#commander verse tag

[pencildragons]

snippet from my upcoming foxquin fic sinner, sinner (come to dinner) for foxquinweek !!!!!

“Commander Fox,” says the Chancellor, smiling his kindly smile. Fox stands very still and stares straight ahead, past Palpatine and through the great transparisteel window at the city below, skyline exploding in the brilliance of the sun’s final dying rays. The fanciful part of him that will one day be responsible for his death imagines that, if he’s just still enough, Palpatine will forget him entirely. It’s ridiculous, he knows, he knows, of course he knows, but he clings to it anyway, endeavours to move as little as possible, turns trying to hide even the slight rise and fall of his chest into some sort of test of how good his impression of being a block of stone is. “Sir,” says Fox. “Commander Fox,” Palpatine says again, still smiling that awful fucking smile, but sadder, now, mournful, bushy eyebrows doing something terrible and expressive. “You have disappointed me.” “Yes, sir.” “I gave you a very simple directive, Commander, and still you failed.” Fox is barely breathing now. Only a few klicks away, the spire of the Jedi Temple burns in a halo of pink-red, spearing through the cloud-strewn sky. It looks like one of the paintings hung in the Senate rotunda corridors, the ones that like as not cost more to procure than he did. His throat is dry. He tries to swallow. It sticks. It is likely he is dehydrated. There is a little light flashing on top of the spire, warning away in-atmo transports and low-flying starships. Orange-blue-green. Orange-blue-green. He stares at it, so he doesn’t have to look at Palpatine. “Yes, sir.” “Such inadequacy is, of course, unacceptable, Commander, as I’m sure you’re aware. I really had hoped it would not come to this, you understand.” Liar, Fox thinks. You love this. “But there is only one way to learn, and that is through experiencing consequences of your actions. Perhaps next time you will not take your sworn duty so lightly, hmm?” “Yes, sir.” “Draw your blaster, please, Commander.” Fox blinks and, in his surprise, breaks his stillness to turn his head to face Palpatine properly. “…Sir?” “Must I repeat myself twice? Draw your blaster from your holster.” Slowly, Fox draws. He wonders if this is some sort of test, if he’s going to be punished further for making his weapon naked in front of the Supreme Chancellor of the entire fucking Republic. (In the light of the dusk spilling through the window into the opulent office, Palpatine’s eyes seem almost gold. It is for but a brief moment, just the rays of the fat sun catching oddly, and then they return to that sharp, ice-chip grey like nothing at all happened.) “Good,” says Palpatine, and smiles again. Like this, he looks like some natborn’s father’s father—grandfather, he believes the term is—all benevolent wrinkles and knowing looks. “Set it to kill.” Fox sets it to kill. It is not a difficult thing. He is just as much a weapon as the blaster in his hands, well-oiled, clean, smooth. Efficient. He was designed for this. It is easier to follow orders mindlessly; his brain, like all their brains (except, perhaps, Kote’s, but Kote’s a little fucked up and is an outlier for everything else, anyway), is primed for command, made to obey. A perfect, thoughtless gun, with just enough ruthlessness and self-determination to set them apart from the CIS’ droids. That’s the idea, anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Kaminoans failed in the execution of something. “Turn around, Commander,” Palpatine murmurs, words soft and smooth and rich as the heavy velvet-fabric from his home planet that he has all his clothes cut from. “And fire at will.”

rbs deeply appreciated :]

[aceghosts]

Cyberpunk 2077 Masterpost

Hey Everyone! I wanted to put together a masterpost of my Cyberpunk 2077 fics, and I’ve finally gotten around to doing it. I’ve also included some relevant edits that shed more light on Rooney’s lore. As I write more fic and create more edits, I’ll update this post with them. Also, please mind the warnings on the specific fics.

Sending some tags to people I think might be interested: @bbrocklesnar, @chyrstis, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@tommyarashikage, @imogenkol, @strangefable, @derelictheretic, @socially-awkward-skeleton,

@carlosoliveiraa, @theelderhazelnut, @direwombat, @cassietrn, @cloudofbutterflies92,

@confidentandgood

V: ALL I KNOW IS A PLACE WHERE I HAUNTED

This is Rooney’s main canon for Cyberpunk 2077. Most of Rooney’s fics are set in this universe, and take place during and before the events of Cyberpunk 2077. (Note: I am writing these fics out of order, and they may be moved around as I write.)

Relevant Edits: Moodboard | Character Card | Edit | FIA Profile | Playlist | General VP Tag

Pre-2077

Microprompt: In Dreams

Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning?

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Stuck in an Arasaka Facility, Rooney Shepard makes a new friend/ally, an unexpected one: Yorinobu Arasaka.

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year. Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Forevermore the Apple of My Eye

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: In the parking garage after a dinner date, Rooney Shepard and Yorinobu Arasaka are attacked. The event (and Yorinobu's actions) leave Rooney feeling shaken.

During Cyberpunk 2077

And I try to move on, but I just can't let go

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: Rooney Shepard takes a missing person's case at the request of Rogue Amendiares; they do not expect the client to be their ex-boyfriend, Yorinobu Arasaka.

Baby, All I Want Is You

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: T Summary: “You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. “The one where you’re planning something.” A short scene where Rooney and Yorinobu flirt with each other.

Microprompt: Trembling Hands

Cuddling In Bed After A Long Day

Tumblr Rating: T Summary: Rooney and Yorinobu cuddle in bed and chat after a long and tiring day, especially about dinner with some old friends.

Microprompt: One Chance

All Is Fair In Love

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: E (Minors do not interact) Summary: Rooney makes an off-handed comment about their boyfriend being a distraction. Yorinobu takes that as a personal challenge.

V: WILL YOU WELCOME YOUR EXTINCTION IN THE MORNING RAYS?

An AU where Rooney has the Relic in their head.

Relevant Edits: Edit

Microprompt: Total Control

All I Know is a Place Where I Haunted

Tumblr | AO3 Rating: M Summary: After saving President Rosalind Myers and delivering her to Reed, Rooney tries to deal with everything they've seen. But it's all too much to bear.

V: YOU'RE MY BROTHER AND I LOVE YOU

An AU where Rooney's younger brother, Jack Shepard, is still alive.

Relevant Edits: Jack Shepard Profile | Jack and Rooney Lore

No fics at this time, but I hope to write some in the future.

[draklorn]

i need to think of a hc to write about so i can rotate devan around in my brain in a productive way

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

👉👈 would u like to subject davijaan to spar?

(Always 💜)

All Davijaan is initially aware of is that a brother’s been cornered by a few natborns and needs a hand, so of course he swoops in and snaps the guy up, tossing him over his shoulder and walking off, leaving the natborns sputtering.

The brother over his shoulder starts to laugh.

“You know,” he says, with a kind of lyrical voice, “I was fine.”

“They were bothering you and we don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt by a civilian,” Davijaan explains. All of the commanders who are on Coruscant right now agreed that was the best course of action.

The brother laughs again. “Oh, my brother must like you.”

Davijaan pauses in his walking away from the situation. The way this brother, well, said brother is a little weird. He sets the brother back down on his feet and looks at him. He had kind of noticed the plain clothes before, but plenty of brothers wear plain clothes. Brothers on Coruscant may occasionally be this pretty, but they don’t typically look this young, though, nor do they get away with wearing their hair so long, or…wearing earrings? He stares.

The “brother” stares back at him, genuine amusement on his face.

“I’m Commander Davijaan,” he finally says.

The “brother”’s eyes light up. “Oh! Cort and Fenn talked about you—thank you for your work on Naboo.” He smiles. “I’m Akaanik’sha Fett. Jango’s my older brother.”

Fett’s brother?

That explains why he says brother like a natborn, Davijaan guesses. And why he looks like a clone.

“Oh.” Davijaan continues to stare.

The younger Fett is still smiling prettily. “Thank you for the save, though, even if it wasn’t really needed. Just because I’m not wearing beskar’gam doesn’t mean I’m not Mandalorian.”

Davijaan feels his face and ears get warm. He coughs into his fist. “Can, uh, can I get you a drink?”

Fett’s smile creeps bigger. “Why not?”

(I’m accepting clones to subject to Spar for a while more.)

[acr3ss-the-cosmos]

Some basic info about zzz chenhua while I work on her verse!

As a child, she lived in the old capital with her parents and younger brother before it fell. They all evacuated safely during the Hollow disaster and have lived in New Eridu since.

Chenhua is in her mid-20s and lives on her own in a little apartment complete with a balcony. Although she'd love to have a full-size garden, her living space doesn't allow for it, so she makes do with hanging a few planters to grow flowers off her balcony's railing.

She's been out of college for a couple of years, and works full-time for the Victoria Housekeeping Co.

Although not as agile as cat Thirens, Chenhua is still quite swift, as her small stature makes it much easier to fit into small spaces to clean them out during her housekeeping work (and to evade attacks from Ethereals).

[dutyworn]

@anderwhohn said: “ you don’t have to be so strong all the time. it’s okay. cry. i’ll be strong for both of us. “ /from Izzy (younger sibling!Izzy with Wren being the Commander - probably early Alliance for Wren (Iz may or may not be enlisted herself yet, depending on exact timeline)

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒    /    ACCEPTING ↷

Wren shouldn’t be so starled, that Izzy would notice she’s struggling; but  she’s her baby sibling.  Doesn’t matter that Wren, at Izzy’s age, was full-time taking care of her on the streets; Izzy’s a kid, she shouldn’t be worrying about... Wren’s an adult now, properly, and has no business making it Izzy’s problem that she desperately doesn’t feel like one.

❝ I’m OK, I promise. ❞    But she looks a little uncertain as she says it.

They don’t see each other as much as Wren would like. She just doesn’t get much time off, between speeding through her GED (she hasn’t been in school since she was ten, it’s hard) and military training. Most days, she doesn’t have the free time to write an email, let alone taking days to be able to visit Izzy in person. (She chooses writing Izzy over getting enough sleep, most days.)

❝ I’m just... ❞    She tucks her hair behind her ears, smooths it down as a nervous gesture, letting her gaze drop for a second before putting on a smile.    ❝ Just a little tired, that’s all. Don’t worry! Don’t ever think you need to be strong for me, don’t you dare. ❞

[jabbers-wild-world]

@parasiticpotentate

He’d lost control. He’d completely lost control of his cursed form, and he was caught in a wild rampage. Hissing and snarling, the elk-like cursed beast was tearing through the halls of the castle, slammed through the doors of the throne room, and— There! Letting out a loud, shrieking howl, he flared his wings and snapped skeletal jaws at the face of the Emperor.

Hissing, growling, he bucked and tossed his antlers, even as scouts were attempting to surround and restrain him. The cursed teenager was completely wild and out of control, and again, he charged straight for Belos with wicked fangs ready to tear the man apart if he wasn’t stopped.

[lunaetis]

@hopeformankind asked :

❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜ to violet evergarden? :0

unprompted. || always accepting

─「ヴァイオレット」─  eyes of CERULEAN quickly landed upon the other the moment she heard his footsteps coming closer. the pain or injuries she had attained prior to this seemed insignificant compared to the fact that HE remained unharmed and safe. the soldier, despite having bandages wrapped around her form and several wounds littering her frame, stood up to her feet, back straight. if it were ANYONE ELSE, they would've dropped to the ground from the unhealed injuries alone. this one ... she was made different. a man-made weapon. a BEAST made for war.

                " are you unharmed ? " no care nor attention was given to her own state of being, to her own health, to her own SAFETY. violet had quite literally thrown herself into the fire in order to make sure he was safe. that was her core, her mission, her reason of being. to fight, and if needed, to die for her MASTER. shining blue hues took a quick scan of her superior, and when his frame indicated no fatal wounds, her gaze softened a fraction in relief.

                " it is my duty. " loud and clear, like it was programmed, like it was written into her very codes, carved right into her very being. he didn't have to bother himself with EXPRESSING GRATITUDE to someone like her, yet, he did. there was a small sense of warmth rising in her chest, one that she promptly brushed away as eyes met his own. " if it's for you, i'd gladly give my life, commander. " like her own was nothing. and to her, it was, compares to him. soldiers like her were replaceable, but he, the COMMANDER, was their last hope. if they lost him, then — her gloved digits shook slightly.

                " once my injuries are healed, please allow me to return to the frontline. " please let me fight for you again.

[pridepoisoned]

[LOSING CONTROL] @rockheadcd asked: ⛓ go fuck up mine boy a lil. :) (no longer accepting/please see tags!!) (feat. @electrivolt !!)

"It's a shame that we have to finally meet like this," Jupiter declares, idly picking at a nail as she leans back in Roark's rickety swivel chair, clad in her full Galactic gear. The tiny Oreburgh Gym office is a complete mess, empty Pokeballs and fallen documents scattered across the dusty floor.

At Jupiter's feet lies the Gym Leader in question--her unlucky target on this inky-black evening--his shaken body curled against the locked door as he tries not to focus on the Skuntank tail hovering just inches from his face.

It smells absolutely rancid in these cramped quarters, the omnipresent smirk on the Commander's lips hidden by the black protective mask covering both her mouth and nose. Roark is afforded no such luxury, and Jeleva's wafting scent inflames every shuddering breath, makes tears spring to his eyes.

Skuntank's disgusting fumes aren't necessarily lethal, but every second spent unmasked in this room is decidedly unhealthy and torturous, a burning assault on the senses.

Roark doesn't deserve this. Any of it. Just a short while ago, he had been going above and beyond as a Leader by responding to a distress call from his Gym in the dead of night, only for Jupiter to viciously ambush him once he stepped foot inside the building. In a fair fight, the experienced miner-battler would probably emerge victorious...but Jupiter never fought those fights. Within moments, she had subdued the shocked Roark, using her team to drag him into the back office--far away from prying eyes.

It's unfair, underhanded...but Roark never stood a chance. Slumped against the door now, glasses laying at his side, he can only keep breathing under Jeleva's beady watch as his captor finally begins to explain herself.

"You have a dear friend," Jupiter states matter-of-factly, her eyes narrowing as friend is spat with disgust. "I don't know if he's informed you of his...misadventures, but he's been acting like quite the rebel lately. Interrupting Galactic plans. Physically assaulting grunts in your mines. Unacceptable behavior."

She's careful to leave out any mention of Volkner's secret alliance--with a few more pushes towards insanity, the Sunyshore Gym Leader would undoubtedly break all on his own...and the Commander is hoping to have a front-row seat to the collapse. For Jupiter, Roark is merely a pawn...a tool used to further drive her 'plaything' towards madness. Arceus, how she hated him.

"Insolence will not be tolerated. Interfering with our grand vision will not be tolerated," Jupiter explains, her voice hardening with anger. "You will talk some sense into that feral dog and end his little vigilante experiment, or the consequences will continue to escalate." She rises from the seat, squatting down in front of Roark's fallen frame, her gleaming purple eyes boring into him like Oreburgh's drills. "However, if both of you can stay in line and behave, there will be no reason for us to see each other again. Wouldn't you hate for there to be further...collateral damage?"

With a humorless laugh, Jupiter straightens up again, looming over the Gym Leader as she extracts a spare mask from her suit pocket and casually drops it on his head. There's a flash of red light as Jeleva is mercifully returned to her Ball, and then one more brutal swing--the Commander drives her boot hard into Roark's side to move him from the doorway, glasses falling from his shaken grasp. Without a second thought, Jupiter crushes the lenses under heel as she exits.

It's classless bully behavior, but Galactic's enforcer allows herself to revel in the fleeting moment of superiority. Roark's office is a mess--terrible fumes already contaminating the main Oreburgh Gym--and the miner is only faring slightly better. It won't be long until Volkner hears about this, like she knows he will. Jupiter's smile widens. She'll be long gone from here by then. I hope you'll receive my message loud and clear, brat.

Insolence will always be punished.

[ensnchekov-a]

DRABBLE ⸺ 1 / ?

Somebody always dies.

Sometimes, no matter how fast his fingers fly at the transporter controls, somebody does not make it off Vulcan. Sometimes it is Sulu’s beacon that disappears before he can even blink and Kirk is laying there on the transporter pad dazed but still alive, horror in the depths of his eyes.

Kirk says, “Sulu,” and his voice breaks and all Pavel can do is curse his own fingers, a misplaced decimal point in his hasty computation of gravitational pull, and subpar skill because clearly the fault must lie with him. If it didn’t, both men would be alive now, but only one has returned and so he waits for the inevitable backlash that is sure to follow.

Other times, Kirk is the one swallowed up by the singularity that is consuming Vulcan. Sulu materialises on the pad and Pavel’s heart stops because there’s only one and there should be two men, but he knows he’s hoping for an impossibility. He doesn’t know what happened as they fell, but Sulu looks in Pavel’s direction with a thousand-yard-stare and he feels the burn of accusation. “He lost his grip,” Sulu says, but what Pavel hears is “You couldn’t save him, kid. This is your fault.”

Pavel knows he’s right.

—

Tonight, he fails again to save Amanda Grayson. The red cliffs of Vulcan crumble and a woman screams and she is terrified, Pavel is sure of that, as she plummets dizzyingly fast toward her own grave. There is nothing he can do.

Five Vulcans make it aboard the Enterprise. One human does not.

—Я потерял ее, he whispers gravely, and the words repeat over and over in his head like a death sentence.

Four Vulcans maintain an air of cold impassivity on their faces that do not reach their eyes. There is anger in their eyes, unrestrained and unmasked, and Pavel feels the burn of their gaze searing right through his clothes, his skin, and he starts to believe—however foolishly—that looks can kill.

One allows his face to twist with a rage so thick he can feel it across the room. An apology forms in the back of Pavel’s throat, but he chokes on the words because an apology will not fix what he has done. It will not bring back the mother he failed to save, it will not make him less responsible, it will not absolve him of his failure.

—У меня получится! He hears his premature confidence echo in his head and never has he been so wrong.

His throat feels impossibly tight and he’s only semi-aware of the fact that he’s no longer sitting at the transporter controls. His back is firmly pressed against the wall and beyond the sound of his heart beating furiously in his chest, the room is deathly silent. He’s frozen still, not in control of his limbs. When he comes back to himself, Pavel sees it there in Spock’s eyes as his vision begins to fade: anger, betrayal, directed solely at him.

‘I trusted you to save her,’ Spock’s fury-darkened eyes say. Not a single soul moves to intervene. Pavel doesn’t remember how to speak, doesn’t think he’ll ever remember how to again.

—

Everything is still black when his eyes snap open and for a moment, nightmare is inseparably entangled with reality. He’s dead—Spock strangled him and he didn’t put up a fight now he is who-knows-where, there are no answers to what happens after death. But his heart is pumping like he has just finished a marathon—the hearts of dead men don’t beat—and he’s suddenly aware of the Starfleet issue blanket tangled around his midsection.

He is not dead. He is still on the Enterprise, startled awake by another nightmare. This is the fifth since they began their journey crawling back to Earth on impulse power and it will not be the last.

“Компьютер, свет на 20%.” His voice is far away and sleep-addled and it takes the computer a fraction of a second longer to obey when he mumbles in Russian, but the lights ease on. He digs his palms into his eyes and rubs away the exhaustion.

Almost any attempt at sleeping more than a few hours is thwarted by his subconscious—seventeen years is long enough to know how his body will react to certain things, and he has always suffered from nightmares in the wake of stress and trauma ever since he was young. They are defence mechanisms, he recalls reading in a journal when he was around ten years old, the subconscious mind’s way of working through difficult scenarios.

Some have suggested rewriting their nightmares and exerting a certain mastery over the dreamscape, but try as he might, this was never a skill he was able to achieve. Why, he can’t say—he knows what these nightmares are trying to tell him, so it should be simple to imagine a different outcome.

He finds this far more challenging than some of the courses at the Academy.

He’s tired—they all are, why should he complain?—but as long as he can continue to function as navigator and ensure their safe return home, he can endure the restless nights and Sulu’s constant enquiring after the faint dark circles under his eyes and the how are you? at the beginning of every shift. Sulu is a perceptive man. Pavel knows that he suspects something and that he does not really believe his smile and his automatic ‘I am fine, Mr. Sulu,” but he hasn’t pushed too far yet, and for that, he’s grateful.

He untangles himself from the covers and stands. His body wants to go back to sleep, but his mind and his heart are still racing. The chrono at his bedside reads 0229 hours and this may be a blessing in disguise. The Enterprise will be mostly asleep at this hour and he just wants to get out of this room, to wander the decks while he picks apart his thoughts and not have to worry about someone on the crew stopping to make small talk or smile ask how he is.

He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to smile right now.

Pavel snatches up the sweater he left hanging over the chair at his desk, tosses it on over his pyjamas, and slips out of his quarters in a pair of slippers.

Twenty-one steps takes him from his quarters to the turbolift and the only sounds in the corridor are his slippered feet tapping against the floor and the low humming breaths of the Enterprise. He mumbles, “Deck 2,” when the turbolift doors glide shut and steps out the moment they open about thirty-six seconds later.

He could spend some time on the Observation Deck and stare out into the black and let his mind wander. The stars have always been a comforting sight; something to focus on when his mind moved too fast for him to keep up. Tonight, he’d like to lose himself in plotting aimless courses and calculating within a minute the amount of time it would take them to reach home at this very moment.

Movement in the corridor in front of him momentarily makes him forget all that. He does not want company right now, but he quickly straightens his spine and attempts to muster up a cheerful smile. He’ll say hello, they’ll exchange small talk, and then he will be free to continue on.

It was a perfect plan had he run into anybody else on the crew. He should curse the universe for its cruelty.

“M-Mister Spock,” Pavel manages softly and forces his spine as straight as it can possibly go.

“Mister Chekov.” Spock tips his head a fraction of an inch and acknowledges him calmly. His voice sounds no different from the way he would address anyone else on the crew, but Pavel is still afraid to look him in the eye for too long and face what he’s seen in his nightmares.

Resentment. Blame. Anger.

“Is everything all right, Ensign?” Pavel swallows and forces himself to look up. It’s only now that he notices Spock is not in full uniform—he’s in black instead of science blue—and he looks perfectly relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back.

But he knows—it was a lie, then, just like his own. He remembers the mask of calm dissolving in the fire of explosive rage and how helpless the captain was when caught in it. He feels that same fury directed at him and he needs a minute to find his voice.

After a long pause, he answers, “You are not asleep. Sir.”

Spock lifts a brow. “No. Nor are you.” Pavel shakes his head and Spock continues, “You may join me if you do not have other arrangements. I am—amenable to the idea of company.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Pavel shuffles in place, momentarily stunned by the Commander’s easy invitation. He shouldn’t want anything to do with him. His guilt is written all over his face—the Commander should not want to spend time with the man responsible for the loss of his mother. It doesn’t add up.

The words he hasn’t said yet are eating a hole through his chest. In his nightmares, he never has the chance, but he can do it now, he can apologise, and he’ll understand if he blames him, he is well within his right t—

“Ensign.” Pavel’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. “Chekov.” Spock’s brows knit themselves together and a stone drops in Pavel’s stomach. Unless Spock used the telepathic abilities inherent to Vulcans to pick up on his thoughts, he hadn’t just thought all that—he said it out loud.

“Sir, I-I’m so sorry. I—”

“Come with me,” Spock says, less an invitation and more an order. “There are things we must discuss. Allow me to preface this with the following: I harbour no resentment towards you for what happened.”

[mhaccunoval]

NEW INFO CARD YEAHHHHHHHHHH

YIPPEE YIPPEE YIPPEE!!

yeah it's a simple one but. editing last year's every so often, as much as i liked its format, was bugging me. which was my worry about including current fixations for the public

[aceghosts]

GUESS WHO ACTUALLY GOT SOME WRITING DONE!!!!

Pulling over to the side, Rooney nearly falls off their bike, scrambling to the guard rail of the bridge. Sliding down into sitting position, they catch a glimpse of the setting sun, a burning orange against the dark fading sky. They sigh deeply, head in their hands as they sit alone on the sidewalk. They’re just so exhausted. How much longer can they keep doing this? Keep moving along as the end goal is dragged further away? When will they be allowed to simply rest? Not haunted by nightmares? Closing their eyes only for a brief second, the Chimera appears again, dragging them towards the hole, down into hell with it.

They gasp, jumping slightly as their eyes open. Rooney’s breath comes in panicked bursts, a sense of adrenaline coming over them, followed by the realization that it’s all in their head. Rooney lets out a tired laugh, feeling the bone-aching weariness once again. Tears burn in the corner of their eyes, just wishing fate would cut them a break. Their cell rings, and Rooney knows what they need to do. Pick themself up; move through the pain and tiredness. He needs them, and Rooney isn’t about to let him down. Wiping their tears away, Rooney swallows, composing themself before answering. “What’s the situation?” "Shepard, I couldn’t reach-,” He stops, mid-sentence, a brief flicker of concern on his face, “What happened? Tell me.” “Nothing. What do you need me to do?” They push themself to their feet, ignoring the radiating pain and protest from their body. Rooney needs to keep moving forward. There is no rest for them; there never is.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

great things about developing Ruju in reverse: because I started with his messed up Badmander version I now get to deconstruct how he wound up that way, and what specific positive traits he has that ultimately would be corrupted by a lifetime of misery and loss

less great things about developing Ruju in reverse: I still need to make him in-game so I don't have any actual references of him.

[bawkesfullofmuses]

What is money: Literally drops platinum coins like nobodies business

Commander; Only has one style of clothes and isnt exactly paid well by the central government. Granted she does get a lot of gifts thanks to her actions

Has no idea what currency is and thanks to snow white / scarlet her idea of "luxury" consists of eating rocks and getting shitfaced off cheap booze.