ruby, do you, uh, mind? We're-

Jaune: *jumps off of Weiss and starts running*

Weiss: J-Jaune?!

Jaune: Nononononononono-

Ruby pulls out a dart gun and shoots it at Jaune's neck, causing him to fall over. His aura flashes and then shatters as Jaune convulses and screams.

Weiss: Jaune! Ruby, what are you doing?!

Jaune: You fucking bitch! You crazy fucking-

Ruby: *pulls out a collapsable scythe that is not Crescent Rose and she dashes at Jaune, then casually lops his head off* That's another one.

Weiss: Ruby?! What the fuuuuuuuuuu-?! *clutches her head as she falls to her knees* Wh...what's going on?!

Ruby: Don't worry, you're just going through Psychic Shock. Your brain will catch up in a minute.

Weiss: RUBY, WHAT IS THIS?! WHY DID YOU CALL JAUNE?!

Ruby: He wasn't Jaune.

Weiss: ...WHAT?!

Ruby: Well, not your Jaune. Just like how I'm not your Ruby.

Weiss: YOU'RE NOT MAKING SEN-

Weiss then sees a memory of Jaune carrying her through the woods when she broke her leg. Then, the memory goes up in flames as the memory erases itself.

Weiss: W-wha...what was that?

Ruby?: That's the Psychic Shock. Those false memories are being erased from your mind.

Weiss: False memories?

Ruby?: You see, Weiss, this is not your Jaune. This Jaune is part of a cabal of Multiversal Jaunes. They're variants of a 'True Jaune', the dorky, try-hard, endearing man who wants to be a hero. These Jaunes, who we call 'Jaune Parasites' because they all have implanted themselves with a psychic parasite. It feeds on their aura, which they can produce plenty of, and they use their psychic powers to implant false memories into others in an attempt to insert themselves either into the lives of others or insert themselves deeper and make themselves more important.

Weiss: But...why?

Ruby?: To conquer. Mostly so they can have any woman, or women, they want in large, multiverse-level harems. It's humorous in a way, since conquering multiple universes are almost a secondary goal to them.

Weiss: Then...what are you?

Ruby?: Oh, right. I'm Ruby Rose. Or, well, not your Ruby. I'm Ruby-837.

Weiss: You're the 837th Ruby?

Ruby-837: Actually, my serial number is Ruby 837-93 GAMMA, but let's keep this simple.

Weiss: Then...is the Jaune I know...you know...

Ruby-837: Dead? No. He's in a broom closet on the second floor.

Weiss: Oh my God, how long has he been in there?! Days?! Weeks?! Months?!

Ruby-837: About 20 minutes.

Weiss: ...Oh.

Ruby-837: Come on, Weiss. Keep up. Psychic parasites. They implant a lifetime's worth of memories into your head. Though, it's good I caught this early. Your Jaune would've been infected with the parasite and made into another 'alpha male stud' to start trying to conquer other universes.

Weiss: That's horrible!

Ruby-837: Yeah. The fact he was knocked out though at least means this is a decent Jaune. So, you know, if you have any actual feelings for him, then he's clean.

Ruby's wrist starts beeping.

Ruby-837: Oh, gotta go. Got a Code Gold going on. It's a pretty big deal. *takes her scythe and cuts open a portal* Have a good life, Weiss.

Weiss: Wait! I have one more question!

Ruby-837: ...Alright, but make it fast. I've got a multi-dimensional tyrant to stop.

Weiss: ...What...what happened to your Jaune? Did he go bad?

Ruby-837: *giggles* Weiss, Jaunes don't go bad. *she pulls up her blouse and shows multiple scars around her torso. There's a burn mark in the shape of Jaune's crest under her ribs* Some are just more selfish than others.

Weiss: Oh my God!

Ruby-837: *lowers her shirt* Your Jaune is a good one. So even if you don't slap a ring on him, make sure he stays a good man. I'd hate to have to come back and cut 'em down. *leaves through the portal*

[see-arcane]

Little doodle of two of my favorite blorbos from my books, Johannes Cabal and Jonathan Harker.

Johannes Cabal and the series named after him is the first and only book series I've read and loved in its entirety. 100/10 if you like cagey necromancers, jovial vampiric siblings, alternate timeline period pieces with devilish and eldritch elements, and an ongoing thread of humor cutting through the horrors. (Also, look up the digital short stories!)

Johannes himself is very, very different in temperament compared to Jonathan...apart from certain matters of the heart and what each man will resort to for the sake of love. For the purposes of the above image, I expect they have a common enemy on that front. Or at least some irritating party trying to take over and/or end the world or whatever, ughhh. Always something.

[hms-no-fun]

🔥Star War

is it even possible to have a "hot" take about star wars at this point? Andor's great but the rest seems pretty meh (i refuse to watch the rest of the SW tv slate and basically had to be held at gunpoint before i finally gave Andor a shot). Andor bought precisely enough good will for me to give one (1) more disney star war a chance, and since Abby Thorne is set to play a side-character in The Acolyte my gf and i watched the first two episodes of that the other night. and uh, wow, how can a show feel so languid and overlong with episodes that are only 35 minutes long???? the constant cross-cutting tanks the pace and creates unnecessary confusion (how did the prisoners from the crashed ship wind up in custody on coruscant when it seems like all of five minutes elapsed between the ship crashing and the jedi arrive to investigate if osha was dead? how did osha make it to the meditating jedi's chambers before everyone else???), it's not really taking any big conceptual swings, it kinda just feels like lazy fanfic.

but that's not really a hot take. i don't know how you can have a hot take about a corporate product. i guess the closest you can get is "the last jedi is good" but the only people who think that's a controversial opinion also think they're being oppressed by a cabal of degenerate women nefariously withholding sex for political purposes. a take that offends fascists is room temperature at best.

i guess my hottest take is that every media corporation should be nationalized and their intellectual property made unconditionally public domain

[hollow-keys]

I suffered through Tom King Wonder Woman so you don't have to, here's the review:

The set up is that Amazons become outlaws because one Amazon attacked a guy who assaulted her, then all the guys in the bar attacked her because of it, a full bar brawl happened and she killed them. Already, this feels very uninspired.

Instead of being told through Diana's perspective, the entire story is narrated by a guy who's unnamed for most of the story. Wonder Woman is a secondary character in her own book and isn't even on most of the pages.

Additionally, a lot of important information is glossed over. The political atmosphere and lead up to the bill outlawing the Amazon's should be the focus of the first issue. We should see Wonder Woman and her allies organising and reacting to the events, but this is all handwaved away by a few narration boxes from the currently unnamed guy I just mentioned. He tells us that she protested the governments outlawing peacefully, but it's not shown. The only time we see Diana up to this point is a brief nothing-conversation with Steve Trevor.

When the act is put in place 300 amazons are killed or imprisoned. We don't see her defend them once. We do see a lesbian amazon get gunned down because apparently the government somehow got bullets that can cut Amazon steel.

When we first see Diana after the act's in place she's at the graves of those guys who were killed and she tells the government agents that are after her that she's trying to solve their murders? Homegirl, your people are being genocided.

She doesn't actually seem to care, she appears like an emotionless slate who talks of "obligation" to the Amazons like this is a job, not her people being hunted. The most emotion we get is being told by an Amazon ambassador that she gave her sword to her to resist the temptation of using it, which could point to her being enraged by all this but, again, it's not like we hear from Diana herself.

Edit: I forgot she got angry when a gov agent called her a bitch but yeah that's it on the emotion front.

She then talks to Steve about the situation, again, and then we're finally fully introduced to the narrator guy, The Sovereign. He is part of a dynasty of men that have been secretly ruling America for centuries wielding the lasso of lies. No, seriously.

Firstly, putting America's problems at the feet of an entirely made up guy who's secretly subverting democracy is exactly the type of overly simplistic bullshit I would expect from an ex-CIA operative like Tom King. It's a neat explanation that doesn't require you to consider structural problems, all you gotta do is dispose of this one guy.

Secondly, the idea of a person/group secretly pulling the strings is deeply tied to anti-semitic cabal conspiracy theories, even the word cabal comes from Yiddish. Sure, not all people who believe this type of thing believe that it's a Jewish person/group controlling the world, but the further you get in conspiracy circles, the more prevalent anti-semitism becomes. This guy also has a big nose, which is a common stereotypical Jewish feature.

Thirdly, the lasso of lies? Seriously? Why? Questions, questions and no good answers.

All of this is written in Tom King's unmistakable style (derogatory) where all the dialogue is disjointed, all the characters are sad + stoic and the political commentary is meaningless at best.

[zhakyria]

I had the chance to commission Kahl'ryn from @psychededoodle. I have no words for how much I love this. Everything, all the details, the expression, the scar, the cybernetics, everything is so well done!!

And with this amazing portrait - I'm gonna talk a bit about Kahl and what he is up to in my Arclight AU. So... some rambling thoughts under the cut. :)

For reference: The Arclight AU is a melting pot of various sci-fi franchises. Star Wars, Farscape, WildStar, Star Trek, to just name a few. However, the core of it is Star Wars. A lot of the universe rules are Star Wars rules - such as how space travel works and the Force.

The major players from Star Wars include: the Galactic Empire, the Mandalorians, the Sith Empire, the Chiss Ascendancy, the High Republic, and the Grysk Hegemony.

Much like swtor!Kahl, arclight!Kahl was born in the Sith Empire. His father is the (now former) Sith Lord Xhai'tan. He was trapped in a burning building when he was a child, which is how he got the burn scars. He joined the Imperial Academy and joined Imperial Intelligence upon graduating. Some of his first missions included hunting down terrorists and stopping Darth Jadus. For his double agent arc however, he didn't infiltrate the SIS.

In Arclight the Sith Empire is mostly at odds with the Dominion from WildStar. So, Kahl is tasked with infiltrating the Dominion and carrying out his mission there. The Star Cabal is still a threat and Kahl eventually dismantles it.

Now things really start to diverge. You see, most everything from Shadow of Revan onward doesn't happen. So how does my boy meet Theron?

I made the executive decision that since the Republic isn't the same Republic as in swtor and isn't the power in direct conflict with the Sith Empire, that Theron would instead be from the Dominion. ((I know, I know, not the best allegory if you know anything about the Dominion - like they live up to their name. Does make it way easier for Theron to defect though.))

Then I needed the catalyzing event. Enter the Dread Masters. They were imprisoned by the Dominion, but they escape but with Emperor Vitiate dead (did I mention that? no? So, yeah Emperor Vitiate does die, and after a short war between the Sith, Acina comes out on top and takes the Throne - this is also the time of Malgus's first betrayal,) they go rogue.

Kahl is called in to help with the situation by Lana and she eventually wrangles the help of Theron in tracking and defeating the Dread Masters. Much like in Shadow of Revan, Kahl and Theron grow close.

Then the tradegy of Grismara happens. For those unfamiliar with WildStar. Grismara was home to the Mordesh. A elf-like species who were masters of science, alchemy, and art. They were arrogant and proud, sure of their own superiority. That was until the Everlife Elixir, developed by their most lauded scientist became their curse. The Everlife was meant to give immortality, and they trusted Dr. Lazarin so much that it was distributed worldwide. Then the Everlife became the Contagion. Everyone (and the lore implies everyone) slowly turned into super aggressive mindless cannibals (basically zombies).

Grismara was a neutral world on the edge of Sith and Dominion borders. Both sides were trying to ally with them, but when the Contagion broke out - the Sith turned their back on the world and the Dominion set up a blockade and quarantined it.

Kahl and Theron disobeyed orders to try and help the Mordesh. During that terrible year long attempt at saving the Mordesh, Dr. Lazarin made a small break through. He created the Vitalis Serum, which delayed the effects of the Contagion, but also required frequent injections. The remaining Mordesh were trapped in a half-life. They no longer age (they got their immortality) but they also are unable to have children unless a cure can be found.

Kahl and Theron organized for the last of the Mordesh, to escape. Taking them to the Odessen Coalition. A small and new coalition of planets that came together with the help of Xhai'tan (Kahl's father) and Thrass (who is alive and rescued by Xhai'tan - That is another books of thoughts so if you are curious about how Thrass fits in here feel free to ask.)

With the fall of Grismara, Kahl and Theron defect and join the Coalition. Kahl eventually commanding a heavy cruiser as part of the Maarasu Nighthunters - the Odessen Defense Force division in charge of covert operations and missions that take place beyond the borders of the Coalition. It is Kahl who finds Thrawn and Ezra where they have been stranded for 7 years (again another book of thoughts that I can talk about later). Kahl then goes on to support Thrawn, Thrass, Eli, and the others Chiss fighting to save the Ascendancy.

I'll stop there but....yeah so lots of thoughts.....enjoy!

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 4 (June 23)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, and comment if you can - a convincing sentence is worth a dozen votes! You’re also welcome to just choose the one that sounds the worst :D Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

Stars Uncharted by S.K. Dunstall

Three people who are not who they claim to be:

Nika Rik Terri, body modder extraordinaire, has devoted her life to redesigning people's bodies right down to the molecular level. Give her a living body and a genemod machine, and she will turn out a work of art.

Josune Arriola is crew on the famous explorer ship the Hassim, whose memory banks contain records of unexplored worlds worth a fortune. But Josune and the rest of the crew are united in their single-minded pursuit of the most famous lost planet of all.

Hammond Roystan, the captain of the rival explorer ship, The Road, has many secrets. Some believe one of them is the key to finding the lost world.

Josune's captain sends her to infiltrate Roystan's ship, promising to follow. But when the Hassim exits nullspace close to Roystan's ship, it's out of control, the crew are dead, and unknown Company operatives are trying to take over. Narrowly escaping and wounded, Roystan and Josune come to Nika for treatment--and with problems of her own, she flees with them after the next Company attack.

Now they're in a race to find the lost world...and stay alive long enough to claim the biggest prize in the galaxy.

A Prince Without a Kingdom by Timothée de Fombelle

(description taken from book #1, Between Sky and Earth)

A breathless adventure from international award winner Timothée de Fombelle charts a desperate search for identity across the vast expanses of Europe.

In a world between wars, a young man on the cusp of taking priestly vows is suddenly made a fugitive. Fleeing the accusations of police who blame him for a murder, as well as more sinister forces with darker intentions, Vango attempts to trace the secrets of his shrouded past and prove his innocence before all is lost. As he crisscrosses the continent via train, boat, and even the Graf Zeppelin airship, his adventures take him from Parisian rooftops to Mediterranean islands to Scottish forests. A mysterious, unforgettable, and romantic protagonist, Vango tells a thrilling story sure to captivate lovers of daring escapades and subversive heroes.

The Dark Days Club by Alison Goodman

London, April 1812.

On the eve of eighteen-year-old Lady Helen Wrexhall’s presentation to the queen, one of her family’s housemaids disappears-and Helen is drawn into the shadows of Regency London. There, she meets Lord Carlston, one of the few who can stop the perpetrators: a cabal of demons infiltrating every level of society. Dare she ask for his help, when his reputation is almost as black as his lingering eyes? And will her intelligence and headstrong curiosity wind up leading them into a death trap?

[savyir-genesizz-the-wizard]

gotta ask abt cogito & the cane, if you don't mind. even as a (phys) disabled person I have a hard time thinking of circumstances with D2 where disabilities wouldn't just be either a. healed by light or b. negligible with abilities or c. too much of risk on the field. hadn't given much thought to exos in regards to all that- I know pretty much nothing about exo anatomy either. I know we see some stuff with banshee's memory impairment, but that's not physical. au thing or did you find a way that the rep makes sense? /gen

Hello! So I think I've talked about it a few times in various Discord servers but didn't make a post so here are all my thoughts on this topic (as examplified by my oc(s))

Case A. Cogito is disabled because he was disabled before he died and it did not cause his death. His exo model is highly custom and a leg he kitbashed from a dead exo (when he was lightless) is very faulty (causes pain when he walks too much or runs, and sometimes doesn't bend).

This could also happen with human/awoken guardians (especially if they were born disabled). As Speaker said: "Devotion inspires bravery, bravery inspires sacrifice, sacrifice leads to death" - it would be fucked up if disabled people were somewhat except from that. If a guardian can be rezzed old (like Osiris) then it probably means that they get rezzed as they were at the point when they died so case closed.

Back to Cogito though - yes, light can help him as a mobility aid (he's a Warlock, he can fly pretty well) but obliviously can't always work (light restriction zones for example). And also yeah, it's very much a problem in the field sometimes. It's a big reason why he does solitary reaserch work and only raids with a big group.

Another example of this would be Kobzar-13 with his poor eyesight (this one is for me. I have very bad eyesight too tho it's not as bad, yet). His optics were damaged some time before he died so now it's like this. He could probably get them fixed but he just rolls with this. His ghost audio describes everything to him in his head which I think would be very cool.

Case B. Wawrzyniec is disabled (amputee) because his arm got cut of by Crota. Aka "various light restricting devices and light restricted zones". In this case soulfire. Cogito's scratch (on his head, I don't always draw them) also goes under this category.

This one is more of a stretch but I think that it's plausible. I guess that guardians more often die in these situations than escape disabled. There is also the fact that ghosts might be not able (or want) to heal certain injuries. You can say that Sloane is a lore example of this.

Another oc example of this would be Enebish who got burn scars and lost an eye during the Red War when the Traveler was caged. I don't really remember if anything was said about it at the time.

Bonus case C. I know that some people headcanon guardians getting disabled because of extended light usage. I personally don't think it makes sense and goes kinda against the healing power of light stuff. Case closed.

And about the non-guardians - multiple characters have these sci-fi prosthetics (Camrin's is super advanced and Variks'es is pretty shabby) that I imagine can depend of how much cash or girlfriend in STEM you have. Eramis even has ones for her both feet so the field must be pretty advanced. There is also brother Vance who is blind and clearly did pretty well (before he jumped into piramid zone and vanished forever (John Bungie, if you heal his eyesight I'll kill you)).

Bungie seems to be generally very indirect when it comes to showing disability. Except for PTSD. Which is to be expected from an fps shooter. Everyone wants a cool robot arm but no one wants to talk about the attitude to disability in different cultures.

Speaking of which - humanity is probably not much different then it's now. There are probably a lot of disabled veterans. I wonder if insulin is expensive in the Last City. Awoken and Cabal are probably weird about it. Neomuni, well, we've seen Maya Sundaresh. Eliksni are the most normal.

So yeah, that's all from me. Thanks for the ask!

[creampuffs-for-carmilla]

Carmilla Week 2024

Hello again, Creampuffs!

In honor of the 10 year anniversary, this blog will be hosting Carmilla Week 2024 leading up to the anniversary of Season 1 premiering! You have a bit over a month to complete any prompts you'd like (Hopefully, all of them!) and should upload any submissions here with the tag #carmillaweek2024 so we can see all of your amazing fanworks! Anything goes so long as it relates to the theme and any questions are welcome! That and posting on the day the theme is scheduled for.

Before checking the prompts, please join our Discord and give this blog a follow to stay updated and see what other Creampuffs are saying! Here are this year's prompts and ideas to get you going:

Day 1- Orientation Day (August 13)

Welcome, everyone to Carmilla Week! Orientation is underway where you can explore different clubs at Silas University! Check in with Danny and the Summer Society as they do their morning runs. Or perhaps you want to party with Kirsch and the Zetas? Speaking of, what’s the Alchemy Club been up to…? Whatever it is, there’s a club for everyone (Unless you’re Laura Hollis… She didn’t make the cut for the Newspaper Club…) Either way, Orientation Day lets you explore any clubs Silas has to offer, including ones you headcanon exist or the ones that do exist. Perhaps Laura did find a club to join or it could explain why Carmilla sneaks off so often.

Day 2- Zombies and Werewolves and Vampires, Oh My! (August 14)

Ignore the evil cabal of vampires running the place, we’re diverse! The captain of the swim team is a mermaid, there’s that rumor the Summers are a werewolf pack, and our gardener is actually a zombie tending to graves and flowers alike! Today is the day where anything goes and you can even explore if LaFontaine is a cyborg or maybe Laura is a fairy. Be creative and explore what supernatural creatures may exist within Silas!

Day 3- Dorm Life (August 15)

Silas University is prestigious and offers only the best of the best! Not counting the lack of knocking and paper-thin walls… In any case, explore what you think dorm life is like on campus! That includes (but not limited to!) trying to pass Professor Cochrane’s class, how out of control a Zeta party can get, or even a slice of life behind closed doors in 307. Have fun!

Day 4- Raining Cats and Dogs (August 16)

We all love Catmilla. Who doesn’t! Take this day to explore all the possibilities. Perhaps one of our beloved cast has found a loving pet? Maybe you want to explore the other vampire’s ability to shapeshift? Just don’t let the Dean catch you with a pet in your room, that can be grounds for expulsion.

Day 5- Road Trip (August 17)

All roads lead to Silas as they say. Laura, Perry, LaFontaine, and Carmilla certainly learned that trying to flee through the Alps! Who’s to say they can’t enjoy a fun road trip though! Laura and Carmilla did go to Paris. Maybe Perry and LaFontaine

Day 6- Life After College (August 18)

All good things come to an end and so do our college years. We got a sneak peek of how the gang lived 5 years after Silas, but what about the before and after? Your imagination is the limit as you can explore Laura’s first job or Carmilla finding a fun way to spend her vampire trust fund. Perhaps the LaFerry Industries had a shaky start? You can even get into Danny’s new life as a vampire working as a vampire’s rights advocate… And maybe something a bit more secret!

Day 7- Anniversary (August 19)

The reason we’re all here. Happy 10th anniversary to Carmilla: The Series! Explore what an anniversary means to you. Maybe you want to explore how Laura and Carmilla celebrate their first anniversary, whether girlfriend-wise or wife-wise. You can dedicate a piece to the show in general.

As always, thank you for participating, please check FAQ for more details and upcoming events, and if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask!

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 13)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.1 k

Warnings: Minors DNI - canon typical violence, swearing, smoking, military inaccuracies

Summary: Rory and Price start the next leg of their mission, heading to the Middle East where ties to Zorokov become that much clearer

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

tagging: @efingart @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 @strangefable @theelderhazelnut @marivenah @nightbloodbix @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather @carlosoliveiraa @finding-comfort-in-rain @simplegenius042 @voidika @quantum-lover @donotopendeadinside @rc-dragons @direwombat @peachiicherries @statichvm @clicheantagonist @v01dthefae @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @amalkavian @justasmolbard

opt in/out tag list

October 22, 2017 08:11 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

The mission had moved beyond what Zorokov could offer, no longer cabals and crime rings, there were confirmed ties to threats to national security. They had blocked off the pipeline that funneled the money around and eventually the filth would rise to the surface like sewage in a drain, leading them to the exact origin of the looming threat on the horizon. They had a starting place tracking where the funds for the PMC were coming in from, narrowing down sources and finding out just how tangled the web really was. 

As the helicopter touched down on the grounds of Credenhill’s courtyard, Russia was a not so distant memory that still clung in the back of Rory’s mind. Throughout the eighteen hour flight back, she had listened in to the conversations between Price and Laswell regarding where money had been flowing and by who. The Saudi shell was exactly that, something empty, a throwaway account – but it still had an owner. Discovering who it was would give them their next target, and Laswell was an unstoppable force when it came to digging through the shadier side of things, secrets that were meant to be kept hidden never would be with her around – something that in Rory’s mind was all too dangerous, considering what Price was trying to convince her to do. 

Upon stepping onto the tarmac, she had to admit it was good to be back home, no matter how short-lived. Merely a quick stopover before the real work, the real fight, was about to begin, this was her chance to grab her trusted gear that she had left behind on her first flight out. It had been waiting for her, her rifle had been waiting for her. Having a new-found vigor for the mission, she was ready for whatever would come to face her even as the bruises still stained her skin, leaving her tender.

Fog had swept in overnight through the midlands, a wet sort of cold that blanketed everything it touched, sinking into the bones and clinging to clothing, damp and thick. Pulling the collar of her sweater further up her neck, she averted the gaze of her fellow servicemen as they passed by. Hands still shoved into the pockets of her coat, the black duffel slung over her shoulder, she stormed her way from the courtyard towards the barracks. 

Price hopped off the vehicle behind her, his footfall hushed upon landing by the mist that coated the ground. A pervasive silence filled the air the same way it would amongst fresh fallen snow, even the sound of slowing blades cutting through the air had been muffled. His hoarse timbre was dampened in the quiet morning as he called out to her, “Sinclair!”

Slowing her pace, coming to a halt, she let him draw nearer. His bulk cutting through the dense cover of smoky gray, the orange glow of the end of his cigar burning its way through the water vapor that accumulated around them. “Wheels up in one hour. Get your gear and we meet back here. Understood?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Hardly the intimacy that was expected between two people who had shared a bed the previous night, but understandable considering their current predicament and location. 

“Rog’.” She gave him a quick nod and noticed the way his gaze scanned over her, taking stock of all the different marks and bruises that now blemished her appearance. “Was there something else, Captain?” Her voice took on a far more formal tone with him than it had in the last few weeks. 

Shaken loose of his appraising stare, he gave her a curt nod of the head in return. “No. Go on. You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” he said before heading off in another direction, leaving her to her own company. 

How quickly all the apparent feelings they had for one another, the tension between them, could easily dissipate. Professionals once more. Practically strangers. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did that they could be like this, if they were to move forward with whatever was between them (the way Price wanted to) that was how it would always be on base, anywhere there were prying eyes, having to turn their romance on and off like a switch. Was that something she was really willing to do? It wasn’t that she was incapable, she knew she could, already used to playing up the side of herself that wasn’t haunted by the things she had seen and done, pretending to be some version of herself that knew more of joy than she really did – but was the effort really all worth it? Was this the grand romance she could put herself through hell for, or was it just going to end the way it always did, with a short ‘I’m sorry’ only to carry on with her work and to bury whatever she might have felt in the past?

Heading to her bunk, she tossed her duffel onto the bed and stripped off the civvies she had been wearing. Left standing in only her bra and underwear, she witnessed her reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room – her skin marred by shades of green, blue, red and purple without the makeup to cover it. Glancing sideways at herself, she sneered at the image looking back at her. Look a right horror. No preening or primping would solve it either. Opening her foot locker with a huff, she pulled out her combat-ready clothing and her toiletry bag and a few pairs of rolled up underwear, shoving it all into her duffel. Quickly getting dressed into her combat gear, she strapped on her tac vest and clipped her helmet onto it, finally adding the shemagh from her time in Iraq around her neck and shoulders.

Giving another glance at her reflection, she sighed, feeling more like herself. All the battered and bruised parts of her hidden by armor and layers of clothing. Protected. She wasn’t pretty or soft, not like this, not anymore. A proper soldier. She could stand a little taller, her shoulders a little more square. She didn’t need saving, she didn’t need to be kept under watchful guard. She was Sergeant Rory Sinclair, a decorated veteran who had fought on the front lines, had gotten her hands dirty, knew the ugly truth of things and still didn’t let it stop her. 

She was a survivor, always had been.

Marching out towards the waiting helicopter, rotor already beginning to spin, each cut of the blades slicing through the swirling mass of fog that had yet to burn off as the day grew older, Rory noticed Price standing nearby waiting for her arrival, his hands wrapped around the shoulder straps of his tac vest, his boonie hat back in place. Appearing before him, his unreadable stare focused on her, face not showing any specific emotion, just flat. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist and then back up at her. “You’re early.”

Rory hummed in agreement. “So are you.”

“Don’t like to keep people waiting, Sergeant. Glad to see you’re the same.”

The brim of his hat darkened his eyes just enough that she couldn’t quite make out the way he was looking at her. Her instincts were quick to point out however that the Captain apparently was still none too pleased with the way she had left things hanging. A sharp, pointed dig at the fact she hadn’t melted into his arms after his earlier advances in the safe room. 

She chose to ignore it. “I assume Laswell got a hit on our next target?”

Grunting in response, Price led her towards the open door of the helicopter with sure strides, a swagger to his step. “Shell company has ties to a Saudi oil baron currently outside of the country in the UAE. He’s not home, so he can’t stop us from knocking on the door.”

“A raid.”

Stepping up into the vehicle, he turned back to look over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “Exactly.”

Following after, she stuffed her duffel under the seat beside him, took her spot and leaned back into it. Breathing deep, the smell of cigar smoke that saturated his clothing invaded her senses, but underneath that was the heady scent of warm, musky cologne. Sitting so close, it swirled around her and she was absorbed in it, realizing she never recalled smelling it the night she had spent wrapped up in his arms. She hadn’t exactly been in the right state then to pay attention, but now, it washed over her and she found her thoughts getting fuzzy. Clearing her throat and her head, she got back down to business. “So, I assume we have backup for said raid?”

“Marines.” 

“Oh, well, I’m sure that won’t cause any international upset,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off her words. “The US isn’t afraid of stepping on anyone’s toes with a move like that?”

“Bureaucrats can’t get upset over what they don’t know about,” Price said as he clipped the cigar he pulled from his pocket and placed it to his lips, flicking open his lighter and letting the flame burn at the tip. 

“No, I suppose that’s true.”

They sat in silence, Price letting it hang before speaking once more. “How long’s it been since you were last in the desert?”

“Almost seven months now.”

“You know Arabic, yeah? Fluent, I hope.”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and adjusted her position in her seat, a grin curling the corner of her lips. “Perhaps this time I can have you saying derogatory things without your prior knowledge.”

Giving a low chuckle, he brought the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. “Now that would make things interestin’, wouldn’t it?” The smoke streamed past his lips, the orange glow burning in his eyes through the shade of his cap. “I’d prefer if we didn’t start any international incidents ‘cause you had to be a smart ass though.”

Huffing out a laugh, she pressed her head back against the rest behind her. “Fair enough. It’ll be easier just letting you blunder the pronunciation anyway.”

His brow lifted, giving her a sideways glance without turning his head, keeping her in his periphery. “You gonna keep causing me headaches?”

“No, I just think we need to agree that while Russia was where your strength lies, we’re heading into mine.”

Sucking on his cigar hanging in a clenched jaw, his brow furrowed. “You do remember I’ve fought over there myself, yeah?”

“But you didn’t spend your entire career there like me. Unless you’ve eaten goat by a fire while swapping stories with village elders in their native language, I suggest you take at least some of my judgment on things seriously. Or is it because I’m a subordinate that it’s not good enough for you?”

“S’pose it’s ‘cause you’ve slept with me,” he muttered under his breath, his face remaining serious until it cracked, giving her a teasing smirk.

Unable to help but giggle at the implication, Rory bit her lip to stifle it from growing into a full on laugh. “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “I see how we’re playing now.”

Barking out a chuckle at her reaction, Price shifted smugly back into his seat, adjusting the brim of his hat.

“Fucking hell, you’ve become quite the comedian with me.” Her voice dropped so only he could hear it. “You get one little kiss and now all of a sudden the stoic soldier routine fades away, eh?”

“It was more than a little kiss –” He whispered as he leaned down towards her, looking up through his brow. 

They were inches from each other, eyes locked on one another. Invading her personal space, trying to remain the dominant force, Price waited there as if he were expecting her to make a move despite being strapped into a moving military vehicle. The smoke coiled around her, his breath fanning against her face. Did he really think she would just break regulation like that? She cocked her brow and sighed, pulling out her pack of cigarettes from her tactical pants and tapped the corner of it against her thigh. “I said I just wanted to work, not be a distraction.”

“You’re not.” His words came out bluntly, his features expressionless once more, gaze unfeeling and inscrutable. Shifting back into his seat, he crossed his arms and mirrored her position beside him. Mouth drawn tight, he bit down on the cigar he'd placed between his lips, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“Oh, I’m not?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not. You and I have both been through the same training. A little flirting – any feelings we might have – they aren’t getting in the way of the mission, got it?”

“Sure about that?”

“You do know you’re not the only woman I’ve ever worked with, yeah?” He shot back, head tilted and brow cocked.

Rory hummed, unconvinced. “Did you sleep with the others too?”

He growled softly, mumbling around his cigar, “Touche.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said confidently, slipping a cigarette out from the pack in her hand and placing it to her lips.

“I’m a professional, Sergeant. So are you,” he grumbled, “Stop trying your damn luck with me.”

The cigarette sat between her lips as she gave him a little salute with two fingers against her forehead, the lighter still held in her hand. 

“You’re trouble, goddammit.” He shook his head and settled back in his seat, gripping the shoulders of his vest once more with a heavy sigh.

Voice muffled as she spoke around her cigarette, it bounced on its perch upon her lip. “Bet you’re really regretting Laswell’s choice now, eh?”

“Not unless you give me a reason to, darlin’,” he said, nose scrunching with annoyance. “Don’t test my bloody patience.”

Taking a drag of her cigarette, she couldn’t help but want to keep picking at him. He had tried to make her feel small a moment ago, reminding her of her weakness, of how she apparently needed him according to his evaluation. “Did you think I was suddenly going to fawn over you because you actually admitted to having feelings for me, Price?”

The little tic of his tightening tendons in his jaw was plain as day, she was playing with fire and she knew it. If there was any way to describe the Captain it was a persistent pursuit predator – of course the way he worked would bleed into his life. The man wouldn’t know romance if it bit him in the arse, wooing certainly wasn’t his style. She already expected him to keep trying to wear her down until she would eventually give in, say yes, and he would get what he wanted. Perhaps what they both wanted…but she wasn’t able to quite so readily admit that yet. 

“Would’ve been nice if you made it easy for me.”

“You’re a special forces captain, you like the challenge.”

Price brought a hand to her upper thigh, his long fingers clenching around the meat of her,  squeezing tight. “Goddamn right I do,” he said with a low chuckle. 

October 25, 2017 22:42 - Ayad Estate, Saudi Arabia

The target’s mansion was some modern monstrosity, all concrete and glass, reflecting back the moon and the stars and the moody twilight. A massive infinity pool and gardens decorated the exterior, all well maintained, meticulously so. Multiple floors, several entrances. Fully staffed, including a personal army of guards for security. A fortress in its own right. Heavy resistance was expected as they approached the private residence under the cover of night, but the main goal was to sweep and clear threats while keeping the unarmed non-combatants alive, and to collect intel. The invading strike force made up of Marines, Price and Rory moved in separate teams, including one in an armored vehicle stationed on the road up to the front metal gates of the estate, ready to ram it down if more forceful extraction was required. 

Eyes were kept on the prize, orders whispered. “Check your shots. Let’s kick this off.”

Several members of the security detail were stationed around the perimeter, protecting the mansion from intrusion. Fully armed and wearing plate vests, these weren’t just hired security, they were well trained – likely former military themselves. Slowly pacing, their heads kept on a swivel, radios at the ready to keep in contact…

A silent night…

And then the flashbang hit.

White burning light exploded out as soldiers dressed in black combat gear climbed over the walls. Nightvision goggles strapped on, two teams stealthily made their way into the mansion, set to take it floor by floor in a clean sweep while the remaining team cleared the forces outside. 

Quick, assured steps led Rory through the mansion’s halls, following closely on the tail of Price as he led the charge. 

“Bravo 6 moving to the second floor.”

Boots thumped up the steps like thundering war drums. Sweat formed on her brow as her heart started to beat against her ribcage. A thirty room mansion wasn’t a quick process to clear, the only saving grace was that most of the staff were sent screaming upon sight, huddled over on the floor with their hands in the air in surrender rather than shooting back. Whimpering “please don’t hurt me” like their lives actually depended on it, and it broke her heart – civilians didn’t deserve to feel this sort of terror, no matter the cause.

Breaching doorways, kicking in locks, the barrel of her rifle swept from side to side as she checked her corners and cleared every other room, swapping the duty with the rotation of other members on their team. 

“On me. Rally at the stairs.”

Several more flights to go, and the closer they got to the master suite the more threats they faced, the armed assailants ramping up against them. Gun fire rang out. Art, sculptures and bodies were all torn to shreds by the bullets that flew back and forth between opposing sides. She hugged the walls, taking cover behind some hulking slab of marble. Controlling her breath as chunks of stone breezed past her, catching the strands of her hair as they flew past her head, ricocheting off her helmet like hailstones. Ducking out, her muzzle flared, bright flashes sparking in the darkened hall as dozens of bullet casings tinkled around her. Bodies dropped like flies, the polished floors stained red with blood. A sight she’d grown all too accustomed to. 

Radio chatter between Price and the team outside gave warning that the x-rays they had accounted for had been cleared on the exterior, it was just the ones hidden behind closed doors that they had to worry about now - the threat of the unexpected. 

Steadily climbing up to the top, they finally reached the last floor, and instead of multiple rooms along the corridors, there was just one large, sprawling floor. Open concept. A bedroom, an office, the bathroom practically a day spa with the amenities available. Rory sneered at the sight of so much wealth on show. She was no stranger to affluence, it was a luxurious life she became entitled to upon living with her father after her mother’s death, and with it brought old money and claims of nobility in the family tree. But this – this sort of opulence was in poor taste as far as she was concerned. 

Adding insult to injury, the guards had decided to take several of the staff as human shields in the face of danger. A poor stratagem in the wake of a unit of special forces soldiers. In an instant, a whole firing line of lifted rifles were aimed at the threat on the other side of the room, scopes all firmly planted on the figures in the dark. 

“Drop your weapons! Don’t move! Get down!” 

Orders were barked, but words meant nothing. Action did. Lives were in the balance. Her ears thundered as the blood began to flow quickly inside them. Her finger resting against the cool metal of the trigger, ready to tap it at the first flinch from the security detail. Heavy breathing filled the room from both sides, every soul was put on edge. Sweat dripped down foreheads and stung the eyes. A second felt like an eternity. 

“Drop ‘em!”

Without a second thought, Rory tapped the trigger. Aiming straight for the head of a man with a handgun pointed at the back of a middle aged woman’s skull, shuddering in fear as she wore her appointed cleaner’s uniform. Executing him before he could get a shot off. A threat dispatched, one less casualty to weigh on her conscience. 

The dead littered the floor, the survivors left covering their heads and begging to go home. Panicked voices caused a twitch to start in her fingers that begged to crawl up the length of her arm, the clench in her gut following not far behind. Memories hitting her like a punch to the solar plexus. Sobs. Wailing. That look of fear in the eyes that would stay with the victims forever, the same way it did with her. 

“Clear!”

One simple word could relieve so much tension, the adrenaline slowing its course through her body at the sound of it. Relative calm eased through her constricted veins and arteries,  a rush of air escaping her lungs like a gale force now that she could finally breathe.

“All teams: residence secure. Commence SSE.”

It didn’t take long for the full force of might to round up and collect every personal device left on the premises, every scrap of paper, or shred of information they could use. The best find of all being a personal computer detailing contracts signed with Zorokov’s PMC and proof of involvement with the shell company. All left out in the open, plain as day, the hubris on show for all to see.

Price stood hunched over the desk, his thumb dragging across his lower lip as he read into the target’s dealings. “Turns out our target is close and personal with the defense minister. Signing contracts on his behalf. Has several on the go with the PMC he’s funding.”

“Helping out his friend, Zorokov.” Rory moved closer, leaning in towards the monitor with a furrowed brow, the pale blue light glowed in her eyes. “Proxy wars. Coups. Fucking hell… Yemen? I knew tensions were rising between the Saudis and Iran, but not like this.”

Continuing to scroll through the various contracts, one caught Rory’s eye. “Wait, John. Stop.” Her hand clamped down over his on the mouse. Biting down on her lip, jaw clenched tight, she was hit with a horrible truth. “Syria,” she whispered, the air forced from her at the realization. “Iran’s expanding its presence in the region on the border against ISIS… Christ, they’re in Syria. This isn’t just some small-time dispute. A PMC hired to actively assist terrorist hostilities – that’s an act of war.”

“Right. So we head to Syria and we shut it down.”

Price said it so nonchalantly it nearly sent her head spinning. They had stumbled into the middle of a conspiracy, a proxy war made to look like a civil one, and he was ready to take it head on.

“Just like that?”

“We’ll find out where they’re headquartered and we’ll bury them. If anyone has a problem with that, they’ll have to come clean, and we both know that won’t ever happen.”

She hated how right he was. How easy it was for governments to wheel and deal and play games with one another, using each other as pawns for their own desires. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for nations to support one side of a war while also funding the apparent enemy, that was a tale as old as time – but it never stopped revolting her. The insidious nature of it all. It might have been naivete on her part to still be even remotely surprised she might stumble upon something like this herself, especially considering the things she had already been witness to in her career, but she had never learned to merely let it sit well with her.  

“So we head into the middle of an active combat zone and pretend like we’re supposed to be there, start a battle with a PMC funded by an ally nation, and drop some terrorists along the way?”

“More or less. Yeah.”

“You make that sound like it’s a normal afternoon for you.”

“It can be.” He patted her shoulder with a quick smirk. “Come on, darlin’. We got a flight to catch.”