#either way depending on what your mind palace dictates

[parasitoidism]

Which persona character's car are you taking on the 8 hour road trip? (Assuming, for the sake of certain characters, that all vehicles will safely reach their destination)

[sharpsuite]

[mental chatter] and [notes] for both!

↳ INTELLECT HEADCANONS MEME

[MENTAL CHATTER] Does your character have an ongoing inner monologue, or do they more frequently think wordlessly/in abstract?

answered here!

[NOTES] How does your muse track their ideas and thoughts, or things they need to remember? Do they keep written or voice notes, or do they just think/hope that they’ll be able to recall what they need later?

For Chishiya, it's rather dependent on the situation and context. When it comes to his WORK, he is required by law to have written notes for certain aspects of patient encounters. Admissions, discharges, certain procedures, etc. Dictating (aka the recorded voice notes) is also still fairly common in the healthcare system as well. He PRIMARILY did this in his residency except for the occasional doctor who preferred to do it themselves. ( In general in modern times the residents will dictate reports and the assigned doctor will sign off on the report after checking. ) After he was no longer a resident, Chishiya may OCCASIONALLY dictate something, but in generally prefers to stick to written reports and notes.

When it comes to general life, Chishiya trusts his memory more than having a SPECIFIC way. He might set a reminder on the calendar for something, especially if its a couple weeks out or things of the sort. But it tends to be a MEMORIZED NOTE that he pins down rather than physical. so primarily he's just confident that he will be able to recall it later when he needs it. If he DOES need something physically noted for some reason or doesn't trust someone else to remember, he tends to have an written note or list. He's competent with technology, but tends to prefer physical things like newspapers, books, written lists as opposed to online articles and text reminders.

[MENTAL CHATTER] Does your character have an ongoing inner monologue, or do they more frequently think wordlessly/in abstract?

Ann is quite opposite of Chishiya here (like in many things.) Ann has a very complex and elaborate inner speech. Her own inner monologue is her own voice in the same manner as when she regularly speaks, unless she's actively trying to project or imagine someone else speaking, or recalling a memory or line/philosophy she associates with someone. In THAT case it's whoever the person she is thinking of. Although how strong the voice is can depend on how familiar they are or how strong the memory is. She might have an abstract moment here or there, but she's usually chattering in her mind about it. Like we see in the manga with Arisu having conversations of people in his mind, or for any BBC Sherlock fans, the way Sherlock interacts with people in his mind palace, she CAN do that. But in general it tends to just be herself talking through process and thoughts.

[NOTES] How does your muse track their ideas and thoughts, or things they need to remember? Do they keep written or voice notes, or do they just think/hope that they’ll be able to recall what they need later?

Ann takes a LOT of notes. Primarily in the workplace, but she does do it a lot in her personal life as well. It's become something of a second nature to her because she's so used to needing to do it in a lab setting or crime reports or other daily and frequent occurrences. Ann likes to write little reminders in case she's busy and something slips her mind or has reminders on her phone. More often than not she doesn't NEED them, but it's nice every once in a while when it DOES catch her from missing or forgetting something. She primarily keeps electronic notes, either in her phone's note app or the calendar reminds or texts, that sort of thing. Sometimes she does forgo it and hope she'll remember everything (grocery shopping tends to be a big one she does this with, especially if its only a few items). / @samuhelll

[sepulcrorum]

JUDE LAW, FIFTY, ARCHBISHOP DE MEDICI. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUCHY OF FLORENCE, ARCHBISHOP GIANCARLO DI GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, from FLORENCE. they are at best CHARMING, and at their worst IMPIOUS. whilst abroad, their ambition is to REAP EVER MORE GREATER LUXURIES FOR HIMSELF. HE seems to remind everyone of JUDE LAW & DESIRES BOTH HERETICAL AND UNHOLY : THE SONG OF SOLOMON SPILLING FORTH FROM ONE’S LIPS WHILST IN THE THROES OF PASSION ; INTELLECTUALISM SOUGHT FOR HEDONISM’S SAKE : ANTIQUATED TEXTS SMUGGLED FROM THE CRUMBLING REMNANTS OF ANCIENT ROMAN VILLAS AND DISPLAYED TO EXPECTED LOOKS OF AWE ; & HOLINESS FOUND, HOLINESS LOST, HOLINESS REVERED : A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT SHINING THROUGH HIGH-VAULTED ARCHES. ❞

introduction

Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

It has been once said by the Lord: be ye like children, for ye to enter the Kingdom of God. Capricious, selfish, absorbed only by thoughts of himself, petty, and whimsical, the Archbishop de’ Medici does not assume the dignity of his station as a member of the Church but he does assume all the qualities of a child in him, and that makes him saved by default.

His theology is quaint, bordering on unorthodox, and it’s almost tempting to call him out for heresies but he knows too much about Scripture and can run circles around any fellow servant of Christ, much more the ordinary layman. He’s either mystical or absolutely canonical: at a certain point in theology, everything becomes one and the same. Give him time, and he can justify anything—the cruellest of acts as well as the most compassionate acts of goodwill and charity—with verses pulled from the Holy Book and the most seraphic smile on his face, almost as if his lips are intoning a blessing. He’s a Devil’s advocate in perhaps more ways than one, the destruction of Rome entire as one itinerant preacher once called him, and yet he luxuriates on wealth on top of the social pyramid, secure in his position and backed by the splendorous wealth made available by his family’s support.

Yet despite all this, despite possessing all the qualities of a man who could be—intelligent, charming, sociable, and ambitious—Giancarlo ended up being the man who isn’t, by some strange (perhaps cruel) twist of fate. With his dubious origins erasing any hope for a cardinalate, much less a chance for the Throne of St. Peter, he languishes in his role as a mere archbishop. As the years pass, he has turned bitter, cruel, recalcitrant—for what does a child do when they are given what they want?

They throw a tantrum.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

I’ve inserted the little nuggets of the plotlines I plan to pursue on the blurb but to expand on it:

First is I am definitely very interested in making him a Cardinal and that is very much a thing he also wants for himself, even as much as he denies it and says he never wanted it anyway. It’s a way for him to rationalise the fact that, strictly speaking, his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to go, and so he subsists on the lie that his life (as it is right now) was what he always wanted—but ultimately, I do think that he’s still on the lookout for any opportunity to finally have the red robes of a cardinal.

Second is the state of Florence and of Italy as a whole. The blemish of the riots on the Florentines’ reputation is something that must be rectified—not even because someone died (after all, very many people die everyday) but because it sends the message that they are unable to control their own people. The Church as an institution that does much works of charity can be used to pacify the rebellious masses and perhaps turn them into the better angels that they haven’t been before. Meanwhile, Italy as a whole concerns him because they are still, ultimately, disparate nation-states with differing goals and ambitions. In a world filled with empires and hegemons, Giancarlo realises that the Italian peoples must unite—far better that it be headed, of course, by the Church or by Florence, but unity itself is non-negotiable. If the Italians do not want to be swallowed up by their neighbours, they must pool together their resources and make a stand for their existence.

Thirdly is the option of interfaith dialogue. Giancarlo is by no means perfect, but I do imagine he’s a touch more tolerant than most holy men are. He’s less a crusader and more of a diplomat, far too disillusioned to really believe in any cause of holy war. Entrenched in cynicism—usually a character flaw—he’s cognisant enough of the fact that humans are going to be shitty one way or another, and religion has almost no bearing on whether one is a good person or not. As such, I do think he has a lot of plotting potential for those characters following a different faith, and it’s fun to see how that might all play out.

three bullet-points.

Giancarlo di Gian Gastone de’ Medici is born a stain of shame. Birthed by a servant-girl and the man from whom his name marks out as his progenitor, he is kept by his father as a spare heir—only to be tossed away when a legitimate one finally comes. In this act, his father has taught him the harsh realities of life: one minute, you can have everything in front of you; the next, it all comes crashing down with nothing to show for it. He is left with no security save that which his father carved out for him: mastery of an abbey at twelve years of age and, from there, the religious life. There was nothing else for him. There is nothing else to him.

Giancarlo takes to the intellectual and monastic life quite quickly. His learning under humanist tutors in the household of his father has enabled him to take quickly to reading dense texts that speak of grand contexts. It helps that he is good with languages, and that he is friendly to everyone he meets. How bright his career would be, some would say, before adding: if only he wasn’t illegitimate. And so that stain of shame that adorned the Medici family history now mars his own future: he was always going to be a mistake, and the world will never let him forget it.

He is, by all accounts, a very disenchanted man who works himself through a façade of mustered charm gathered from who-knows-where with his mind an utter repository of Scripture and theological concepts. He can quote from Papal Bulls enacted centuries ago as easily as if they had been dictated to him just that moment; yet he always says it so drily that you’d think he’s mocking the words he’s citing. He’s in the habit of mentioning what kind of sins one is doing but always concludes it with a small note of how God is a forgiving God. He delights in the company of the wicked and the infamous; truly good people disgust him. He thinks God is present more in ugliness than any kind of beauty exemplified in art and song, and that He is dirt-covered, bloody and bruised, made with mulch and rot and diseased flesh. His God is filthy; it is only natural. We all fashion God into the form that would accept us the most.

character sheet.

FULL NAME :  giancarlo di gian gastone de’ medici TITLES :  

commander of badia fiorentina ( from 1420 - 1428 )

commander and rector of badia fiorentina ( from 1428 onwards )

metropolitan archbishop of florence ( from 1446 onwards  )

master of the sacred apostolic palace ( from 1450 onwards )

BIRTHPLACE :  florence, italian peninsula

AGE : fifty, b. 10 november 1407

LANGUAGES : fluent — italian ( tuscan ), french, ancient greek, latin, arabic, spanish, german, bavarian ; conversational — english, portuguese ; learning — ottoman turkish, farsi / persian

DYNASTY / HOUSE: house de’ medici

MOTHER & FATHER : unnamed servant girl & gian gastone de’ medici

SPOUSE : none

ISSUE : none

SIBLINGS : giovanni, lucrezia, and girolamo ( half-siblings )

OTHER : lorenzo de’ medici ( tbd )

ZODIAC : scorpio sun / sagittarius moon / scorpio rising

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : roman catholicism

ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic ( with a medium to high preference for his own gender )

PERSONALITY TYPE : estj-a / choleric-sanguine / enneagram tbd / slytherin

VICES : everything

VIRTUES : knowledge can be and is a virtue but not with giancarlo, babyyyyy

FACECLAIM : jude law

HEIGHT : 6′1″ or 1.85m

RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : kindly-seeming blue eyes that speaks to unfathomable depths — look too closely, and you just might find yourself falling in them; an ever-present smile that can turn earnest or mocking depending on the conversation; a smug demeanour that you can’t help but feel that he thinks he knows better than you

REPUTATION IN PORTUGAL :  a famed master theologian but also a widely known libertine, giancarlo both attracts and repulses the whole of christendom with his easy smiles, his kindly-looking blue eyes, and the power of the storied lineage that has produced him. for all those who’ve had the chance to coalesce in rome—or perhaps even the italian peninsula—his name will revoke memories of scandalised whispers erupting from people huddled in corners as soon as they see him make entry into a room. portugal as of yet is a new frontier, not for reasons of lack of opportunity but due to lack of interest. after all, why stray from that eternal city whose glory is sung in ancient ballads and whose place in the world is the envy of millions? now that he is here, however, he is more than eager to make his mark.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

i sought whom my soul loves — were giancarlo any other man, they could have been together, a couple enjoined in the warm embrace of love and unity; yet, alas, the Church has bound giancarlo to herself, and he is a weak and foolish man who cannot find himself able to stand up to anybody. ever since then, their meetings have been few and far between—but no less precious to giancarlo, no less treasured, no less sought for.  :::  (  open to anyone, preferably female but any gender can technically work !  )

a young deer on the mountains of Bether — arcadian idyll had been the theme of their shared years, wild and wandering, when responsibility had been a far off concept that seemed as foreign as greying hair and the yoke of adulthood. they frolicked in sun-kissed green-topped hills and ran as carefree as the wind. now they are old, both with their respective offices, and there is nothing else to them save nostalgia over lost innocence—if they had innocence at all.  :::  ( open to anyone of the same age range as giancarlo !  )

beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun —  a look at them and they’re like fourteen again, dumbstruck and awed, ashamed of his own lowly station and the stain of his origins—yet now they are old, and they have significantly more resources available to them now than they had before. giancarlo has always loved what he has thought is lacking within himself; he has always sought the true, the good, and the beautiful. he deludes himself into thinking he’s found it in god, but he is about to discover he’s wrong.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )  

with my royal people’s chariots — people have the propensity to think that giancarlo’s last name and relative wealth and status makes him the gatekeeper to the pope’s favour. he does not think himself as holding the keys to anything, but he lets other people do—mainly because it affords him the simulation of power the likes of which he only imagined as a child. of course, there is no real backing to the promises he says he’ll fulfil for them, but it is a merry show nonetheless and a piece of theatre that giancarlo’s keen to continue in lisboa.  :::  ( open to anyone who’s looking to curry favour with the pope !  )  

you who dwell in the gardens — there are many blooms in the garden of God’s creation and it is not a stretch to say giancarlo is absolutely besotted with the idea of experiencing all of them. this meet in lisbon might prove to be a more fortuitous moot than the one in florence, and he is always keen to start dialogue with any and all those who would like to exchange knowledge for knowledge’s sake, even those that the rest of christendom would not welcome.  :::  ( open to non-christian characters !  )  

the shadows flee away — giancarlo isn’t known for moderation and temperance; he has always been one driven to excess, and he has never toned down his appetites for the sake of any cause or person. he is a flit of a thing, a butterfly eager to sap the nectar out of any willing flower before moving to the next, willing to spill honey-laced words out of cherubic lips if that is what it took to mark one as his next conquest. in this, he has doubtless transgressed against many, and there are some whose memories run long and whose desire for correction would cover even those who are consecrated to God.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )   

[oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co]

The Spring of Burning Forests: Chapter 6 (Geraskier)

🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵 🎵

Jaskier wants to write a bittersweet ballad about true love. 

Geralt thinks he can make it better by adding a touch of gritty realism.

You can read the chapter on AO3.

For a full summary, see this post. Go here if you want to start from the first chapter.

Big thanks to @booichiboo, @sdmcburney, @goshdraws, Rita, @valdomarx, @carmillacarmine, @thelastsock, @geraskierficrecs ❤️ Dedicated to @variousnoises.

Updates every Sunday.

Here’s the first scene:

Nothing more than a glimmer of light, perhaps. It was not wise to assume anything prematurely. The next time he looked, the shadow was clearly there, as if mocking him. The sight should have calmed him down but didn’t.  

As the empty fields gave way to picturesque hills and valleys, with narrow rivers running along winding paths, their moods shifted. The grass was long, the trees in full bloom, and the shade of green fresh and highly saturated.

Geralt didn’t like any of it.

All throughout the day he watched Aliya’s every move. She didn’t seem concerned. Jaskier, in contrast, ended up throwing glances his way with increasing frequency. He would look up when talking to Lianna, or suddenly find himself walking by Geralt, then moving away.

Finally, as they stopped to rest and eat, he settled on remaining within a safe, two-meter radius. Aliya promised to supply the food but then just happily chatted with Lianna, both lying in the grass at a fair distance, occasionally laughing. One would be forgiven for thinking they were traveling for pleasure.

‘What the fuck are we waiting for?’ Geralt asked as he sat by an old oak tree.

Although the question was rhetorical, he happened to direct it towards Jaskier, who was more than comfortable with their current situation.

‘Would it kill you to relax for a while?’ he asked, sounding more pleased than he wished to.

Finally sitting down, his legs exhausted from walking, he was leaning against a convenient tall bump in the grass, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh air.

‘There’s even a breeze,’ Jaskier whispered, smiling to himself, content. ‘I’m sorry, Geralt, I know you want to be miserable, but this is motherfucking idyllic.’

Geralt rolled his eyes.

‘Are you rolling your eyes at me?’

‘You’re not even looking.’

‘I don’t have to look to know,’ he responded with glee, smirking, half-surprised to be right, eyes still closed.

Geralt smiled back, not something Jaskier could have predicted or seen.

‘That thing you’re leaning on…’

‘What about it?’

‘Nothing,’ he sighed. ‘There’s a tree, right here.’  

Jaskier stood up and came by to sit close to him, treating it as an invitation. Geralt didn’t protest. The afternoon was so calming, even he was starting to feel a bit less on edge. The leaves were rustling above them, and the movement of the branches slowly swinging in the wind was oddly hypnotic.

Jaskier started strumming on his lute, trying to decide what to work on next.  

‘I think I need a good love ballad. Some forbidden romance perhaps?’ He seemed enthusiastic about the idea.

‘Isn’t that a bit overdone?’ Geralt couldn’t stop himself, his enjoyment of their break was clearly increasing with every little jab at Jaskier.

‘Everything has been done before. I just have to avoid the clichés,’ he stated confidently, totally not discouraged.  

‘So no tragic ending?’

‘And no happy ending either.’

‘That only leaves bittersweet.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What’s the obstacle?’

‘I don’t know. Social disapproval of some kind?’ Jaskier seemed unsure.

‘Hm.’ Geralt gave it a thought. ‘She’s an elf and he’s human?’

‘No, I think I should leave elves alone.’ He looked straight at Geralt and smiled. ‘What if he’s a witcher?’

Geralt just grunted in response, noticeably sceptical.

‘Well, it only makes sense. I know quite a bit about witchers already.’

‘Do you?’ Geralt seemed amused by that. ‘And what about her?’

‘What about her?’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Nothing. She wants to be with him.’

‘But?’

‘But… it’s hard to get through to him. He is not exactly used to people showering him with care and attention.’ Jaskier seemed deep in thought for a minute. ‘There are some challenges there but… although he is a tough, obsessively self-sufficient loner, other people matter to him so much. Not that he would necessarily admit that. Ultimately, he just wants somebody who understands him, and values him for who he truly is. You know, somebody who can break through that bullshit veneer of indifference. Isn’t that how witchers are?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’  

Jaskier just smiled, and continued, ignoring Geralt’s huffiness.

‘And she… she is sociable, very much unlike his reclusive self, has some, I don’t know.’ He went through a few ideas in his head before he lit up. ‘She’s a princess.’

Geralt grinned, clearly suppressing a laugh.

‘And why would a princess want a witcher?’

‘Well, he’s very… lovable.’

‘A lovable witcher? I’m not sure if I’ve ever met one.’

‘I’m sure everyone has, at some point. They’re around.’

‘Right.’ Geralt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Awkward that.’ He shook his head with disapproval. ‘No heir to the throne.’

‘No, and her father is terrified. He hates witchers.’

‘Won’t work.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s bullshit.’

‘Because…’

‘A witcher won’t sacrifice his peace of mind for some royal nonsense. Witchers like a simple life. She grew up believing social rank is all there is. What is he worth to her? They might spend one night together. He’s feeling lonely. She sees him as some… exotic oddity.’

‘What if she’s a bit unconventional? She doesn’t care for royal nonsense and appreciates he doesn’t either.’

‘Doesn’t she?’ Geralt seemed far from convinced.

‘She doesn’t. And she doesn’t care… I mean, she would be at least a little impressed with him as a witcher.’

‘Ah.’

‘No, but… she would actually appreciate him as a person.’

Geralt grunted, looking slightly suspicious, and still very much amused.

‘He probably saved her life and she thinks that means something,’ he said, casually.

‘Well, wouldn’t it?’

‘It’s a part of the job.’

‘Oh, is it?’

Geralt smiled. He was enjoying getting on Jaskier’s nerves a bit too much.

‘That depends,’ he added finally.

‘I guess it does,’ Jaskier agreed, reluctantly.  

‘But it would still be stupid of them to go for it.’

‘And why would that be?’

‘There’s a viable prince somewhere. He is familiar with all the crap she grew up with, her family would approve. She’s just creating needless drama for herself, asking for pointless heartbreak.’

‘Not a single creative bone in your body. It’s a story, Geralt. Drama is the point.’

‘I don’t see it.’

‘It’s love.’

‘Hm… That excuse only works for a while.’

‘Bollocks… If you were writing ballads, they would end before they even started.’ He looked back at Geralt who just started calmly sharpening one of the short knives he kept in his belt. ‘Well, yes, of course, why am I surprised?’

Geralt was undeterred. He just looked up for a second, noting Aliya and Lianna were still sitting quite far away, focused entirely on each other, not a single glance their way.

‘The princess,’ Geralt continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘even at the height of love, would keep one eye on all she sacrificed to get there. All these palaces. All that comfort. Her family’s love. The gold. The admiration of common people. The blessed peace of mind.’ He pushed a sharpening stone across the edge of the dagger with every phrase. ‘There would be no great fights, just growing resentment, until it snaps, one day. Possibly over something trivial.’ He nodded, clearly pleased with both his conclusion to the story, and his sharpening job.

He weighed the knife in his hand. The blade was shining as it reflected the sunlight. He then cut through the grass, the movement was swift and efficient, a couple of wildflowers collapsed to the ground. He grunted, satisfied.

Jaskier looked strangely overwhelmed by that, his mouth gaping open.

‘I thought…’ he started, finally, ‘I thought we said no tragic ending.’

‘It’s not tragic. It’s normal. Bad decision-making does that. Maybe that’s the point of the story.’

‘No, that’s not the point.’

‘Gut feelings are not better than long term strategies.’

‘But you can’t just ignore…’

‘Believe me, you can.’ The statement came out a bit more aggressive than intended, which surprised them both.

Jaskier just stared at him, looking almost ready to give up. And yet, he couldn’t let go.

‘What if that’s what she wants?’ he asked, sounding surprisingly invested. ‘What if that’s exactly what she wants. I mean all of it. You are…’ He stopped and looked confused for a second. ‘You are… assuming so many things about her. Maybe it’s not a sacrifice for her at all. Perhaps, she is proud to be where she is. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t feel that way at the royal bloody court. Maybe this is exactly who she is.’

‘She might think so. But that’s only because she has no clue. She grew up with her ass sat comfortably on a golden fucking pillow. He lived in the shit she’s now walking into his whole life.’ Although his words seemed heated, Geralt’s tone was matter-of-fact to the point of being unsettling. ‘It’s not easy being hated, sneered at and turned away,’ he added a moment later, somehow still sounding completely unbothered. ‘Not if you’re used to… applause. Not if you don’t have to.’

‘But…’ Jaskier was a bit uneasy but kept going. ‘They can still be happy. They don’t have to care what others think.’

‘Sure, they don’t have to care. Not until some random villagers shower them with stones.’

Jaskier looked away, frustrated.

‘But, Geralt, isn’t that exactly what makes it good? The story, I mean.’ He was annoyed with himself for feeling like he needed to clarify. ‘That is the point. She risks it all out of love. Because fuck these people. Because we are not like them. And they don’t dictate what we do. Your normal princesses can be happy with a prince but that’s not special, is it? By sticking to the rules, they are no better… they are contributing…’

‘I think you’re starting to mix your metaphors.’

‘I mean, of course, a normal princess doesn’t have to fight for it as much. She doesn’t have to sacrifice… her comforts. She’s going with what’s expected. It’s bloody boring and simple. The point is our princess pays a high price but it’s worth it precisely because she cares so much more. It’s worth so much for her, everything else pales in comparison. And if it fails, so what? It was the right thing to do. Witchers do not deserve to suffer for who they are. Both of them should fight for what they want. Otherwise nothing will ever change. It might be wonderful, the best thing that happened to them, even if it just lasts for a while.’ He noticed Geralt remained unimpressed. ‘It’s at least worth a try,’ he added, faintly.

‘Everyone suffers for who they are. That’s just life,’ Geralt stated simply.

It was clear he was getting bored with the conversation. He looked up and lost his focus. Jaskier followed his line of sight, and saw Aliya looking back at them.

‘Why do you keep staring at her?’ he asked, sounding hurt.

Geralt ignored him and Jaskier waved his hand in front of his face, annoyed.

‘Oh, come on, Geralt! I asked you… Isn’t it at least worth a try?’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, and why is that?’

‘It’s short-sighted, selfish and greedy.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I don’t see why some frustrating bards are so set on romanticising impulsive behaviours.’

‘Well, life is both too long and too short to never…’ He looked back at Geralt, suddenly distracted by what he said. ‘No, they are not. They romanticise freedom and love.’

‘If that’s what you call it.’

‘Fuck, it’s like trying to explain colours to a blind person.’ Jaskier took a deep breath. ‘You must know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’

They went silent for a moment. Jaskier looked like he was desperate to say something but hesitated.

‘Then…’ he said, finally, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

‘The princess should wait. It will pass… like a bad cold.’

‘Oh, fuck you, Geralt.’

Geralt smiled to himself, feeling a tiny bit bad for Jaskier.

‘Look there.’

‘What?’ Jaskier was confused for a moment.  

Geralt looked ahead, motioning towards Aliya and Lianna who were deep in conversation, looking perfectly harmless.

‘That’s where the real story is. As a specialist in narratives…’ He turned to Jaskier, rapidly changing the topic. ‘You should understand… if we die because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, it would make for a very sad and disappointing story. How hard can it be…’ He stopped, looking slightly disoriented for a moment, and opened his mouth, ready to justify what he just said.

‘Ehm… Geralt? You’re getting a little carried away here,’ he smiled, chuckling slightly. ‘Why do you keep nagging me about this anyway? Nothing terrible has happened yet. On the contrary… Let’s admit it. Ever since we joined them, everything improved. Also, you said yes to this! And, may I remind you, you don’t exactly struggle with the idea of saying no to me.’

‘If only there was a quick and efficient way to keep this under control,’ he sighed, observing Lianna leaving Aliya in the grass and walking towards her bag. ‘Anything we could do to stop you behaving like a stray cat in the spring.’

‘Anything we could do?’ Jaskier found that amusing. ‘Do you know what you’re suggesting?’

‘I was thinking castration. What was your idea?’

‘Ah, that’s what you meant. Well… that’s probably for the best, Geralt. Because I do believe there is a good reason “quick” and “efficient” are not two words which feature in passionate love ballads very often.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘And you dare to call me frustrating.’

‘What’s going on?’ Lianna asked cheerfully as she approached them, seeing their conversation was getting livelier.

‘Nothing. Don’t pay attention to Geralt. Sometimes he likes to stab me and then really twist the knife. It gives his life meaning. I tend to indulge him.’

‘Jaskier was just explaining why he thinks the best sex is slow and inefficient.’ Geralt’s face lit up with a light grin.

‘You know…’ Jaskier was clearly annoyed now. ‘It doesn’t really cost me that much to put up with his nonsense. And it genuinely makes him happy.’

‘Slow is good!’, Lianna exclaimed, enthusiastically.

Geralt noticed Aliya suddenly started laughing. She was sitting too far away to be able to hear them talk.

He looked even more worried from then on.

Keep reading on AO3.

[hoseingh]

Historical Identity: The role of History on identity Layers

“It’s not just that I’m a woman of color running for office. It’s the way that I ran. It’s the way that my identity formed my methods.”

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

 What I realize from the notion of identity, especially when I

start thinking about myself; it is like onion made by various layers. as I

mentioned before in another post about constructing historical identity? I believe a Human has

labeling various tags to his character for identifying himself from others.

however, it’s wondering the mind for defining his unique identity, using total

similarities. he is constantly labeling himself whole tags like Gender, Race,

Family, Language, Geography, caste, culture, nation, religion, etc. he

continues this way until he makes sure, he will the only and unique person who

maintained in all of these whole layers. 

we can define these whole tags in 2 main subjects: 1- private

self-2- public self. some layers of our identity coming from the deep question

of who am I? we constantly listening to our inner voices.so our mind trying to

construct a unique individual character for ourselves. moreover, we are social

sapiens.so other fundamental question arises of what I mean? we are affected by

the outside world. the society forcing us to build a clear definition of our

existence in society and accept our specific roles in it.

whatever right or wrong, the mind is building constantly a maze

with multilayers for his identity in every moment of life. these identity

layers defining our point of view to life. and lightening the path to future

destiny. These identity layers are shaping our values and belief system. as

they are dictating types of action to our consciousness, facing the outside

world. 

despite how history has made an active role in identifying our

character? history help us to organize and choose priority in these whole

layers. essentially we need principal and basic identity. in other word, we

have to choose the top priority layer for our self. private or public self,

patriot or religious, rock music, or pop music? normally we use history to

resolve in every dilemma in our mind. 

if we do not suppose to choose an item for our character,

probably the spirit of history will force us to fall in an unwanted role in our

life. history is playing an active role ever in our DNA. hence we are highly

dependent on our memory to make a decision. and every decision is an active

move to construct our identity structure. and playing our role in the story of

life.

history of life is teaching us that we have no choice except to

define our point of view about some circles. such as what is my role in a

family? how can I improve my place in my neighborhood? which worldview fits

best with my future destiny? is nationality would help me to achieve my goals?

or how becoming a fan of a certain sports club can express better my identity

and helping me to make a better relationship with others? etc. some hashtags

are essential and we cannot neglect them. On the other hand, some whole layers

are optional and it’s up to you, whether joining in or not. 

here are essential layers of human identity: 

1

2

3

 how history forcing you to get your basic layer of identity?

the palace of Self needs a solid and very stable foundation. and you have to choose the best fitting layer as a basic layer of your identity. which one you would choose? for an answer to this fundamental question, you have to study well your inner world and compare it to your outside reality. now just zoom out from your own identity to the bigger scale of public society, nation, state, or even universal. now think again about the basic layer of identity. what is your best reference for research or study? and in the next step, how you can expose your point of view? My answer is culture, literature, or history in the light of philosophy. 

 Iran as a great example

let me dive into the ocean of history and continue this argument in a real example: we have a controversial issue about what is our main layer of identity in Iran, for the last 2 centuries. either we believe individualism or communitarianism. there is still a bigger question: what is a true definition of Iran as part of Iranian identity? in the late 19th century the sense of nationalism arose in the Iranian community and by the beginning of Reza Shah’s kingdom in the first of 20th (1925). Iranian nationality had been established as the official government in Iran. but there was some great issue still maintained. what does Iran mean? which language, culture, or tradition represents the notion of Iran? 

this issue has Absolut roots in the history of this land. Iran is one of the oldest civilizations in human history in the heart of middle east. the history of Iran has divided into 2 major eras: before and after Islam. I would not be discussing the long ancient history of Iran. although you can read it on the internet if you want. anyway, there is still a hot controversial discussion about the role of Islam in Iranian identity in our contemporary era. Islam was Iranian official religion for more than 1000 years. Besides that, Islam has its own official language, culture, and traditions. for a long time, Persian and Arabic languages have used in Iranian culture. but in the age of enlightenment and by rising the essence of nationalism in Iran some Iranian intellectuals were tried to remove Islamic identity and refer back to Iranian ancient history had known as Arian-Persian History as a basic layer of Iranian national identity. 

Despite Iranian intellectual movement has a major problem by any religions, following western modernization. besides that, they were seeking a way to bold Iranian differences against Arabic culture. then Reza shah has begun the modernization process he based the foundation of Iran national identity on Persian-Aryan history. this occurred serious paradoxical issues in Iranian society. Because some great parts of Iranian were not descendants from the Aryan-Persian race. For example, Turks people in the northwest, Gilanian, and Turkmens in the north, Arab, and other tribes in the southwest had maintained outside of this main layer of identity. although the Islamic religion is more rooted in Iranian culture to remove it overnight. 

the idea of a new identity for Iran as a Nation-state has occurred more clashes instead of the unity in the country. until the Islamic revolution of Iran in 1979, revolutionaries had calmed Islam as the principal layer of Iran identity. On the other

hand, modernists intellectual movement had stressed the ancient history of Iran and define the Aryan race as a fundamental layer of Iranian identity. although this paradox still remaining in Iranian politics, culture, and society. this caused more identity crisis in Iranian history. 

the exciting part is the role of historians and writers. because they were trying to rewrite new history from scratch and bolding their point of view as Aryan domination history over Islam. in the 20th century a new version of Iran history had been coming up that there is no record in Iranian written memory. 

some Iranian writers supporting by western imperialism had founded a new vision about Iranian history. a lot of thinkers including myself believe that all of this new history is part of western Imperialism plan to rip off Iranian oil sources. although this approach to history is setting to make more identity crisis in nations than creating a solid national identity. 

anyway, the issue of Iran is one of the best examples for discussing the importance of historic identity. and I’ll be writing more about the issue of Iran in my next papers. 

 History vs most essential identity layers

let’s presume we consider nationality as a basic layer of public identity. hereon all of the other layers most expose somehow to fit this principal layer. economy, culture, ethnicity, and religion should represent the best of nationality. but there is one question that will twinkle: which one of these essential layers we would choose for the basic identity layer?

this is one of the greatest subjects that free thinkers especially philosophers have thought and wrote about it. this question is out of our discussion. but the point is whatever is the right answer, we need history in the process of think production. 

in fact, the question of which layer of Self, should place as principal, is not in our intention. In fact, our main question is: how we can design a fundamental layer of identity? the short answer could be referring to self-referential encoding. including private or public memories. this is the active role of History, literature, art, or philosophy. 

the game of Self building will be becoming more exciting when we consider our point of view to history is highly dependent on the order of sortation of our identity layers. these layers in the loop circulation are forcing us to review and rewrite human history. individualism, socialism, racism, nationalism or religion, etc. all of these isms, need to interpret history as their point of view. although the best interpretation of history is what laminate all of the human layers. the main issue in the 21st century is not which worldview is true. the problem is most of them are true layers of human identity.

 historical obstacles for constructing identity

history is an ebullient source of legitimation. the repetition of procedures in time laps is making traditions. and traditions have caused legitimacy. hence constructing new ideas isn’t always congruous by the stream of history. history could become a strong barrier against any changes as much as it could become the main tool to build a new self. Historic studies would be reminding us that every new idea did face serious resistance from historic traditions. therefor if we are neglecting to examine these historic obstacles we will fail as many great ideas did fail because of that. 

people are highly dependent on their current situations. Thus we need precise situation awareness, for every fundamental change or evolution. On the other hand, we need relevant force to change in the current stream of history. we can point out to enormous examples in human history. 

 Axis layers, Savior layers, link layers

sometimes titles are more important than paragraphs. maybe it’s better to get rid of these paragraphs and spend our time thinking about headings. any way by observing history or historiography we can find out that it’s not just Axis identity layers that matter. the portrait of self (such as private or public self) is like Photoshop picture including background and various layers, effects and patterns, etc. although the result is just one frame of the picture. every main category has its own functions and attributes in the structure of self-identity. 

the main Axis of self, most support by relevant pillars. for example, if we presume nationality as the kingbolt of public identity. then there is no way to build the roof of nationality except on the columns of language, race, culture, religion (any worldview) geography, etc. thus we would define the exact position of every of these supporter layers under the whole public self. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

AO3

Previous

Thanks for your comments and support for this new story. I really appreciate it.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge and @happytoobservenolongerdistant

Chapter 2: Homeward Bound

And each town looks the same to me The movies and the factories And every stranger's face I see Remind me that I long to be Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound

Simon and Garfunkel

The subdued ping indicated that the captain had switched the seatbelt sign off and it was safe to walk around the cabin. Not that Jamie had any intention of doing that. The luxury of a business class seat meant that for once, he didn’t have to spend the entire flight with his legs folded and his shoulders hunched, trying to somehow fit into the space allocated to an economy passenger. No, for this entire flight, he planned on stretching out on his wonderfully reclining seat as much as possible, preferably with a glass in his hand.

He sipped his glass of champagne and wiggled his toes appreciatively, now clad in the soft sleep socks provided by the airline. The business class ticket from Dulles back to the UK was an indulgence, but, for once, Jamie felt he deserved it. Eight years he’d been away in America. Eight years with only fleeting trips home, little time to spend with his sister and her ever-expanding family. But the breeding programme he’d been working on in Kentucky was now inextricably linked with the breeding at the Lallybroch stables, providing much needed stability for the Fraser family business. The time was finally right for him to return home, back to Lallybroch for good.

His father’s heart attack, six months before, had made Jamie realise how much he was missing and how much he wanted to come home. Although his father was now making a good recovery, Jamie’s stomach turned over as he remembered the panicked phone call from his sister Jenny in the middle of the night and the mad dash to the airport for a plane, any plane to bring him across the Atlantic and then to Scotland. That heart attack had been a bolt from the blue, catching the whole family unawares.

Jamie’s mind began to wander. If things had been different, maybe she might have picked up some symptoms, detected the heart problem earlier. No... he stopped his traitorous mind from going down that path.

Accepting a top up of champagne from the passing steward, Jamie thought about his plans. Once he’d caught up with his family, he knew he had to spend time reconnecting with his old friends. He had kept in touch over the years -- emails, the odd FaceTime conversation, a fleeting visit -- but it was never the same as actually being around all the time, dropping by for a coffee, a quick pint or dram in the pub, making last minute plans for a run. He had a lot of time to make up.

There was one connection from eight years ago that Jamie knew he would not be looking to reestablish. When he first arrived in America, he thought about her all the time. He lived in a state of expectation, convinced she would ring or email, admitting she had made a mistake and would come to him. He caught glimpses of her in every crowd, only to be disappointed when he got closer. As time went by, his disillusionment grew until he finally accepted she would not be reaching out to him. So he trained himself never to think about her, never to wonder what she was doing, never to ponder on what might have been. And if, after a couple of drinks, he found himself tempted to Google her name or search through social media, he quickly sought out alternative diversions.

There had been a few alternative diversions during Jamie’s time in America. All very willing and pleasant enough, but ultimately very one-sided. Each one ended with no regret or sense of loss on his part. His heart had healed nicely and he intended to keep it that way.

As the cabin lights dimmed, Jamie pulled the blanket over him and settled down for a nap. As he was pulled deeper and deeper into sleep his mind wandered, random images crowding his brain… horses in a field… his father relaxing in his study… light reflecting through a whisky tumbler… being put to bed drunk… the scent of lavender hand cream… soft hands against his cheek… a mop of brown curls on the pillow next to him…

Awake, Jamie could stamp out these thoughts, prevent them from taking root, but asleep, well, his mind would not let him forget.

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

Claire had been pleased but not a bit surprised by Mrs. Fitz’s powers of persuasion. A little chat with Lamb over a couple of cups of her cherished Fortnum and Mason Royal Blend tea, poured from the Royal Palaces bone china teapot (purchased on a recent trip to Kensington Palace) had convinced him to rent out the house for a maximum of two years, at which time his finances should have returned to a healthier position.

With that battle won, Claire then encouraged her uncle to contact all the creditors and agree monthly repayment plans. All this was dependent, of course, on finding tenants for the house.

Although she decided not to say anything to Lamb, she was still worried. Their house, even in an appealing suburb of Glasgow, was an acquired taste. On the one hand, the high ceilings, elegant sash windows and very large garden would be attractive to prospective tenants, but the downside was the sheer size of the six bedroomed Edwardian villa and its associated running costs. It was true what she had told him, most of the similar properties in the vicinity had been converted into blocks of flats frequented by young professionals. She still believed the logical decision was to sell. However, that was not her choice to make.

The reaction of the letting agent did not inspire confidence either. After he was shown around the entire house, making copious notes and taking many pictures on his phone all the while, Claire waited patiently while he appeared lost in thought, contemplatively sucking air through his teeth. Finally, he quoted a figure suitable for monthly rental before issuing a caveat.

“Ye ken, this may no’ be that easy tae rent out. It’s an awfa big house, sae many bedrooms. Would mebbe suit a family wi’ five or six bairns, and ye dinna see many of those around these days.” He sighed. “We’ll do our best… but would ye no’ consider selling? There are builders who would jump at the chance tae own a property like this.”

Claire smiled, her most reassuring smile guaranteed to calm the nerves of patients and their loved ones. “I’m sure you’ll do your best, Mr. Shand. I have every confidence in you.”

********

Claire’s confidence seemed to be misplaced. A fortnight went by before she heard from Mr. Shand again. She was at her desk dictating patient letters when Mr. Shand rang her with an update.

“Ms Beauchamp, jes’ tae give ye some news,” he began. “I have had some interest in yer house and I’m arranging a viewing. I dinna ken if ye wanted tae show them around or leave it tae me?”

“Well, if I’m free I’d be more than happy to do it. Depends when it is.” Claire reached for her large desk diary.

“They said they would like tae view this Saturday, afore the rugby if possible.”

Claire flicked to the page. “That seems to be fine with me. Who are they? Is it a large family?”

She could hear Mr. Shand flicking through papers in the background. “Weel, no. It’s jes’ a couple. What drew them tae yer house is the garden. They have been living abroad for a few years but are returning home and want a place near the city centre but wi’ a bit of green about them. Perhaps they feel they will miss the wide open spaces, ye ken. Anyway, I believe they are no’ long married. Their name… Fraser… Mr. And Mrs. Fraser.”

Suddenly Claire felt the contents of her stomach rising up. Swallowing hard to quell the nausea, the phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Scrambling to retrieve it with fingers refusing to cooperate, she could hear Mr. Shand calling her name.

Breathlessly, she managed to pick the phone up and speak, her voice hoarse. “Sorry, Mr. Shand, I just dropped my phone. I’m sorry, I was looking at the wrong date. I’m afraid I won’t be at home on Saturday after all. Sorry, could you do the honours?” She cringed at her repeated apologies.

Claire folded her arms on her desk and rested her head on them, trying to calm her breathing. For god’s sake, it had been eight years, she would not have expected him to remain celibate. Getting married was not unusual and it would no doubt make bringing a partner to live here much easier from an immigration point of view. But did he not recognise the address? Had he forgotten all about her, or did he just not care?

Sitting up straight, she tried to think logically, not jump to conclusions. She lived in Scotland, where the surname Fraser was not exactly rare. There must be thousands of couples with that name. It wouldn’t be her Fraser.

Claire had not even thought about him in the past few years. Gone were the days when she lay in bed longing for his touch, sleeping with her phone on the pillow in case he rang to apologise. Her heart never skipped a beat when she caught a glimpse of fiery red hair in a crowd of people. She never found herself religiously watching Scottish rugby matches wondering if, across the Atlantic Ocean, someone else was watching too. She only kept his faded old rugby shirt because it was so comfortable to sleep in… there was no other reason at all.

Claire was a honest person, she prided herself on it. And she was… very honest… at work, with friends, with her uncle.

The only person she regularly lied to was herself.

[creative-frequency]

Connor|RK800 x Reader: Ocularity Ch. 12

Word count: 1999 Warnings/Categories: Eventual mature content, romance, friendship, fluff, light angst, explicit language, uncle Hank

Previous Chapter | Chapters Masterlist | Playlist

November 3rd 09:36 AM

Raid on CyberLife warehouse – police believe the suspects are deviants

Chiara Hale | Tuesday 2 November 22:35 | 235 shares

A group of robbers broke into the CyberLife warehouse sometime in the evening today in Delray. The value of the stolen property is estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars. One of the warehouse’s security guard androids also went missing during the events of the robbery.

The suspects are deviant androids or are affiliated with an organized group of deviants. The police are currently investigating the crime and would not comment until more details are discovered.

– We saw nothing out of the ordinary and then count the trucks to see one is missing, the security guards of the warehouse say.

– No one got hurt, but we could just be lucky.

The GPS tracking system of the stolen truck was disabled as soon as it left the property.

An increasing number of cases involving androids are reported to the DPD every day. Statistics show these android cases have notched up the overall crime rate of the city for over seven percent during the past six months.

Read more on organized android crime

Could your android be a deviant?

7 Things your android does without your knowledge

––

“Doctor, there’s a visitor for you.”

You rub your temples and stare at the communication device on the desk. The lobby secretary android is waiting for an answer. You’ll only need one wild guess to know who wants to meet you. As much as you enjoy admiring his beautiful features, right now his is the last face on Earth you wish to see.

You close the trashy article open on your work terminal and let out a silent sigh before pressing the button.

“I’m free now. Send them up.”

A quick elevator ride later, the brown-eyed android tilts his head slightly, hands resting on his sides and looking completely innocent. Something about predators and their prey crosses your mind, but the thought has to step aside for the basic instincts.

Fight or flight. On the previous day you had enough adrenaline in your system to stand your ground. Now you want to run. A rematch will be a sore loss for you.

“I came because I was worried about you,” Connor says matter-of-factly.

“Yes, you keep saying that but there is no need.”

You turn away to hide your puffy, reddened eyes. There is no universe in which Connor wouldn’t notice such obvious physical signals of distress.

A faint glimmer of hope shined from the news cast on the previous evening and you suspect that is one of the reasons why Connor comes to see you right after you practically threw him out of your home.

A truckload full of biocomponents and Thirium was reported stolen late on the previous night. It dried your tears instantly but the damage to your next day look was already done. You want to believe so much that Markus was behind it. Somehow you can feel it.

Connor waits for you to continue speaking. His sharp gaze is all over you, measuring and examining. Scenarios are running rampant inside his mind palace. The one he likes the most is the one where Detective Reed tells you to never contact him again. Seasoned with a couple of the Detective’s favorite swear words.

“Did you need something?” you ask in a rather unfriendly tone. You’re still not looking at the android.

Connor paces forward until he is standing right in front of your desk.

“How are you, Doctor?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

You pause before replying and try to reprogram yourself into a more friendly approach.

“Honestly? I still feel terrible about Liara but everything is fine. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

The explanation is poor and weak but hopefully the reluctant aura your every cell is emitting is enough to make Connor leave as soon as possible.

“You know something, don’t you?” he utters quietly.

As morbid as it sounds, Connor wishes he could probe human memory or have any way of prying the answers out of you. Your pulse is faster than it should be. You’re avoiding his gaze and constantly trying to find something else to focus on. He sees you’re lying when you convince him there is nothing wrong and he shouldn’t worry about you.

It makes Connor uncomfortable to confront you when you look so upset already, but he has to do it.

“Know something? Concerning… what?” you ask.

“My investigation,” he says patiently.

Call it a hunch or what you like, but to move the investigation forward, Connor has to take that gut feeling into consideration. In ones and zeroes it’s a mysterious clutter of unsolved symbols. It’s impossible to invent the formula without all the unknown factors, no matter how many simulations or operations he runs inside his mind palace.

And the image of Detective Reed courting you is still messing with his computations.

Would you talk to him? Connor wonders inside his mind palace, though he knows Reed has nothing to do with your avoiding replies.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you remark.

If only there was a way to summon an escape. Like a convenient fire alarm to force an emergency exit. The back of your neck is tingling unpleasantly and your pulse has kept growing ever since the android stepped into the room. You’re prey just waiting to be caught in the predator’s claws.

Connor fixates a look on you, trying to reach your gaze. A line appears between his brows when you only stare at the terminal on your desk as hard as you can. He waits a few moments before slowly planting his palms on your desk.

“Doctor, the truth is I don’t need your permission to do my mission. I have the authority of the Detroit Police Department–”

You jump ahead of him. “Leave uncle Hank out of this.”

Connor frowns at the sight of your puffed eyes. “It’s the duty of us both to look after you.”

“I’m a grown up, I don’t want you looking after me,” you say and avert your gaze again. Why does he have to be so close?

The words fall harshly inside the silent office. Connor’s frown deepens, his brows creep together again in confusion.

You look so fragile to him, like a sculpture of made of glass, about to fall down and break. No matter what logic dictates, what he thinks you’re feeling, he can only come to the conclusion that trying to figure you out will only frustrate him. As the silence lingers, his thoughts wander. And he thinks about the glass statue metaphor that suddenly stops making sense.

He knows you’re soft. So soft compared to his exoskeleton that is designed to optimize speed and endurance. His softness is a changeable concept that depends on the target of comparison.

As for your fragility, he knows that description doesn’t match your body either.

Connor finds himself not simulating breathing as his optic sensors wander over the enflamed skin on your cheeks. His mind palace is grasping at straws, definitely not making an effort to accomplish his mission.

Your eyes are glued to the terminal and every fiber of your being wishes Connor would leave you alone this instant. You can’t nor want to focus on work with him in the room. The datapad that is used for the weekly checkups is on the desk but you don’t really want to start questioning the android.

Why can’t he just go?

Connor compensates the pause in breathing with an uncharacteristic huff and straightens up.

“If something is going on, you have to tell me,” he pleads, “I want you to stay safe.”

“Will I be safe if you search my home again for deviants?” The ire you manage to load into the words makes Connor jolt. He hesitates, but only briefly.

“I know about the blue blood in the basket.”

The significance of the revelation takes several moments to sink in.

He knows. You just lead yourself into the trap.

From the way Connor is scowling again, you realize you have turned to face him, eyes reddened but color drained from your complexion. His gaze inspects your features in silent analysis. You have to brush it off to survive.

“…Then why didn’t you report it in?” you ask in a small voice.

Connor’s eyes soften and he looks troubled.

“I… I don’t know. It was you and I shouldn’t have searched for it without your permission. I don’t want to cause trouble to you.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” you retort with a hint of desperation.

“I know I shouldn’t,” Connor snaps back.

A beat of silence falls. You’re just staring at each other, both equally reluctant to continue on the topic, but also knowing it has to be dealt with. You give in to the staring contest over the desk. The air is heavy with tension. Your heart is hammering like crazy, but at least you’re not showing it on the outside. Never mind that Connor can still hear it.

“Are you accusing me of something? Is that why you came to see me?” you finally ask.

“No, I simply wanted to talk.” Connor looks away, dejected.

Your whole body feels numb as you stare at the android. The desk between you could as well be a mile-high wall. The all too familiar feeling of him trying to say something you’re not prepared to understand creeps up your spine. It makes your heart wrench and it’s so unfair that he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Your eyes start to burn and so you turn back to the terminal.

“Am I a suspect?” you ask as sternly as you’re able to.

Connor’s head snaps back up.

“Doctor, I don’t–”

“Because if not, I’d really like for you to leave.” You swallow, hands on the keynotes, but unable to continue writing from where you left off before Connor’s arrival.

“I need to understand what I witnessed at your house. I must explore every option – you know this,” Connor rationalizes and it’s impossible to deny his words.

You swallow. The need to get rid of the android pushes the rational side of your brain into a ditch.

“I… it was… it was just some Thirium on my work clothes. There was an accident in the testing sub-routine. I forgot to wash it earlier.”

“The incident is archived, I take it?” Connor asks.

You can’t even nod. It takes less than a second for him to find out there was no incident in the lab area for the past week during your in-hours. He doesn’t say anything.

Your voice shakes, when you next speak and you pray to all deities on Earth and above that Connor will let it go.

“Now if I’m clear from all charges, I have tons of work to do, so… I’ll see you next week for the inspection.”

An alarmingly long pause follows before Connor reacts to your words and the emotional distress in them. Meanwhile, his mind palace is buzzing, though nothing shows outside. Why would you lie to him? Are you speaking the truth? There must be a reason for your behavior and Connor can’t help but deduce that he is missing pieces in this puzzle that carries your name.

Again, he finds it bothers him more than it should.

Your fingertips are numb on the keyboard and after staring at the terminal monitor for so long, you can’t see anything already written on it. You’re already about to ask Connor to leave again when he makes a motion to turn and go.

“If there’s something you wish to discuss, you can call me anytime. Until then, I won’t bother you anymore. See you at the inspection, Doctor.”

And with that, the android sent by CyberLife is out of your door yet again while you swallow hot tears streaking down your cheeks.

Next Chapter - Coming Soon!

Tagging: @sevansheart @precursor-ao3 @gberryb @owlwrites @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros @bleucommelhiver @sherniwrites @n-ulll @toastyfiction @touzokukana @imaginovator @avispate @miettisit @caladheil @lusiifer @shadows-echoes @suffering-bi

[nappainanotherdimension]

NappainAnotherDimension’s Verses {For Mobile Users}

Hell Verse

Open Starter

Tag: #Wearing a Halo but ain't no Angel (Hell verse canon)

Setting: After his death in Dragonball Z's Saiyan Saga, in Hell based on what is shown in the series that is influenced by Japanese and Chinese folklore.

Nappa's Motivation: To explore Hell, look for opponents to fight, get stronger, or learn how to get out of Hell. Will settle for good company though.

Intended Audience: Muses who can visit Hell, will eventually go there for one reason or another, or anyone who wants to interact with the ghost of Nappa.

Space Escapades Verse

Tag: #Fond Memories of Past Exploits (Space Escapades verse Canon)

Setting: Before the Saiyan Saga in Dragonball Z, and after the destruction of Planet Vegeta. Sometimes I may also specify that this is after their successful takeover of Shikk, when Nappa got so mad at Frieza he charged at him with aggressive intent. Where it takes place can be anywhere in space. Be it within his own galaxy or in the galaxy of another muse.

Nappa's Motivation: Nappa is still loyal to serving Vegeta, and is still a mid-level soldier in Frieza’s Planet Trade Organization. Which means he’s still assigned to purge planets in his galaxy. So he’ll still be pretty aggressive. If this is after the mission on Shikk, then Nappa could be taking some unofficial vacation time, and be less hostile towards other planets and people.

Intended Audience: Muses who are from other sci-fi series or play alien characters.

What If Nappa Lived Verse

Canon Divergent AU

Tag: #If Things Were Different (What if Nappa Lived verse Canon)

Setting: Set anytime after the Saiyan saga, but is typically after the events on Namek. Usually on the planet Earth, but can also be on other planets and in space in his own galaxy or in the galaxy of another muse.

Nappa's Motivation: After the events on Namek, Nappa now lives on Earth and is an ally of the main characters of Dragonball Z. This is perhaps the most canon-divergent of the verses in terms of Nappa’s character. He no longer feels as destructive as he used to be, and he’s much calmer than before. When he does feel bored, he will venture out into space with a Capsule Corp. ship made for him.

Intended Audience: Canon and OC muses who wouldn’t otherwise get to interact with him because of his death in the Saiyan saga. Also works well with any humans or other muses who stay on Earth. Of course this can also still work for other sci-fi and alien muses who would rather interact with Nappa after he’s moved on from his life in the Planet Trade Organization.

WINL Verse Space Escapades

Sub-verse for If Nappa Lived verse

Tag: #Livin' the Dream (WINL Space Escapades)

Setting: This is a verse within the What if Nappa Lived verse. Set anytime after the Namek saga, or after the Cell Saga. Usually Nappa is traveling out into space visiting distant planets from Earth.

Nappa's Motivation: When Nappa is restless on Earth and there’s no big bad to fight, he likes to go out into space. Depending on what time a thread takes place in the DBZ timeline will dictate how “good” Nappa is. After the Namek Saga, he still has a mean streak going on, but after the Cell Saga, he’s mostly "good."

Intended Audience: Muses who are from other sci-fi series or play alien characters who want to interact. Also good for fellow DBZ canon and OC muses who want a thread with a sci-fi setting.

Xenoverse 2 Mentor Verse

A Time For Change Intro

Directly tied to the Hell verse

Tag: #A Saiyan Outta Time (Conton City Verse)

Setting: Conton City and wherever else the Time Patrollers are allowed to go for training.

Nappa's Motivation: Nappa’s taken out of the original timeline and Hell to be available as a mentor for Time Patrollers. So his motivation is to help other characters to continue living in Conton City. This verse is my take on a redemption arc for Nappa that picks up from DBZ canon.

Intended Audience: For Xenoverse 1 and 2's cast and for the many OCs created for this setting.

FighterZ Verse

More Info Post

Directly tied to the Hell verse

Tag: #Out of the Hellfire and Into The Baking Pan (FighterZ verse Canon)

Setting: On Earth set after the events of Dragonball Z and after the Universe 6 Saga of Dragonball Super.

Nappa's Motivation: Nappa is going to be a Super Salty Saiyan™ because of what happened to him in the Saiyan saga. He may be begrudgingly working for Frieza and be an ally with the Z warriors, but what he really wants is to finally have his revenge against Vegeta. That is his end goal unless a redemption arc is being worked on in the thread. He may also be willing to work together with Android 21 if the alliance seems beneficial.

Intended Audience: Open to muses who are featured in the game and who would be on Earth at the time of this game’s story arc. This includes Player Soul muses. If you have an OC, Dragonball canon muse who wasn’t involved in this game’s story, or a muse from another fandom etc. talk with me before sending a starter and we can discuss an AU for your muse to make sense of why they’re there.

Legends Verse

This verse follows Dragonball Super continuity 

Tag: #Cultivating Another Legend (Legends Verse Canon)

Setting: Takes place during the Tournament of Time, which is after the Tournament of Power in Dragonball Super. However, this version of Nappa was taken out of his time before Raditz came to Earth in Dragonball Z.  Nappa’s Motivation: While he and Vegeta are working together during the Tournament of Time, Lord Beerus commands Vegeta to train Shallot, Zahha, and Gohan so they could defeat Raditz. After becoming impressed by Shallot through a misunderstanding of his words, Nappa happily decides to train and mentor them all with a particular fondness for Shallot for what he perceived as him admiring how powerful he was. (I still need to finish watching more of Alejandro Saab’s playthrough of the game, so I’ll fill in more details as I become more familiar with what happens after)

Intended Audience: Open to muses who are featured in the game and any OCs who might also be taking part in the Tournament of Time. 

Baba's Champion Verse

Directly tied to the Hell & Xenoverse 2 verses

Tag: #Brought Back by Fortuneteller Baba! (Baba's Champion verse)

Setting: On Earth either at Baba's palace our out exploring Earth if nobody's around.

Nappa's Motivation: He is resurrected for a day to fight as one of her champions. So his job is to fight anyone who wants a free fortune reading from Baba after they defeat the other four champions she has lined up for challengers. He may also get bored and explore Earth on his own.

Intended Audience: A fairly niche verse made to interact with DBZ canon muses who Nappa still has unfinished business with. Open to other muses who would be on Earth and might want to get a free reading from Fortuneteller Baba.

Planet Vegeta AU

Canon divergent AU

More Info Post coming soon

Warning: Heavy with Saiyan Politics

Tag: #Home Sweet Home (Planet Vegeta AU)

Setting: Any point after the Saiyan-Tuffle War on Planet Vegeta (formerly known as Planet Plant) in an alternate universe where Frieza never destroyed the planet, and the Saiyans successfully found a way to overthrow his rule over them. The Planet Trade Organization’s technology, armor, etc have remained in their use and is part of their cultural identity.

Nappa's Motivation: Without the Arcosians ruling over them, the Saiyans pretty much continue to plunder and purge other planets to benefit their own empire. They also form alliances with other planets, trading goods with them and/or send their warriors to settle their wars for them. Nappa serves King Vegeta as the top General of the Saiyan Army, and is the bodyguard and partner to the prince, Vegeta. He has lovers and children in this AU. Nappa has even more accomplishments to add to his laurels in this AU, and has a stronger sense of honor about his actions since everything he does benefits his family and his people. Therefore, he has a more commanding presence, is militantly serious, and straight-laced. Nappa still has a kinder disposition towards Saiyans compared to other species of aliens. Unless those Saiyans are traitors, or disrespectful towards him and the royal family.

Intended Audience: Muses who are Saiyan characters (canon or OCs) who would like to participate in this AU. Also any sci-fi muses who might like to deal with the Saiyans as a political power that is either a threat or ally to their own planet and people. Keep in mind Nappa’s much more political-minded in this verse than he is in others.

Tenchi Muyo! Verse

Sub-verse to Space Escapades verses

Crossover for Tenchi Muyo! muses

More information post coming soon

Tag: #Leaving All but the Future Far Behind (Tenchi Muyo! verse Canon)

Setting: Set within the side of Space where Jurai rules and the Galaxy Police enforces the various laws of their galaxy.

Nappa's Motivation: After being insulted by Frieza for taking 3 days to conquer Shikk, Nappa decides to go AWOL when he realizes he lost his desire to kill and destroy for the tyrant he and his comrades work for. Upon being accosted by Galaxy Police Detective Mihoshi Kuramitsu, he decides to play along with getting arrested. After helping her solve a cold case, Nappa comes to Earth with Mihoshi to meet the Masaki family. (Though really it's just to keep an eye on a dangerous visitor.)

Intended Audience: A niche crossover for Tenchi Muyo! canon muses to interact with Nappa since I roleplay with a few of them in a connected narrative since we all know each other through our mutual love for the series. Also open to other muses who are from any of the Tenchi series.

Star Wars Verse

Sub-verse to Space Escapades verse

Crossover for Star Wars muses

Tag: #Visiting a Galaxy Far Far Away (Star Wars AU canon verse)

Setting: Takes place before the events of Saiyan Saga. Either in the Star Wars or DBZ setting. Depends on the partner and the plot of the thread.

Nappa's Motivation: Nappa is still a soldier from the Planet Trade Organization and will take on jobs for anyone Frieza is working with.

Intended Audience: A niche crossover for the occasional Star Wars canon or OC character.

[cienie-isengardu]

Satine Kryze and Pre Vizsla: political & social position

Puttings aside for now morality of characters, I would like to talk about similarities and difference between Satine Kryze and Pre Vizsla and how they could be seen by New Mandalorian society at the climax of their respective arcs.

First thing though: I want to clarify something: as much as TCW may never outright said anything about  Dral'Han (Annihilation) / Mandalorian Excision that happened ~700 years prior to Clone Wars era, this event played a major role in shaping current mandalorian society - or more precisely: two societies: the pacifist and warlike. The Republic occupation and influence still held power over Mandalore, to the point that when Duchess cemented neutrality for her people, soon after that trade routes were closed around Mandalore system - even though the war did not come there yet(?) - what was mentioned in “Corruption” [s03e05]: “Desperate times on Mandalore! Having won neutrality for the Mandalorian system, Duchess Satine now finds herself an outsider with little aid to her people. Supplies are impossible to come by, except on the black market. As a result, the Duchess faces a world consumed by greed.” So, TCW may not discuss in direct way how Republic screwed up Mandalore in the past nor how it mixed into matters of “independent” government now, but it doesn’t make  Republic occupation and its effect on characters any less real.

Saying that, there is the first detail about Satine and Pre I want to talk: political & social position.

The Legends Mandalorian had visible social groups including: Mandalore(s), veterans, warriors, blacksmiths, farmers [and in the case of ancient Taungs, shamans], yet the division between “classes” was not rigid. Mandalorian could be both farmer and great warrior. The title Mandalore was reserved for the best, most skilled, most charismatic and/or the most supported by society person. The status of Mandalorian was either given by birth or by adoption, person could be disavow and/or became dar’manda (no longer Mandalorian) and reclaim the right to mandalorian culture later. People could belong to one of the oldest clans (Vizsla, Ordo, Fett) or be not associated with any family and there wasn’t social class difference between them because all have the same rights (f.e. challenging Mandalore/leader if they did not agree with their decisions) & duties (Resol’nare). In reality, how great of Mandalorian someone was never depended on birth rights or personal connection, but what kind of person he/she/them are.

In other words, Legends Mandalorian did not have aristocracy similar to the ones of Core Worlds (as in: the highest class in society, especially those holding hereditary titles or offices).

The New Mandalorians apparently are closer to Core Worlders / Republic than to the old traditions since Satine is titled the Duchess, Tal Merrik is called Prince [s02e13] and both were born on Kalevala (according to TCW Character Encyclopedia). The animated series made it pretty clear that Satine’s power is similar to the king/queen-like:

on Sundari - the capital city of Mandalore - Duchess has palace that was presented to some extent on the screen and mentioned in the show (“I told senator Amidala that Mandalore was not part of the War, yet here I find a battle in my own palace” [s03e05])

in said palace there is Throne Room where she occupies a central place (throne) even in the present of close allies & friends

she is constantly called “Lady”, “your Grace” and “your Highness” which emphasizes her aristocratic connection/roots and

has power over Ruling Council (“Corruption” episode showed Satine on her throne above seats of Ministers, including Almec, silencing them for good and calling the meeting adjourned.)

There is of course Prime Minister (that according to “The Academy” episode is one of “two people in charge” of Mandalore albeit I’m not sure if we saw Almec making any important political decision without Duchess’ contest - beside the whole illegal business & coup, of course and ignoring Satine’s angry rant about corruption) and mentioned Ruling Council to support Duchess with their advices. Unfortunately, during the Clone Wars, there is little use of Council due to corruption, apathy and bickering between Ministers / leaders of Mandalore. The only real decision / action that Ruling Council did worth to mention was asking Obi-Wan Kenobi (Republic) to provide protection for Duchess during “Voyage of Temptation”.

The Death Watch Manifesto (from Bounty Hunter Code ) - a pro-DW propaganda source, mind you - claims that Mandalorian clans became divided after Mandalorian Excision to the point that even the oldest clans had their members on both sides of cultural conflict. That concerns Kryze family as well Vizsla clan.

The politically / culturally conflict overlaps with clan rivalry that has been going on for a long time. In short, the situation of Mandalorians is complicated and far from reconciliation, even in the face of threat from the Republic & Jedi.

The source did not explain in much details how the power was passed down through the generations but since the “Faithless” rulers of New Mandalorians are accused of being a puppet government headed by Republic, there is a chance that those families who are now treated as nobility may got the aristocratic titles (and wealth) from Republic itself - as a reward for joining “the right” political system. Then again, the same source claims that Satine’s father was a warlord who actually sent her off-world:

According to TCW Character Encyclopedia, Satine was born on Kalevala, a planet known for expensive wines, ships and rich cloth and so far a place the most related to New Mandalorian’s nobility. We may only guess if the union (possible marriage) between warlord and Satine’s mother was a political move to connect two influential and wealthy clans or was that dictated by purely romantic motives. Nevertheless, only Satine’s father is described as mighty mandalorian warrior - and that rises some questions. We aren’t told why he sent his child offword… or what offword we are talking here, really. Satine’s homeworld was Kalevala, but she was on Mandalore while being protected by Jedi, does that means her father sent her there? Was he somehow forced to do so? And if yes, by whom? Satine’s mother? Republic? Other mandalorian warlords who wanted more power for themselves? And if Satine’s father, as one of Faithful Mandalorian maybe, wanted independence for Mandalore system - thus became a threat to Republic - Jedi arrival on Mandalore to protect (take away) Satine may not be motivated by her own safety but to secure A) the submission of the current ruler (with daughter as “hostage” in Game of Thrones style, similar to how Eddard Stark took young Theon Greyjoy as his ward) and B)  loyalty of the successor to the throne. I know that sound awful but to be fair, Jedi rarely integrate into internal government matters if there is no profit for the Republic.

I’m not sure if Satine talked in more detailed way about the year on the run under Jedi protection (beside mention of venom-mites on Draboon that seems to be a whole different planet in Mandalore sector). So let’s see what Obi-Wan told us about their time together:

An extended mission when i was younger. Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore protecting the Duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world. They sent Bounty Hunters after us. We were always on the run, living hand-to-mouth, never sure what the next day would bring [...] A civil war killed most of Satine's people, hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took rebuilding her world alone.

Satine was born on Kalevala, so…by “her world” does Obi-Wan meant a whole Mandalore system or Kalevala or Mandalore on which they were at that time? Also, since BHC confirmed that there was Civil War in which Faithful warriors (DW) wanted to take control over Mandalore, I don’t really understand why insurgents - the warriors - would hire bounty hunters? I mean, I know they were outnumbered and all, but frankly, we aren’t even told if the bounty hunters were to kill Satine or just to take her away from Jedi (the oppressors).

Nevertheless, we learn that Civil War killed most of Satine's people - what once again is pretty ambiguous, because did Obi-Wan mean Satine’s family and/or people from homeworld or did he mean Mandalorians as a whole? Because if the letter, that presents Satine as a hereditary ruler. Especially with the line “When she returned, she took rebuilding her world alone”. BHC mentioned that her father died during Civil War and if she was the oldest child, should inherit the throne. Since there is no info if she needed to fight for the title of Duchess of Mandalore (she returned and started rebuilding her world without asking anyone about opinion apparently), for me it seems Satine was born not only in aristocratic (wealthy) family but was designed to rule Mandalore sometime in future. Frankly, the same can be said for her nephew, Korkie, who is already in Royal Academy that is to educate future government leaders.

We may not know much about Satine Kryze’s past, but The Clone Wars animated series and tie-in sources present her as wealthy nobility with royal-like power over Mandalore (and maybe Kalevala). She wears rich clothes that emphasize her high status, has own palace with Throne Room and uses luxury spaceliner. She is the person that made decision to turn New Mandalorians into extreme(?) pacifists due to her personal childhood trauma & aversion to violence. Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t see her as someone who was democratically elected leader.

In short, Satine Kryze had a high social rank and political position for majority of TCW storyline.

Pre Vizsla’s history is no less covered by mystery.

We know he held the office of governor on Concordia while some members of the Vizsla clan were known to be part of Death Watch. Including Tor Vizsla, a previous leader of said group who spent some years fighting against Mereel’s (and later, Jango Fett’s) True Mandalorians. For all we know, Tor and Pre may actively working at the same time for a few years (albeit not for too long, since Tor died two years after Battle of Galidraan / Mandalore Civil War and +/- two decades before Clone Wars)

Satine have seen Pre as a close ally and maybe even a friend, who the same as her choose pacifistic ideology over violent past. Who was supposed to help her hunt down the remnants of Death Watch / the opposition of her reign. We know it never was a case.

But there is more questionable matters to talk. The Mandalore’s Moon was described as “Province with its own governor” and starwars.com added that Concordia is independent of Mandalore’s government:

In other words, Pre as governor of Concordia was NOT under the authority of the Duchess. What makes them more or less equal on political ground. BUT! TCW Character Encyclopedia and Visual Guide: New Battlefronts both stated that Pre was born on Mandalore. Which raises a question, how he ended as a leader of independent from Mandalore province? Duchess Satine couldn’t nominate him as her representative nor force Concordian people to vote for / accept Pre, could she? I’m not be specialist of such matters, but shouldn’t governor actually have a citizenship to be even elected to office?

Of course, Pre may simple moved to Concordia at some point, but frankly, wouldn’t be that a bit suspicious? Almec said once “All of our warriors were exiled to our moon, Concordia. They died out years ago”  and with that statement it’s easy to imagine that from the perspective of the pacifist society, the Mandalore’s Moon is marked as a bad place (natural prison and/or graveyard full of angry, bitter “barbarians”) and with Pre’s family connection to Tor & Death Watch, I think a sudden desire to move there could arouse unwanted interest in him and thus undermine the whole infiltration mission.

There is a different option:

BHC too mentioned that “some of [DW] warriors were exiled to the moon Concordia”. Some slipped away, but I don’t think that happened to Pre, per se. Basing on Legends sources, Mandalore Civil War started in the same year as Battle of Galidraan (44 BBY). From my calculation  it seems Obi-Wan would be 13 years old at that time. There is no information about age of Satine & Pre, but we know Duchess couldn’t be that older than Kenobi. Similar, Pre as the successor of Tor most likely is around the same age as Satine & Obi-Wan. Maybe a bit older, maybe a bit younger, but enough close to be seen as ‘innocent” in the conflict.

If young Pre took part in the fight and were imprisoned, it’s easy to blame Vizsla clan for forcing a child into war zone. If Pre was exiled on Concordia, he could pass later as converted man who after years understood the error of his youth & madness of Death Watch’s ideology.

If Pre did not participate in war (due to young age), but his family did and get caught, he most likely was exiled to Concordia with them. Because what else New Mandalorians could do in such situation? Keep a child from parents (clan) and try reeducated him into pacifist society? Put in orphanage for difficult youth? How many of other kids could be in similar situation? How much more Death Watch / exiled warriors would fight harder to get back their children, to tear them out of New Mandalorian hands? The society under Satine’s new rule may not mean any harm to the children forcibly taken away from their family, but if there is one thing that mandalorian warriors hate, really hate, is when someone dare to threaten their kids. This is like asking for absolute war like nothing else.

There is also one more major factor why I think this scenario is plausible, regardless of whether Pre was exiled for a fight or not. It gives him a good “tragic story” that create a common ground between him and Satine and explain why a man born on Mandalore ended as governor of independent province (though I still not sure how New Mandalorians could exile warriors from Mandalore to Concordia, if they seem to not have jurisdiction over the Moon. Unless Concordia is a really new province, built by exiled there people?)

The “tragic story” most likely include things that Satine can relate to, like childhood trauma, growing up in dangerous times (uncertainty of tomorrow), the loss of family & the pressure to rebuild things anew. The similar experiences of how senseless violence destroyed life, how much one suffered because of war for sure could bring Satine & Pre closer to each other. Or more precisely: makes Satine to trust a “converted man” like Pre Vizsla whose ambition was to clean the name of his clan - just not in the way Satine’s imagined.

There is also one more aspect to think about exiled Mandalorians. If only warriors were sent there, I think Satine’s government could have worse relationship with Concordia. The anger at taking away their children would last for long. But if after Civil War the population sent there also included children (and disabled and elderly people), for their own sake alone some family members would be forced to change their lifestyle. After all, children need to be fed, provide with medical care, access to education and safety to grown up. Maybe at some point exiled people managed to either build their own city and establish commercial and political relations with Mandalore or get involved with indigenous people (farmers and miners?) and adopted to their (less violent) customs.

Of course, this is just one of possible explanations. We aren’t told how and when Satine met Pre or why she had him in so high esteem for so long - beside that he was helping her in catching remnants of Death Watch (the opposition of her rule). We only know that both were leaders of their respectively governments that worked independently, albeit thanks to their (supposed) friendship, Mandalore and Concordia seemed to cooperate with each other over the years.

At the same time, only Satine holds aristocratic title and most likely inherited the right to rule of Mandalore either from father or mother; what may explain why Jedi were sent to protect her in the first place. While according to TCW Visual Guide: New Battlefronts, Pre somehow earned his position.

Frankly, as a member of Vizsla clan, Pre probably met with some resistance or suspicion from both sides. From pacifists due to what Tor Vizsla did over the years and from Mandalorians adhering to the old rules (who at the earliest stages of rebuilding DW could not know what Pre’s true intention really is) for betraying them. Thinking about it, one of Jango Fett’s (in-universe) commentary written on DW Manifesto actually makes clear that Jango not only was aware of Pre Vizsla’s existence but also knew or maybe even heard some of his (political?) speeches:

From picture: I wonder if Vizsla really wrote this. He was a thug. Sounds more like Priest or Reau. Maybe the younger Vizsla. That one likes speeches. [Jango]

(In all fairness, I agree with Jango, the Death Watch Manifesto doesn’t sound like something Tor Vizsla would write. It fits more Pre, really. But it is interesting that Jango had access at some point of time to DW secret book yet did not act against Pre as far as we know. And Jango had a long list of reasons to hate Death Watch. Then again, Priest and Reau were recruited by Fett to train clone troopers yet they share similar ideology to DW… so maybe Jango just get to the point he didn’t care anymore about Mandalore and its politics?)

Sorry, I digress.

Backing to the main topic, Satine and Pre both have high position in Mandalorian society. Both are burdened with responsibilities for their people (and ideology). The main difference is that, Pre most likely was forced to earn his leader position - the political and in Death Watch while Satine presumably was meant from the birth to be either ruler of Mandalore (or Kalevala) or one of its influential leaders (similar like Korkie is destined to grow up as one of future leaders by Royal Academy teaching program). The other more visible difference is that Duchess’ politics affect hundreds of worlds that also want to remain neutral in current military conflict while Pre’s political activities are focused primarily on internal affairs of Mandalore system (“hunting down Satine’s opposition / DW”, bringing Mandalorian back to their warrior roots). Also, I dare to say Satine’s political position was more certain due to having powerful allies & friends in Republic Senate (Padme Amidala, most likely Bail Organa)  and Jedi Order (Obi-Wan Kenobi who actually is one of Council members), while the current leader of Death Watch by long time couldn’t openly act, and later his cooperation with Dooku/Separatist turned out to be one big fiasco.

And yet, the more time passed, Satine’s political & social position was undermined by widespread corruption on Mandalore while society’s perception of Pre and his Death Watch changed for better at the same time.

[tveckling]

43. Valor or crown

For @transeliotwaugh AO3

His uncle had never put much faith in destiny. A man creates his own life, not some otherworldly deity up among the stars, he had said when Mercutio was small. That mindset had certainly shaped Mercutio as he grew, and he was proud of his own defiance of any fates, traditions, or rules; he was the one deciding his own life, no one else.

But as he grew more he couldn’t stop himself from understanding more about the world surrounding him. He still didn’t believe in some unknown God dictating his life, but he could see with his own eyes the many people dictating his uncle's—who would one day dictate his own life. There were advisors, ambassadors, foreign leaders, nobles and merchants, even the regular people had opportunities to come to the Prince and make themselves heard. And the Prince would have to listen, whether he wanted to or not. That was what a Prince’s life entailed: responsibilities to any and all.

It scared him. Mercutio was secure enough in himself that he could admit that, at least in the lonesome of his room. There might not be an all-seeing ruler who forced you to dance the steps he had laid out, but instead you had numerous people that each pulled you in the direction they wanted. How could that be better?

So Mercutio ran, from responsibility, from his birth, from his future. He spent his time with his friends, drinking and making merry and barely spending a night in the palace. The days were filled roaming, searching for any sort of amusement, and during the nights it wasn’t hard to find warm, willing bodies. The sense of being absolutely free was a stronger influence on him than any amount of alcohol, and it was too easy to forget that he was running. He hadn’t actually meant to take part of the fights—he had always sneered at the stupid feud and those obsessed with maintaining it—but it had been a frustratingly warm day, his head was pleasantly buzzed by the alcohol, and the Capulets were threatening his friends. Apparently, he found out that night, a half-empty bottle could make a person fall unconscious with just one hit to the head.

What he thought of as true excitement entered his life after that day. He had gotten involved once, and he happily did it again, and again, and again. Who needed alcohol when you could have the blood rushing through your body after a good fight. He didn’t think too hard about what he was actually doing, because doing that would demand that he looked at himself and his actions and why he did what he did. It was easier not to.

He couldn’t run forever, of course. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known that. That’s why he only froze for a moment when he exited a tavern, one arm slung around Romeo’s shoulders and a bottle in his free hand, and saw his uncle stand there with a cold face, flanked by several guards. Mercutio recovered quickly enough and managed to step away just before Benvolio collided with his back, the laughter quickly dying as he, too, saw who was standing there.

“Might our most gracious lord be in need of service from us humble youths?” Mercutio said, taking a deep and mocking bow. His mood, which had been bright and cheerful just seconds earlier, had turned sour. He hadn’t spoken with his uncle for over a year.

“I will have words with you, Mercutio,” the Prince commanded and waited.

Mercutio understood that he was the one meant to move, so he deliberately took a swig from his bottle and nodded graciously. “Very well. Do go ahead and speak your words. I can’t stand here the whole night, I’m sure you understand. Places to go, bottles to empty, holes to fill. I’m a very busy man.”

He could feel the stares burrowing into his head, and the thought of Benvolio and Romeo’s horrified faces made him want to laugh. It was barely that he managed to push down his mirth, and he took another swig to cover his grin. He had drunk too much, he was fully aware of that, but that also meant that he was past the point of caring about it. There was no part of him that cared about his uncle’s opinions or reaction at the moment, and that meant he could speak however he wanted.

Mercutio had thought of a dozen different ways his uncle could react, but he was caught completely by surprise when the Prince walked forward and laid a heavy hand on the nape of his neck, then snatched the bottle from his hand and threw it carelessly to the side. The crashing sound was so loud in his ears, and he couldn’t stop staring at the broken glass.

“I would advise you to go home.”

It took a moment, but then Mercutio realized that his uncle wasn’t talking to him. He wondered if either of his friends would defy the underlying command, but immediately disregarded the thought. Of course they wouldn’t. No one in their right mind defied the Prince to his face. And unlike Mercutio both Benvolio and Romeo still had theirs fully intact, somehow. It took longer than he had expected, but soon he heard them move away. He was left behind, with his uncle and his guards.

“You’re coming home now,” the Prince said in a low voice, his hand heavy and warm where it still rested on Mercutio’s neck.

“And what, pray tell, would that serve? Oh, I’m sure my tutors have all been so relieved to be rid of me. Hasn’t it been a good time for you, to be able to do your princely duties without having to worry about me or the mischief I might cause? I’m sure it must have been nice, to finally have me out of mind and thought. Why would you even want me to come back?” Mercutio kept on staring at the slowly drying alcohol, and felt the remorse cool in his stomach. That had been fine wine, and expensive too. Oh, such waste hurt.

“Wait, you thought I didn’t wo-” The Prince stopped himself and took a deep breath, but his hand was squeezing tighter on Mercutio. Not that he was going to remark on it. “It doesn’t matter what you think. I have given you plenty of time to run around as you wish, but now my leniency has come to an end. All young men need to fly free some time in their life, but you have a duty to attend to, and it is time you stop playing around.”

Mercutio snorted and shook his head, testing the strength of the grip on his neck. The hand didn’t move. “I doubt the Capulet fighters would agree with your use of ‘play’ there, dearest uncle. More than one of them have found that my 'play’ has more bite than they expected.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Prince said, and his hand tightened even more. He sounded angry, and Mercutio couldn’t for his life understand why. Probably because he had involved himself in a feud that he had no actual ties to. A Prince must be always be impartial, and now Mercutio had clearly taken a side. Yes, that must be why.

“You are going home with me now, and you will cease involving yourself in pointless strife you have no part of. This is not a choice, Mercutio,” the Prince warned when Mercutio opened his mouth to argue. “You have risked yourself too many times needlessly. What if you had been disfigured or lost some limb? What if you had been killed?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t have had to deal with this situation,” Mercutio answered flippantly, rolling his eyes.

“And you don’t even think of anyone else who cares about you. Have you drunk so much that you forgot your own brother? How do you think Valentine would have felt if you had died in such a senseless way?”

Mercutio opened his mouth but found no words. He hadn’t thought of Valentine like that. He hadn’t thought of Valentine at all, truth be told, and the shame of it filled him now. The only one he had thought of was himself, and so he had left his brother behind. But Valentine was far better suited to be Prince than him, Mercutio argued in his own head. He was much more like their uncle, and already excelled at most classes better than Mercutio did, even though he was four years younger.

“Valentine would be fine,” he said slowly.

“I wouldn’t advise you to say that to his face, but I know you won’t listen to a word I say.” Finally the hand released him, but strangely Mercutio missed the warmth of it. “It doesn’t matter. Come now. I’m going, and you are coming with me.”

The guards started closing in on those words, and Mercutio let a bark of laughter escape him. There really was no choice, then. Whether he wanted to or not he was going back to the palace that night, but there was no way they could keep him there once he had sobered up. He knew the building too well, and he had been able to come and go from the palace for years. For now he just had to go along, which he did, giving the two guards following behind him a cheeky grin.

When he got to his room he would be able to think more. He had been running, yes, and maybe his uncle was right that he had to stop. He would have to choose.

If he stayed he would have to become Prince, stepping into the same controlled life he had seen his uncle endure. But he would also have his family with him, his uncle and his brother, and he could make good. He could help his friends in ways he was powerless to do now. He could be adored or feared, or somewhere in between, depending on how he chose to rule. Just because they pulled you in all directions didn’t mean you had to let them topple you over.

If he left he would be free, able to go where the urge took him and do whatever he pleased. There would be no one to control him or pull him in any direction. He could drink, and fuck, and fight anyone he wanted, for any cause he felt like. There was a whole world to explore, and beautiful men and women to charm. But he would also be leaving his family and friends behind, because if he didn’t want to be Prince he would have to leave Verona. His home. That was the only way to truly escape it.

There was no one else who could make the choice for him. He had to decide.

[neshatriumphs]

S.T.A.R.S. AU Samcedes Sci-Fi Fanfiction Chapter 19

Previously at S.T.A.R.S…

Mercedes put Jesse, Joe, Wade, and Emma to work on finding out more about the governing party of their home planet.  In the end, she believes that she knows what she needs to know for the sake of her people.  But, Cassandra July is trying to get more power to hunt them harder.  And now… it may simply be a race against time…

The Orb and The Well

The Heavens:

Giselle smiled as she sat the figurines in the sparkling glass case.  Her husband walked in (a spitting image of Jesse, but with hair braided down his back) and as he did, some of the figurines began to glow red.  She bit her lip, waved a hand to stop it and closed the case, without turning around, “I told you that when you’re upset, some of us can feel that.”

He retorted, “They wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on being so connected to everyone.  And I wouldn’t be so upset if you didn’t make me miserable everyday.”

She turned to face him, “I’m sorry.  You know that there is nothing that makes me sadder than upsetting you.”

“You didn’t agree with those others, but you decided to go along with them.”

“I decided that my ideas were not confirmed facts, therefore the path of least resistance made sense in this case.”

“You decided that even though you are the head of that table that you would listen to them!”  He fussed.

She sighed, “I decided that to add to a court that has been doing so well for so long would be shaking things up in a way that the universe has not tasked me with.  It would be an easy decision to grant my seat to you instead of even add you to the Pentalpha.  That is nothing that the universe has revealed to me.”  He frowned, glowed red and she moved closer to him, “May I take you to our chambers?  I think I can persuade favor with you.”  She placed her nose against his.  He gave her a tight smile, but walked away.  

*

There were Giselles all over the palace, all doing different tasks.  He passed several of them.  It was almost time for another gathering at the table, and today, he would be heard.  He determined that he would, “Cassiopeia!” He roared.  All of them stopped and one of them came forward, her sparkling gown dazzling behind her, with a round bump on her belly.  He paused and caught his breath, “Excuse my distress.  I couldn’t figure out where you were, in all of the clamour.”  She simply gave him a soft smile.  “I am to be heard, today, at the table.”

“The other queens have agreed to give you audience.  We will set up in the throne room and allow you a portal.”

“A portal?  You will not have me in the same room?”  He asked, glowing furiously.

“I would.  The others would not.  These are the laws, after all.  We were not able to enter before our time, either.”

“You?  You have always been queen.”

“Capricornus…”

“There has always been a Cassiopeia incarnation at the head of that table.  Likely there is one in there,” he complained, glaring at her swollen womb.

“It is a five sided table, with equal heads.  Being Cassiopeia is not some gift.  It is a calling, a duty, an assignment by the universe.  I would be gracious were this burden lifted from me.  Then, perhaps, I could have the heart of my husband, which I would proudly trade all of the love of all of our people for.”  She cradled her belly, “And this is your son.  Whom you molded with me and compressed your energy into, just as I did.”  Tears welled in her eyes and two other Giselles came to gather her.  She still had things to do.

“It is because you’re so eager, so thirsty, that they are suspicious,” One of them said to him.  The universe calls us to lead.  Anything else is of our will.”

“We have will, free will.  Why not exercise it?”  He asked.

She opened a portal to look into other worlds, “Look at them.  Primitive in their awareness.  Savage in their practices.  They go through the work of creating, only to destroy.  They do this in favor of loving nothing more than themselves.  Pride.  Like the stories of Lucifer, who was banished from the glory of the universe, to reign over a kingdom of hatred.”

“We take far too much stock in stories, and tales, and songs.”

“Perhaps.  Or, we have existed for so long, for so successfully, because we aren’t like the stories - the Lucifers, the Zeuses, the Seths…”

“You’re mixing up your characters.  Zeus was one of the good ones,” he commented.

She chuckled, “With that type of view, the other queens will never agree to seat you at a table of harmony.”  She walked away, too.

***

Sheltered in a secret room of the palace, reachable only through a portal,  a troop of Giselles molded as many figures as they could.  So many energies had been usurped by Capricornus, forcibly.  “This is not working.  The Evil King is killing too many of our people for us to be able to save them all this way.  What we need is something that will serve as a beacon for all of the energies.  If we can create something like that, we will be able to guide them to the safety of it and not into the arsenal of the king.”

“We may also be able to take away from some of the power garnered…  To control the levels of those who have sided with him…”  They heard footsteps and determined, “He’s coming!”  She turned into a ball of light and reappeared in her bedchamber as he walked in.  They stared at each other for a moment, then she went to the window and looked out of it.  The kingdom looked and appeared peaceful, but she could see everything happening to all of her people, hear it, smell it, feel, it, sense it…

“Are you purposefully withholding my son and heir from me?”

“I am not.  He will present his form as soon as he has it.  His consciousness has been interrupted by all of the turmoil that he will be born into.”

“I have drained some of the most practiced in the arts of precognition and even they have not been able to give me the strength to see his face.”

“The practice doesn’t dictate the outcome of  the power - only the ability to depend upon it.  The universe reveals to whom it deems fit for the future.”

“The universe hasn’t stopped me, yet,” he taunted.  “In fact, the universe has allowed me to gather up all of our people, take as much away from them as I want, strike them down, if I see fit and claim their possessions for myself.  The universe is simply where we exist.  I. Am. God.  I chose to be.”

She turned to face him, for the first time, and asked, “What am I thinking?”  He stared at her.  “Of all of those you’ve drained, at least 45 of them were very practiced in the art of the mind.”

He winced, “None like you, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The Great Cassiopeia.  The Supreme Queen.  She lives as a community, all on her own and when she lays to rest, another rises to life.  There has always been a Cassiopeia - my mother once said.  She said, ‘She is the one true ruler of all of us.  Always has and always will be.  There is none who has successfully self reincarnated since the beginning of our time.’  My mother was so honored when I was chosen to be your king, by your mother, another Cassiopeia…  But, she was wrong.  Always will be?  That has already been made into a lie by my victorious ascension to the throne.  And as soon as I have my son, the face of Cassiopeia will fade from our people and the memory of the always present entity that you ruled as will be wiped out.  They won’t even know your name.”

“The Forgotten Queen,” she said.  “That will be my name.  You might have known if the power, that makes you strong and formidable was also within your ability to control.”  

He chuckled and said, “As it turns out, I have realized something…  I don’t need YOU to bear me a son.  I have a harem of queens, now.”  He lifted his hand to absorb her power and she levitated, with her head and arms fallen back.

“You don’t have the practice or the discipline to wield all of the power that you are collecting.  All of our people can do everything that you and I can do.  Some of us specialize, just like you do at draining power, we specialize in other things.  Some of us, like me - excel in all.  Someone will challenge you.  Someone will make you fall.  Someone will be better at taking power than you!”  He dropped her and she crashed to the floor, breathing heavily.

“Was that an assumption, or a prophecy?”

“I would never give you a prophecy, but I don’t make assumptions.”

He split into a dozen forms and said, “Send out command, everyone will be allotted limited power.  Drain abilities from everyone, leave them with one and decree that all lives molded will only be given enough energy to hone one ability.”  They  dispersed, even him.  

She laughed and held her aching abdominals, “It worked,” she whispered to her son.  “He’s going to do part of this work for us…”  

***

Bree entered the bedchamber with a tray of food, “Mother, your energy is low,” she said.  She helped Giselle to sit up and then heard her inside of her head, “Where is your father?”

Bree didn’t want to answer, but didn’t want to be caught conspiring, so she said out loud, “He has killed your next Cassiopeia, outlawed mention of even the name and drained me down to nothing more than a pretty singing voice for comfort… and other feelings…”  She held the food to her mother’s mouth.  “He has collected every baby born with the ability to drain powers and is going to raise them as his soldiers.  He has reduced our people to one ability and grown in strength because of all that he has amassed.  He has drafted all of our people who are not royalty into a military.  He has created treaties with other kingdoms, which are simply him extending the kindness of trusting them not to be foolish enough to cross him and he has made a game of war.”  Tears fell from her eyes, “He invites me in.  Says he wants all of his children to know how to conquer.  He uses your molds of the citizens… as pawns.  He invites royal families that are in his alliance to witness and an adversary to play against for absorption of their kingdoms…  Those are of the families that refused to sign treaties…”  

Giselle sat up straight and said softly, “Andromeda….  Do whatever you think is right.  You were one of the youngest queens ever to sit on the court.”  She cupped her face, “I could make a million Cassiopeias, almost with the snap of my fingers.  I could never make another one of you.”  She kissed her on the forehead.  “My reign has ended and your sister has been assassinated.  By right, YOU are the queen of this castle, now.  Do with that information whatever you wish.  I will trust the universe, and you.”

Bree nodded and held her mother’s hands, “I’m so sorry.  I love you, so much…”  She began to drain her mother’s energy from her.  If she was going to claim the castle and get the kingdom back, she needed more.  When the light left her mother’s body, she crept to the window and leaped from it, landing on the ground below on her feet.  Guards spotted her and came running.  “HEY!”  She raised both hands to open a portal and entered into it, vanishing right before their eyes.  

When word got back to the Wicked King, he rushed into his wife’s bedchamber to see her lying, still in the bed.  He knelt next to her and checked her for signs of life…  “Andromeda bested you…  I am proud of her.”  He reached his hands through her flesh and pulled from it the baby boy, then closed her back up.  The boy was as lifeless and he panicked.  “No…  Andromeda…  She…”  He held a glowing hand over the boy, but was unable to grant him awakening.  He rested him on Giselle’s chest and she gasped and awakened.  “Andromeda tried to collect from you… she only managed to kill my son…”  He took a deep breath, “I specifically took that ability away from her.  You must have given her yours, or some portion.”  Then he yelled, “You killed our son!”  And came towards her.  She lifted her hand to deflect the attack that she felt coming on.

The baby was cradled against her neck as she stood up, with one hand pointed at Capricornus and one hand shielding the baby.  “You dare attack me as I hold him in my arms!”

With both hands extended towards her, he wondered, “How are you still this strong?”

“You never knew how powerful I am.  Because, I knew that you would betray me.  I had to let it happen.  The universe didn’t give me a means of escape.”  She cried and violently flung him outside of the door and sealed it.  She frantically molded the orb with her hands, knowing that she couldn’t keep him shut out for very long.   She held her hands over it and it glowed, then she took it and held it above her son.  “They will not speak of the Forgotten Queen, but always know, Mirach - Your mother loved you.”  As the orb was secured inside of his body, his eyes opened and Capricornus bursted into the room.  She looked at him, storming towards her and she lifted the baby in her arms.  “You need to practice using your powers if you ever expect to continue to reign,” she said.

He was relieved to see the baby and she handed him his son.  Whenever he held the boy, he felt weaker… like he was being drained and he set him in the carriage, “What is happening?”  He asked, but when he turned to look around, Giselle was gone.  He called for a caretaker to come in.  When she picked up the baby, he seemed fine, but each time he touched his father, the king got that feeling…  “What did she do to him?  Have him examined by everyone.  See what it is that she did to him…”

Earth:

“So, you see?  Cassiopeia told me when she revealed herself to me that she was the well.  That she was the place that all of the energies to go.  The Wicked King was killing our people, stealing their powers, enslaving everyone else and many were dying on battlefields.  The well was so that he wouldn’t steal those energies.  He didn’t even know how to use them.  The Queen, however had a form every generation.  She had the rebirth mastered and kept it in her genetic code each time she created a new self..  She did the thing that I did.  I lost my memory when I did it, but it was all still inside of me!  That is what she was able to do up until the moment that she vanished…  She vanished because she just changed forms.  She became this, orb…  to protect her people.”  She held the orb in her hands, “And it is hard to gather information on it because she didn’t tell people.  She only let you know about the orb if you needed to hide it…  Which I did.  I hid it.  And we didn’t get the memories associated with it because it was outlawed to speak of her.  She didn’t even give me her name when she visited me, I think as to protect me from accidentally revealing her.”  Sam stared at her.  “I know, it sounds crazy.”

“Yeah.  It sounds like something that makes no sense whatsoever.  She became the thing, then she hid the thing and what?  She was showing her husband an illusion of herself?”

“She showed me an illusion of herself and she was so powerful that she blocked Emma in her OWN DREAM to give me a prophecy.  She wasn’t alone.  There were others seated with her, but I don’t know if they were conscious or resting, or on some Queen of the Damned, sitting and thinking about life and the ways of the world type stuff, but..  If I am not right about this, where is all of this suddenly coming from?  If I am not right about this, why is all of this inside of my head?”

Jesse approached the two of them, and said, “I know why.”

Mirach woke up in the middle of the night to see a woman at his window.  She picked him up and held him.  She kissed his nose.  She called him by name, she pulled out a ball of energy and stuck it inside of him.  She left him to sleep.  This happened throughout his childhood and one night he asked, “Are you my guardian angel?”

She smiled at him and shrugged.  “You can say that, maybe when you’re a little bit older, I’ll tell you for sure.”

Years passed, until he thought that he dreamed her up, but she visited, the night before his wedding and she had a gift with her, for him.  “I’m old enough, aren’t I?”  He questioned.

With a sigh, she nodded, “I’m your sister.  I fled the castle long ago.  You may have been told that I was a murderer.  You may have been told that I was a traitor.  I believe in the universe and I couldn’t live here with our father and his evil.  I’m Andromeda.”

“I am Canum Venaticorum.”  He bowed.

She waved a hand, “No, you’re not.  You’re Mirach,” she said, in her mother’s voice.  And when he heard the voice, his eyes lit up, and he remembered all of these things about his mother…  “Our father killed her and our sister, who was meant to one day… become her.  It is probably an alien concept to you.  No one is allowed to do it anymore.  They don’t want another one of her.  But, they don’t know… she never truly died.  She did lose her body, but that is only because she had to… to give you back life.”  She cupped his face.  “You are her.  You are exactly as she was.  She put everything that she is into you before releasing her energy into the well.”  He had memories of his mother placing an orb inside of him.  “That’s  right,” his sister said and reached inside of him to pull it out.  “Thank you for holding this for her.  I will keep it safe, now.”  She opened a portal and left.

Jesse finished saying, “And legend says that the next day, Mirach drained his father, and became the king.”

Mercedes added, “He sang songs that his sister sang him about the Pentalpha.  She was the fifth seat at the table.  I’ll bet it angered the king that his daughter was on court and he was not.”

Sam pulled his hair and insisted, “Both of you are just talking, now!”

“No!”  Jesse snapped.  These… these events, these histories have been given to us, either through memories that our ancestors embedded in our genetic energy or through the universe and prophecies.  None of these things are things that we’re just making up.  They are things that we are remembering, from even before we existed as our own entities because according to Danica’s report… all of the energy is stored in one place and dispersed through all of these bodies that we compose during gestation!  When it is destroyed, it goes into the well.”

“Everyone used to be able to do everything,” she added.

Sam held out his hands, “Ok, so did they give you what to do next?”

Jesse shrugged, “Some idea…”

Bree had the orb seated on her mother’s shrine.  It had been a shame that they weren’t given proper dedications, but she made certain to create them.  She had taken all of the figures of the fallen.  Whenever the game board cleared, she channeled those pieces back to her castle.  Whenever a royal released their energy, she withdrew it from the ord and gave it its own orb.  She kneeled at her mother’s shrine, “Mother, I am so tired.  I have been doing this work for so long.  I need someone to reign in my stead.  I want to pass this duty to my daughter.  I am so afraid that our world will never be as it was and I don’t want to leave until it is, but I need to…”

She heard her mother’s voice as the orb sparkled, “You have every right to leave.  Pass on this duty to your daughter and join me, in the well.”

“And this haven that I built, will it continue to stand?”

“Yes.  Leave it to your daughter.  Tell her everything that you know and guide her, that when the time is right to tell her child everything that she knows, and so on.  I will stay here and assist them, just as I have assisted you.  Our world will be restored.  I don’t know when, but I saw it.  I saw her.  I saw your descendant.  I saw her as clearly as I did your face the first time I laid eyes on you.  She will make peace with the enemy kingdoms.  She will bring them all together and she  will restore the energies to the universe, that they might fairly be granted where they belong.”

Mercedes gasped, as though awakening from a nightmare and looked at Jesse, “Did you see that?”  Sam and he both nodded.  She held herself, “I’m…  I’m related to the Evil King too…”

Sam shook his head, “That means nothing.  Auriga has always known and it never made him bad.  You two are I don’t know, super watered down cousins, or whatever.  That makes sense, as there were two seats in the court from the same household.”

“That world,” Jesse said.  “The one that Andromeda created…  How do we get there?”

“A portal is in my parents’ castle.  It is the same place that my parent’s throne room is in.”

“Could we…”  Sam thought for a moment, unsure if he wanted to say it out loud…  “Create a portal…”  It sounded worse the more he thought about it, “From where we are to get back to our world?”

“Andromeda’s practice was to take the royal energies out of the orb and give them their own orbs in the shrine room.  Her power to do that wouldn’t have been carried with us on the journey.  It may be in my DNA, but I can’t seem to detect it inside of me,” Mercedes said.

“But… what… if…  A baby has it?”  Sam asked.  “If a baby has it, can you tap into it and magnify it to proper scale to get it done?”

“Why would I do it?  Why wouldn’t you just do it?”  She asked.

Jesse snapped, “Who gives a shit who’s to do it, can we do it and do we have the access to a baby with it?”

Sam widened his eyes and quietly answered, “Aphasia, yes.”  Jesse walked away.

Mercedes commented, “I’ve put him under a lot of stress lately.”  Sam just nodded.  “So, we what…  jump through a portal and go home and then what, try to charge the palace and see when the opening to THAT portal to Andromeda’s hidden world?  I mean…  It’d probably be easier to fight the human and take all their things.”

“They deserve it, but this was a mistake.  We never should have left home.  We need to go back and whatever happens, we know that  at the very least, eventually, we win - because you have been exposed to the same prophecy two different times.”

“I don’t know how.  What if I lose everyone?  What if I lose you?”

“I mean, I’m hoping the universe isn’t through with me yet.  I still got plenty to give her.”

“And we were attacked.  Someone didn’t want us to escape.  Most likely my parents, since we were in their space and now I know that at least one of them has some Wicked King in them.”

“It’d have to be your mom if they’re over there handing legacies down through the queens.  I say that we get ourselves ready to portal there.  Probably go in spurts.  I’ll get with Mu Draco and Eridanus to sort out plans for that.”

“In the event that it is a thing that we can actually physically do…  There  are so many considerations…”

“We’ll figure it out.”  Jesse came back with Aphasia, Joe, Wade, and Emma.  Mike and Tina were heading that way from a different directions.  “For the moment, I think that we’re good keeping all of the Pentalpha and the Orb things between those of us right here.”

“Do we not need the other pregnant women?”  Aphasia wondered.

“You can catch them up in the maternity bunk,” he told her.

“Ok.  Well…  Auriga mentioned that the baby I have can have some kind of space travel power?”

“I actually said spatial manipulation, but…”

Sam offered, “Your son will be able to create portals.  Now…  We know that in the olden days when our people weren’t so stifled by oppressors and programmed to hone whatever gift they were created specifically for, that at least one person created a portal and built a world within the space that she went into.”

“And what, we’re gonna question my baby in utero on how to do that?”  Joe chuckled.  She frowned, still looking confused.

“We are going to borrow his energy to try to do it.”

“Couldn’t we just borrow his energy to try to create a safe space, here?  And then work from there?  I’m feeling nervous about how long we’ve been here without any interference.  Cassandra July is on TV talking about how they need to find and destroy the alien menace…”

Mercedes mentioned, “Cassiopeia did have that underground place where she made the figures…”

“Cassiopeia?  The Greek chick?  Wait, are we…?”

“I think that all of the legends have some truth to them, but no - we aren’t and we aren’t talking about her.  Our queen, when trying to stop the king from taking her energy and taking over.”

“And she failed.  What other plans do we have?”  Aphasia asked.

“We have none.  We have to try them all,” Mercedes told her.

“Look, I appreciate that you’re a princess, expected to be queen and all, but the rest of us have royal heirs too.  I’m not just giving my baby up to you for experimentation.  That’s exactly something the humans would expect.”

“You know we would never ask you to put your baby in harm’s way.”

“I know that you don’t even know if what you want to do can work.  You want to siphon energy from my growing child to SEE if it can help.  How are you any different than Dr. Schuester?”  Mercedes guffawed and folded her arms.

Jesse rubbed Aphasia’s arms and said, “It’s okay.  Thank you for at least hearing us out.”

She confessed, “I want to help, I do…  But, I’ve gotten attached now and this all sounds like speculation.  I know that your baby reached out into the universe from the womb to make things happen, and if mine DID, I would be in full support, but with this uncertainty from our leaders, I don’t feel comfortable signing on for that.”

He nodded and squatted in front of her, face to belly, “Hi.  My name is Auriga.  Centuries ago…  Our people were friends, colleagues.  My family destroyed that and I want to help fix it.  So, if you have the consciousness, the desire and the ability to see if you could help me, help all of us, your mother included; please…”  There was a cracking sound in the sky and they all looked up.

There appeared to be some sort of tear, like light piercing through the space.  Aphasia touched her belly and it glowed as the portal opened, slowly.  Mercedes reached for her hand and when she took it, the sky opened and swallowed the two of them, then closed.  

“JAEL!”  Joe screamed.  Sam grabbed Jesse’s shoulder reflexively.  Joe asked, “Where did they go?”  Sam and Joe both shook their heads and shrugged.  Joe covered his mouth with both of his hands.  

Tina scanned the length of the area, “I am not locating them anywhere.”  Now, Joe sat down on the ground.  Tina sat next to him and said, “I’m sure that she’s alright.  The baby did this.  For the most part, if the baby is only you and hers, not some human bred type, he should be fully conscious and capable of wielding his ability on instinct for survival.”  Joe opened his mouth to speak, but Jesse interfered.

“Cygnus,” Joe looked up at him.  “She is with Danica.  They will be safe.  They all will be.”  Joe nodded his head, content with that.  Jesse, Tina, Mike and Sam huddled and Jesse admitted, “I haven’t the slightest clue where that baby could have taken them.  I mean… They have to be safe though, right?”

[pellelavellan-a]

Winter Palace Drabble ll Pelle x Dorian

"Oh, so now we're speaking," said Pelle.

Dorian sighed and already Pelle could feel an apology on it's way full of reasons for why his behavior was not as bad as the Inquisitor believed it. He wasn't interested in hearing why he should not take being treated like a stranger personally. He was entitled to his own feelings, and no amount of being educated on the delicate intricacies of human society was going to magically make it better.

"Don't be that way," said Dorian.

Pelle did not look at the altus, though he did take a moment to get a view of their surroundings: how many people were within the vicinity, or were even paying them any attention. As he thought, the chances of being eavesdropped on seemed slim on this balcony so of course here Dorian was. Predictable as always. Their elbows touched briefly when Dorian leaves against the bannisters beside him before Pelle shuffled his arm away.

He didn't want to argue with Dorian, but he was still feeling wounded by Dorian's behavior. He wanted to be understanding because he was certain he knew what Dorian was going to say to him. It would look bad on him to be seen joined hand in hand with another man. People would stare, they would talk, and talking was just as deadly a weapon as any poison or blade. He knew. He did. But if there was ever a time where he needed just the smallest touch, a little reassurance that all would be well, that was it. Politics were...not his thing. He wasn't subtle enough, polite enough. He did not know this game the Orlesians played.

He might have been taught to ballroom dance, but the real dance, the one that could make or break him he knew not even the first thing about. It was overwhelming. Nothing he had seen since leaving home terrified him so much as a room full of snakes disguised in gorgeous silks could. All he wanted was a gentle squeeze, anything would have done. But instead he felt alone in a sea full of people tasked to solve a political affair that the knew hardly anything about. Sure he'd heard the details but the information was different depending on who you asked, which meant it was speculation. That was what he hated about politics. No one could keep their personal feelings out of the subject so it was impossible to know what was fact or fiction.

"Listen, I'm sorry--" "Don't." Pelle cut him off. "If you're just going to tell me how intent you are on protecting my precious reputation again I don't want to hear it."

"It would have drawn attention to you" Dorian added.

"Yes because without you I would have been invisble. " Pelle argued. "I don't know if you've forgotten but Orlesians aren't particularly used to people like me being privy to their gatherings, well unless we're serving them at least."

"They would have stared," Dorian insisted.

'So let them," the Inquisitor declared.

Dorian frowned before turning his gaze from Pelle. This disagreement between was one of dozens under the same pretext. Pelle had no interest in being a pretty little secret, nor did he want Dorian trying to protect him from the onlooking eyes of the nobility. He didn't care what they thought. He'd wasted his entire life ashamed of who he was and the people he fancied. They could say whatever they wanted, no one could possibly hate him more than he'd hated himself. Their opinion of him could not hurt his feelings, it was Dorian who was susceptible to their venom. He just wished Dorian could admit that instead of pretending he did what he did to protect him, it was a lie.

"I don't think you understand," Dorian began again.

"No but I do." Pelle again interrupted.

"Would you stop speaking over me and listen?" Dorian finally snapped, his hands gripping the railings tight when he turned his gaze back to the elf.

"Admit that your concern about their opinion has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you." the Inquisitor snapped back. "You're not trying to protect me, or my reputation. Say it."

"You already have to fight to be heard, I refuse to make that more difficult for you."

Pelle scoffed. His patience was already thin. It wasn't entirely Dorian's fault. It was loud in this palace, both from the music and the chatter but also the vindictive energy so many of Its attendees carried with them. All the lust and deceit was making him sick. He had a headache just existing in that ballroom. He came outside for a break, not to debate with Dorian over whether or not he understood the weight a simple gesture held. It wasn't even about the hand holding really, it was the fact that Dorian always seemed so ashamed of him. He didn't only hide their affection for each other at this party, he concealed it always. This was just the tipping point.

"And I don't think I should have to change to be given that opportunity. " Pelle corrected him. "If I am to earn their respect I want to earn it as myself. Not some fictitious version of me that is easier for them to digest. I left my home to show everyone that there's more to me and my people than mere savages. That there was something in us worth preserving. How can I do that if I submit to them because I am afraid?"

A gust of air left the altus's lungs that appeared to visibly deflate him. "Are you sure the consequences of your actions are worth the risk?" he asked.

"No." Pelle answered decisively. "but if they fall in love with the Inquisitor and not the elf wearing his armor then I've accomplished nothing. You humans are so obsessed with tricking people into loving you that none of you have ever stopped to consider that maybe if you stopped lying to everyone you meet you might find something more meaningful than whatever it is all of you are chasing. I don't think i should have to lie to convince anyone I'm worth lending an ear to, and I'm terribly sorry if you do."

He didn't allow Dorian the chance to respond. He was done talking about this. He didn't want to debate this notion with the altus, he would rather leave Dorian to think over it. After all, his mind could not be changed. He wouldn't waste either of their time being unmoved by any attempt to convince him he ought to consider anyone else's feelings about who he was, or that it was of any importance at all. He hated politics, and he hated the way humans allowed them to dictate their lives.

[ftwrthtx]

El Presidenté is back and is trying his best to stay in power. We have spent the last week in the Caribbean world of Tropico 6, trying our best not to get impeached, overthrown, or assassinated. Was the game worthy of our time, or should we have just resigned and ran off into exile?

Read our review to find out

The Tropico series has been around since 2001 and gameplay has generally had the same goal since day one: Become the President of your own island country and stay in power, by any and all means necessary. The general means of achieving this goal really hasn’t changed much in 18 years, but the tools available to an aspiring dictator have expanded and evolved into what Tropico 6 has in El Presidenté’s toolbox.

The Stories of Greatness

There are many stories within Tropico 6, and there are 15 missions that tell each one. We strongly suggest new players go through the five chapters of tutorials available before jumping into these story missions, as these tutorials will guide you in all of your future dictatorship endeavors. The amount of tasks and things to do can be overwhelming at times, but if you stay on task, you should be very successful. Each of the stories are told by Penultimo, your ever loyal servant who you will rescue from a deserted island on your very first mission. This guy is the right hand-man every great dictator needs, as he is the ultimate brown noser and butt kisser, and will flatter you with praise every chance he gets. He’s a likable guy that will also take a bullet for you if needed, and you never know when that might be needed, depending on your diplomacy skills.

Each mission is set on a different island chain, each with their own set of goals and unique challenges. Each mission has a main goal which will require you achieve certain tasks, declare independence, and move through different eras. The eras are Colonial, World Wars, Cold War, and Modern Times, and when passing into new eras, new items and gameplay mechanics become available to you. The stories are entertaining, and depending on what difficulty you select to play on, they can be pretty challenging to complete. As you complete missions, new missions become available to play which encompass different island chains or archipelagos, some a little scarier than others. Island design is pretty cool and if you spend enough time looking around, you may just stumble across some interesting finds.

From Small Beginnings Comes Greatness

Most missions start out with nothing more than your mansion and limited buildings in the immediate area. To really make a great country, the game requires some decent planning. Roads must be built to connect places like sugar plantations and rum distilleries, and you’ll need trucks to move that sugar so you’ll have to build a teamsters port or building in order to provide transport. Same goes for ranches and tanneries, and a whole slew of other things. The game can really be overwhelming at times and requires a keen eye to detail in order to keep everything running smoothly, and that’s just the productions aspect of things.

Politics is an entirely different animal. You can be extremely rich in resources, but have the hatred of the people against you. How does one become a truly benevolent dictator to appease the rebels, while creating enough wealth to keep the capitalists happy. You can try socialism, but that leads to communism, and that leads to death and destruction. You can try pure capitalism, and that alone can lead to death and destruction. Your best bet is to try and balance them together, but even then that can lead to death and destruction if the scales become too imbalanced. It’s a tricky conundrum that folks have been struggling with since we started out on this rock, so good luck with that.

Jump in the Sandbox for Endless Fun

If all you want to do is go build your own great society, sandbox play is available from the get go, which allows you to create a set-up how ever you want to play. You can have unlimited funds or start out almost broke, pick any island or archipelago you want, have pissed off neighbors or have them all singing kumbaya. The choices are up to you and there are a bunch of things to choose from. You can create a scenario and then share it with others, as well, by sharing the unique ID that is generated for it. You can start out in any era you want, so no need to work through oldentimes if you don’t want to. Jump right to the Modern era and gain access to things like a space program complete with a space shuttle, or if you fear the people, an advanced spying apparatus if you are looking to create a scary police state. You will create more rebels that way, but what’s the fun in having everyone happy?

Multiplayer Mode

In multiplayer, the set-up is similar to sandbox mode in that you can set things however you wish, with and endgame challenge of your choosing, or just open play as long as you can survive. You can play with up to three other folks with you, either on teams or every gamer for themselves. Every map is available from the start, as is every option you’ll find in the main story mode, so this mode can be just as overwhelming as the rest. The game requires practice and some memorization to be able to use the menu wheel quicker and more efficiently, and if your online opponent is attacking your palace, trying to reinforce your defenses in a rapid fashion becomes paramount to surviving the onslaught.

Your online opponent isn’t your only adversary in the game when playing in multiplayer. If and when you declare independence from the Crown, you’ll have to either bribe their representative or be forced to go to war. We ran into a small issue with that. We had built up a pretty good area on our island but hadn’t built up any guard towers or army bases. We were expecting the local militia to repel any attacks by the Crown. Instead, the Crown soldiers ran unabated through the countryside, destroying ranches, plantations, and anything else we had built. We had plenty of construction companies spread out across the island so rebuilding these destroyed places went pretty quick, but the crown kept attacking.

We were stuck in an endless war for 30 minutes that consisted of Crown soldiers destroying places in a bit of a circle, with our builders coming in behind them and repairing them. Our income was at a stalemate, and we had no funds available to build up any defenses at that point. In the end, all we could do is tell our builders to stop fixing stuff as we conceded what we though was a sure defeat. After the Crown soldiers had finally managed to take out about 50% of our holdings, they decided to quit fighting and we survived the war, ready to move on to the next era. It was rather mind boggling the way it played out, as the AI could have totally wiped us out, but instead just gave us a thrashing that required us to quit rebuilding in order for them to reduce us to a certain point. Had we known how that was going to play out, we would have ordered our staff to not rebuild right away and could have saved ourselves 30 minutes of our game time. Not sure if that was a bug or just a flaw in the AI mechanics.

Gorgeous Game

Tropico 6 is a gorgeous game when looking at it from on high and somewhat up close. The buildings had a surprising level of detail we weren’t expecting, all the way down to the statues of El Presidenté. The characters themselves weren’t all that detailed, but they were also really small and you never had to actually do much with them on an in-your-face level. The AI kept them always moving and always busy, even if they might just be goofing off on some leisure activity. The islands range from beautiful sandy beaches, to lush mountainous areas, and even includes some nasty volcanoes that can really ruin your day (and island).

Tropico 6 has taken the real-time strategy genre to a whole new level of micro-managing madness. Not only do you have to worry about running out of food, but you have to make and keep your allies happy, all the while keeping your local inhabitants pacified as well. Politics at this level takes a lot of work, a quick mind, at times a heavy hand, all with a dash of flair and elegance, and sometimes pirates.

  8

Tropico 6 review code provided by publisher and reviewed on a PS4 Pro. For more information on scoring, please read What our review scores really mean.

Tropico 6 Review – Make Tropico Great El Presidenté is back and is trying his best to stay in power. We have spent the last week in the Caribbean world of…

[beyondalice-rp]

Congratulations, Savanah! Your application for Odin Scotch has been accepted. Also, thanks for ruining my life with this application. You know what’s up.

→ AUTHOR INFORMATION

Name (or whatever you’d like to be called): Savanah

Age/Birthday: 20 / January 8th

Pronouns/Preference(s): She/Her

Timezone: PST

Activity Level: 5-7, depending. I’ll be in and out of the dash and my activity may lag while I find a rhythm during midterms and finals (if at all)  but I am on for plotting and the like almost every day.

Anything else?: Nope! Except that I’ve been sucked in. And I blame you all.

*I regret none of the angst you are about to read Amber.*

→ BASIC CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired Character’s Name: Odin Scotch

Age: 44

Species: Inhabitant

Titles/Aliases: The Lost Man, The Commander’s Dog, The King’s Sword

Home: The Palace

Relationships: Gideon Crimson, Fianna Nyx

Odin was never one to go back on his word, and those who find themselves within his inner circle have to do some serious damage before he’ll cut them off; even then he might allow them back, after many trials and tribulations and needless shouting.

 This is much what occurs with Gideon. After being away from his confidence for so long, parting from the Crimson King willfully left a mark on Odin’s very being. He’d trusted this man, believed in him and supported him wholeheartedly and all he’d become was a carbon copy of the very Royals they had fought against. At first he returns out of spite, wanting to look the King in the eye and spit in his face, wanting him to know that he no longer needed to feel a duty towards him. He was here to protect their people. It would take so much longer for him to feel like he could protect his old friend again. However, buried deep in the back of a drink-addled mind Odin knows that there will always be some string of loyalty and fealty that connects him to Gideon, no matter how angry he is at him. He knows, deep down, that he would still give his life for the man, even in his anger. He doesn’t know how he can feel around him anymore, how he can act and be, especially with the new Queen and their little girl. He knew Gideon but he doesn’t know the Crimson King. It frustrates him and it saddens him. He would have gone anywhere, done anything, for this man once. And now he doesn’t even know if he can curb his drinking for him.

 Fianna is so much more than what he expected when he first walked back onto the training pitch. After such a long absence it felt like coming home and, at first, he recoiled against the woman who drove him into the ground. He didn’t want this commander. He didn’t need this commander. And, yet, need her he did. Odin found himself drinking less, laughing, showing up to practice with a thirst for that thrum in his blood that he’d so dearly missed. And it is thanks to Fianna Nyx. She is possibly the hardest on him because she has heard the stories, has heard of the man he once was. She may even be convinced that he could become that man again, though it is definitely hidden under disdain and driving the older man to the brink of exertion. He owes a great deal of his returned humanity to her and will follow her wherever she leads. Even if it means away from the King.

Three sentences (min.) on their personality:

+ Noble, Wise, Reasonable

-  Alcoholic, Aimless, Mysterious

When people think of the knights of old Wonderland they think of Odin. He’s noble to a fault, too good, too loyal, too much for what Gideon eventually would become. His nobility is what made him walk away; he couldn’t watch this man he loved like a brother, like an extension of himself, tear himself apart and become just another dictator. He wouldn’t stand for it. His wisdom had served Gideon well, once, as had his reason. But he’d heard stories during his years of drunken stupor in the Woodlands; the King was paranoid of death, paranoid of his people. And then…he’d died. That had almost broken him. And then he’d come back, with a wife and a child. And Odin was confused and angry. This anger almost made him return, to spite the king, but it was a deep seated anger at himself. Gideon was almost killed and he wasn’t there to stop it. But he didn’t.

Drinking had become his life and, even with anger burning in his veins, he wouldn’t let Gideon see how far he had fallen. It was only when he heard about the dead fisherman that he picked up his sword and steered his horse back to the Palace, to confront one of the biggest demons of his past. During his time as The Lost Man he’d had no purpose, he’d had no friends, only memories of one. He had kept to himself, practiced his swordsmanship even when he was drunk off his ass because the time would come when he could face what he had become and would leave that behind. It would be a painful process, it would hurt him more than anything he had done, but going back would make him face his drunkenness, his inability to let himself forget the whispers about the King’s dead body. Say anything about him, but Odin knows what he is: a dog. Kick him and he’ll come back, time and again. Even a dog knows nobility is in facing what was hurting you, even if it is with your tail between your legs.

Face Claim: Daniel Sunjata

Para Sample:

(At least 2 paragraphs, 300 words minimum, in character, third-person narrative):

*I am not responsible for any Feelings this gives you Amber. You’ve been warned.*

Odin could only hear the beating of his heart, the sharpness of his breathing, as he strode down the Palace hallways, long legs eating up the distance between himself and Gideon.

Gideon. His friend. His King.

But no longer.

He could not watch him become this…this monster any longer. And it had been occurring right under his nose, all this time. He should be angry, should be shaking with it. Gideon lied to him, had been lying to him. All this time…

The throne room doors opened and he clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into the meat of his palms, bloody furrows by now. How could he be so fucking calm, sitting there on that throne, face twisted into a smile at the other man’s entrance but all Odin could see were the lies?

“I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. And you repay me by becoming what? Another monarch that I will eventually have to dethrone? It is my job to protect you, my sole reason for bein’ here. For wearin’ this-” Odin tugged at the collar of his cloak viciously, fabric tearing just a but at the brutality of his fingers. He grit his teeth into a snarl, as much a dog now as he always was, Gideon’s family crest burning into his chest beneath the chain mail and armor, beneath the fabric, sinew, and bone.

“They call me your Sword, your Dog. Ever loyal, they said. Always noble. By your side through every fight, shielding you from the brunt of it.” His chest was heaving, now, temples sweating, head pounding. He hurt, ached, deep in his chest. He had lied to himself for so long. He had wanted to believe that Gideon was good, that he could be the King their people needed. But he’d been blinded, by his charm, his grandeur. Gideon was like all the rest and yet this hurt the most of all.

“But how can a dog protect its master when he keeps kicking it away? How can a dog keep crawling back, time and time again, when all it wants is to know that everything is alright? I have followed you from the beginning, my friend, but I-I don’ believe I can do that anymore.”

And here was his own lie, a lie that could save him or damn him. Either way the man doing the sentencing was no longer one he knew. He was merely a shadow, a ghost, a wretch. “‘m sick, Gideon. It’s been coming on for a long time. I shake. I ache. I canna even hold a sword some days, let alone fasten my bloody armor.” He took a deep breath, held his head high, and reached his fingers up to the fastener at his throat. He made them tremble, made them appear weak.

Nothing was wrong. It was all a lie. Then again, wasn’t Gideon all a lie, too?

The cloak fell to the throne room floor and pooled at his feet, red like blood. His chest felt empty, as though expecting a great loss. Really, it had happened long ago. Odin had just been filling it with bitter hope, booze, women, men. He turned, hands clenched once more, finding purchase in the bloody crescents he’d made.

He was so quiet. Didn’t he even care? Or was he too far gone to notice anything but his own paranoia?

“You’ll have my sword when you need it, in time.” As always. With that he strides from the room, as quickly as he entered it.

He was stony silent as he gathered his belongings, as he emptied his room of memories of laughter and nights spent drinking. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Odin left that day, nameless. He would remain so until he was called back again.

He was the King’s once. Now he was left to the wind, drunk on his bitterness and clutching to a false hope that, one day, he would crawl back with his tail between his legs and find a good man wearing Gideon’s skin again.