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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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A Surrealistic Life (Adrenaline Junkie Part 17)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, derealization, depression, grief, blood, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks

Word count: 3,385

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You cried in Philza’s arms for hours on end until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your head was left pounding and your throat scratchy from the loud crying, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, without Arthur you were nothing. The past two and a half years just- just didn’t exist. Your mind was still reeling, the words ‘will you always be with me?’ echoing through your mind constantly filling you with guilt.

With one last shuddering inhale, you separated yourself from Philza and wiped at the tears that had long since dried on your face. His eyes, vigilant as ever, scanned your form looking for any sign of distress. In his eyes, you saw pity and grief. This angered you, you didn’t need his pity; you were long past the point of pitiful glances. Well, you were, he wasn’t.

You purse your lips as you watch his eyes flick between your wing and where your other wing was supposed to be. Sorrow flashes in his eyes before he looks back at you with a small, painfully fake smile. With one hand, he gently pushes your shoulder down back onto the bed and stands up.

“I’ll be back, you get some rest.”

With the slightest hint of a nod, you watched as he lingered in the doorway before hesitantly walking out of your room. After he left your room, you locked the door behind him. That door remained locked for weeks on end, every knock or attempt at conversation was never answered by you. Their words were nothing but background noise in the back of your mind.

Instead of responding, you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes thinking about nothing but everything you’ve lost. Only occasionally you would leave your room to attend to your most basic needs when you were sure that everybody was asleep or out of the house.

The days meshed together as your thoughts consume you in a whirlwind of unorganized messes. Several times, you’ve worked yourself into panic attacks and paranoia filled spiraling because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Being left alone with your thoughts was something that you always avoided by constantly tinkering with contraptions, your thoughts wandered off to places that greatly disturbed you. But now, you let those thoughts wash over you without a care. Your dreams reflected this; they were plagued with images of Arthur looking up at you with large puppy dog eyes and a large smile before he would be sucked into darkness screaming for you to help him, to do anything, but you were always glued in place leaving you to watch helplessly as he left you over and over again.

Another common one you would have is Arthur getting lost in a bellowing snowstorm in the dead of night. You would be wandering through thick snow calling his name until you would come across a small, pale hand peeking out of an abnormal lump of snow; dread would always fill you during those dreams, it was a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.

Other dreams, though very rare, would be pleasant; whether they were about you and Arthur whistling a small tune as you both invented something or a small picnic on the cliff laughing freely into the air, you would always wake up in the mornings prepared to greet him and cook breakfast with him. It wasn’t until you moved your right arm and found that it had limited mobility that you realized that everything was a dream.

You hated those dreams, they always gave you a false sense of hope that everything was okay. Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing.

You refused to believe that… whatever was going on didn’t happen; Philza had said that the last few years had been fake, something that your mind had made up as some form of coping mechanism, but who’s to say that this isn’t a hallucination as well? Both your experiences felt completely different from each other, this reality could be the hallucination for all you knew.

The only thing on your mind was how you needed to get back to Arthur in any possible way you could. If Arthur didn’t exist in this reality, you didn’t want to be in it. You need him and he needs you, you didn’t want to imagine a reality without him. If you got yourself into this by dying, perhaps that was your ticket back to him. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this.

You were going to get your son back, and you were going to die trying.

Until then, you just have to wait out your family. They’d just stop you in the end and you couldn’t have that. You’d have to put on an act that you were perfectly fine and that would entail inventing everything over again, but you were fine with that; if you made it once, you can make it again.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you searched your closet for your old cloak but then you remembered you got your cloak weeks after your first death. Groaning to yourself, you settled for your old bomber jacket. The slits in the back of it wouldn’t cover your nub, so you awkwardly tucked it underneath the fabric of the cloth. It shot pain down your spine, but you shook it off; the pain was something you could handle, you’ve had worse.

Without another thought, you quietly left your room with only one destination in mind.

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You softly padded down the basement stairs towards your workshop. When you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, you paused and looked around. The walls that were once covered with sloppy sketches and words written in two different handwritings, both equally as messy and rushed, were barren for the most part; you forgot that the walls were painted an off white color. Your filing cabinets were gone, replaced with cardboard boxes containing old clothes and toys with thick layers of dust sitting peacefully on top of them. The crafting table sat in the corner of the room wasn’t worn, in fact it looked brand new, not a scratch could be seen on the surface.

Everything was wrong.

You numbly walked over to your desk and picked up the paper that laid on it, holding it up to the light. It was the first draft to your TNT launcher. The sight of the crude, minimal sketches made you cringe, it was far too messy; you had no idea how you could make out what your sloppy handwriting pointed to or what materials were supposed to go where.

You dropped the paper and let it flutter to the floor without a care. Your eyes flickered over the desk and eyed the notebook sitting on top of a stack of spare papers. A spark of hope ignited inside of you, this was the notebook Arthur so often doodled in with different ideas of what could be invented.

You snatched it and flipped the front cover over with haste. A wide smile stretched your lips when you caught sight of the small handwriting that littered the page. It was yours, but you had given it to Arthur so that he could learn and copy from your early years. It was perfect for a blueprint template, neat and organized.

However as you flipped through the book, your smile dropped and the little hope that flared in your chest was snuffed out. You stared at the blank page as frustration built up inside of you. Before you knew it, you threw the notebook at the opposite wall as hard as you could. You were left standing in the middle of the cold basement with your chest heaving and your teeth gritted.

Everything was so wrong. So, so wrong.

You heard footsteps thunder down the stairs before they came to a stop behind you. Hesitant footsteps made their way over to you, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“(Y/n)? Is everything-”

“Nothing is okay, Tommy,” you gritted out, “absolutely nothing about this is okay.”

He said nothing as he walked around you and put his hand on your clenched fist, his fingers curling around yours and opening your hand. Your palm stung slightly as you glanced down at it. Four small, crescent shaped cuts were imprinted on your skin slowly starting to glisten with blood.

Huffing, you ripped your hand out of his grasp and glanced at his face. You caught yourself doing a double take as you saw just how innocent he looked. No sign of hidden pain in his shining blue eyes, no scars littering his skin, and the bags that once made him look years older was nonexistent. He was your annoying, gremlin of a little brother again. He was Tommy again.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” you breathed out before you shook your head trying to rid your mind of your frustrations, “no reason at all…”

He awkwardly coughed and nodded slightly, “right…”

You cleared your throat and glanced off to the side at the book laying on the floor. Tommy’s eyes followed where you were looking and went to pick it up. You felt a twinge in your heart as he started to flip through it much like you did earlier. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, “why’d you throw this? What’d the book do to you?” He jokingly asked you.

“It didn’t do anything and that’s the problem,” you mumbled out before you snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it into the trash can.

“Why are you acting so weird? I know you just died and all, but you never let that notebook out of your sight and now you’re just tossing it into the bin!” Tommy fished it out of the trash can and haphazardly placed it back onto your desk on top of the stack of unused paper. You could feel your eye twitch at it’s placement before you threw it away again.

“Leave it there, I don’t want it. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” you murmured under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you need it- wait, don’t tell me you’re quitting working with redstone. Cuz I’ll have you know that you’re going to be the best goddamned inventor this gods forsaken world has ever known and-”

“I’m not going to quit,” you interrupted him, “trust me, I’ll need whatever I can make. I just… don’t need it anymore, I already know exactly what I need to make.” I can’t stand the sight of Arthur’s notebook so empty and blank your mind supplied yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, “even without the bluepri-”

“Even without the blueprints,” you curtly nodded and automatically turned to look at the bulletin board hanging above your desk only to sigh when you once again saw that it was barren. “I made these things thousands of times before, I know what I’m doing,” your gaze zeroed in on the half finished blueprint for your automatic crossbow, “I’ll just make them again.”

Tommy once again looked at you with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, you could just see the curiosity and confusion swimming around in his baby blue orbs, “what do you mean, you literally only have one prototype of everything on here.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so just drop it.” You hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, but the frustration was just too overwhelming to ignore. Just as you could see him start to get dejected from the corner of your eye, you made quick work of changing the subject.

“You know, I could hear what you said when I wasn’t awake. I really appreciated the music, it was a nice change of pace.”

He tensed before his eyes were drawn to the empty space over your shoulder. His breath hitched slightly as a sorrowful look appeared in his eyes. Looking back at you, he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t struggle against him despite your frustrations, you knew he needed you right now. You could still remember how broken he was when you were unconscious. The way his lip wobbled slightly before he hugged you reminded you of Arthur.

You gently hugged him back and wrapped your wing around him. He gripped you tighter, his breath shuddering as wetness started to hit your head. You said nothing as you started to hum and run your fingers along his back tracing out patterns without a particular one in mind.

Eventually, he pulled away from you and chuckled sardonically, wiping his tears away with a fist, “you’re the one who died and I’m the one being comforted. Gods, it’s pathetic.”

“It’s okay to feel emotions, Tommy. You should never bottle them up, it sounded like you needed a good hug anyways. I’m happy to give you that,” you softly told him.

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, avoiding your gaze. For a moment, your tall brother was replaced by a short, red haired boy wearing that same expression. You purse your lips in thought, your previous frustrations completely gone and replaced with an urge to comfort him or at least distract him. Though a deep sadness dragged your body down at the thought of Arthur, Tommy just reminded you too much of him. It was eerily uncanny in your opinion.

Ideas swarmed your head as you thought back to how you comforted Arthur when he fell down. Besides talking to him, you would always teach him something; knowledge to Arthur is- was like a sponge absorbing water. It gave him a distraction to whatever got him down, maybe that would work for Tommy as well.

Wordlessly, you walked over to your desk and gestured for him to follow you. You plopped him into your office chair and pulled one of the cardboard boxes up to the desk. In the process, you grabbed your gloves, goggles, and everything you would need to set up a simple timed piston. The smallest spark of happiness flashed inside you as you saw that your resources were fully stocked.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, Tommy, I’m going to show you how to set up one of my favorite redstone mechanisms. Put these on,” you handed him the gloves and goggles and watched as he put them on. The goggles were a bit small on him, but besides that, everything fit him.

“Now, you’re going to want to…”

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Hours passed as you both worked together on the contraption. Slowly, you could see Tommy loosening up and making more jokes, successfully distracted. However, you didn’t expect yourself to follow suit. Laughter came easier to you whenever Tommy would joke around, your troubles long forgotten.

It took a little longer than you were used to, but eventually Tommy started to follow along with the precision you’d expect from a beginner. Slowly but surely, with many mistakes along the way, there was a working piston system sitting on the desk.

Tommy triumphantly laughed into the air as he watched the pistons work in tandem with one another. You laughed alongside him and ruffled his hair, “nice job, Artie! I knew you could do it!”

Tommy completely stopped and looked at you in confusion, “‘Artie’? Who’s that?”

You completely froze in place, you hadn’t meant to call him Artie. He was Tommy, he was your blond little brother, not your ginger son. Tommy was his own person, he was Tommy, not Arthur. You mentally scolded yourself for constantly mixing the two up.

“Artie is- well, he’s just… Arthur is my old friend,” you stammered out after tripping over your words clumsily. Tommy couldn’t find out about Arthur, nobody could. That’d just ruin your plan.

He snorted, “sure, ‘old friend’. You know, if Dad finds out that you’re dating someone he’d ground you for life.”

“I’d never date anybody, you know that,” you scolded him with your nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s just an old friend and you remind me of him.”

“Well, old friend or not, he sounds amazing if I remind you of him!”

You smiled sadly as your mind flashed to images of Arthur at various points in his life, “he really was, you would’ve loved him, Tommy. He might’ve been the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him? I can preen your wings-” Tommy abruptly stopped himself and looked like he’d just accidentally kicked a puppy, looking at you with wide eyes and red tinted cheeks.

Just as he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, you chuckled at his expression, “you’re fine, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time for you to get used to this,” you shifted your wing and cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. You haven’t preened your wings since before you left for the cave nearly two months ago, and your wing was a mess of bent and loose feathers. “I’d… actually like a good preening, are you sure you know how to do it?”

“Please,” he scoffed before pushing you to sit down in your desk chair, “I’ve seen you and Dad do it to each other thousands of times, I think I know what I’m doing.”

“That isn’t how that- you know what? Just go ahead. Make sure you get any loose feathers and straighten them out,” you stretched your wing out and hoped for the best. Tommy surprisingly did a decent job of straightening out feathers, he just had to work on distinguishing loose feathers from intact feathers (you were now missing a couple of smaller feathers).

The entire time, you were telling him how amazing your boy was. Sure, you might’ve overexaggerated just a little bit, but Arthur was certainly someone that deserved the praise. That kid was something else, truly a prodigy at both redstone and compassion. Leaving out the fact that Arthur was your adopted son and that he was ten years old was a little hard, but you managed to avoid that.

You could tell that Tommy knew something was different about you, but you guessed that he just assumed the changes were because of your death and not because you were technically two and a half years older than you physically are.

When he was done, you looked at your wing and you were pleasantly surprised at how well he did; sure there were a few loose feathers and they were partially crooked, but you could tell that Tommy did his best with them.

“Thanks, Toms,” you smiled at him after you tucked your wing back in, “I really appreciate you doing that, it was starting to bother me.”

“It’s no problem,” he puffed out his chest in pride, “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“And I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Who knows, maybe Dad’ll let you do his wings next.”

“Oh gods no,” Tommy shuddered slightly, “his are massive and he has two of them! If doing yours took me an hour and a half, I’d hate to see how long it’d take me to do his.”

You cringed, remembering the last time you preened his wings. Though you were experienced, it had taken you two full hours for each wing. “Yeah, his wings are huge. Gods, I hope my wing doesn’t get to be that size.” Though they grew to be nowhere near Philza’s wingspan when you were in that reality, you weren’t sure if yours was going to be larger or smaller than what they were.

Just as Tommy was about to open his mouth to respond to you, Wilbur’s voice echoed down the stairwell, “Tommy, dinnertime!”

“Well c’mon then, let’s go. I’ll race you there,” was all Tommy said to you before he bolted up the stairs with a booming laugh, skipping every third step. You could feel your heart stop when he almost tripped on one of the stairs because he skipped too many. Rushing after him, you shouted at him, “Tommy, walk! You’re going to break your neck if you keep running up and down the stairs!”

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Gender neutral reader:

@totem-awooga @parkeepingparker @whatislifebutlemons @kittymaniacz

SBI:

@afifaj

Adrenaline Junkie:

@acecarddraws @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes @prlan @hummingbird-lightningstrike @pog-sad-muffin @mystyxmess @thegeekisheere @solar-idiot @yummychicknnugget @aikochan4859 @lofiisoul @deadroses2021 @iamsunshinesnowflake @xxtwizztedxx @izuruamme @reeeeeeeeeeeeeee @insanitybuff

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #sbi x you #philza x you #tommyinnit x you #mcyt x you #dream smp x you #adrenaline junkie #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: nightmares #tw: depersonalization #tw: depression #tw: grief

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mybg3notebook · 3 years

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Astarion and Power - Part 1

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were made up to the game version v4.1.101.4425. As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in (post)

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

Before talking about Power, Cazador, and other details, I would like to quickly gather what little we have about Astarion’s past.

Backstory: Mortal Astarion.

About his past we have little information, mostly given by Swen in interviews with game magazines or via his on-live demonstrations of the game early in 2020 before the release of EA. All this information is subjected to changes, of course, so we should take it with a pinch of salt.

As a mortal, Astarion was a corrupt magistrate who judged criminals he later sent to the local vampire coven of the Szarr family as food. After a while, his greed got the best of him and started to sell those criminals into slavery as well, having a double profit from this. This movement brought the fury of the Szarr family upon him.

From this short story we can infer that there was a high probability that his judgements were unfair, condemning criminals who needed a death sentence to lighter ones (this is related to his strange comment of “death is a harsh sentence” in Arabella’s scene, see the post Astarion's Standards and Manipulation) while condemning innocent ones; all with the goal of having a decent amount of living creatures to offer to the local vampire or to the slave traders.

We also know, by his own words in game, that when he was turned into a vampire, he had been the victim of an attack of thugs/Gurs (he says this information in different moments of the game, changing details. I don't know if this is on purpose to show Astarion’s manipulative nature depending on your reaction to Gandrel, or it’s a consequence of unpolished details during EA). What we know for sure is that these Gurs/thugs were angry because of a judgement he had previously made. It’s easy for us to infer, using the info above, two situations:

Astarion may have condemned some isolated Gur to an unfair trial who ended up in a slavery network, being discovered later by their Gur fellows who simply avenged them in Baldur’s Gate. This theory has been developed as a way to see fit the concept of Maiden Fel. If Gandrel dies and Astarion performs a Speak with Dead, he will reveal that Maiden Fel is the head of his tribe who asked him to return with Astarion “unblemished”. Digging for more details about who Maiden Fel is, Gandrel says she is the “reason even monsters have nightmares”. Walking on the speculation ground, there is a chance that Maiden Fel could be a nightmare Hag, since Gurs consider hags as “wise women'', and unlike the rest of the humans, they respect them a bit more than common folks.

Or the whole setting was done by Cazador, who plotted this ambush to make it look as an act of barbarism using furious Gurs (which attack could be seen as an obvious reaction since Gurs are despised everywhere due to their nomadic lifestyle and all the stigmas they carry) as a way to punish Astarion for trying to outsmart him.

Among the many conclusions that we can draw from here is that, if Astarion’s backstory is not retconned and rewritten later in the full game, we can be almost sure he was an Evil-aligned character as a mortal. We can’t say that vampirism twisted his morals; they were rather poor in the first place.

Astarion, the Vampire spawn

After the bite scene, Astarion presents himself as a vampire spawn, a creature lesser than a slave for his master, since Cazador’s commands are impossible to resist. He explicitly says that his body always reacts to Cazador’s word and for two hundred years he was tormented by him. Thanks to datamining information, we know that Cazador performed an infernal deal, and part of the contract is carved on his back.

Due to datamining information as well, we know that the first dream that Astarion experiences may not be the one related to the tadpole dreams mechanics since he dreams without having made use of the tadpole powers yet. I prefer to suppose that this dream is product of his own psychology, or even it could be an effect of Cazador’s power on him (maybe he can’t dream of anything but of his Sire, considering how possessive Cazador is)

As I said, this is not a dream of power and desire in the same way that the other companions or Tav have, and for this reason I’m inclined to say that the vampiric power of Cazador is the one making an effect instead of the tadpole (or simply Astarion’s trauma showing). This dream looks like a reminder, like a reiterative dream for Astarion about Cazador’s rule, which are:

rule 1: he will not drink from thinking creatures.

rule 2: he will obey him in all things.

rule 3: he will not leave Cazador’s side unless directed.

rule 4: he will know that he is Cazador’s proprietary.

Most options end up in the similar idea of: “Free? Lie to yourself, boy, but not to me. You are mine, forever.”

Cazador and Astarion

[Astarion has just related what Cazador made him eat] “Flies? What did you do to deserve that?”

“I existed, that was enough for him. He revelled in having power over me, because those with power can do whatever the hell they want.”

If we are going to talk about power with a character as Astarion in mind, we need to talk first about Cazador. Let’s start with the way Astarion describes him:

“The biggest threat to a vampire is another vampire. They're scheming, paranoid, power hungry beasts. So why would any vampire give up control over a spawn to create a competitor? Trust me, it doesn't happen.”

“Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power.(...) Not political power or military power. Power over people. The power to control them completely. (...) He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his spawn and he became my tormentor.”

“He had me go out Baldur’s Gate to fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find. It was a fun little ritual of his—I’d bring them back and he’d ask if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat. Of course if I said no, he’d have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse.”

“Cazador liked to make them art, spent all night with a razor, drafting a sonnet on my back. (Puppy eyes) Apparently the more I screamed, the more mistakes he made. And the more editing was required.”

“It was a group of Gur/thugs that attacked me that night in Baldur’s Gate. I would have died had Cazador not appeared and saved me. (...) He chased them off and offered to save me. To give me eternal life. Given that my choices were “eternal life” or “bleed to death on the street”, I took him up on the offer. It was also afterwards I realised just how long “eternity” could be.”

“Cazador likes to toy with people. Let them think there was hope right until the end. Until he snatched it all away. Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know they’ll win.”

(About Raphael’s encounter) “All that 'take your time. I'll wait' nonsense? He's playing with us. It reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged. "

Tav: “Would he send another Gur to capture?” / Ast: “Yes, he probably thought it was funny.”

(“We can kill him.”) “No, you don't understand. You don't know him. Just trust me when I say we need to be careful. He'll send more lackies – he has plenty of souls to command. We just have to be vigilant. Keep our wits about us. And kill any monster hunters on sight. We can probably make an exception with Wyll... Probably.”

>>So far we know that Cazador has a particular pleasure for control, especially the one related to people’s will. With the nightmare information, we know he has powers related to mind control. He has many slaves, and enjoys cruelty, humiliation, and torture. He enjoys making Astarion eat putrid animals, carving his back with an infernal contract, and playing psychologically with him. He also likes to give false hope, making his victims believe that there is hope, removing it right in front of them.

I want to highlight that this twisted way of giving hope just to offer a perverted solution to a person’s problem, and enjoying the pleasure caused by the break of the hope, can be seen in Astarion during EA: in the approval that Astarion gives to Tav when you revive Connor, and that pinch of hope in Mayrina turns into horror when she sees Undead!Connor. For Astarion this situation is “funny”. Similar can be said when he approves telling Arabella’s parents that she will be released after the end of the ritual, when she is in fact dead.

Astarion describes a bit more what power we should expect from a Lord Vampire:

Shapeshift: turning into mist.

Calling wolves to do his bidding.

Shrugging off blows.

He “could walk into our camp tonight and kill you with his bare hands.”

Astarion and Slavery

One of the characteristics that so far in EA has got my attention was how little conflict Astarion has with slavery, despite having been his former condition.

He is apathetic to slavery in the best case, or even supporting it in the worse case. Proof of this can be found in the Myconid Colony, when interacting with a duergar slave. He speaks as if it were a totally useful tool that inspires little sympathy in him, since they don't have consciousness. However, he leaves a quite open question when finally adding “Or maybe not”.

But this “maybe not” is not left to speculation, we can see what Astarion truly feels with a non-Gur human slave in another part of the game: in the Zhentarim hideout. This can be checked with Oskar, the painter slave.

You can free Oskar using persuasion with his kidnapper (Astarion keeps neutral, he doesn’t approve the freeing). Now, if you can buy Oskar by paying the gold directly or by using intimidation to lower the price, it would keep Astarion neutral until the moment of the payment is stated, which he disapproves. At first I thought it was because he was truly against slavery of thinking creatures... but it was not. It was because you are paying a lot of money (we need to remember Astarion is greedy [1] as well, he wouldn’t be a vampire if it weren't for his greed).

Once bought, if you keep Oskar as a slave, and you demand him to keep silent because "you want your slaves silent unless they are spoken to", Oskar will think it's a joke, and you, again, can use the option "I don't joke with my slaves" and then Astarion will approve. None of these options is under any tag to make them believe they are part of a preformative act to prank Oskar. And this is key... this is not a joke. They are used as your real sentiments and intentions, and Astarion approves them.

These reactions are not random, they make sense with his—until this moment unchanged or retconned—backstory, where he had no problem trafficking with criminals as vampire food and later as slaves to have higher profits. So, these two aspects remain in his vampire nature unaltered: the most important thing is always to have profits, and his relationship with slavery is absolutely fine as much as it gives benefits, it’s useful or at least, gives him some entertainment.

The tadpole

We know the tadpole has a particular effect on Astarion. Unlike the other companions, Astarion doesn’t dream of a person who represents to him both desire and power. Power? undoubtedly, but desire? It’s hard to say. The implied, vague concept that Astarion has been sexually abused by Cazador is there (because we know these dreams are about “sensual” desire as well).

It’s maybe a consequence of the vampirism and, by extension, of Cazador’s power, that makes Astarion unable to dream of anything else but his master. From the datamining information about the non-tadpole dream of Astarion, in which Cazador lists four rules, we know that the fourth one is about never stopping to be Cazador’s propriety, unable to be free, not even in dreams. Maybe Cazador’s effect also applies to Astarion’s dreams as well (but this is a mere speculation, there is no real proof of it on EA or datamining info so far).

So when Astarion awakes in the beach and sees that some rules of his vampiric nature have been changed, he gets excited about the tadpole, and unlike the rest of the companions, he doesn’t want to get rid of it. He wants to master it, to have control of it. However, when the opportunity of controlling the tadpole appears with Raphael encounter, Astarion is one of the few companions who is completely against it at first.

“Raphael is playing with us; Cazador liked to toy with people too. Let them think there was hope right until the end. Until he snatched it all away. Creatures like them don't play games unless they know they'll win.”

In that moment, he claims he won’t change a vampiric master for an infernal one. However, when the first use of the Tadpole causes the first symptoms of transformation evident, Astarion falls in despair: he is scared and, calling for Raphael to take him from the camp, he says a curious phrase:

“I would choose servitude over oblivion any day”

So, after this moment, he is not completely convinced that Raphael is the true solution to his problem but he is more open to keep him as a plan B if anything else fails. Later he claims that it doesn't matter to be a servant of a devil, because he knows Cazador, and he wants to get rid of his power for good.

“I won't lie, it's tempting. If I keep the tadpole, I risk transforming into a grotesque monster. If I lose the tadpole, Cazador has control of me, body and soul, and I return to the shadows. It's grim either way, so why not sell what's left of my soul to a devil? Better he has it than cazador. Whatever it's coming we need to have our options open.”

Astarion’s process of seeing the potential of the power of the tadpole increases along the game. It gets higher and wilder. The first instances of the tadpole use are about Astarion discovering how much this tadpole gives him powers he can barely understand.

“The tadpoles are not so bad at all. (...) First I can walk in the sun, then make people dance like puppets? *laughs * I've certainly had worse days.”

He is not an idiot, he knows that, without control, they will end up turning into mind flayers, so he needs to find something powerful that can give him control over his tadpole. This is the reason why he encourages the use of the tadpole after knowing about the netherese magic containing the transformation via Omellun or Ethel.

Ethel explains that the tadpole had been tampered, so the dialogue goes:

Tav: “It's giving us more time, sounds good to me”.

Astarion: “Perhaps. And who's to say it can't be tampered with further?” (She said it was netherese magic) “it must be powerful magic to stop the parasite in its tracks, I wonder what else it could do?

At that point in the story, he knows that the netherese magic is powerful enough to contain the transformation: so he is now sure that there is more time to use it. So he will end up being the only companion in EA who encourages everyone to use the power:

“What's not to enjoy (with this tadpole)? I can walk in sunlight, trespass upon any home, manipulate minds – I'm the most powerful vampire in the realms. Granted, the looming doom is an issue, but why not enjoy the benefits while we can?

Despite the nightmares happening after every use of the tadpole powers, Astarion doesn’t want to stop. At this point, he is the only companion who doesn’t want to.

“The power to twist a mind to your will is worth some nightmares.”

By the end of the game, we are sure that Astarion wants this power without doubts. He revels in the power of mind-controlling people, ironically, despite having suffered so much of it under Cazador’s control. If we see all the situations where Astarion’s mind is controlled, or violated, his reactions will be extremely more aggressive than the other companions. He has suffered it a lot, but by the end of EA he is enjoying being on the other side of that power.

This post was written on April 2021. → For more Astarion: Analysis Series Index

#astarion #bg3 early access #bg3 meta

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

Text

Descent Pt. 2

Masterlist of other Chapters: Here Crossposted to Ao3: here

Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

I’m so glad y’all are enjoying the food so far, please take some more of it. Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist or anything like that. For now, let’s enjoy our favorite angel doing ... not very angelic things (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Pairing: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Luxurious Smut Tags: Voyeurism, mutual masturbation Summary: With the first chapter behind him, there's still something missing in Simeon's writing, and he needs your help to figure out what it is.

Stumble

True to his word, Simeon had the draft he promised in your email inbox within a few days. You were surprised. He seemed to be struggling so much when you last saw him, you really expected him to take a little more time. Regardless, it was to your benefit since it meant you had more time to edit.

Even if it was just the first chapter and a little bit after, you were surprised at the speed in which he jumped to the lewd scenes. It wasn’t surprising considering sex was the focus, but you would need to teach him how to reign in his enthusiasm. By the time you were finished reading through the draft the first time, your whole face had gone hot. The explicit details he wrote out only brought your mind back to what you had acted out in that sunroom just a few days ago. It was a direct translation of your actions to text. Sure, Simeon was new to the genre, but his talent as a writer still shone through.

Despite the roughness of the draft, the publisher approved it as acceptable proof of progress. They greenlit the whole project and you were more than excited to email Simeon and let him know the good news. Just as you had come back from the meeting with the executives, your phone chirped with a new message.

[SMS: I AM STUCK. I CANNOT WRITE ANYMORE. HELP ME.]

You laughed at how short and crude the message was. For someone who spent most of his time on a computer writing; he was absolutely hopeless with any other form of technology. Shaking your head at how someone like him had gotten so far in life barely knowing how to send a text, you packed up your things and made your way to his place. You did have a few notes about his first chapter to give him, anyway.

Simeon hated being deceptive. He hated how quickly he had started to rely on that image of you in his brightly lit sunroom to fuel his writing and for his own desires. He was ashamed to ask you to come over again; but he was repeating the same motions in his writing, he needed new visuals and you were the only one he could trust. In reality, his request was a thinly veiled request to see you perform again. He was able to complete his work so quickly after watching you. Researching video clips and online articles gave him some fuel, but nothing got him so fired up as watching a scene unfold from you.

It was a strange obsession he was still wrapping his mind around. He had to be careful, the temptation you possessed was absolutely dangerous. Simeon had to reassure himself that he was ancient and knew his way around humans with how long he had studied them. He needed to convince himself that he would never sully a human body, no matter how much he wanted you. His title, status and reputation as an angel were the most sacred parts of him. With so many years of writing experience, surely he could write a proper sex scene without actually ever having to fuck you.

It didn’t stop him from being nervous. No matter how many fail safes he came up with, he knew that you were effortlessly enticing him to be joined with you. He had to be vigilant. It would be the ultimate test of his will and his determination. Both for his career and his soul. He would see it through, he knew he could. No material experience could be more important than his angelic status. Right?

He paced back and forth in the foyer of his home, gnawing on his nail while he waited for you to arrive. It had taken him half an hour to find the right words to text you. Simeon glanced at the phone in his hand almost every ten seconds, hoping you had replied. He knew you had a meeting, but it should be over by now and you should be arriving at any moment. You hadn’t answered him which made him antsy. Usually you would have at least told him you were coming over. He could only hope that you were just eager to see him as he was to see you again.

He didn’t want to admit how he had fallen asleep with his hands down his pants the past three days, dreaming about your sweet voice as you came and called out to him. He didn’t want to think about how many positions he had imagined you being in. Simeon didn’t want to dwell on how many scenarios he came up with just to have you reenact them for him. Some of the scenes delved so deep into his darkest desires that he was scared to even admit he thought about them.

But he wanted to see them play out.

The doorbell barely finished ringing and he was already flinging opening the door to let you in. “I’m guessing the meeting went well.” He said with a bright smile to hide his nerves. He was already set up in his sunroom. During the time you were gone, he had brought a small folding desk to the recliner. The cable for his computer had also been moved so he didn’t have to worry about the battery being drained. You instinctively went over to the couch lined up against the wall but he stopped you. Instead of letting you lounge like you did the last time, he offered you a chair across from his makeshift desk instead. He refused to make eye contact as you made yourself comfortable.

“The meeting went as well as it could,” you said while taking out the envelopes that contained his work. “They like everything so far, but it’s still rough and needs a little bit more refinement, and I have to agree with them.”

You glanced up at him and noticed him fidgeting with his fingers while he kept his face calm. “So, what needs to be fixed up?”

You flipped through a few pages and showed him the paragraphs of smut he had written. The color drained from his face as he was face-to-face with the obscenity of his work in physical form. “So, it’s not bad. But I can tell it was your first time. There’s something missing about the partner. I can’t place it, but it just feels… flat? Like I can’t tell if they’re feeling anything from the exchange or what.”

“Ah… Oh… Hahaha. I see… That explains a lot.”

You raised a curious eyebrow at his comment. “Does it?” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back in the chair. It seemed as though Simeon was just at the verge of another great discovery about his writing and you were rather intrigued about what his thoughts were.

“Yes. I was struggling to write this next scene and I just… couldn’t figure out how to convey the partner’s feelings. It’s frustrating. I should have all the resources that I need to make it work.” He gestured at what he had written and bade you to take a look.

It was always fun to see his work in progress. With the partially polished scenes and unfinished sentences, it was like you got to see the inner workings of his brain. What he had in front of you was a far cry from the more polished work you were used to, but the overall flow of action was much better than the travesty you had seen last time. However, you could see the exact point where he started to struggle. As he said, there was a lack of feeling behind the words.

“Ooh… So this is the part where you need my help again, huh?”

Simeon covered his face with his hand. “I’m ashamed to ask you to assist me with another scene.”

You smiled softly, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Well, I’d be the world’s worst editor and manager if I refused to help you, right?”

“You don’t have to…”

“But I want to.” You reassured him, while getting up from your seat to start stripping. Truth be told, you were waiting for the next time you got to see him so hot and bothered while working. Something about how focused he was on writing and not what his body needed made you want to push him further, see just what it took to get him distracted. “But you know… I’m sure you’d get more out of it if you experienced it too. Sometimes, just watching isn’t enough.”

Simeon felt his heart drop to his stomach from your suggestion. You were putting into words all of his desires and what he had craved ever since the last time. If he didn't have his wits about him, he knew he would have taken you up on the offer. The temptation of knowing how it felt to be in you while you moaned had piqued his curiosity and he longed to experience it. “I… Uh,” he stuttered, trying to wrap his mind around how to reply.

You dragged your finger up his thigh, pausing right at his crotch and waited for his reaction. He was so cute with his eyes wide, lips slightly parted and his brain short circuiting from your advances. You wanted to devour him and see him crumble under your fingers. “You what?” You encouraged, moving the focus from his crotch upwards, your finger skirting the soft sweater he wore and up to his chin. You tilted his head upwards to meet you eye to eye. “You want to write the best novel… don’t you?”

“I do…” He breathed, unable to take his eyes away from you and his mind struggled to keep up with how quickly you had taken control of the situation. He needed to wrestle some semblance of calm back in his favor if he wanted to continue getting what he wanted without you suspecting his obsession. “In order for me to do that, I need you to show me how…” He trailed off, cheeks flushed warm from thinking about his lewd request.

“How what? Come on now, you asked me to fuck a pillow last time, how is this going to be any worse than that?” you teased. Much to your delight, he became more flustered, his gaze dropping to the floor and he mumbled to himself. You let him get over his shyness, waiting patiently with his chin balanced at the tip of your finger.

Please uhm… Please show me how you please yourself… for this next scene.” He managed to save himself from falling completely into your trap, specifying exactly what he needed you to do. You were so alluring and so close to him, he had almost asked for the unforgivable.

You smiled, letting go of his chin and stepping back. “It’d be so much easier if I had some toys to do that… but I guess I’ll show you since you asked so nicely.” You planted a kiss on his forehead before undoing the buttons of your blouse.

“T-toys?” Simeon squeaked. He had seen them in video clips and read about them in reviews when he researched; but it never occurred to him that you might want to use them.

“It’s okay if you don’t have any. I can always settle with this…” You teased, walking over to him and fondling his crotch. “In fact, I would prefer this over anything else.”

You were close enough to see his pupils dilate and notice how his breath hitched as you touched him. He pulled away from you, hiding behind his screen and pretended to be busy with opening a new document. “I… I need to write.”

“But that’s the problem…” you whined, pouting that he pulled away but you didn’t press the issue any further. Watching him squirm was so satisfying; and you hadn’t even done anything yet. “You were writing the last time and you had the same problem, so stop writing this time and get into it.” You suggested.

“I can’t.” he shook his head vehemently. “I can’t do it. No.”

You sighed, putting your hands on your hips and looked at him. You never pegged him to be the kind of guy who waited until marriage to be intimate, but it seemed like he was alluding to the fact that he was saving himself. If he wasn’t, he was at least being very reserved for the type of content he was writing. “Fine, we don’t have to do it,” you conceded before going back to stripping yourself bare. “But feel free to help yourself to whatever you need for inspiration.” You winked, looking down at his crotch and he hastily crossed his legs when your gaze lingered.

He was so cute. You couldn’t tell if he knew exactly what he was doing. It was hard to expect someone so beautiful and of his age to not get intimate when the chance arose. Part of you wondered if it was because you weren’t desirable to him outside of your little acts. Dwelling on that thought made your chest hurt in bitterness and you shoved that to the side to focus on helping him instead.

You flopped back down on the chair, spreading your legs and resting them on the arms of the chair so that Simeon had a clear view of what you were about to do to yourself. Having him watch everything you did so close to you aroused much faster than you expected. “Well, time to get to work.” you said nonchalantly.

You closed your eyes, imagining Simeon joining you in getting nude. You imagined what it would be like for him to reveal his skin a little at a time in a playful strip tease. He always wore such bulky and cozy looking sweaters, it made you wonder just what kind of body he was hiding underneath all the layers. You started at your breasts again, squeezing them together and playing with them to aid in the fantasy.

In front of you, Simeon was typing up a storm. In your mind, it was his hands at your breasts, playing with your nipples until they were perky. You thought about him latching his soft lips around your nipple, licking at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed and moaned his name. You were careful this time to make sure you didn’t accidentally call for him when you really got into it. You weren’t in a rush to experience that embarrassment a second time.

He could see your folds progressively get wetter as you touched yourself and wrapped yourself in a fantasy he had no access to. Recalling the last time, Simeon wondered if he was occupying your mind again. This time, he was much more aware of his body’s reactions to the scene in front of him. There was no way he could ignore the pressure growing in his pants. No matter how much he focused on the document in front of him, he could feel his desires bubbling and threatening to spill over.

It was different this time. You were sprawled out in front of him, moaning softly and panting. Your head rested on the back of the chair. With your eyes closed and your mouth open slightly in an “O” you looked absolutely angelic. He wanted to join you, his fingers stopped typing and he was once again frozen, watching the performance in front of him.

You noticed he stopped typing much sooner than the last time and smirked a bit, cracking open your eyes to see his precious face staring at you in wonder. “Like what you see?” You asked coyly, sliding one hand down from your breast to your pussy. You spread yourself wide so he could see exactly just how wet you were.

Simeon only nodded, entranced with the way your folds glistened and he could smell your arousal from where he sat. He licked his lips holding onto his fraying desires as best as he could. Control yourself. You can do this. “Y-yes…” His voice came out thickly, as if his vocal chords refused to work properly.

You giggled, loving how riled up you were getting him and slowly rubbed your slick slit with your fingers. You moaned, the pleasure your fingers gave you was much better than riding a pillow. With just a quick glance, you noticed he had uncrossed his legs and was sporting a rather impressive tent in his pants. “Well, I’m glad that you’re not bored.” you teased much to his dismay.

His hands flew to his crotch, covering himself and he tried to will his boner back down to no avail. You giggled again, pulling his attention away from his arousal. “It’s okay, I would have been disappointed if you didn’t get turned on by what you’re seeing.”

“I uhm…”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him again. “Feel free to join in however you want. It only makes it all the more fun.”

Simeon gulped, torn between work and pleasure. He put himself in this predicament, he needed to figure a way out of it. He needed relief and he needed to write. The two sides of him warred as he scrambled with his fizzling brain to figure out something. An epiphany dawned on him when he heard his phone go off.

“Spam?” you asked when he fumbled with the incoming call, trying to silence the ringtone. “Or were you expecting someone?”

“Ah.. uhm… spam. I think.” He confirmed once he managed to figure out to disregard the call without picking it up. The next thing he needed to figure out was how to get the camera working and recording. You wanted to help him, but with one hand covered in fluids, you weren’t sure if he wanted you touching his phone.

Eventually with a little vocal coaching on your end and a lot of fumbling on his side, he got it to work and propped the phone up to start recording what you were doing. If he was going to get relief now, he needed to at least have proper reference to go back to later.

“Wow… you are so much kinkier than I thought.” You joked, causing Simeon to cover his face in shame, but he didn’t try to argue. There was something about having everything recorded for later that only added to the sexual tension in the room.

“It’s for research…” He mumbled more to convince himself than to explain to you what he was doing.

“Right… research.”

He moved his hands to mirror your own. One at his crotch and the other at his chest. It was difficult to hide your disappointment when you saw he wasn’t about to expose himself. His hand slipped under his clothes to touch and tease at his skin. You could see the barest hint of his abs peeking out from underneath the oversized sweater and you practically drooled at just the little bit of skin he showed off. You couldn’t help a small pout, frustrated at how unfair it was that you were putting in so much work for him and he could just so cutely masturbate alongside you.

The frustration disappeared the moment you saw his eyelids flutter clothes and he let out a soft moan. It was the most beautiful sound in the world and it was infinitely better than anything you could have imagined. His blue eyes lidded with pleasure were only opened to a sliver as he urged you to continue what you were doing.

With the camera rolling and the very vision of sin in front of you, you were more than eager to get back to getting off. Your finger found your clit and you rubbed it in the way that always made you see stars. “Hmmm, oh yeah…” You groaned, flicking your finger side to side before circling the little bundle of nerves. You were undoubtedly going to ruin his furniture again, but you didn’t care.

Simeon watched the way your fingers moved and he mimicked everything you did. His hand under his shirt pinched and rolled his nipple between his fingers. The sensation made him hiss from the initial pain but that was quickly replaced by pleasure which sent jolts of bliss straight to his aching cock. He bit his lip, repeating the motion, drowning himself in the sensation over and over again.

The scent of your essence was thick in the air. It felt like you were surrounding him with every breath he took. You were invading his every thought and infecting everything he thought was pure. But the freedom you gave him and the gratification that came with it was intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of your breathy moans and the wet sounds of your fingers toying with yourself.

His own hand in his pants pumped his cock in time with the motion of your fingers. At one point you had done the most lascivious thing and slipped a finger inside of you. His eyes widened as the digit disappeared and reappeared covered in your slick. His cock twitched in his hand in jealousy. He wanted to be buried in there, he wanted to feel your heat surround him. But all he had was his hand to satisfy him.

Simeon was heavily panting now, working up to a frantic pace in his pants as his hand stroked his length. It was cramped and uncomfortable; but he couldn’t bear to expose himself to you. Surely that would be too much for you to see; and he wasn’t sure if he could control himself if he stripped alongside you.

“Mmm, I’m getting close.” you groaned, rolling your hips to meet your fingers and you teased your clit further, feeling your body tense in preparation for your climax. “What about you?”

“I… Uh.. I’m…” Simeon, stuttered, not able to process how close he was. It was so different from all the times he relieved himself alone. He just had to keep going until he was done. But with you in front of him, he wanted to do it together with you. Seeing your soaked pussy right in front of him made him more excited than he ever had been. “I think I’m close…”

You laughed at his naivety. “You think?” You teased. Perhaps you needed to up the ante a bit. “Come on… come with me.” You beckoned and pressed two fingers into your tight hole.

He blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what his hormones were doing. Seeing your fingers being engulfed by your pussy, sliding in and out slowly while you moaned right next to him was pressing all the right buttons in him. He could see you stretch to accommodate your fingers and he was entranced by that. Without warning, he gasped, his grip on his cock tightened as he came. “Oh … I’m… I’m sorry…” He panted. “You just… that was… Uhm..”

“Too hot for you to handle?” You asked, now working yourself faster. The face he made when he came all of a sudden was so hot. You would definitely think back on it during lonely nights. Simeon’s breathy moans, the way his skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat from exertion. It all added up to be a breathtaking image.

“I...Yeah…” You could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks and smirked, satisfied that he was enjoyed himself just as much as you were loving every moment you were in front of him.

“Good… I guess it’s my turn then.” You said and went right into the motions of getting yourself to climax. Locking the image of Simeon’s “O” face in your mind, you finger fucked yourself closer and closer to completion.

You could feel your inner walls tighten and you were just at the edge of no return when you felt Simeon’s firm hand pull your fingers away. Whining loudly and glaring at him, you were about to berate him for ruining your good time until your entrance was filled with his own slender fingers. “Let me help you…” He said, his bright blue eyes were lit with a determination you hadn’t seen before and the fire behind them was such a turn on.

For someone who had just been so bashful about being intimate with you at the beginning, Simeon sure was being bold now. You didn’t say anything, not like you really could. Your capacity to form coherent words disappeared when his slender fingers entered you and mimicked the motions you had shown him. He was a fast learner, able to have you shivering with little to no effort. It was hard to believe just how he had a sudden switch in personality, but it was beside you to figure it out now.

You were free to call his name. After all, he was the one touching you now. “Oh… Simeon.” you moaned, panting and once again ramping towards your climax. This time, he was in control of the pace and the intensity of what got you off. He curled his fingers in you and you cried out loud when he brushed past a sensitive spot in you. He was so gentle and so precise, it was mind blowing what he picked up just from watching you.

“You’re close… right?” He asked sweetly. You looked at him and the intensity in his eyes was only made more obvious against his dark skin. The tone of his voice was in direct contrast to the laser focus his gaze had on your most intimate parts. Just the dichotomy of that alone inched you dangerously close to your climax.

Then, his thumb pressed against your clit and your world exploded. It was just the last bit of stimulation you needed to go over the edge. You clutched onto the arms of the chair while you rode out the high on his fingers. A mixture of curses and his name fell from your lips as you breathlessly tried to ground yourself. Your inner walls clenched around his digits and Simeon continued to slowly slide them in and out of you, marveling at the sensation of your pussy milking his fingers.

You kept seeing stars at the edge of your vision with every extra pass he took. You wanted to tell him to stop, but he was too engrossed in his ‘research’ to really pay any of your protests any mind. Eventually, he pulled his fingers out of you and you sighed in both relief and disappointment.

Simeon looked at his glistening fingers, holding them to the light and observed the slick essence that coated them. It was almost a little embarrassing to watch him be so intrigued by your fluids that you needed to distract yourself by getting dressed again so you didn’t have to look at him. While you had your back turned, Simeon experimentally licked his coated fingers and by the time you were fully clothed, he had fully cleaned them off. He looked at you and licked his lips. “Research.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug.

“Right… research.” you said, already getting hot and bothered again at what you had just witnessed. This man will be the end of me. “Do you think you’ve gotten all you need for your next scene?”

“Hmm….” He nodded sagely, remembering to stop recording. “I’ll have to review everything, but I think I know where to go from here.”

You smiled good naturedly and pat his head gently. “Don’t overwork yourself.” you said gathering your things. Once again, it had gotten late and you had to regretfully leave to ensure you caught the last trains home. “Call me or text me if you need help again, okay?”

“Oh, of course. I plan on it.” He smiled at you and your heart melted a little, but there was a devilish nature to that smile that had never been there before. “I’ll finish the next chapter probably in a week and send it to you.”

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with. I’m sure it’ll be great, as usual.” You grinned, feeling giddy after such a great climax as well as knowing that Simeon was able to continue working. It would definitely be good news to report back to the publishing house and keep them off his back as he worked in peace.

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. It was a shame that he was already back to his usual innocent self. You wouldn’t have minded seeing more of that sex god who showed himself a few moments before. “Well, I’ll do my best to not disappoint. I have a lot to learn.”

“I’ll be sure to help you in any way I can.” You said. Looking down at your phone, you gasped noticing the time. “Shit. I gotta run if I don’t wanna walk all the way home tonight. Text me if you need anything!” You yelled, halfway across his home and stumbling to get your shoes back on.

When the door slammed shut, the silence that surrounded Simeon was deafening. He had been able to hold out on taking you, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten a taste of what it was like to sin. The uncomfortable dampness of his cum clung to his leg, but he barely noticed it. Instead, he was focused on the file on his phone. The recording of what transpired that afternoon.

Taking a shaky breath, he resisted the urge to press play. The scent of your arousal and the taste of your essence were still too fresh in his mind. He needed to clean up. He needed to work. He needed to research and plan for you. He sighed and started to make his way to the shower. If he needed relief, then at least he could take care of it there and not in the mess that was his soiled pants.

As the sun sank past the horizon and gave way to night, the light within his soul waned and the darkness he had pushed aside grew. After a taste of sin, it was only natural that he would crave more until it consumed him.

And it felt heavenly.

#Obey Me!#Obey Me! Fanfic #Obey Me! Simeon #Obey Me! Smut #Simeon x Reader #Obey Me! AU #My writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #It's innocent ish now #It'll only get kinkier as we go #Formatting is weird af on tumblr #go to the Ao3 link for it to be proper with the words emphasized as they should be #I'm too tired to bother through tumblr sorry folks

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littleshebear · 5 years

Text

Little Bird; Chapter 3

After a very, very long hiatus, we’re back with this story. Little Amanda continues to be an escape artist, enter Cayde-6, Zavala picks up the pieces as best he can while battling with impulses that may or may not reflect memories of his first life.

Part 1 | Part 2

AO3 Link.

The tips of Amanda’s fingers ache as she fiddles with the screws holding the window frame in place. They will probably start to blister soon but she won’t give up. The orphanage had become a great deal more stringent in its security since Commander Zavala had delivered her back after her last night time jaunt but they still weren’t vigilant enough to notice Amanda slip a little butter knife up her sleeve after dinner. Taking inventory obviously wasn’t something that was a priority.

Months and months of helping her parents fix the vehicles that made up their caravan to the city had given Amanda a good eye for recognising a passable make-shift tool when she saw one. She had correctly guessed the knife would fit the grooves on the lock’s screws but the knife was short, meant for children. The handle was small, stunted, with little to grab on to and almost nothing in the way of leverage. Her persistence eventually began to pay off as the first screw gave, then the next and the next until she was able to ease the window open far enough to squeeze out. She dropped the knife and screws into her pocket. She would replace them when she got back before her dorm’s alarm call. No one would be any the wiser.

She knows she probably shouldn’t be doing this. No, that’s dishonest, she knows for sure that she shouldn’t be doing this. It’s against The Rules but the people who make The Rules don’t understand what it’s like. She can’t breathe in here. How do the others stand it? How do they not wake up sweating and afraid, gasping for breath? Why doesn’t this confinement upset them as much as it does her? She can’t comprehend how anyone could stand being confined this way so she rationalises that it’s not her fault if she feels the need to break out. She can breathe out there.

She squeezes out of the window and edges her way along the sill, torn between not wanting to look down but needing to make sure that her feet stay planted firmly away from the edge. She eventually reaches a fire escape and crawls up through a gap in the steps. She gingerly gets to her feet and exhales slowly. It worked. She had chosen that window carefully; it wasn’t one she has used before and it was in easy reach of a way down. She buttons up her jacket and resists the urge to skip down the steps. She’s pleased with herself but she needs to tiptoe, lest her feet on the metal steps alert anyone to what she’s done.

She climbs down the ladder at the end of the steps and drops down. A noise from above startles her. It’s like a thunderclap followed by a lion’s roar. She looks upward to see that the source is a ship streaking through the sky high above her. She watches the lights on the chassis and glow of the engines fade into the distance and with that, she knows where she wants to go.

“Hey, shortstuff…”

Amanda turns around from her vantage point at the doorway to the hangar to see an exo hunter looking down at her. He is a hunter, she’s fairly sure. Hunters are the ones with capes.

“Are you up here by yourself? Pretty sure kids aren’t meant to be up here.”

She stares up at him unblinkingly. There weren’t many exos on the road so she’s somewhat fascinated by the orange glow that accompanies his speech and by how eyes that are essentially blue LED’s can manage to be so expressive.

“Hey kid. What ‘cha doing up here?”

“My mom’s an engineer.” Amanda finally answers. Her mother was an engineer. It’s a little white lie.

“Oh. You waiting for her? She getting off shift soon?”

She just nods, maintaining her composure. She rationalises that it’s not her fault this Guardian came to the wrong conclusion of his own volition.

“Okay! Just don’t go in. There’s a seat over there, just wait there for her. It’s dangerous in there. Wouldn’t want you to get sucked into a jet engine. That’d really ruin my day. Got it?” He points at her with both hands, thumbs up and index fingers outstretched, as though he were holding two pistols.

“Got it.” She obediently seats herself on a bench off to the side and gives him a demur smile.

“Good kid!” He clicks his, his whatever Amanda supposes exos have instead of a tongue and one of those blue eyes dim in an approximation of wink. She giggles and waves as he makes his way into the hangar.

She sits on her hands, kicking her feet and waiting until people have stopped noticing her. She eventually slides off the bench and steals her way into the hangar. It’s easy for her to be small and unobtrusive. It comes naturally, it was a survival mechanism on the road. She darts between storage crates, circles around people to make sure they keep their back to her and eventually crawls under a work-bench. She helps herself to a piece of tarp to better cover her hiding place, slips off her jacket and uses it as a pillow.

The hangar is as open and expansive as the orphanage was stuffy and confined. The dorm she escaped from was quiet as a grave, far too quiet, far too many silences that could be filled with painful memories and bad dreams. The hangar by contrast is bustling, even at this hour. She can hear the sounds of engineers working on ships and sparrows, air traffic announcements. Most children would find the noise frightening but for her it’s exhilarating. The stench of oil and exhaust should be disgusting but to Amanda, it smells like home. It reminds her of Ma.

She settles down, resting her head against her bunched-up jacket and watches ships come and go, the Frames guiding them in with luminous batons. She drifts off to sleep, borne away by a lullaby of engine roars and tannoy announcements.

When she stirs, she can make out the sound of voices. In her sleepy fog, she can’t understand exactly what they’re saying but one sounds irritated while the others sound nervous. She forces her consciousness towards wakefulness and finally begins to register the words.

“Sir, we weren’t really sure how to handle it-”

“Wake her up, she’s a child, not an explosive!”

Amanda knows that voice. It’s angry and familiar in a way she can’t quite place. She bolts upright, crying out, “Pa?”

She blinks her eyes furiously, trying to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light after sleep. A pair of luminous blue eyes look intently at her. Not her Pa. She gives herself a moment to acclimate. She remembers how she snuck out of the orphanage, how she crept into the hangar and found a place to hide, how she’d nodded off...oh no. She finally registers the silver armour worn by the blue eyed man crouching down before her.

“Miss Holliday?” Zavala rumbles softly, not unkindly. “This is becoming a habit.”

Amanda rubs her eyes and focuses on the Guardian crouched before her. "Am I in trouble?" She asks in a groggy voice.

He nods slowly and responds, "I would say so, yes. Come on." He holds a hand out to her, speaking in a tone that brooks no argument. "Out."

She crawls out from under the workbench but refuses the proferred hand, preferring to grab her jacket and clutch it in front of her. It's only a small act of defiance but it takes away some of the sting of being caught. She keeps her eyes fixed on her feet and tries to ignore the sensation of her cheeks burning with shame. It's a relief to her when the Commander turns his ire on the onlookers gathered around.

"I want a review of security procedures, now. This is an unacceptable breach. I expect a report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

"Sir, it's already late-" A man dressed in dirty coveralls attempts to protest but earns a withering look from the Commander.

"That it is. You had best get started."

Amanda shrinks back behind Zavala when this comment earns her a barrage of glares from the hangar staff.

"Did no one see her come in? I find it hard to believe no one noticed a child wandering around the hangar, alone," Zavala continues, addressing anyone within earshot. Amanda spots a flicker of movement off to the Commander's side. It's the hunter she'd spoken to earlier, backing away slowly. They make eye-contact and he puts a finger to his metal lips before taking out his Ghost and transmatting away. Zavala's head snaps around when he hears the sound and his eyes narrow.

"Izanami," he says evenly, summoning his own Ghost. "Contact Sundance. Inform her I would like a word with Cayde at his earliest convenience.”

"Leave it with me, Zavala." The Ghost leaves Zavala's upturned hand and floats down to her. "Don't let him scare you. His bark is worse than his bite. He just worries," she whispers before bobbing away after the wayward Cayde-6.

After they leave the hangar and wend their way back to the orphanage, Zavala struggles with how to deal with the exhausted-looking child who has somehow fallen into his care again. He slows his walk to a shuffle in order to allow her to keep up with him and glances down every so often to make sure she hasn't wandered off. Some long-buried instinct tells him to offer his hand to her but he resists, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. He is not her care-giver, certainly not her parent, yet here he is. In his mind, he silently drafts and redrafts how to address her behaviour, rejecting one approach for being too harsh, abandoning another for being too lenient. Eventually, she preempts him.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks, blue eyes gazing sadly up at him.

He sighs deeply before answering, "No." He comes to a halt, wanting to emphasise the importance of what he is about to say. "You might not realise it but you put yourself in danger when you run away."

"I'm not runnin' away," Amanda protests, "I always go back."

"Always?" Zavala repeats. "How often do you do this?"

Amanda bows her head and shrugs. "A bit."

"Amanda, listen." He is met with silence. "Amanda. Look at me." She slowly raises her head to meet his gaze. "What you did today was very, very dangerous, you could have been badly hurt. The hangar is no place for a child, the machinery there-"

"I like machines." She interrupts in a tiny voice. "I like fixin' stuff. I used to help momma fix stuff all the time."

"If you want to learn how to be a mechanic, we can look into it but you can't just sneak off on your own like that. Promise me you won't do it again?" He does his best not to sound angry, he is at pains not to raise his voice but her face still crumples at his words.

"I don't like it there," she states, her voice rising in pitch as her throat constricts with the threat of tears.

"Why not?"

Her only response is a sullen glare and an over the top, violent shrug. She immediately looks away and back at the floor.

Zavala opens his mouth and closes it a few times as he recommences his mental redrafting exercise. "I know its not perfect," he eventually manages, "But they're doing their best, I'm sure." He doesn't mention the serious conversation about security he's planning to have with the orphanage's governor, every bit as serious as the one he just had with the hangar staff.

"I guess," Amanda concedes in a defeated mumble.

"Come along." A rebellious hand leaves its place behind his back and gives in to that impulse that has been gnawing at him since he found her weeping to herself in Traveler's Walk. He rests his hand between her shoulders and steers her back towards the nearest thing she has to home.

"Your mother was a mechanic?" He asks to fill the awkward silence that ensues.

"Uh huh," Amanda answers before yawning expansively.

"And that's what you want to be when you grow up?"

"I wanna fly," she finally cracks a tiny smile when she says this.

"I might be able to help with that," He assures her before adding, "if you're willing to put in the work. It isn't easy."

"I know," she yawns again, stumbles over her own feet, then grabs on to his mark, fisting her fingers in the cloth, pulling hard on his belt for support.

The instinct he's been pushing away clamours at him and he finally gives in, offering his arms to her. "Do you want me to carry you?"

"Uh huh," she nods, mirroring the gesture, any proud artifice of orphan resilience giving way to her fatigue. He lifts her onto his hip and she makes a good show of staying awake before her head droops on to his shoulder and she falls asleep.

#destiny fanfiction #my writing #amanda holliday #commander zavala #cayde-6 #zavala & amanda holliday #young amanda holliday #destiny

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the-uptake · 5 years

Text

Something-Something Full Empty

The Uptake, The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. Book 2, Chapter 3. Go to previous. I never said ‘Choly was a rational creature. TWs: Poisoning, attempted lust suicide, symphorophilia minutiae, hard emeto, joint trauma.

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Leaving Cecil to sleep, 'Choly rolled off the mattress into the floor, and stood again. With damp hair, he walked on his knees over to the microwave perched on a cardboard box. From one of the food boxes in the floor, he pulled a food-meal bar. In his horridly over-loved armchair, he peeled down the wrapper and ate quietly, washing down the pebbly, vaguely flavored junk with the rest of his room temperature vodka coffee from earlier. His face soured. Neither the bar nor the coffee revolted him individually--but those of more frail constitutions should not consume them together. But, he persisted toward polishing off the easy-access, high-protein substance that would help soak up a bit of his encroaching hangover without waking his boyfriend.

While he snacked with the reader in his lap, legs up with his feet up in the seat with him, he continued browsing for more Wolfrin information. He’d most likely find Wolfrin in the Quarter somewhere on Level 1, since Levels 2 and 3 saw less chemical dumping and more solids. And he could most likely slip past EPA’s barricades near where the buildings functioned as support columns for the downtown off ramp from the Bayonne Bridge.

A morsel fell off the bar down his tank top, and he fished it out and ate it absently.

Drafting a mental laundry list trapped him in a loop of thought for a spell. No matter how much either of them wished it, ‘Choly genuinely had almost zero experience with chasing verbot--or truffling, for that matter--and this whole thing smacked of ridiculous parody. He tossed the bar wrapper in the waste bin under the TV tray. It had crushed him in a very real way that night, to finally admit his financial infirmities to Cecil, and despite Cecil’s supportive response to the confession, in this forming illicit act existed an opportunity to prove that 'Choly deserved his admiration.

His peculiar spontaneity had attracted Cecil, hadn’t it? The dreg glanced down at the fresh tattoo on his right forearm, a simple clean monochrome style, a triangular sigil divided by an inverted ray of swords. He took another drink, and sighed. Ink excited his boyfriend, an indicative tongue of rebellious fire which imparted its language upon the skin. He’d gotten the design at encountering Cecil’s enthusiasm (the librarian himself porting two intricate tattoo sleeves), and had come close to touching up his dye job. It felt so... fake, as though he couldn’t trust his identity to hold up to scrutiny should it meet any. He’d lived his life surrounded by verbot, but he wasn’t really a chaser.

But he could chase. Couldn’t he? Certainly a sorter could wander off the cadre floor in pursuit of the black market lifelines that pulsed out from it. That’s how he found the hard drive in the first place, after all. Sorter 101: test all data technologies for improper disc wipes. But, to step out of the cadre and into the yards... That was another creature entirely.

He checked his messaging service one more time for Revenant. When he still found his friend offline, he hovered over the username to see he’d last logged in thirteen days ago. Rev usually stayed logged on, bare minimum away or idle, and ‘Choly took notice just how long it had been since his friend had last logged on. He reassured himself with the affirmation that if Rev couldn’t be raised to join in the fun, that he’d just have to play catch-up later. But...

You’d never really do that.

‘Choly shifted to slouch to one side in the chair, then immediately to the other. He bit at his centred labret ring. The thing is, he would really do that. Abandon help him, should he ever locate any of the Geek’s... elephant’s feet he described in coitus not an hour before. In the past, only the barrier of reality and proximity had ever stopped him from acting on any of these impulses. Substances which could transfigure someone beyond the human condition simply had not existed, and now they existed, and they existed in his city. A twisting radiochemical kismet had manifested a new and unexplored realm of potential metagenesis, and he couldn’t deny her.

There was a chance he could, in the attempt to mod the system, brick it. But, the risks that came with unprecedented payout only heightened the appeal. Everything about the attempt, he calculated beforehand, arcane and obscene in its own right. Every article, every action, held in it a certain power over him. In that moment of machination, the fantasy-becoming-reality seized him to his core.

He outright lacked compunction for any real safety in the endeavor--only ritual and circumstance had a home in him tonight. The only industrial gear he owned was his BLT, likely his most expensive belonging. Inlaid with backlighting and translucent digital display, the curved clear acrylic full-face visor-tech provided its wearer a customized vision aid and variably hands-free Web access. Sorters predominantly had them for jotting invoice notes, and some models even had edges outfitted with inline respirator film which could filter e-waste dust particulate. His visor and cutout work gloves would suffice to brave the hazardous waste quarantine. Not that any of that mattered once he got to the prize.

A subtle rummage through the pile of clothing beside the bed netted him a black t-shirt, his hybrid denim skinnies, and a pair of socks. Donning the change of clothes, he swallowed his nerves, then slicked down his bangtails to either side of his face and put on his BLT halo over them and pulled down the glass. Cecil had not yet stirred a bit, and as the pale chartreuse visor calibrated to his prescription, ‘Choly smiled to himself in a distant ache that crawled into anticipation.

With the visor running, he could then strap on his black work boots and confirm the contents of his clear sidebag: his glasses, in the off chance the visor acted up, and chapstick, wallet of cardkeys and cred, and his reader. A variety of smuggling vessels had graced his fantasies, but carried off-site in a see-through bag, no success seemed so viable as with his tippling cane. He shivered as he put on his slim knee-length coat just thinking about following through with it, and grabbing his cane from the umbrella stand, slipped out of the apartment unnoticed.

Not many buses ran this late at night going down from Level 5, and he appreciated the bone conduction nodes in the halo of his BLT to burn the good next half hour waiting at the bus stop with music. Favoring the organic shoegaze loaded in his reader with cubes, he resisted the compulsion to stream music to save bandwidth. Once his ride arrived, the lonely transit passed quickly with no stops along the way, and he continued scheming and re-scheming the exact minutiae of his task uninterrupted.

He got off on Level 3. After a certain hour, the free public lifts charged a third-cred per level, and he happily resigned to waving his toll pass upon entry to the empty lift to fork over the full cred it would cost. Upon stepping foot off the lift at Level 1, he turned off his music and focused fully on his errand.

The residential sector of the Quarter came alive at sunset with the typical ambient discord of various yelling. It struck an unusual chord in the stalker, to descend to ground level by lift to find the stalking yards themselves so eerily silent, accompanied only by the sound of his limp gait. Bustling traffic aped distantly above him against the solipsistic dimensions of the area. Passing by some blocks, he heard the occasional dripping, or the echo of vehicles in reverse. Subconsciously, he knew the latter meant more waste dumping belied the quarantine, for its inhabitants to discover come morning.

‘Choly savored entering a space the federal officials had declared unsafe, and that his low-grade BLT filtration would likely only do so much. No accounting for air quality in a place like this, after all. Stalkers had reasons they didn’t even eat in their own homes, and only dined in the commercial district abutting it. Yet, federal bullying had instated this quarantine, this exclusion zone. The stalkers hadn’t asked for this. They’d never asked for any of this. Even just a year ago, he’d have met no resistance venturing where he did now; but tonight, he remained vigilant for EPA employees who might try to stop him.

First, the government had to deny him the right to grafting by banning the splicing drug Vekarix before medicine had advanced far enough to permit more than just mammal, marsupial, and reptile compatibility. Bullshit insect politics. He still sometimes regretted trying to be patient, now that he couldn’t even settle on something lesser. But now, with the Wolfrin, the government sought to deny him the right to knot up his genetics like some kind of saccharine, fractal klein bottle. They were his genes, and he wouldn’t have it to let them tell him what he could and couldn’t do with them.

The dreg did his best to skirt a different path, anytime he noticed generator spotlights or vehicles that stood out as non-native. At a dead end just Southwest of the residential area fashioned from abandoned factory buildings, he glanced out over the waterfront reflecting the lights of higher levels, and steeled himself. The loose quarantine of all three lowest Levels started at 87th Street and extended just past 99th down through the foundations of the Bayonne Bridge, from the shores of Newark Bay to the West all the way East to Route 440. Almost the entire Quarter, but not quite. He embarked across the street, and with buildings only to one side, not even the sound of his cane accompanied him, replaced by the waterfront current. A yard cordoned off with caution tape greeted him. Unlike the typical chemical dumping yard, rather than scattered unceremoniously, hundreds of drums had been arranged neatly, as though sorted by contents. Two figures in white hazmat suits guarded the locked fence, so he wandered the perimeter until he found a point at which the rust of fluctuating water levels had peeled the chain-link wires from the support pipe. He could not feasibly scale the fence, so through the narrow gap in it he went.

He had a lot of reasons to avoid truffling.

Only limited but effective use of generator spotlights illuminated this particular yard, set on key haystacks of drums. He looked side to side in awe. A combination of water and a saturation of leaking chemicals thickened the damp soil, which possessed an ungodly industrial stench that cut through even the BLT filters and thrilled ‘Choly wild. The elements had rusted off the labels of many of the drums, their contents now unknown without cracking them open. These contents, for many of them, had trickled from cracks and crusted upon their exteriors. He licked his lips eagerly with a knitted brow, at the thought of the technicolor landscape this must have been by broad daylight.

Distracted by near-synesthesia, his cane sank in too deep in the slurried soil and compromised his footing. He stumbled and planted face-first in the noxious mud, and his cane resounded against a drum. The two on-duty EPA workers immediately approached to investigate the potential for an intruder, and he panicked at hearing the gates open. The muck smearing his visor blinded him, and though he grappled for his cane and kicked at the mud in vain, attempts to stand only successfully doused himself further in noxious muck. Tears streaking hot, he planted a filthy gloved palm flush to his mouth under his BLT at the awareness he’d hyperextended his knee in the fall. Adrenaline propelled him to a hiding place in the middle of an arrangement of drums. A stink that reminded of battery acid enveloped him. Deer-eyed, he raked mud from his visor and crouched in a mixture of agony and intensity, and watched as the beams of two flashlights cased the area. One guard ultimately informed the other that the sound must have been a drum giving into chemical pressure, and that they’d investigate more thoroughly once they had the daylight, and then they returned to their post outside the gate.

Once alone again, ‘Choly tried to stand back up, this time forced to rely on his cane with a fully bad-off leg. He unzipped his coat a bit and took a mouthful of fabric between his teeth from the shoulder of his shirt, and bore down hard on the leg to reset it. Stifling a scream into a viscous nasal sputter, he ended up biting through the garment. He only consciously ignored the taste of mud, shock-induced drooling joining the mess of substances splattered and smeared on him. Vacuously he wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, and continued onward.

He stopped at one cordoned off haystack of drums, eyeing how the leakage glowed a furious antifreeze green in the moonlight. Though the precise and biting stench of rotten flowers, he couldn’t pinpoint the metallic odor. He stood there for some time in slack disbelief how easily he had arrived here. Surely this substance had caused all the media chaos. Trembling, he held up the tape with his cane and skimmed the faces of the drums for what little details remained. He squinted at faded white ink on glossy black surfaces. 1,4-dimethyl-2,3-fluoro-dieldrin. Before tonight, he’d known it only by a handful of trade names. Drinaflux. Wolfrin. Fluxeldrin. Though it did not appear notably caustic, the drums leaked from bluish iridescent crystalline scabs. He couldn’t read the warning diamond save the 4 on the blue health field.

He whet his lips and in both hands gripped the lever-locked ring poorly securing the lid to the open-head drum. He nearly doubled over it, enraptured by proximity, and licked at his teeth with a sneering, ragged breath. He hinged up his visor in favor of leaving as little between him and the experience of the prize, and he wafted readily of the nauseous and overwhelmingly metallic bouquet of the corrosion-halo. The stuff pooled around his uneven footprints from other adjacent drums. He frowned to unstick himself from the soft shoreline sediment so he could begin his work with surer footing.

‘Choly unscrewed the handle of his cane and tucked it in one coat side pocket, then carefully shook out all four glass vials it could carry and deposited them in the opposite pocket. He did not think to bring mechanical tools with him, and no amount of prying dislodged the lever of the corroded lid-ring. The attempt did, however, coax a crack to leak more readily, and he hurriedly unscrewed a vial to catch the liquid serendipity as it dripped out. Once filled, he slid the resealed vial into the cane, then followed with another.

Caught up in the delirium of success and fumes, he lost reality long enough not to recognize the workers approached on another perimeter scouting. Frantic at the wet smack of their heavy footsteps, he cried in desperation that the chemical wouldn’t pour any faster. He couldn’t leave without a full empty--he couldn’t. The two guards grabbed him and dragged him back as he shakily reaffixed the handle of his cane.

“You punk! Abandon you doin’ in here?”

“I--”

“This place’s giftwrapped with yellow tape for a reason, kid.”

“I-- I’m not--” He modulated his breathing. “I had t’see for myself the slag’s goin’ on. That’s the stuff, yeah? That’s what’s makin’ everybody sick as sin.” He tried to wag a finger at the haystack, but met silence as each guard hooked one of his arms in one of theirs, insisting his exit. “Hh-- hey! Answer me!”

The two workers tossed him out into the street. His cane clattered to the pavement and his bag crunched beneath him. He curled into himself after impact, and stared at his cane as dead-still as he could from where he lay coddling his knee and seething through his teeth.

“Abandon’s wrong with that kid.” The two of them returned inside the fence and locked it. “Obviously got health problems. The cane and all. Still climbing all over a yard like this. In the dark.”

“That’s a Stalker for you, man.” The other scoffed at ‘Choly, but after that their conversation fell too distant to overhear.

He sniffed away the mucus and twitched, aching all over and encrusted in chemical-saturated mud. Once he’d recovered enough from the fall, he reclaimed his prize. Disbelief stole his breath, of what he’d managed, his eyes thrown wide with delight. Holy slagging shit. It worked.

With bated breath, he sat up and pulled into his lap his cane, and his bag from under him. Unzipping the bag, he inspected the reader with relief, only to learn the crunch had been his glasses. A detached grope at his BLT pulled the visor back down with lighthearted resignation. He stood again to limp away before the workers had second thoughts about just letting him walk away. If the glasses were the only loss tonight, he’d succeeded in spades.

As he shambled along the dilapidated block, ‘Choly gawked at the cane he carried rather than used, in too much shock from his stupid success to ease his horrendous limp. He slipped into an alleyway once outside the quarantine proper, and leaned against a brick wall to catch his breath and rest his bad leg. If he ever slagged up a knee, it was the left one, wasn’t it. The sheer rush of the experience alone dampened the pain--but without fail, he’d more than feel it come morning.

He slid down the wall and sat. The impact of hitting the concrete might have shattered any of the flasks, and he scrambled to unscrew the handle back off to expose its contents. This expedited consequence agitated his aches to the surface at last. He shook out the vials one at a time, and set them in his lap with each confirmed in tact. Most of the chemical’s bizarre glow had faded, the stuff now more resembling the glaze of antifreeze on pavement. He gritted his teeth with a ragged breath and sniffed what had escaped the threads of the cap, to a gag reflex. The bouquet of rotten cut flowers had only intensified. He put the cautious tip of his tongue to the edge of the cap, and recoiled in a delighted revulsion at the mere taste.

Here and now, ‘Choly had to follow this idiotic series of bad ideas through to completion. He couldn’t take it home, to partake in private. Cecil would try to talk him out of it.

The copper cast of the nearest street light lay too far away from him for benefit. In the dark, he pulled out his reader and initialized his flashlight again to survey the site of his metagenesis. At this point he realized his battery had sunk to a sliver--he’d written for some time before coming down here. Too, he’d inadvertently left on his data all the while he’d researched his crown-stuffs--checking his usage statistics, he’d run out of non-Web data altogether, including minutes. He’d soon have no artificial light in the privacy of the alley, and if this went badly, he couldn’t call for help. He hadn’t even told anyone where he’d gone. Not that he had any reception from where he sat in the dank space between the two once-warehouses. The possibility he’d be helpless to the chemical’s aftermath only excited him further. It would have full control over him until it finished with him.

He swallowed hard, the oiliness of the glass tube an entirely too-pleasant sensation. It felt bitter. The chemical adopted that strange characteristic glow again, presumably from the temperature of skin contact. He emptied his splints and gloves into his bag along with his reader, allowing the dim glow of the metagen in his lap to light his endeavor.

Metagen. His mind reeled with the thought of his body wrecked asunder and rebuilt in another design. He wondered how instantaneous metagenesis might be, what method most fast-acting. From the start he hadn’t planned on having enough of the stuff to go with skin contact, so he proceeded with ingestion. He’d be the first to undergo metagenesis by drinking Wolfrin. Would he turn out as well, or even better than, the Geek? How many metahumans had this stuff even created? He’d soon join them. He unscrewed a flask and pocketed the cap, locked in metaskepsis, then let his nostrils drink deep of Wolfrin’s suppurate stink. He held it to his lips, and licked what the wet threads had transferred onto them, and he choked a bit on the potency of the rotten, metallic taste of the stuff, even more biting than the smell. His nose crinkled at the initial experience to steel himself, and he went bottoms-up.

Reflexively, he flung the flask across the alley. It shattered on the concrete. His hands shot to his mouth, eyes and nostrils watering as he immediately choked on vomit. His writhing echoed in the empty space, and he grew delirious on potential consequences. The entire length of his throat burned. He barely managed to down a second flask. The Wolfrin now coated his stomach lining. Another attempt at upheaval seized him up, and a moan shook deep in his lungs. Rhetoric only spurred him further, and he blindly grasped to cup himself through tears, his grip so weak between infirmity, illness, and exhaustion. Stifling a third dry heave, he drained the third flask, and the fourth chased quickly after. He blacked out as the toxins took hold, the delirious onset of an Erebus of nightmares. He dreamed himself melting to all abandon to soak into the asphalt, that he dissolved in entirety before reduced to atoms then recompiled by the catalytic substance he’d imbibed.

The city awoke before he did. After daybreak he sat up, shaky, and rubbed his head scruff with a groan. Clammy all over, he shuddered from a coating of morning mist and dust. He eventually noticed the blood splatter on the ground beside where he’d laid, and automatically wiped his nose and mouth. He didn’t pair the observation to the action until he saw the back of his hand, and snapped awake in arousal. Though his head reverberated with a lead-deep ache, his entire body throbbed to its tempo, and he writhed.

He knew Cecil would be livid with him for this--but he’d acclimate to having a meta around, wouldn’t he? The notion had him face-down in his blood spill in an instant, running his fingertips through its dark, still-damp stain.

“Oh slag--” he ground even more insistently against the ground, “--his meta. Gonna be-- hiS META--”

Nausea overwhelmed him again, and he coughed a spatter of blood. The clamminess, he realized, came more from a sick sweat, but this only aroused him further. The last thing he imagined before passing out again was his body in wretched, retching upheaval as it rejected everything it had rendered obsolete.

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #toxic waste #symphorophilia #the world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds #the uptake #melanochro kara #something something full empty #metaskepsis. the prurient cousin of omphaloskepsis

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minuete-blog · 5 years

Text

Post-It Notes

Fulfilling @starbuck09256 “I love you” prompt request #33 post-it notes. Tagging @today-in-fic

Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Mulder receiving post-it notes from Scully through the seasons.

Mulder went through post-it notes like he did sunflower seeds during his time in BSU and VCS. They acted as his footnotes, placeholders, and reminders while he profiled. After each case, the yellow stickies were tossed out, but never the images that were seared in his mind. The habit of using them stuck with him when he set up the basement office. They were scattered along the cork board behind his desk ranging from informant numbers to UFO sighting dates to 1-900 numbers. They were so much a part of the office décor that he sometimes forgot the reason they were there.

Imagine his surprise when he found a yellow post-it on his monitor screen with a feminine scrawl, three weeks since her arrival: “Retrieving lab reports. Be back soon. Scully.” Weird. He didn’t need to know Scully’s whereabouts; it was the other way around. She was sent to spy on him after all. He pulled the note off the screen, holding it thoughtfully between his index and middle finger before deciding to replace it neatly on the edge of the monitor.

Mulder found Scully’s post-it she placed on Samantha’s photo to rendezvous months earlier while he was clearing out the bullpen desk to return to the basement after Skinner reopened the X-Files. He bit back a sob, sure that he was going to draw blood on his bottom lip as he carefully placed the post-it note into his moving box. He was the reason Scully got abducted. There were so many “should haves” that crossed through his mind, but the one that stuck was: “I should have sent her away after we shook hands.”

Scully was infiltrating his apartment via post-it notes. Daily reminders written on them on what medication to take and to be vigilant of any new symptoms from the alien virus he contracted in Alaska. He smiled at her messy physician scrawls. There was one that was neatly written: “Call me at the office –S-”. He was recovering fairly quickly, considering he was near death until Scully saved him again. Was she keeping tallies? Mulder didn’t think she did as he carefully gathered her post-it notes to place them on top of his desk. He picked up his cordless phone and dialed the office.

He learned to ignore what was most apparent. To not address the elephant in the room, but it was hard as the blaring yellow stickie stuck to the monitor screen read “Dr. appt @11 -S-”, and Scully returned an hour ago right after lunch. Mulder kept sneaking glances at her, tried to see if there were any change in her demeanor, a sign to indicate if her appointment with the oncologist went well.

“Mulder, I can feel you staring at me,” Scully said not once looking up from her report she was drafting, “The visit went well. No change.”

He nodded. Would she lie to him? But that would mean she would be lying to herself as well. Mulder peeled off the post-it and placed it in the top right desk drawer. This ritual will be repeated the next time she visits the oncologist.

Avoidance. Scully was using the post-it notes to avoid him in the office ever since Kersh reassigned them back on the X-Files. How convenient. Mulder brooded over the post-it he replaced on the corner of the screen: “In Quantico for the week.” There was no “-S-” sign-off. A part of him wanted to crumple the damn note and toss it in the trash, but it was the only thing tangible in this renovated office that indicated her presence. She still didn’t have a damn nameplate after all they have been through; his request must have gotten lost somewhere. He looked over at the stark and empty workstation that he designated to be her corner. A week, she wrote. It’s only a week. They’ll be back to being a team in no time.

A clunking sound followed by a hushed whisper woke Mulder up from his slumber. He sat up in his bed and looked over to his right, noticing the vacant space that was very recently occupied as he placed a hand upon the still-warm indent on the mattress. He heard another clunking sound from the living room and quickly threw on the pair of sweat pants he’d worn last night. He quietly padded out to the living room to see Scully struggling to open his desk drawer.

“You suck at making a quiet exit, Scully.” His gravelly voice startled her as she visibly jumped still grasping the drawer handles.

“Damn! I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, eyes averted with a faint blush. Mulder nodded as he approached his desk while Scully stood aside for him to open the drawer with a slight jiggle of the handle.

“What did you need so badly in this drawer anyway?” he murmured as he drew her closer, leaning in to kiss her. Scully tensed and turned her head away, her attention on the contents of the drawer.

“I was going to leave you a post-it note,” she answered as she broke free from his embrace searching in his desk for a pad. What just happened? She must have sensed his confusion because Scully immediately continued with, “because if I were to say it to you in person, I think neither of us will make it into work today, and wouldn’t that look suspicious?” She looked over her shoulder at him, arching her eyebrow, with a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Mulder slowly approached her from behind and wrapped his right arm around her waist. She didn’t resist.

“What were you planning to write?” he asked in a low voice, his lips touching the tip of her right ear.

Scully uncapped a ballpoint pen once she found the pad of yellow stickie notes and started to scribble while speaking aloud, “Don’t want to but have to leave to freshen up. -S-” She swiftly peeled the note off and turned around to face Mulder, trapping herself in-between him and the desk. “Then I was going to place this post-it on your hallway mirror.”

Mulder hummed as he studied Scully’s features from the dim rays of morning light that shone through the cracks of the cheap vinyl blinds. His eyes lingered on the faint freckles scattered across her nose, the mole above her lip that he’d kissed merely hours ago. He stepped aside for Scully to take a few steps to place the post-it in the center of the hallway mirror. He followed and stood beside her staring at their reflection.

“No planned good-bye kiss?” He finally asked looking down at her. She returned his gaze, smiling.

“What? And wake up Prince Charming? I have to--” he interrupted Scully with a deep, passionate kiss followed by a trail of kisses along her neck as she held onto his shoulders gasping. He held her tightly, resting his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

“I don’t want you to leave either, but I know you have to,” he mumbled into her neck. He straightened up and gently cupped her face, observing her beautifully flushed features. He kissed her forehead and lingered.

“Tonight. At my place, Mulder. We’ll talk.” He nodded in agreement. She kissed then patted his chest. “Now go put a shirt on before you catch a cold.”

#drabble #prompt answered #this was a fun prompt #look #I kinda wrote a sexy

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theonyxpath · 5 years

Link

Yep! This is one of the full page pieces of art (by Gunship Revolution) for Lunars: Fangs at the Gate, the next Exalted 3rd Edition “fatsplat” book that we’re Kickstarting starting tomorrow (Tuesday) at 2pm Eastern US time.

Looking back at the last two blog posts, let me refer to this Lunars Kickstarter to illustrate some of the ways we’re approaching Kickstarter and book sales now.

1- The text is already written. A lot of the time when our KSs ran way past the estimated date, it was because of writing and/or rewriting the text. That was mostly based on the expectations and aims of Kickstarter from way back when we started, when the creation of the project was part of the whole KS thing. Now, we know better, and with very few exceptions we only KS after the text is finished.

2- The text is going out to backers in sections during the KS. This is a by-product of having the words all written: we can share them with our backers. We prefer to do this is sections throughout the KS so there’s always new stuff to talk about, as opposed to one big info dump. This also lets our backers know that we trust them, and by seeing what we’re going to publish backers can bail before the end of the KS if the book isn’t what they were looking for. No unpleasant surprises.

3- The Reward Tiers don’t delay the book itself. One of the other big factors in delayed rewards have been added material due to Reward Tiers and Stretch Goals that add material directly to the book being Kickstarted. We don’t include those things unless for very specific and controlled reasons anymore. We now create Companion projects where we can add new sections during the course of the KS and concentrate effort on them after the KS’d book is rolling along.

Lunars art by Gong Studios

4- Shipping costs are included in the KS set-up and are realistic for current shipping charges. This is not one of the cool parts of Kickstarting projects, but shipping costs have risen just this year, and we want you to know right as you pledge what costs will be added to your base pledge. Similarly, paper costs have risen dramatically and have been passed on to us by our printer, so the physical book pledge had to rise a bit, too.

5- This is a Deluxe Edition, to go with EX3 and Dragon-Blooded. So the sales chain on this will be PDFs and physical book PoDs on DTRPG, and Deluxes to backers and IPR, rather than to Studio2 for release into stores.

6- Expanded media coverage. In addition to the opening vid that we put up with each Kickstarter, our expanded use of other media to explain our games means that there will be links provided throughout the KS to delve further into what the Lunars are all about. For example, Matthew Dawkins and Neall Raemonn Price will be presenting a Lunars character creation session using the new book.

Lunars art by Priscilla Kim

Other stuff, just a brief word about cons. We’re going to these cons this year, so far, already did MidWinter:

UK Games Expo: May 31st – June 2nd Gen Con: August 1st – August 4th Save Against Fear: Oct 12-14 GameHoleCon: October 31st – November 3rd We’ll also be back at PAX Unplugged later this year.

We will also be appearing at other cons either as Onyx Path or as individual creators, and I’ll get that list going next week below in the Blurbs!

Lunars art by Melissa Uran

One thing we are doing differently is that we’re changing how we do Gen Con this year, because we really want to emphasize demos and play opportunities with all of our many game lines. I’ll go into the details as things firm up, but what we are sure of is that you’ll still be able to buy our books at the IPR and Studio2 booths, that a bunch of us will still be doing panels, and that our demo area is going to be greatly increased.

Because after all, we still want to introduce so many people to our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

NEXT UP! We’ll be starting the Kickstarter for the Deluxe version of EX3‘s Lunars on this Tuesday February 12th at 2pm Eastern US time – so don your beast forms and let loose a howl (or snarl or squawk or hiss) to let everyone know it’s coming!

ONYX PATH MEDIA

Illustration by Michael Gaydos

This Friday’s Onyx Pathcast is entitled What We Look For In Freelancers, and the Terrific Trio of Trouble will be revealing just what they, and Onyx Path as a whole, looks for when deciding on who to work with as freelancers on our projects! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

And Here’s More Media About Our Worlds:

If YOU have a podcast, YouTube or Twitch channel, or talk about games on a blog or other website, and want to perform actual plays or make reviews of our games, please reach out to the Gentleman Gamer on the Onyx Path forum. From there we’ll share emails and get you started, so when you do start producing content we’ll be able to promote it on our blog and YouTube channel!

On Saturday we uploaded the third part of the excellent actual play of They Came from Beneath the Sea! run by Matthew Dawkins for Red Moon Roleplaying. Here’s a link to the video: https://youtu.be/szxFe7vvBnE Things are getting incredibly creepy in the town of Denton, Alabama, as people are melting into gunge!

The Story Told Podcast has started up its Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition overview series! Here’s a link to their site: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/wraith-20th-anniversary-edition-overview

Matthew continues his read-through of Scarred Lands novel, Vigilant: Through Shadows and Dreams, on our YouTube channel here: https://youtu.be/n1Ya7caS1U4 You can also find the book on DriveThruFiction as we start uploading mp3s of the chapters, or of course to buy in print: https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/253274/Vigilant-Through-Shadow-and-Dreams-Book-One

High Level Games continue their actual play of Pugmire, with our oft-times freelancer and frequent contributor to the Storytellers Vault, Josh Heath, as the Guide: https://www.highlevelgames.ca/podcastingnetwork/pugmire-actual-play-episode-2

And here’s something exciting! Matthew Dawkins will be on our YouTube channel later this week to discuss Werewolf: The Forsaken with frequent Werewolf writer, Chris Allen. Chris also acted as one of the three chaps sharing the developer seat on Shunned by the Moon. Chris and Matthew will be discussing the content of the comments left on this video: https://youtu.be/2my21NosubI and we encourage you to leave comments too!

Please check any of these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games!

ELECTRONIC GAMING:

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these fiction books:

OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can now order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

And available this week! Deluxe Changeling: The Dreaming and Deluxe Beckett’s Jyhad Diary! The additional books we have after the Kickstarter ship-outs are done are now at IPR!

DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

This Wednesday, we’re releasing Changeling: The Lost 2e Condition Cards on DTRPG, and CtL 2e Blank Journals are going on sale on our Onyx Path Redbubble store!

CONVENTIONS

New convention notices coming soon!

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

Geist2e Fiction Anthology (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Distant Worlds (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

Chicago Folio/Dossier (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Let The Streets Run Red (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

TC: Aeon Ready Made Characters (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum Core)

TC: Aeon Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Heroic Land Dwellers (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

Redlines

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Creatures of the World Bestiary (Scion 2nd Edition)

Second Draft

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Scion Ready Made Characters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Witch-Queen of the Shadowed Citadel (Cavaliers of Mars)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)

Memento Mori: the GtSE 2e Companion (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Pirates of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Development

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Oak, Ash, and Thorn: Changeling: The Lost 2nd Companion (Changeling: The Lost 2nd)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Manuscript Approval:

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Editing:

Aeon Aexpansion (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Tales of Excellent Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

V5 Chicago By Night (Vampire: The Masquerade)

V5 Chicago By Night Screen (Vampire: The Masquerade)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

Wr20 Book of Oblivion (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

C20 Novel: Cup of Dreams (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Scion Jumpstart (Scion 2nd Edition)

Post-Editing Development:

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Night Horrors: Shunned by the Moon (Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd Edition)

In Media Res (Trinity Continuum: Core)

Indexing:

Ex3 Dragon Blooded (Exalted 3rd Edition)

ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

The Realm – More sketches in.

Ex3 Monthly Stuff –

Chicago By Night – Contacting artists to see who is open.

Aeon Aexpansion

They Came From Beneath the Sea!

EX3 Lunars – Assets finalized for KS page.

Signs of Sorcery

In Media Res – Headshots all in, and rest of the finals coming in.

Hunter: The Vigil 2

Shunned By the Moon – All artists contracted.

Book of Oblivion – Sketches coming in slowly but surely.

Contagion Chronicle – Fulls/splats contracted for KS.

Marketing Stuff

In Layout

Dystopia Rising: Evolution

Scion Hero – Putting printer files together, sending to press this week.

Scion Origin – Putting printer files together, sending to press this week.

Proofing

M20: Gods and Monsters – Gathering backer errata.

Pugmire Roll of Good Dogs and Cats – Gathering backer errata.

Adventures for Curious Cats – First proof corrections in.

Trinity Core – Inputting Errata.

Trinity Aeon – Inputting Errata.

Ex3 Dragon Blooded – Indexing.

Geist 2e

C20 Player’s Guide

False Images – EX3 novel – Gathering backer errata.

At Press

Wraith 20th – Shipping to KS backers.

Wraith 20 Screen – Shipping to KS backers.

Scion Dice – At Studio2.

Scion Screen – At Studio2.

Fetch Quest – Shipping to US.

CtL2e Condition Cards – On sale this week.

Slarecian Vault Art Pack 01 and 02 –Waiting for PoD proofs.

TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE:

Later this week – it’s human heart trading day! Happy Valentine’s Day, ya’ll!

#Onyx Path Publishing

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uk-news-talking-politics · 5 years

Text

The final parliamentary Brexit battle is coming: This is what it looks like

By Ian Dunt

This morning we finally got a clear look at the battlefield. MPs have marched for two and a half years, climbed the hill of defeating Theresa May's deal, and finally they can see it there in front of them.

The amendments that have been put down on the prime minister's Brexit statement reveal how MPs are going to try and wrestle control from the government. They have two aims. The first is to prevent no-deal. The second is to provide a forum, outside of No.10's interference, in which they can figure out what the hell to do next.

Before the armies could make their way down to the battlefield, however, the government was up to a bit of slippery business. It's a weird move that makes no sense to anyone. May made no mention of it in the Commons yesterday - not in her statement or during hours of questioning from MPs. But then, later on, the written statement was published. And that had a caveat in it.

"Members will be advised," it said, "that amendments tabled to the original section 13(6) motion will need to be re-tabled when the second joint motion is tabled."

That's odd. There shouldn't be a second motion. There should just be the motion May put forward. Why on earth would she put it down again? Apparently it is necessary "to avoid any legal uncertainty as to whether the government has complied fully with the terms of the European Union Withdrawal Act."

But that makes no sense. The government has complied with the Act. The pertinent bit is Section 13. It states what should happen once the prime minister got a deal, or if she didn't. Parts 1 and 2 of Section 13 said that the deal with the EU would only be ratified if the Commons voted for it. Parts 3 to 6 concerned what happened if the Commons voted down a deal. And parts 7 onwards laid out the rules if the prime minister failed to get a deal at all.

The bits which are relevant to us are therefore 3 to 6. But last night's written statement referred to part 7 onwards. "Section 13(11) of the Act states that the government must make the statement and motion mentioned above if, at the end of 21 January 2019, 'there is no agreement in principle in negotiations'," it said. "While the negotiations have yielded an agreement, that agreement has not been approved by parliament."

This is really odd. It takes the bit of law meant for not getting a deal with the EU and applies it to a circumstance in which the government could not get it past the Commons. It gets even more weird when you consider that the prime minister did not mention it.

So what's going on? No-one knows. It's possible that this is just a bit of extreme legal caution and that the government is trying to insulate itself from a legal challenge in the future. But it's hard to see how that holds. The government does have a deal with the EU. The only way this is relevant is if it didn't.

There is another interpretation. Putting down the motion again means all the amendments are withdrawn and MPs have to put them down once more. The government could be hoping that they don't notice this has happened. If so, this is a very desperate gambit. MPs will notice and if anything it is likely to strengthen their resolve.

Or perhaps it is useful for the government to pretend that they have not really reached a deal with the EU so it's easier to tinker with later, or because a legal challenge might hinge on whether it was officially secured at this stage.

Legal and parliamentary experts are baffled by this move and some of them smell a rat. There's clearly some sort of plan bubbling under that nonsensical legal logic and people are vigilant about what it might be.

When the motion is finally brought back a second time, MPs will put down their amendments all over again. The two most pertinent ones are from Labour MP Yvette Cooper and Tory MP Dominic Grieve. They are complementary and seem to have been designed from the ground-up to work alongside each other. This is extremely positive. It suggests that soft Brexit supporters and People's Vote supporters in parliament are now working actively together.

Cooper's amendment is the one that tries to kill no-deal. It does this in quite a convoluted way.

First of all, it creates a private members bill. These are pieces of legislation written by MPs. Usually they die a lonely death. No-one knows they existed and no-one cares, apart from the author and their immediate family. But this one is different. People know it exists and they definitely care.

The Cooper bill gives the government until February 26th to secure a deal. If it fails, it automatically triggers a direction to the prime minister that she must apply for an extension to Article 50 until December 31st. Basically, it turns the no-deal cliff-edge into a nine month Article 50 extension.

Cooper didn't have to go this way. She could have just put an amendment down demanding Article 50 be extended. But amendments on motions are not legal. They are political. And there is room there, if the government was being especially untrustworthy, to ignore it. This government is especially untrustworthy, so Cooper has chosen to go down the harder, firmer route of legislation. That really gives MPs full legal control.

But there is a downside: it is much slower.

Cooper's amendment is therefore not directly intended to extend Article 50. It is intended to clear the way for her bill, which would then extend Article 50. It strips back government control over the Commons for one day: February 5th. And on that day, she plans to ram her bill through parliament.

It does this by targeting various standing orders - rules for the way the House operates - and assassinating them.

So standing order 14(1), which gives government business precedence, is killed off for the day. Standing order 41A, which can put off a vote until another day, is also butchered. Any mechanism which would allow Brexiters to filibuster the bill has its throat cut in a back alley. Then it allows amendments ahead of second reading, which would massively speed things up.

It's like if a piece of backbench legislation was zapped by lightning and given super powers. It does to the bill what happens to Neo at the end of the Matrix. All his opponents start to move in slow motion and he is imbued with extraordinary abilities.

But he's still not God. Neo had two more films of increasingly convoluted and self-important existential philosophy to get through. And Cooper's bill would face similar problems.

After second reading, it would still have to go through committee and report phase and then third reading. That's not just in the Commons. It involves the Lords too. Her plan is clearly to try and clear as much of this as possible on February 5th, but if the government was really keen on no-deal and intent on killing this thing dead, they might still be able to delay it until it was useless.

That would be constitutionally shocking. The bill would clearly have the support of the House, not just on its own second reading but by the extraordinary step of having accepted this superhero formula amendment to create it. But we are in constitutionally shocking times and nothing can be ruled out. Cooper's amendment is a valiant and highly credible effort to prevent no-deal. But a government really committed to blocking it could probably find a way to do so.

There's one other problem with the bill: MPs cannot put down and pass legislation with financial demands. Only the government can do that. This is a basic principle which has been around pretty much as long as parliament has existed. The provision for it nowadays is in standing orders 48 and 49.

The problem is that Cooper's bill does have a financial element. It doesn't mention it specifically, but it's in there. If you extend Article 50, you have to go back to the Withdrawal Act of last year and scrub out the bit that said we're leaving on March 29th. And that means that the bit repealing the European Communities Act 1972 has to go too. And that has a money element, because it states our financial obligations to the EU.

For some people, that's a clincher. It kills the legislation stone dead. Policy Exchange's Stephen Laws got very excited yesterday and imagined that it would lead the Queen to pull Excalibur from the stone and kill an imaginary Remainer conspiracy.

But it's not as simple as that. Cooper's amendment has three defensive options. The first is that governments are expected to put forward a money resolution for private members bills that survive to second reading. The second is that the financial element is an after-effect of the bill, not the primary function. And the third is Speaker John Bercow, who seems quite willing to take unprecedented action right now if it gives parliament a greater say. The constitutional shocks play both ways.

And then there's Grieve's amendment. With no-deal killed off by Cooper's effort, this then takes up the rest of the fight and tries to provide a space for the Commons to decide what it's going to do next.

It is a very neutral effort. Earlier drafts were more radical and toyed with reducing the numbers of MPs needed for a motion to pass. The one he published is more modest.

It provides for six days in which MPs call the shots: February 12th and 26th, and March 5th, 12th, 19th and 26th. That final day is proper squeaky-bum territory. If it gets that close to the end of the wire, we're in serious trouble.

Like Cooper's amendment, it kills off standing orders 14(1) and 41A, on the government's ability to control Commons business and mechanisms to delay a vote. Then it ensures that debate is on Brexit, by kicking things off with a motion that "this House has considered the United Kingdom's departure from, and future relationship with, the European Union". And it blocks any attempt at filibustering. At the end of the debate, there's a vote.

What MPs chose to do with this time is up to them. If they want to spend those days forming a piece of legislation on a People's Vote, they could do so. If they want to hold a series of indicative votes on a customs union, or soft Brexit, or a second referendum, they could do that too. What they choose is their business. All Grieve's amendment does is keep the government out the way. It provides a forum, not a solution. That's up to MPs.

That's the shape of the battlefield in front of us. What happens next is anyone's guess.

#Brexit #Article 50

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ablackfangirlwrites · 4 years

Text

Masterlist last update 5/23/2020

A/N~ If it says coming soon chances are I’m working on it and it’s in my draft If it says coming eventually I haven’t started on it yet but I do plan on it

~As for the Attack on titan links they may or may not work it’s an old page I used to run and I wanted to add her but Tumblr is stupid and said there all N*sfw -.-

My hero academia

Aizawa | Eraserhead

A relationship with Aizawa 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Random headcanons 1, 2

Dishonest (cheating Aizawa) 1, 2

Jealous Aizawa

Bald Aizawa

Big bro Zawa

More big bro zawa

Even more big bro Zawa

Single dad Aizawa

Aizawa with a Australian male s/o

Aizawa breaks up with you

Aizawa with a s/o w/ box braids

Aizawa with a young finance

Aizawa turning into a monster

Aizawa’s s/o is kidnapped

Aizawa trying to make you feel better

Aizawa dealing with Mic and his s/o

Aizawa’s s/o meeting class 1A

Aizawa’s s/o is clumsy

Aizawa meeting your family

Aizawa surprising you when your up to no good

Aizawa and you have a baby

Aizawa’s daughter dating

Aizawa’s s/o is kidnapped

Aizawa with a vigilant male s/o

Aizawa with a sour patch s/o

Aizawa seeing his male s/o shirtless

Aizawa with a popular s/o male

Aizawa meeting an adorable cat quirk hero

Aizawa calming your nerves

Aizawa getting to know his fiance

Your baby can teleport

Using your quirk for Aizawa

speaking a different language w/ Aizawa

Cat quirk you and Aizawa

Warg quirk you and Aizawa

Qurikless you and Aizawa

So you had a bad day

Das a big bunny

Take a break

Modern-day beauty and the beast

New years kiss

Finding a hickey on his s/o

Bad weather

Chilling in his clothes

caught in the act

Bath time with bea

Drunk confessions

laying with Aizawa

48 hours

chin kisses

First kiss

Corny

Safe pt 1 Part 2 eventually

Exhausted

oops

Number ask

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Aizawa

“Stop staring and go talk to her.” Aizawa

“I’m not wearing any panties,” Aizawa

“You can’t expect me to believe nothing happened, not when you flinch every time something touches you. ” Overhaul

You want to do this right now? Even though we could get caught?” Overhaul

Multi ship And/or headcanon scenarios

Dabi & Aizawa - 1 2 3

Hawk and Dabi - Coming eventually

Hawks Aizawa Dabi present mic and all might react to you saying let me see you shake that ass

Dabi

A relationship with Dabi 1, 2, 3, 4

Dating Dabi

Breaking with Dabi

Sweet & innocent you and Dabi

Warg quirk you and Dabi

Bath time with bea

Dabi with a ditzy s/o

24 hours

Dabi’s s/o has an eating disorder

At midnight things change

Possessive Dabi with his s/o

kai chisaki

Chisaki with a ditzy s/o

Chisaki with a younger sister

Present Mic

Mic trying to make his S/o feel better

Show me those hands!

Hawk

Random hawks headcanons

Hawk and his vigilant

Hawk surprising you when your up to no good

Hawks waking you up with his wings

Hawks visiting his teacher s/o

Hawks working with a cold reader

Hawks snacking into the UA dorms to see his s/o

Drunk Confessions

Doing Hawks makeup

72 hours

Bad weather

In his clothes

Your fault

Guilty

Finding a hickey on his S/o

speaking a different language w/ Keigo

I promise

Caught in the act

Bath time with bea

Jealous pt 1 part 2 eventually

Babysitting a drunk S/o

Growing up with Keigo Part 1 other parts eventually

chin kisses

All nighter

New Neighbor part1, 2, 3, 4 Part 5 soon

sleepy bird

First kiss

It’s the thought that counts

Falling through clouds

Cheater

A real relationship

All might | Toshinori Yagi

Dating All might 1, 2, Part 3 coming eventually

Finding a hickey on his s/o

Speaking a different language w/ Toshi

Creepy crawlies

My heart is true to you

Hot for another teacher

Fluffy headcanons

Happy birthday from All might

Kids that are scared of big might but not little all might

1 hour

Kindom hearts

Axel

I know the sighs

Bleach

Ichigo

“Higher, further, faster, baby.”

Magi

Sinbad

meets your pet alligator

One Punch man

Saitama

meets your pet alligator

Attack on titian

Older brother Marco

Erwin, Jean, Levi, Reiner reactions about their S/O being pregnant

Cuddling with Mikasa

Ymir with a taller s/o

Erwin and the smart recruit

Erwin and Levi reacting to a s/o from our world

Eren declaring his love to s/o

Levi, Farlan, Reiner, and Eren react to a pregnant s/o

Hanji realizing her feelings for another girl

Mikasa, Annie and Hange react to their s/o dying

Erwin, Mike, Levi, and Hanji go Christmas shopping

Erwin, Mike, Reiner and Bertl on their wedding day

Erwin, Mike, Bertl and Reiner react if their S/O was declared MIA

levi dating a noble girl from

Eren, Levi and Armin reacting to a love confession

Character headcanons

Modern LeviModern Armin

Modern Erwin

NSFW Jean

Modern Mikasa

Dating __ would include

Moblit

Mike

Annie

Ship headcanons

Erwin x Hanji (Sfw)

Scenarios

Jean’s male partner gets jealous

My Ocs

FFxv Ocs

Bnha Ocs~coming eventually

Fanfictions and one-shots by me

Us (childhood friends Levi x reader) Completed

Your problem(bad boy Levi x good girl reader) Completed

You’re a lot of trouble(Teacher Levi x student reader) Completed

Forever yours (sequel to you’re a lot of trouble) More chapters eventually

Neighbors (Levi x reader) More chapters eventually

My Escape (1920 Levi x reader Au) More chapters eventually

Once upon a dream (Reader x levi One-shot )

Overdose (cheating reader x cheating Levi One-shot) N*fw

#my masterlist #theblackfangirl

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roxannarambles · 7 years

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Acquired Taste - Ch6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: Acquired Taste

Author: Roxanna Rambles

Summary: When Heath defected from Bern’s wyvern knights and joined Eliwood’s group, he was very keen on keeping to himself, and for the most part, that was easy to do. However, a particular ex-assassin insisted on hounding him. It was extremely annoying. Heath hated it. And there was no way that was going to change. Nope.

Prev. Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Next Chapters: Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter11 Chapter 12 Epilogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky opened before him in every direction. There was a strong, warm thermal today that lifted them higher and higher, in an almost effortless flight-- Hyperion barely had to even flap her wings. They just glided, climbing lazily into the castle of clouds, until the world below was like a distant memory.

Flying was one of the few times Heath was able to relax. Some days he would spend hours floating above the landscape, letting his mind drift aimlessly. There was something so peaceful about seeing everything from miles and miles away. Especially in recent times, Heath had relied heavily upon this sort of meditation for soothing his nerves and escaping from reality for a while.

He remembered the day he first crossed Bern's borders, a fresh fugitive with absolutely zero direction. Every time he closed his eyes he could see his brothers-in-arms raining savage death upon a pitifully helpless village, and it turned his stomach. He spent perhaps nine or ten hours flying as high and as far as he could reach that day, only stopping because poor Hyperion was absolutely exhausted. The next day, he very nearly died when he ran into a Bern patrol, despite being certain he had outpaced them at that point.

After that, Heath knew that no amount of flying would allow him to outrun his problems. He still indulged in it, but only as a very temporary escape. In the back of his mind, he always knew he would eventually need to land. The world below was a complicated, messy place, but it was one he needed to return to and somehow learn to navigate.

Heath could put it off for a little longer, though. He spent some time popping into clouds and looping easy circles, just focusing on the feel of the wind sweeping across his body. The sun was warm and bright upon his back, which contrasted deliciously with the chilling breeze. He closed his eyes, leaning into Hyperion, easily adept enough at knowing the feel of the wyvern's flight to glide without looking. Suspended there in space, it felt like time itself slipped away, the only sound the occasional flap of the wyvern's expansive wings.

The wyvern rider was uncertain how long he remained in the sky, but when he opened his eyes he realized the sun had moved along quite a bit from its original position. Turning his mount in the direction of camp, he decided it was about time he headed back. His father had always told him that he spent too much time with his mind in the clouds, and perhaps he'd been right on that point. If he'd spent more of his youth submerged in the world and less of that time dreaming, there were certain harsh lessons that might have come sooner rather than later.

Hyperion trampled a number of bushes and kicked up dirt as she arrived just outside of camp, not her most graceful of landings. Heath gave her a gentle scolding as he dismounted, and she shook her head and chirped grumpily. She was probably a little hungry. Heath decided he'd fetch her a snack once they'd returned. Guiding his wyvern by the reins, they walked into camp, which was a relatively peaceful sight at the moment. Heath knew they were waiting to receive word back from Marquess Ostia, so things were not nearly as chaotic as usual. The manager of supplies, some oddball merchant they had picked up at some point named Merlinus, had a few people helping him cart some things about, and there were a few knights chattering. Heath passed them by and made his way over to the tent that housed the mounts and draft animals.

After securing Hyperion in her stable, Heath considered whether he should head to the supply area and get the rest of the dried fish for Hyperion, or if he should be lazy and just see if he could sneak anything from the mess tent for her. Yesterday there had been some cheese, and while it was unlikely any remained, he did know of her fondness for the fattening food. He decided he might as well swing by to see if any remained. Wandering the short path over, he reached the tent and poked his head inside. Only a few people were in there, but Heath stopped short when his eye fell upon a familiar figure, arms crossed, leaning against a table, smirk decorating his face as he spoke quietly with some messy-haired warrior. Heath hesitated, frozen a moment, then backed up and retreated. He felt a little sheepish as he left, but he really didn't want to go in there. There was hardly anyone inside and Legault would spot him immediately. Heath switched his path to head to the supply tent instead.

Truth be told, it had been the reason he'd gone flying today to begin with. The man had been troubling his mind lately. When this all began, Heath never imagined the strange thief that persistently spoke to him would ever be anything other than an obstacle to avoid. When he joined Eliwood's group he swore a silent oath that he would not fall prey to past mistakes, and would remain as vigilant and self-reliant as he could. For the most part, it had been an easy promise to keep. There had been plenty of people in Eliwood's company that tried to talk to him, plied him for his life story, or made friendly overtures. They had been easy to rebuff, however. Most realized soon enough that Heath preferred to keep to himself and enjoy his time alone, and only a few had needed a sterner reminder of this fact.

There was one, though, that persisted without fail. Heath had tried everything to dissuade the thief from his bizarre preoccupation with him, but no matter how sour-tempered or blunt he was, and no matter how careful he was to avoid him, the man never seemed to be deterred. Heath spent weeks and weeks alternatively convinced Legault had some ulterior motive or was simply being obnoxious, but as time wore on, he started to glimpse the truth of things: Legault was genuinely drawn to him. He looked at him with eyes that seemed to cut through all his evasion and misdirection. Heath found it alarming.

That little spike of alarm shot through him every time Legault was near. It continued with each passing night as he came to know the thief. It continued as Heath's defenses eroded away and a sort of tolerance began to take hold, then a preference for his company. And it continued as Heath found himself becoming slowly entangled in fascination. He began to anticipate that shot of adrenaline, and he found he began to almost crave it. It was a foolish game; he knew that well enough. The entire venture threatened to collapse his goal of maintaining a safe distance from everyone. Unfortunately, Legault had ended up being unavoidably compelling.

Heath ducked into the supply tent, wandering to the back of the stacks of crates. He sighed to himself. None of this would have really been a problem, had the silly dalliances with danger remained confined to his nightwatches. But things had spilled over into the rest of life, and he and Legault were inching towards something recklessly close to friendship at this point. They would chat during dreary lulls. They had each other's backs on the battlefield. Heath would seek him out when the other knights tried to get chummy with him, which acted as a handy buffer. They even sparred on a semi-regular basis now. That last one had taken some convincing, as Legault still insisted he was terrible at direct combat, but Heath knew his skills outstripped his claims. Their sparring had only confirmed it.

Heath finally located the correct crate and pulled it from the stack. As he set out again to the stables, he resolved to put some distance back between the two of them. A little company during nightwatch was all well and good, but this was getting out of hand. The last thing he needed right now was to compromise his judgment or grow attached to anybody. Admittedly, it had been nice to unwind a little lately-- it was something he hadn't really done in a long time-- but they were frivolous indulgences. He'd had enough of those. It was time to get his head out of the clouds.

As involved as Heath had been with his thoughts, it took him a while to realize that the knight hollering as he left the stables was, in fact, shouting at him. He approached the excessively energetic fellow.

"What is it that you want?"

The goofy Caelin knight gestured wildly,

"Didn't you hear me? There's a meeting going on in the officer's tent. All military units are supposed to be there. You'll probably want to go to that. I guess you weren't around? It's already started by now."

Heath eyed the man.

"Why aren't you present?"

He laughed.

"Fear not! Sain would never shirk his knightly responsibilities. I'm just, er, arriving fashionably late. I was detained by . . . well . . ."

Sain glanced around, then smiled enormously.

". . . a very lovely lady. She was emphatic that I stay a while, and it would have been absolutely unchivalrous of me to just leave--"

"--forget that I asked. Excuse me."

"--wait! Don't you want to hear about her?"

Thankfully, Heath had a long stride, and outpaced Sain quickly enough. He reached the officer's tent in the middle of camp and stepped inside. The air was stuffy and warm, the tent packed with dozens of people, all crowded around a table in the center. Eliwood's group was not large by any stretch of the imagination, but with the majority crammed into a single tent, it did almost give the impression of something substantial. Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis were at the table in the center of the room, a large scroll unrolled across the table that was a map of the region, weighed down by candles. They were clearly in the thick of a deep discussion, the map dotted with the colored flattened marbles they used as markers.

". . . now, Marquess Worde has been in Etruria this past month, but his retainers met with us briefly during our passing through their territory. They informed us the Marquess is due to return within a fortnight. There is potential that he will be further delayed, however, and it would be best if we moved instead directly to Ryerde . . ."

Heath cast his eye about, wrinkling his nose, and picked his way through the crowd, locating a corner at the back of the tent that was away from the main group and not as claustrophobic. He crossed his arms and peered at the lords, trying to sort out what they were explaining.

". . . is why we were hesitant. Ryerde has traditionally had poor relations with Pherae. Lord Paxton is Marquess Ryerde's father-in-law, and we had been hoping once we gained him that Ryerde would be easier to convince. As it stands now, our only bargaining chip with Lord Hornsby may be sheer intimidation from Ostia. Fortunately, Thria is a different matter . . ."

Eventually Heath determined that the lords were describing their plans for attempting to recruit the various Lycian houses for their cause. Ever since their return from the Dread Isle, they had been scrambling to develop the next step in their game plan. The nobles had decided to meet with Marquess Ostia to discuss options, but they were still waiting to hear word back, the Marquess having requested some time to consider things. In the meantime, apparently they were considering corralling up as much of Lycia as they could in what was potentially a full-scale assault upon Nergal's stronghold.

". . .very good position. So long as Ostia is on our side, Thria too shall follow. If we are to follow the northern path, it would place us in Tuscana in three weeks. Now, Tuscana is an interesting case. The Marchioness is a bit eccentric and prefers to not be involved in any Lycian disputes whatsoever. She is said to be so secretive that only a few living in Tuscana even know her face. Yet their army is considerable, and any efforts to contact them would be time well spent. Lyndis had the idea . . ."

It was ambitious, to say the least. Lycia was a patchwork quilt of a ridiculous number of noble houses. Heath wondered how they ever managed a unified effort. By all rights, the entire country should have collapsed by now into petty squabbles and in-fighting, but they still were able to hold their own, even sandwiched between the powerful Etruria and Bern. He had to admire their pluck, in the very least. If Eliwood did manage to convince them of the seriousness of the threat they faced, it would certainly aid them a great deal.

"This, of course, depends on how receptive the Marchioness is. It may take some time simply to be granted the honor of speaking with her directly. However, with a great deal of tact and finesse, I believe this approach would be very effective. We'll simply need to work through her network of vassals and advisors. If Lord Eldred still is living in Tuscana, it should offer some avenues . . ."

Heath shifted on his feet and sighed quietly. The only trouble was that all of these politics with lords and lordlings and Marquesses and territories and whatnot was protracted, agonizingly dull business. Heath loathed this sort of nonsense, which is why he was a knight, not a strategist or a diplomat. He preferred action to words, even though he knew the dreary negotiations were sometimes a necessity. So he listened to Lord Eliwood babble on about Tuscana for another ten minutes and felt a little wave of hope as he seemed to be reaching some sort of conclusion on it.

". . . explains it all very nicely. Assuming the shipments arrive on time, it would be perfect. After that, the only loose ends to tie up are the Caldonia contracts, which Eldred is more than fit to handle. It should be smooth sailing from there."

Eliwood paused, sipping some water, and the crowd murmured and chattered among themselves.

"Now. Onto Khathelet," Eliwood began, moving the little marble markers on the map. Heath exhaled through his teeth in exasperation, trying his best not to be audible in his frustration. Eliwood launched into an introduction to the Khathelet lords, and Heath set his jaw, shifting again, re-crossing his arms.

A velvety tone purred in his ear,

"Getting a little restless?"

Heath jumped, sucking in a breath. Jerking to look to his right, Legault hovered inches beside him, with a satisfied smile spread wide across his face. Heath didn't even have the ability to glare at the moment, heart still hammering in his ears. He settled for hissing at him,

"Legault you piece of sh--"

"--ah ah, now now, not in front of the lordlings--"

"-- you almost killed me."

"Honestly, that might be a mercy at this point. Have you really been standing here for this whole meeting?"

Heath glanced around the room and the crowd of very unenthusiastic people, replying hesitantly,

"Most of it, I think."

"Quite the glutton for punishment."

"Everyone was supposed to attend," Heath said in a harsh half-whisper.

"Mmm, I thought of it more as a suggestion."

Heath rolled his eyes and answered, trying to keep his voice low,

"You would slink off. Then why are you here now?"

Legault shrugged.

"Got curious. Thought maybe you were all secretly having a party in here."

The knight snorted.

"Believe me, no."

"Yes, I got the impression I wasn't missing much. It does worry me, though."

Heath knitted his brows.

"What does?"

Legault watched the two lords still addressing the crowd.

"Well, there may not be much time left for anything else, once Eliwood's finished blowing smoke up the asses of every Lord Haughtybody in the country."

Heath coughed into his hand, smothering the laugh. He shook his head a little.

"You claim to have a silver tongue but I think you mostly just have a smart mouth."

Legault smirked and answered in a low tone,

"Care to know what else I can do with those?"

Heath ruffled,

"Legault, I swear--"

"You swear what?" Legault replied, daring him with mischievous eyes.

"I'll kick you."

"Sounds more fun than hanging about here. Meet me at the edge of camp by the thicket and I'll give you the chance to."

"Wait, what?"

"Sparring, you dunce."

Heath looked about the crammed tent. Eliwood was prattling on about Badon.

"Now? The meeting . . ."

Legault snickered.

"You want to stay here?"

Heath frowned, hesitant.

"I . . . it's our duty to attend."

"Mmm, I see. Still the eager, obedient knight? I thought you were your own man now, Heath."

Heath gave him an annoyed look and Legault whispered to him melodramatically,

"I thought you were a rebel like me."

"You're a moron."

"All right, have fun then. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

The thief melted back into the crowd as quickly as he'd first appeared, then tossed him a last look of glimmering lavender before vanishing entirely.

Heath looked back to Eliwood.

". . . Badon's military positioning is therefore extremely valuable . . ."

Dragon's teeth.

He wasn't falling for this ploy. He wasn't.

Admittedly, it was an offer Legault infrequently made, but--

No. Heath decided he was keeping away. That's all there was to it. He wasn't messing about with Legault any longer. It was ridiculous. He'd just have to stay here for the rest of this. Besides, it wasn't really that bad. He just had to--

"Damnit," Heath cursed helplessly. There was no way in hell he was staying here. That resolve snapped like kindling. There was zero benefit to being here, and he'd rather keep his skills in check with sparring then decay his mind listening to another minute of these ramblings.

Just one last time. One more time wouldn't hurt.

That was how Heath ended up cautiously approaching the patch of trees at the edge of camp, armed with his favorite lance and wondering if he was making a mistake. In the very least, nobody was likely to notice his absence, as slipping out had been easy enough. He reached the woods in very little time and stepped onto the carpet of pine needles, scanning about. The area was very quiet and still.

Heath considered the possibility that Legault had left by now. He peered around more and frowned. He was about to call out when a voice came to his left,

"Hey, now, that's breaking the rules. No wearing more layers of armor than your opponent is."

Heath turned, the thief materializing from the trees. He glanced down at his bulky metal breastplate and grunted,

"Forgot. Give me a minute."

"Sure. Although I can't see how you can stand wearing that thing. Must be worse than a corset. You're practically always in it."

Heath shot him a look as he dropped his arm and elbow guards to the ground.

"I'm on duty, I wear it. You should always be prepared for battle."

"Well, at least you draw the line at being off-duty. I was beginning to wonder if you slept in it."

Heath bit his lip slightly as he unbuckled his breastplate.

". . . you . . . you don't sleep in it, right?"

"Sometimes," he confessed, unstrapping the last of the buckles. Legault practically giggled.

"Oh, Heath. My silly fellow. It's a wonder you don't pop from how wound up you always are."

"Shut up. You'd be paranoid too in my position."

"I suppose."

Heath let the breastplate clatter down and then kicked off his leg guards. Having shed all the Bern armor plates, he wore a simple long-sleeved black shirt and white trousers underneath. He dug the handle of his lance into the dirt, opening his other hand, presenting himself.

"Satisfied?"

Legault nodded.

"Very."

"Good," Heath said, brandishing his lance and stepping forward.

"Whoa there. What happened to counting to ten?"

The thief had always been reluctant about open combat-- in the past, he'd insisted on starting off with some distance between them, so they had to track one another. While it was true Legault's strengths clearly involved stealth and subterfuge, Heath had found he'd been surprisingly decent at actual combat. Apparently, Legault still doubted that fact.

"You don't really need that anymore, do you?"

"Ah, well--"

Heath stepped forward more, smiling wolfishly. Legault pulled his dagger from his sheath and cursed.

"All right, all right. Eager to start, I get it. Let's go."

Heath looked for an opening, Legault crouching low and incredibly tensed, long curved dagger held at the ready. He shot his lance out, the thief leaping out of the way immediately, then swung the lance around to try and catch him, but he slipped under-- swing, swing, swing several times over, each time the thief leaping aside or ducking away. He stepped forward as Legault backed away-- then jutted the lance out again with a harsh slash.

Once again, Legault bounded away, and backed off more. Heath said roughly,

"You want to attack sometime?"

Legault answered in a tense sort of sing-song,

"When I'm ready."

Heath came at him again, digging his lance at his legs. Legault jumped aside and ducked as Heath swung back up. The lance slash, slashed-- Legault still dodging, still backing off. Heath gave a sweeping arc at his head, the blade zipping by just shy of him as he jumped backward. The knight snarled in frustration and charged, tired of being toyed with. Legault stood his ground for a half-second.

Then he twisted sideways, the subtlest of motions, the lance barreling past him and digging into the tree behind him. As he did so, he sprang forward, his dagger seeking Heath's chest. The knight felt a shot of panic and dropped, plowing into the pine needles and dirt and then yanking himself forward in an ungraceful lurch, debris flying as he scrambled to his feet.

Legault stood there, still crouched with dagger at the ready, staring back at him. Heath breathed,

"Clever little shit."

The man smiled and replied in a strained tone,

"Flattery'll get you nowhere."

Heath leapt forward, coming at him again, as Legault easily dodged. The lance motions came smoothly and easily-- swing here, there, here, Legault now taking occasional swings at him in return. It felt like now that Legault was warmed up, he was moving more confidently and was more willing to take risks and fight back. Heath enjoyed the rhythm they settled into, that feeling he always had during sparring, the movements automatic and instinctive.

Heath leapt back as the dagger glittered in the air right at his face, a shooting star wishing for his doom-- Legault laughed in exuberance. The knight brought his lance about, as if swinging at Legault, but punched his wrist into the handle, reversing the swing and thwacking the lance handle at Legault instead. The stick grazed the man's knee and caused him to gasp in pain, but he rebounded quickly, jabbing at Heath. The knight drew back and Legault drove at him, again, again, again, having him on the disadvantage. Heath skidded to one side and thrust quickly, a precise shot that struck hard on the dagger and flung it from Legault's grasp. The thief cursed and ducked as Heath took a shot at him, then wheeled and leapt about as the knight mercilessly took advantage of his lack of weapon. He managed to scramble away from Heath and took a second to glance about and locate his fallen dagger.

Heath charged, and Legault dove for his weapon. As he landed he rolled and cleanly plucked his dagger up, then turned about. Heath was practically upon him already, a looming figure over his crouched frame. Heath was certain he had him, but as he closed the distance, Legault flung a cloud of dirt and pine needles into his face. Heath growled and swiped away the debris, then whirled around violently, but couldn't catch sight of Legault.

Standing tensely, weapon at the ready, he scanned the trees around him more carefully, realizing the thief really had given him the slip. Breathing heavily from exertion, he strained to listen over the sound of his own bounding heartbeat, turning, jerking about, searching.

The thicket was eerily quiet.

Heath felt the adrenaline tingling at his skin, noticing the silence and stillness made him feel electric, drinking in the anticipation. It was absurd, but he almost liked the feeling; the calm before the storm.

He waved the lance about and taunted light-heartedly,

"I'm waiting, Hurricane."

He stood still.

The air was gentle and peaceful. Heath watched an errant leaf flutter to the ground. Nothing else moved.

Heath remained still. His hands, gripping his lance, quivered from the tension.

When the silence broke, it was like a thunderclap rending the air directly behind him. Heath spun about, having fully expected to be rushed from behind, but Legault still moved frightfully fast. He was barely able to complete the motion in time, the dagger halted by his lance handle, a pair of stormy eyes locked with his own. The moment lasted but an instant, yet seemed to hang; the lance was awkward in such close quarters, and Heath knew he was in trouble.

It became a chaotic scuffle as Legault attacked and Heath grabbed his dagger arm. Legault twisted in his grip and the lance fell aside, Heath grabbing at the slippery thief that wrenched himself free, desperately trying to gain purchase on him again. With a kick, Legault escaped him and tried to retaliate, but Heath slammed into him bodily. They wrestled for the dagger, frantic and floundering, and although Legault put up a spirited fight, the wyvern knight had him overpowered. He finally locked the thief into a tight chokehold from behind, arm wrapped around his neck. Legault made a choked, feral noise and struggled against him, to no avail. Heath growled out as he held fast against his struggles,

"It's . . . my . . . win. . ."

Legault stopped wriggling and gasped out,

"I still have my blade."

Heath had to admire his stubbornness, if not his wisdom. He shifted slightly to disarm him, the smallest of motions, but then it all happened so rapidly; the thief squirmed to the side just a little, and Heath felt a jolt of pain as an elbow jammed his chin; Legault slipped partially out of his grip and the weight shifted unfavorably in Heath's footing for just a moment. Somehow, Legault took advantage of that, because the next thing Heath knew, his leg was yanked out from under him and they went tumbling painfully down to the ground.

Mercifully, upon landing, the blade had not impaled him, but he did find Legault managed to twist about in the fall and gain the upper hand. A dagger was held to his throat, the thief straddled upon him, eyes wild and breath heavy. Legault's bandana had slipped off so that loose purple locks framed his frenzied face, and he was smudged with dirt across his scar, completing the ferocious picture. He looked positively elated.

Heath was too busy panting to speak at first, but remained still in his grip, knowing when he was beat. A crazy euphoria was rushing through him, all his senses screaming alight, the ridiculously feral fight like nothing he'd experienced in ages. Breathlessly, Legault dropped the dagger and spoke,

"Gotcha."

Heath's chest hitched in a silent laugh. He tried to find words, but his brain was still swimming. He settled for sucking in a few breaths, then tried again, puffing out,

"I concede."

Legault grinned, and Heath acted on a silly impulse, rolling them over in one rapid, clean motion. It was obviously the furthest thing Legault had expected, so Heath had no problem flipping them so that he had Legault pinned down instead. He smiled devilishly down at him.

"Still my win."

Legault spluttered,

"You--"

He seemed to drop into inarticulate sounds and then abandon trying to speak altogether, looking remarkably flustered. It was a delicious sight, catching him so off-kilter, and Heath drank it in.

From somewhere behind them, Heath heard a throat being cleared, and then an exasperated voice;

"Are you two finished yet?"

The knight turned his head. Lord Hector stood there with his arms crossed, wearing an unamused expression. Heath uttered a surprised,

"M'lord?"

The Lord gestured impatiently at them.

"While you've both been busy beating the crap out of each other the camp's been getting ready to leave. Head back, pronto."

Dazed, Heath got off of Legault and helped pull him to his feet. He worked to process what Hector had said and replied dumbly,

"I thought we were due to depart tomorrow, m'lord."

Hector shot back,

"Change of plans. That Ninian girl just had a premonition. Nergal's targeting the East next. We march to Bern."

Heath and Legault looked at each other.

"Bern, sir?"

Hector turned on his heel and started heading back to camp.

"That's right. Pack up and head to the south road."

"Isn't that the wrong way?" Legault called after him.

As Hector walked off, he answered,

"Just a quick detour my brother wants us to make first. Get moving."

The Lord disappeared through the trees. Heath turned back to Legault, stunned by all of this. They were both still breathing heavy from their scuffling; blood still pounding hot. Legault tugged his cape around his waist, clearing his throat a little. For some reason, he seemed slightly awkward, but Heath was too busy trying to come to grips with the new orders to stop and analyze it. He asked,

"What do you make of it?"

Legault shrugged.

"I guess we go whichever way the wind blows."

Heath looked out into the trees where Hector had walked off.

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

Sadly without the time to dawdle further, the two of them hurried back to camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#fire emblem #legault/heath #legault #heath #mystuff #fanfic

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chrisx-212 · 7 years

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Overwatch saga 1: Downfall of Order

This is some sort of fic idea I have been having on mind. It’s only a draft, but perhaps I could share this to you guys. This is what I think how the story of Overwatch go. Click Read more to see the details.

Sneak preview main highlight: VISHKAR GETS BLOWN TO BITS!

After Recall, only Tracer, Genji, Mei and Mercy answered the call of Winston. Others seemed busy for other businesses. They also realized one thing: They lack cash and due to the Petras act, they cannot just appeal to help others without attracting people who will arrest them for illegal. They need a smaller ‘stepping stone’ to help others. There’s only one destination they can take... to Brazil, enlisting the aid of Lucio.

But when they arrive at Brazil, Lucio’s home was being attacked by Vishkar under Symmetra. The usual fight, like usual. Since the target was Lucio, Overwatch obviously defended him. With her mission to arrest Lucio compromised, Symmetra retreated a bit.

While Winston took care of the dealings with Lucio, the team spread out to look around at the favela. Tracer and Mei ended up meeting with the girl Symmetra saved in A Better World, Rosa, who told them about how she was saved by a Vishkarian woman (Symmetra), which Tracer confirmed that it’s the same woman she fought just before.

In another way, Genji and Mercy surveyed the surrounding of Rio favella, noticing the people’s suffering. However, they met up a ruckus where Symmetra was just trying to return a lost boy under attack by certain ‘black figures’, but only to be harrassed by the locals because the Vishkar reputation was severe. Genji ended up breaking the fight and scared the people with his Dragonblade where Mercy patched up Symmetra’s wounds. The three talked about their philosophies and they realized that Symmetra has honor in her, much similar to Genji’s brother Hanzo. He urged her to at least follow her heart, not just Vishkar’s order, but her own order, then decide for herself. After they left, Symmetra was called in by her superiors to return to Vishkar main HQ.

Once all four returned, Winston told them that he managed to tell most of the things to Lucio, but he felt a little too duty-bound to Rio. With his position leaked, Vishkar could strike at him any time, considering them heartless oppressive monsters. However, once the Overwatch filed in their what they have learned so far, Lucio started to waver, perhaps he made a mistake of generalizing people so far... He then said he needed time to think about this, and the Overwatch decided to stay with him.

Several days later, Rosa told him that there’s another problem. Her father seems to be preparing for an assault or something.

The Overwatch is then introduced to the Liberators, a group of freedom fighters inspired by Lucio’s rebellion. And for the longest time, they have been doing sabotages to Vishkar in order to make the world a better place... which somehow Mercy doubts that they’re doing it right. Lucio claims they’re a faction different than him, he just minds his own business as an international DJ. The Liberators seems to be preparing for a mass journey or sorts... but there were weapons. And when Winston took a look around, he was shocked.

The weapons of the Liberators are similar to those from Talon. He knew, he fought those Talon soldiers when they attempted to delete the Overwatch data. Knowing that this would mean bad news, Lucio attempted to dissuade the Liberators to forget this assault. However, their minds will not waver: They hated Vishkar so much that they would prefer Talon over it, but deny that this operation was backed by Talon. Distressed that his people was carried over with such manipulation, Lucio requested that the Overwatch lend him a hand, and they happily accepted.

Their mission: Prevent casualties of the Brazilians.

Meanwhile, back in the HQ of Vishkar at Utopaea, the company was thrown into chaos when there were several leaks coming from an unknown source, revealing to many Vishkar workers that they have been living a lie, their greater good were used for nothing but filling the pocket of the CEO with money and overall they made people suffer. With their mentalities completely swayed, the majority of Vishkar branches started to lose morale, as many common people throughout the world saw the leak and in turn rebelled against Vishkar’s branches, with the workers somehow unable to do anything. It seemed that the Vishkar technology to motivate the workers malfunctioned at the wrongest time.

Symmetra nearly fell into this demotivator, but due to the way she thinks and how she has been advised by both Genji and Mercy, she managed to keep herself together. The Liberators eventually arrive and the Vishkar people stood in defense, but the Liberators overwhelm them due to the ensuing chaos. Thankfully, the Overwatch arrive in time... and suddenly took on the side of Vishkar, if only that it would prevent the Liberators to shed more unnecessary blood.

And to their surprise, the building security became compromised and Talon mercenaries swarm the building, just as Winston suspected, this was all Talon’s plan. Symmetra suspected that they will be aiming for the CEO of Vishkar next, so took the Overwatch and Lucio to meet up with the CEO.

In there, the CEO just berated Symmetra to arrest the vigilantes (putting them on restrain), once the mess is cleared up they could be executed for going against order. Symmetra refused, they still saved a few Vishkar workers despite their ‘illegal’ status, and besides, the Talon presents a bigger threat at the moment. The CEO knew what to do, so he pressed a button that blew a lot of the portions of the HQ, killing not just Talon soldiers, but also Vishkar members, horrifying Symmetra since this is also what they were doing to her in Rio. The CEO believed that as long as he has her, this can be rebuilt in a short time, and then fortune will come to them again. This confirms to Lucio that Vishkar was solely out for money and its workers are all manipulated by one man. The CEO then started berating that Symmetra dared to go against his orders after he raised her, gave her luxurious life and purpose, and even had to silence her parents just so she would be dependant -- ooops...

That was the last straw for Symmetra. Thoroughly convinced that she was utterly betrayed and made her life turned into a lie, she started beating down the non-combative CEO. But... at the last moment, Lucio pushed her away and a gunshot was heard.

The Vishkar CEO was heavily bleeding, but alive. A bullet was lodged into his chest. It turned out to be a sniper bullet, and eventually, the three Talon agents overseeing this mission; Reaper, Widowmaker and Sombra; arrive to the room. Reaper then told the CEO of Vishkar that everything is according to plan: The big vestige of order of the world revealed to be a complete sham, and the majority of its manpower lost their ways they became easy recruits for Talon, that was the reason Sombra hacked and leaked the information about the true nature of Vishkar. When the CEO reneged that they had a deal, Reaper simply said that the deal expired, then shot him point blank on the face. He told the Overwatch that this is only the beginning, though he would’ve appreciated if a certain soldier was amongst them. Then all three retreated.

When the dusts cleared, Symmetra was distraught, everything she believed was a lie and she instead worked for vice instead of the greater good that she thought. She thought she was beyond redemption for this, but Lucio instead encouraged her that she deserved a second chance. Besides, their efforts managed to save a good number of the Liberators and the Vishkar workers that she protected. Lucio then tells the Liberators to be more careful about how they fight for freedom instead of being easily manipulated like that. Symmetra also told the Vishkar workers that even if they have been misled before, it’s not too late to restart and atone to create the true better world. Humbled, both the Liberators and Vishkar remnants embraced and forgive each other.

As they returned to Rio where the Vishkar remnants are accepted as neighbors and help out with improving the lives in Rio... the good way (by being good people so far), Lucio finally came to his answer: He wants to join Overwatch for good, after seeing the threat of Talon, he knows he can’t just sit idly and focus on just his home, the world needs his help. And as her way to atone for her sins, Symmetra also offers to sign up. Winston agreed to the deals and while the chaos will rise due to the fall of Vishkar, they will have to be more vigilant than ever, but they will also let some people there recover if they have trauma.

And it was just shortly after that they received a mail from South Korea...

Meanwhile, Reaper rounded up the disillusioned Vishkar workers to be brainwashed en-masse into Talon soldiers, similar to Widowmaker... something that triggered something within her...

Thus ends arc 1. Arc 2 will involve gaining new ‘more public fame’ by fighting Giant Omnics threatening South Korea and Russia... but will eventually shift into two ex-Junkers from Australia (also one failed freedom fighter) and a shadow from Genji’s past.

#overwatch #fic plan #winston #tracer #genji #mercy #lucio #symmetra #reaper #widowmaker #sombra

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theonyxpath · 7 years

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Hello Hunter fans!

The team and I are doing everything we can to move the needle to second drafts, and I cannot wait for this game to come out. We’re working through my developer’s feedback, so we can clearly proceed with vigor. Plus, we’ve got some great collaboration going on and I personally think you’re going to LOVE Mysterious Places. As you know, I am keen on tapping into why you fell in love with Hunter in the first place while ensuring second edition rules enhance your experience at the table. One of H:TV2E’s setting conceits is the idea that there are more monsters than ever before, and this has affected hunters in many ways. Is there one tried-and-true methodology to fighting monsters? Will they ever be destroyed? What happens when you’re forced to deal with the devil-you-know to fight the devil-you-don’t?

As it turns out, these questions are a wonderful source of conflict that can be resolved thematically and by rolling dice. Today, I’d like to share with you one of the ways we can facilitate gut-wrenching personal conflict via our first draft of The Code. I’m posting how The Code works utilizing Integrity, Conditions, and Breaking Points; I did not include them here, but Touchstones for hunters also play into this as well and will immediately follow in the text. This first piece is crucial to helping you see the direction we’re taking, and anyone who’s familiar with second edition rules should have a clear idea on how The Code will work in game.

The Code will be part of regular gameplay. The draft I posted below will continue to evolve, and we’ll make surgical edits for clarity. One of the ways we’ll define The Code further, will be to highlight how you, the player, can shape your hunter’s experience by crafting a one sentence statement to define your views. This will further accommodate your personal take on the Code, but also draw in powerful, thematic moments over the course of your chronicles.

I hope you enjoy this preview!

The Code

Hunters have an Integrity trait that represents the health of their souls, just like ordinary people do. Psychological stress can destabilize a hunter’s self-image, and in fact this self-image is the crux of the Code. It’s just a question of what constitutes “psychological stress” for people who kill monsters for a living.

For the average person, excessive violence and exposure to the dark supernatural underbelly of the world cause trauma — she questions her sanity or the truth of everything she’s ever known. Brutality shocks her, numbs her. This is true of hunters when they start out, too, but at some point they make the choice to stop being victims. They draw a line in the sand and say, not me. Not my people. Never again. They may not realize it at first, but they have dedicated themselves to the Code, trading away their safe worldview for the unforgiving mentality it takes to fight the impossible.

The Code is sometimes an unspoken understanding, and sometimes a tangible set of principles that hunters vow to each other to uphold. It could be a mission statement for a conspiracy that every member signs. It could be an oath a cell swears over a freshly dug grave. Some just wax philosophical about it over beers late at night. Whatever the form it takes, when two hunters’ interpretations of the Code come into conflict, they’re willing to shed tears and blood over it.

The Vigil

When a hunter takes up the Vigil, she vows — whether out loud or just to herself — to abide by certain precepts, ones that separate her from common murderers and unnatural predators. She justifies her life of violence, crime, and paranoia with strict rules which, if followed, keep her from being like them: the monsters that prey on the innocent, kill for fun, leech off society, and care about nothing but themselves. The hunter tells herself she’s different, that she’s doing it all for the greater good. If she can cling to her Integrity, she might even be right. The more she violates the Code, the hollower her insistence rings. She builds a wall of scars around her heart so she can live with herself. Do the job, slay the fiend, save the day. But the more Integrity she loses, the less she knows herself anymore. The further she falls, the harder it is to see the difference between herself and any other killer.

A hunter’s greatest saving grace is her companions. A lone hunter doesn’t make it far before she spirals into self-loathing or forgets what she’s fighting for, living from one bloody thrill to the next. She needs people — not just any people, but people she can trust. People she can open up to and be vulnerable with, even if it’s just for a night here and there. Without the occasional reprieve from living on a hair trigger, paranoia consumes her. Confidants, called Touchstones, help remind her why she took up the Vigil to begin with and who she is behind the flamethrower.

Integrity

A hunter has an Integrity trait that ranges from 10 to 0 and represents his psyche’s stability. Characters start out with seven dots of Integrity. Whenever a hunter character violates the Code or experiences something that drastically shakes his confidence, his player rolls a breaking point (see below) and risks degeneration, or losing a dot of Integrity. A player can buy Integrity dots with Experiences (p. XX), but to purchase a dot of Integrity, a character must first spend a scene opening up to someone in a frank and honest manner, trusting that person with his rawest feelings and deepest secrets, or with his life or the lives of those he cares about. It could be anyone — a fellow hunter, a Touchstone, even an enemy, as long as he’s genuine. This trust must not be betrayed before the player purchases the Integrity dot. Characters with high Integrity (7-10) see themselves in more or less the same way they always did. The Vigil is a major part of their lives, but they can see beyond it to pursue other things — relationships, hobbies, even careers. They can draw a clear line between themselves and the monsters they despise.

Characters with middling Integrity (4-6) fully internalize the hunt, reacting more instinctively to perceived threats. They tend toward the paranoid, and are more prone to violence and/or Machiavellian behaviors. They wonder whether their actions are justified while the Code pushes them to keep hunting anyway, or they double down on their lifestyles and become cynical. Characters at this level of Integrity gain the Vigilant Persistent Condition (p. XX).

Characters with low Integrity (1-3) allow the hunt to consume them utterly. They lash out at the slightest hint of a threat, throw themselves gleefully into bloodshed at every opportunity, or scheme like a spider to take out the enemy before it makes a move. They can’t remember or imagine being anything but a hunter. Some hate themselves for what they’ve become. Others steadfastly refuse to admit they’ve fallen from grace, thoroughly fixated on the job. Still others survive more than they live, jaded to the point of single-mindedness. Characters at this level of Integrity gain the Merciless Persistent Condition (p. XX).

A hunter who falls to Integrity 0 is barely recognizable as human anymore, a relentless engine of violence and obsession. Characters who drop this far usually become Storyteller characters, and are prone to becoming slashers (see p. XX).

Breaking Points

Characters in Hunter suffer two types of breaking points. Innate breaking points are those a character carries with her from before she took up the hunt, and those that remind her of just how unsettling her life has become. Most innate breaking points involve doing or encountering something traumatic for the first time; even the most seasoned hunter hasn’t seen everything that’s out there, and surprises in her line of work are never pleasant. A character also reaches a breaking point when she violates the Code, the set of tenets that every hunter instinctively recognizes as sacred duties of the Vigil.

The Code may be universal, but no two hunters interpret it exactly the same way. They argue over what constitutes a “monster” or a “person” all the time, although the Code draws a few indelible lines that, deep down, no hunter can deny. In system terms, the Code considers any creature that wields Dread Powers a monster, including slashers. It never counts ordinary humans or other hunters as monsters, no matter what kind of terrible deeds they perform. For anyone who falls between the cracks, individual characters must decide for themselves where they draw the line.

Whenever a character suffers a breaking point, her player takes a Beat and rolls Resolve + Composure, with a modifier based on the level of the breaking point (see the list below). Only breaking points at or below a character’s current Integrity score apply to her. Other modifiers may apply to the roll as well, at the Storyteller’s discretion; modifiers can’t exceed +/-5.

The following are some examples: [begin table] Situation Modifier Deliberate act of significant personal sacrifice +3 You have more than one Touchstone attached +3 Acting in defense of another person or on behalf of cell/compact/conspiracy +2 Interacted meaningfully and positively with someone you trust within the last full scene +2 You have one Touchstone attached +2 Acting in accordance with your Virtue +1 Acting in self-defense +1 Acting in accordance with your Vice -1 Acting under duress or coercion -1 You have no Touchstones attached -2 With no control over your actions -2 Betrayed by someone you trust within the last full scene -2 Actively and willingly helping a monster -3 [end table]

Roll Results

Dramatic Failure: The character loses a dot of Integrity and experiences a moment of awful clarity, as the full weight of what she must do to keep the Vigil descends upon her like an avalanche. She gains the Demoralized or Violent Condition. Take an additional Beat for the dramatic failure as normal.

Failure: The character loses a dot of Integrity and questions herself. She gains the Guilty, Shaken, or Spooked Condition (or a custom one with Storyteller approval).

Success: The character keeps her Integrity, forging scar tissue around her soul thick enough to take the strain. She gains the Obsession (temporary), Stoic, or Vendetta Condition.

Exceptional Success: The character not only keeps her Integrity, but pushes a wedge between herself and the rest of humanity, justifying it all in the name of the Vigil. She gains the Addicted Persistent Condition with regard to some visceral or unsettling aspect of the hunt, such as earning a monster’s flattering attentions, killing one, or causing one pain; or the Obsession Persistent Condition with regard to a particular monster. In addition, gain a Willpower point.

List of Breaking Points

The following list includes the tenets of the Code, as well as baseline innate breaking points. The Code allows for indirect actions in the spirit of its edicts, such as collecting or sharing information about a monster so that someone else can trap it. Storytellers and players should work together to decide whether a given action or experience in play constitutes an innate breaking point for a character, depending on his circumstances and his past. Estimate the level of such breaking points using the list below as a guideline.

If a single action or event would fit multiple breaking points at once, use the one lowest on the Integrity scale.

High Integrity (7-10; -0 modifier) • First time personally encountering a particular type of supernatural trait or power (Innate) • Causing significant harm to a person (Code) • Allowing harm to come to a person in pursuit of your Vigil (Code) • Causing a person to suffer a breaking point from exposure to the supernatural (Code) • Refusing aid to a fellow hunter in need (Code)

Middling Integrity (4-6; -1 modifier) • First time killing a particular type of monster (Innate) • First time enduring physical torture (Innate) • First time enduring psychological torture or a mental/emotional supernatural attack (Innate) • Killing a person (Code) • Learning that a monster harmed a person when you could have done something to stop it but didn’t (Code) • Putting the well-being or autonomy of a monster over that of a person (Code)

Low Integrity (1-3; -2 modifier) • First time torturing a particular type of monster (Innate) • Torturing a person (Innate) • Suffering a significant loss (e.g. a loved one, a home) at the hands of the supernatural or because of the Vigil (Innate) • Gaining or bestowing power from an obviously monstrous source (Code) • Betraying a fellow hunter (Code)

#Onyx Path Publishing #White Wolf Entertainment #Hunter: The Vigil #Hunter The Vigil #Chronicles of Darkness

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jewish-gay-elves · 4 years

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Doomed Love 1/?

AO3 Link

Zevran and Daolin have an odd relationship. These documents were collected to try to understand what exactly they were doing after the Fifth Blight and the destruction of Amaranthine.

Words: 3431, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of the Daolin Tabris: The Family You Don't Choose

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Zevran Arainai, Male Tabris, Male Warden, Anders Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden, Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris Additional Tags: this is a bunch of like letters or just documentation following my warden post-blight, and post amaranthine, idk how long it's going to be, Dialogue Drabble, talking about the Taint

[Recovered drafts found in the desk of the Warden Commander of Ferelden, Vigil’s Keep 9:36 Dragon]

Dear Love,

I remember being nineteen summers when we first met. It was hot and sticky in that little crevice between hills which probably wasn’t hot at all compared to Antiva for you. I was worried when that human came up to us, Cynbayd had already given a warning growl and Alistair was bristling as she delivered her plea. Alistair grabbed my shoulder perhaps to try and warn me, but I wasn’t feeling the warmest towards him at the time. Still was having night terrors about Vaughan even months after what happened. Didn’t want to help her but didn’t want him touching me more. Just to spite him I shrugged him off, nocked an arrow, and followed the girl. Instead of, well whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t the sight of you standing there waiting, along with that blasted tree collapsing above us.

The fight that followed may have been one of the most difficult I fought in that year. Alistair probably still has a bruise from where you ended up punching him. Though you seemed to be very thankful that his shield didn’t bash your nose into your skull. Looking back it is a wonder that none of us died, I think about that everyday now it seems. It may be because I keep hearing the story repeated in these taverns I find on especially cold nights. Regaled around tables over the warm piss for ale everyone seems to serve.

Remember after the final battle, when my father came up to us, the face you made may be my favorite thus far. How he demanded we sit down for a proper meal, and wouldn’t let you slink away after I said you were the reason fate hadn’t let me get married. Wasn’t surprised when he also demanded the whole story. Glad we glossed over how we actually met. A horde of mercenaries and a trained Antivan Crow, that certainly would have given my father a heart attack had we told him. Glad he thinks you’re a charming devil. You’ll look out for him whenever you’re in Denerim won’t you? Afraid I won’t be in the region for quite some time. Won’t be in the country for quite some time.

That leads to why I actually wrote this letter. You know me, can’t get to the point if my life depended on it. I’m leaving Ferelden my love. Sounds silly to write it like that when you haven’t been here in what feels like years. Without you, I’m not home. Regardless, Ferelden is all I’ve ever known. Not sure for how long I’ll be gone. Not sure if I’ll be back. Not sure if I’ll be able to write as often. Wouldn’t want to bore you with details, just know that I will think of you every day. I think of you daily anyway, but I don’t want you to forget that. I love you, Zevran.

Yours,

Daolin

[The bottom of the draft is rumpled from a small amount of water damage]

[Discarded crumpled bits of paper found amongst the Warden-Commander’s personal belongings 9:41 Dragon]

Grand Enchanter Fiona

-Must find more records of her time as a Warden.

-Montsimmard

-Apparently now serves the Inquisition.

-Redcliffe? Skyhold?

Avernus

-Blood Magic

-DO NOT ATTEMPT

Must figure something out, Weisshaupt will have nothing. Nothing for me to look at, at any rate. Why would they want to cure the Taint if they know that is what keeps half of their men with the Wardens? Zevran is starting to wonder why I haven’t told him what’s going on. He won’t believe I’m acting on Weisshaupt’s orders much longer. He’s not stupid. So clever, too clever. Just knows me too well to ask questions yet. Just need to tell him what is really going on. That I’m scared of the Calling. That I’m scared to become a ghoul. I’m scared I’ll end up hurting him. I’m so scared.

[The rest of the paper grows increasingly scratched on and marked out, as if ideas were written and quickly discarded in anger and frustration]

[A page torn out of the apostate Anders’ journal dating around 9:43 Dragon]

Andraste’s flaming knickers I thought I was being careful. I got found today. Thankfully it was just the Warden Commander. Though I don’t know what he wants so I may not have much to be thankful for soon. The Commander is a ranger however, that may be how he was able to find me despite my best efforts to travel unnoticed. He hasn’t explained why he was looking for me yet. Just came into the cave where I was, drenched to the bone, and demanded I build up a fire. He always did remind me of a cat, especially his hatred for being wet or cold. I remember we were in the Blackmarsh and all of his orders were practically spat at us. Didn’t particularly help things when that spirit showed up in Kristoff’s body. To be fair, Kristoff wasn’t actually using it anymore, but he had a point that the dead deserved respect.

Regardless, we are as far from the Blackmarsh as can be. Practically skirting around the borders of the Tevinter Imperium at this point. There aren’t as many Venatori around here, I suspect they’ve retreated back to their hidey holes in the Magisterium. Though I imagine that even if there were Venatori here, they wouldn’t be for long. In this kind of weather the Commander’s rage wouldn’t be limited to just darkspawn. However, I had heard stories from Oghren that suggest the Commander might not need more reasons to wish death on Tevinters. Apparently they had a slave operation running out of Denerim’s alienage during the Fifth Blight.

Almost makes me think of Fenris. Or maybe Isabela. But then again, Isabela didn’t grow up knowing those people who were about to become slaves. She still freed them though.

The Warden-Commander is starting to unnerve me. He hasn’t said a word since he got here. He was never one for words in the first place but this is getting creepy. He’s just been standing guard near the cave entrance, as if he were waiting on something. Or someone?

[The entry ends there to be picked up an undetermined amount of time later]

Turns out my guess about waiting was correct. Not long after I wrote that, a mabari started barking. Very, very, close to the cave. Scared the piss out of me, but the Warden-Commander just laughed at me but then eagerly stood outside in the rain looking for the mabari. Actually went out into the rain willingly for it. I’ve never seen that man step into the rain for anything less than total annihilation or the threat of darkspawn.

Could barely see a thing through the thick downpour but where I thought the Warden-Commander was he bent down to see this lump I assumed and then the mabari stopped making noise. Then another humanoid figure appeared next to where the Warden-Commander was crouched, I almost shouted a warning but then he surged to his feet and collided with the other person, tackling them into the mud. I almost ran out there assuming that he was being attacked but over the sound of the rain I heard loud laughing, laughing of the kind I hadn’t heard in over a decade.

After standing out in the rain for a moment longer, holding on to my staff, the one Hawke had given me, I started trying to get closer, seeing the lump jumping around where the Warden-Commander had gone down. I called out to the Commander, trying to be quiet so that we wouldn’t get anymore attention drawn to us. The lump stopped and I could finally see that it must have been that mabari who was making all the noise. The laughing died down and then I saw an arm reach into the air and wave from where I guess the Commander was on the ground.

Eventually I gave up and headed back inside the cave. They have to come back inside sooner or later, and knowing the Commander it’ll probably be sooner. I should stop writing, he hates it when it seems like I’m not paying attention.

[The rest of the page is torn and any sentences that are written are incomplete.]

#dragon age #dragon age origins #writing #daolin #daolin tabris #zevran arainai #zevran x tabris #anders

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asfeedin · 4 years

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How to Manage Social Media in a Global Crisis

We could keep using the word “unprecedented” when referring to the global public health crisis in which we find ourselves.

But ultimately, whether or not a crisis of this magnitude could have been seen coming ‘round the bend or whether it’s been seen before has little to no bearing on this fact:

You will manage social media through a crisis of some kind.

Obviously, we’re smack in the middle of “a crisis of some kind,” but the point is that, even if this is the first crisis in which you’ve had to manage social media, it certainly will not be the last.

Being in “crisis mode” means that you and your marketing team may have to rethink your entire game plan in order to avoid being seen as mum, tone-deaf, or worse, like you are exploiting a crisis for your brand.

While we don’t necessarily know how long this particular crisis will be ongoing, there are a few general rules to adhere to when your city, state, nation, or the whole world, is confronted with the next one.

It’s best to have a plan of action in place right away so that you and your team can keep your brand moving forward, even in the midst of tragedy or uncertainty.

1. Take a Deep Breath… Then Start Your Damage Control

Words like “tragedy” and “crisis” don’t exactly inspire feelings of happiness or even comfort.

So the most important thing you can do for yourself and for your brand is to first take a deep breath.

When devastating news strikes, or when the immediate future feels a bit more uncertain, remember that you and your team are all humans before brand employees.

Take a moment to breathe and acknowledge your feelings; allowing yourself a brief moment to react will be better for your long-term actions.

The other advantage of starting with a deep breath is this: Mistakes are made in panic. (Ask me how I know!)

If you aren’t acknowledging your human side, it is all that much more difficult to anticipate the responses from the humans in your audience.

When we move straight from “breaking news” to “panicked damage control,” we also risk breaking everything else around us in the panic.

Don’t be the person that posts a rapid-fire social media response to news that isn’t accurate, or one that amplifies panic or seizes “opportunity.”

Breathe first, then act.

Once you’ve taken your deep breath, look at the situation from 10,000 feet.

Resist an immediate response that hasn’t been vetted by your leadership team.

If you are the leadership team, make sure someone else reviews and provides feedback on your response before you post anything at all.

Staying briefly silent so that you can become clear on an appropriate response will always be better than a hasty post for the sake of posting, particularly if it could be seen as misinformation or exploiting a tragedy.

While you’re getting clarity on an official response, do a thorough review of every organic or paid post you have currently running or scheduled to run in the next 48 hours.

Did a post or an ad just launch?

Delete or pause it until you have a better handle of the situation.

Ads should likely be put on hold for at least 24 hours to avoid becoming the tone-deaf hashtag getting dragged on Twitter for advertising during a crisis.

Move your scheduled posts to drafts for the next 48 hours while you collect more information and determine the best course of action.

Why only 48 hours?

Because each crisis is completely different.

We currently find ourselves in a global pandemic with several states (and countries) in complete lockdown, but stopping everything for the next quarter doesn’t do anyone any good while you’re in an information-gathering stage.

Not every crisis will be months-long; many situations may only last a day, two days, a week.

Do immediate damage control by shutting things down for 48 hours so that you can spend that time evaluating the situation: how long your brand may need to respond, and take your strategy from there.

You may not be good to run as normal after 48 hours, but this will at least buy you time to figure it out.

2. Ask Yourself (& Your Brand) a Few Questions

Now that your ads and posts are paused for the next two full days, it’s time to carve out an appropriate response.

It’s best to have a framework before the crisis about:

Who your brand is.

What your audience needs.

How to go about crafting a fitting answer to the situation at hand.

Always ask yourself these questions:

Does Our Voice Even Matter Right Now?

Because we are planning for unforeseen events, this is a question you will need to answer for your brand as a potential crisis arises.

Ask yourself:

Do people really need to hear from us?

Is anyone truly asking themselves how, say, an eco-friendly kitchen utensil manufacturer, is responding to this situation?

If you find yourself unable to make a compelling case that your audience absolutely must hear from you or is eagerly awaiting your official response to current events, it may be best to say nothing at all, especially in the first 12 to 24 hours after the news has broken.

There will be a lot of voices in the conversation:

Is your brand’s voice going to be truly helpful or just a distraction?

Could your voice, at this moment, be seen as an attempt to put yourself at the center of a tragedy that doesn’t involve you?

If you don’t believe your brand’s voice truly fits, but you must say something or are receiving pressure from your leadership to do so, wait a full day before offering up sympathies, condolences, or thoughts in the wake of the crisis.

Keep it brief and, whatever you do, make sure you don’t make it about you.

How Can Our Brand Help?

It’s possible that your brand really is one from which audiences are awaiting a response.

In this case, you’ll first want to wait on an official response from your leadership team.

Do not attempt, as enticing as it may be, to respond to people individually until you have that official response in hand.

Social media gaffes are often blamed on “bad interns” and one way to avoid being pictured that way is to make sure that, in the wake of tragedy, your next moves are approved by the people in charge.

Your brand may also fall somewhere in the middle: It’s not at the center of the crisis, but also, it’s not totally on the outskirts, either.

Is it possible to donate time, volunteers, products, or money?

Could you fundraise from your audience to help victims, families, or frontline workers?

Be wary of “fundraisers” or “donations” that require purchases from your company, unless all proceeds or profits are being donated from those purchases.

People are wise to strategies that look like a company wants to profit in order to do the right thing.

3. Check Your Tone

It’s not just what you say and when you say it when it comes to using social media in the middle of a crisis event: it’s how you say it as well.

Crises are not great times for jokes, memes, or GIFs, especially within that initial window immediately following the crisis.

Even if using humor is your personal coping mechanism, or if undying positivity is how you approach the world, be careful of projecting it onto your brand strategy.

Perhaps the crisis event looks a lot more like a mid- to long-term pandemic, or perhaps your geographic location or demographic is disproportionately impacted by the crisis for longer than the rest of the world.

In this case, you may want to use your social media platform for educational messaging through comprehensively vetted publications, or provide information on support or resources.

You can also use this platform in the longer-term to lift your audience’s mood.

Global and even domestic crises can have a serious traumatic effect on people, whether that looks like anxiety, grief, or just the general uneasiness that accompanies greater uncertainty.

It’s OK to use your platform to share positive messaging, too.

4. Whatever You Do, Don’t Make It Worse & Don’t Get in the Way

A crisis of any kind is in motion in the news cycle, it’s critical to remember that, as things are unfolding, information is changing.

Constantly.

Do not be the brand that stokes fear by sharing information that has not been properly fact-checked.

Do not feed into panic by posting articles that could contain false or outdated information, or fear-mongering.

Bad information is much worse than no information at all.

Additionally, do not use a crisis hashtag if you are not providing critical resources, support, or information for people impacted.

Just because people are going to be, for instance, staying at home in quarantine, it does not mean that your spa facial brand should use a #COVID19 hashtag.

Save the crisis hashtags for brands, publications, and government agencies or front-line workers to communicate critical information in a time of need.

Do not use a tragedy hashtag to express condolences or support.

Not only does it drown out information and resources that are actually important, it also looks like your brand is making a messaging play in a time of tragedy.

A crisis event is not a marketing opportunity, period.

5. Know When It’s Time to Go Back to Business as Usual

Even in a global crisis that is ongoing, similar to this pandemic, at some point, you will need to return to business as usual.

That doesn’t mean capitalizing on a tragedy or turning a crisis into a profit opportunity, but it does mean that audiences will grow weary of the news. They just want some semblance of normalcy back in their lives.

Your brand can go back to its normal routine, but delicately.

You may need to reevaluate your approach, your creative, your copy, to make sure that there isn’t anything tone-deaf or inappropriate in light of the crisis.

Be vigilant about the news and be ready to pivot quickly if there are new developments in an ongoing crisis, but know that you’re not stuck in an eternal limbo with your strategy.

Not every crisis will look like this one:

There will be events with more immediate needs.

Events that apply to your brand in a greater or less significant way.

Events that require your silence or your official responses or your help.

No matter what the crisis looks like, you can have the basics of a plan put together to help avoid becoming an ironic hashtag in the middle of an emergency.

Approach your audience with human-centric responses and content.

They may not necessarily remember how their favorite dog bed company handled the crisis if you handle it well, but remember: it wasn’t about you, anyway.

More Resources:

Image Credits

Featured Image: Canva

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