#fave group of characters for me

[faithconsumingcope]

my personal asoiaf obsession is “the dead generation” - lyanna, rhaegar, elia, ashara, arthur, domeric etc. - and the way their impact is ever-present on the narrative & characters but can’t speak for themselves bc they’re dead and no matter how strongly they make the reader feel it’s always just slightly out of reach

[artuurle]

"who knows if i draw them like this again" - says the person who immediately draws them like this even more (and a godpoke as a treat) . shut upppppp

[satsuha]

when i see aa fans not even giving aa5 and 6 a chance it's just so. sad to me. like you can never know what your opinion on something is until you give it a try and why wouldn't you do that for a series you love? i understand that pre-AJ trilogy remaster it was more difficult to play 5/6 but that's also not the case anymore since they're now on all platforms

it's especially bizarre when it seems to be purely a fandom echo chamber perspective like.. aa5 and 6 have the same metacritic score as aa3, one of the most beloved games in the fandom. aa5 is the highest rated aa game by famitsu. i know critic scores are rarely the best indicator for a game's quality but these games don't even have mixed critic/audience ratings and yet they're treated like the worst things to ever happen to the series by large groups of fans?

and it isn't like the older games don't have parts that are heavily criticized but for some reason flaws are just. impermissible for these two games. i don't know it just sucks i wish more people would trust their own judgments instead of blindly following others... everyone has different tastes and will experience things differently!!

tl;dr can you at least hate on aa5 and 6 after playing them. PLEASE

[petorahs]

pokemon influencer meetup!

[queenlucythevaliant]

Okay gang, here's a silly little game. I've assembled six teams of blended Narnia and Tolkien/LotR characters. Here they are:

For bonus points, tell me in the tags where you're going on your road trip, who has what role (driving, snacks, aux) on the road, and what you'll stop off and see along the way

[alukaforyou]

sometimes i think about this txt cover of invitation and... that long haired guy is just choso with his hair down TO ME

[daryslaytonramblings]

pl vs aa au in which everything is the same except they get cool medieval (inspired) fits to match the atmosphere

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [AO3]

This was originally going to be a retelling of the entirety of Farah's story in MW 2019, but I underestimated how long that would be, so these are more of snapshots of her life, up until 2019.

Farah is going to be a central character in part two because it will revolve around Urzikstan, so I was very excited to get into her character in depth. This was probably the hardest side story to write because I think the original story was already good (it's easier to write for something that had a lot of flaws in it rather than something good... maybe that's why I like cod after all these months lmao)

Anyway, I also decided I'm actually not done with the side stories, and the last actual one will be of... Roba, of all people. I know I made the comic for Ghost's origin story, but I never got to show what he did to Roba.

Alright That's enough rambling let's get to Farah's story

She doesn’t remember the first time she has heard of revenants. Humans who are saved from death, only to come back with abilities from worlds beyond their own. Of how they are revered, looked up to. And yet, misunderstood.

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

The once-dead are not heroes among her people. They’re something to be pitied; people who chose to stay on earth and suffer, instead of move on to a better, calmer existence in the place after death. Take on the burden of the Reapers, dust off the dirt of their graves, and continue the endless fight for freedom.

In Urzikstan, revenants are called “those who sacrifice”.

Her baba taught her and her brother the different names of Reapers, told them tales of those who sacrifice as bedtime stories. She always found them fascinating, as opposed to her brother. They were often grim, their ending tragic and unsatisfying, but they felt more real like that. Felt more like her day-to-day life than any other fairy tale could.

She wouldn’t know how much her story would be like those, before it was too late.

The day she died is muddy, in her memory. Yet another thing she sacrificed, in order to stay in this world. A deafening whistle, followed by walls collapsing around her. Streaks of ash on the bloodless face of her mama. Pain, unlike anything she could imagine. The voices of her baba and brother and uncle, searching. The sickening shifting of concrete above her, whispers praying for mercy, the walls closing in on her-

And she dies.

At seven, before she knew how to write the alphabet, buried beneath the earth with only the pale face of her mother as comfort, Farah Ahmed Karim died. Yet, she did not move on.

The memory of the first time she saw her Reaper was clear. She may have forgotten her mother’s lullabies, or her father’s laughter. She has not been given the privilege to forget her Reaping.

The first thing she noticed was the clean air, an odd odor to it but blessedly lacking the dust she has been inhaling for what felt like hours. The lack of pain was the second - her legs no longer crushed under thick concrete walls.

The monster, was the third. A being made of sharp shapes, glistening metal melting and hardening, flowing through cracks in the stone face of the Reaper.

As the stone face moved, grinding against itself, Farah got up to her feet. Her legs screamed at her to run, but the memory of her baba’s stories calmed her.��

“The ones who take do not mean harm to the ones who sacrifice, Farah.” he told her, whispering as to not wake her brother, “they need each other. They need our sacrifice.”

“What for, baba? Why would the ones who take need to give humans their powers?”

Baba sighs, a small smile on his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, “we don’t know for sure, but we must have something they don’t. Some say we humans were chosen by chance.”

“What do you think?” she asks, her endless craving to know more yet satiated.

“I think we and the ones who take are connected, somehow. I think we are the only ones that can sacrifice.”

Instead of running, instead of listening to all of her senses, Farah stepped forward, and with a small voice asked, “w-who are you?”

The stone face turns to stare at her.

“I AM MIGHT. THE STONE, THE BLADE, THE BULLET.”

The Reaper tilts its head, metal rivers splashing into an endless void.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

Farah blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, tries to speak louder, “I’m… I’m Farah? I’m a human, I’m-”

“YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, FARAH. YOU ARE DEAD, BURIED, CRUSHED.”

Her lips turn downwards, and she can’t stop the tears any longer, “w-why are you asking if you know?”

The rocks grind in an almost rhythmic way, and somehow Farah knows it is laughing. It makes her avert her eyes.

“Can… can you save my mama?” she asks, and the sound stops.

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

“S-she… I think she also died, can you-”

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

She grasps at the torn edges of her dress, sniffing her runny nose, “it’s not… it’s not fair…” her face scrunches as she sobs.

The Reaper leans forward, the light surrounding it reflecting with dazzling colors off of its body. Farah closes her eyes, not because she is afraid of it, but because she is afraid for her mama.

“I CANNOT SAVE HER, BUT I CAN SAVE YOU.”

Farah opens her eyes. Baba said he thinks only humans can sacrifice, but maybe not all humans can. Maybe mama wasn’t able to sacrifice, but…

She lifts her hands to wipe roughly at her face, tears and snot smearing on her skin. Her eyes trail up the falling liquid metal, beating heart deafening her ears.

Her voice is steady when she says, “I want to see baba and Hadir. I don’t want to leave them!”

The stones grind once more, a sort of excitement shaking the very ground.

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

She nods and repeats, “I-I want to live!”

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE MIGHT, THE STRENGTH, THE POWER TO LIVE, FARAH. AND I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL.”

The metal drips near her feet, heat emanating from them. It reminds her of home.

“I choose to sacrifice. For you, for baba, for Hadir. For… for mama.” Farah whispers.

The stones shift, circling her. Her breath picks up at the thoughts of crushing walls, but it is not dark here. No one is shouting. She doesn’t smell death.

 Metal singes her clothes, and she wants to jump back, but the stones stop her. It burns. It hurts.

It is not dark, but the bright colors blind her all the same.

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

When she wakes again, Farah doesn’t feel pain. She’s still under ruin, somewhere different from where she was before. All she sees of her mama is a hand, and she holds it. She notices the skin of her own hand glistening in the meager light filtering through dust and ash, like colorful metal. Like her Reaper.

It felt like hours pass before baba found her. She feels hunger and thirst, but the weight of the building doesn’t pain her anymore. Baba is crying when he finds her, pulls her out of the wreckage carefully, asking if she’s hurt.

She tells him nothing hurts. He pulls back from their embrace, his brows scrunched in confusion until he notices.

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

Baba closes his eyes and hugs her harder, and she knows it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. He tells her everything will be alright. She wanted to believe it. She couldn’t.

They find mama. Hadir tries to wake her up, but Farah pulls his hands away. She tells him mama is in another place now, somewhere better than here. Hadir’s hands shake in hers, but he nods and pulls away.

Uncle and baba rush them home. Farah wants to cover her ears, the sirens don’t stop sounding, the noise pitching up and down along with her heart. Loud explosions make her flinch, so Hadir grabs her hand. It makes her feel safer, for a moment.

They run through the market. There’s a truck stopping in their way.

The Russians.

Baba lifts her in his arms, Uncle taking Hadir. They tell them to cover their mouth, when the Russians throw weird gas at them. It smells like the liquid mama used to clean their house, and it made her eyes itch and burn.

They enter their home, but baba doesn’t stop moving. He gives Hadir a gas mask. He will have to share his with Farah. Uncle leaves, telling baba he’ll meet them later.

“W-where are we going?” Hadir asks, clutching the mask.

Baba grabs a backpack, hidden behind the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going to the bridge, then to the mountains. There will be no sirens there.”

Farah hurries to follow him, wiping blood on her dress. Her skin isn’t bruised, but it feels weird.

“I don’t want to go…” Hadir says with a frown. Baba turns to look at him. He crouches and pets his shoulder.

“I know, dearest. I know. We will return, I promise.” his tone changed, stern like when he taught her not to touch the hot pan, “you need to be strong for your sister now, alright?”

Baba points to Hadir’s heart, “you keep mama here,” his hand moves to his head, “and you keep this clear. That’s how we survive, you understand?”

“Yes, baba.”

Baba shoulders the backpack, and begins walking towards the door, “when we get outside, you stay with me, okay?”

As he goes to open it, the handle moves, and the whole frame shakes. Someone is trying to get in.

“Stay behind me!”

The door slams open, a large man with a gas mask walking in. Farah takes a step back. The man meets her eyes and closes the door, and she stares at his gun.

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

Baba throws his backpack at him, the man shooting a couple of bullets into the floor. They miss Farah’s feet by a few centimeters, and she freezes, breath held in her lungs. Hadir throws himself against the man, but gets shoved back.

The man pulls out a knife, baba manages to take it, stab the man. But it doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t save him, when the man pushes him to the floor, and shoots one, two, three, four bullets.

Only then do her feet unstick, and she mutters to herself, “hide!”

She runs back to her and Hadir’s room, crawling under the bed. The man shouts angrily and she hears something break.

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

As the man talks to someone on his phone, Farah crawls towards the kitchen, finding a knife. Mama always warned her not to play with them, but if the man catches Hadir…

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

When she finds the man, he’s leaning against a wall, his hand clutching his side. Before she can think it over, Farah lowers and slashes at his legs. The man screams in pain, shooting a few bullets at the ground, and turns around to slap her.

It doesn’t hurt, but she drops the knife, so she runs away again.

One of baba’s tools is on the ground, must’ve fallen from his backpack. She grabs it and continues running, the man on her tail now.

The man says mean words to her, in Arabic, but her ears are pounding, her own heavy breaths the only thing she can hear. Her grip on the tool tightens.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

“You’re going to see father soon, you piece of shit child!”

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

“You’re dead, you hear me?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!”

Farah runs forward, aiming for his other leg, but he turns around and grabs her hand before she can stab him.

“There you are!” he grabs her by the neck, slamming her to the floor, “got you!”

She can feel his hand wrap around her, crushing her windpipe, but it doesn’t hurt. The man grunts, before he freezes.

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

Hadir jumps on the man’s shoulders, screaming, “get off her!!!”. He uses the knife she dropped to stab him in the neck, “get him, Farah, now!”

Farah grabs the tool, and uses all her strength to stab it into the man’s chest. He screams as flesh gives under the metal.

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

Four times, until the man stops moving and making any sound. Farah takes his mask, the gun too heavy and tool buried in his gut.

Farah and Hadir return to baba. Hadir tries to help him up, but baba stops him.

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Tears well in her eyes. Baba is leaving as well.

Hadir wraps his hands around baba’s, “what do we do?”

“You survive. Whatever it takes.” he turns to look at Farah, “even… even your sacrifice. Never give…up…”

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

Hadir stares at him for a moment longer. He gets up, “let’s go.”

They weave through the town, a murky green tinting the air. People are gasping and coughing around them, until a gunshot silences them. Hadir says it’s not fair. Farah knows.

It’s not fair, that they pass by people who get shot, and don’t get back up. It’s not fair, that she has to kill twice more, just for them to get a chance at freedom.

It’s not fair, when a man drags both of them away from it, a cruel smile on his lips as he inspects her.

It’s not fair, that she knows to recognize the malice in his eyes.

The soldiers take them to a prison. They find out she is one of those who sacrificed.

It’s not fair, she tells to the Reaper in her heart, that her sacrifice was not enough to save anyone.

She learns very quickly to hate Barkov. He learns, quicker, that his usual torture methods don’t work on her. He finds her weakness not in her own flesh, but in the flesh of the others. Hadir, in most cases. They keep the men and women separated, only allowing her to see him once every few weeks, and every time she gives them trouble, he takes the punishment. He tries to hide it, but he can’t hide his limp, or his bloodshot eyes, or the scars that keep multiplying upon his skin.

Contrasted with her flawless arms, glistening oddly in the light.

She gets into fights with her Reaper, in the earlier days. Demanding answers, for the simple question of “why?”.

Why her? Why this power, that only protects her? Why taunt her, tell her she’s under the Reaper of Might, yet show her every day how weak she is?

There are whispers among the guards, of a person by the name of “Karim”. A Commander, aiding the prisoners, attempting to contact foreign forces by transmitting messages from the inside. Barkov spends hours torturing her and the others, trying to find them. After a while, Farah notices a glint of playfulness in the wretched man’s eyes.

He knows who Karim is. He just wants to break them, annihilate the sense of fragile hope Karim gives the prisoners.

Barkov wants their spirit broken. Farah knows he will fail, because as long as any of them stand, they will not give up. For those who can't fight any longer, for those who are still with them in this hell, for Urzikstan.

They think one can uproot it from them. What they don’t know, will never understand, is that you can’t kill an idea. You can’t torture the memory of freedom out of them.

The soldiers seem on edge, mumbling in Russian about rumors of enemy forces invading Urzikstan. One of them slaps the back of her head when she stares too long.

The cycle continues - Barkov interrogates her, always keeping another prisoner in the room to torture in her place. Today it is Azadeh, younger than her by two years. Azadeh doesn’t flinch at the glint of a knife, but she screams as Barkov buries it in her thigh.

Farah’s guts burn at her wailing, at Barkov’s cocksure grin, his hand easily yanking the knife out of spasming muscles.

She breaks. Tells him she is Karim. It feels like an end.

Barkov freezes, before he pounces. Knocking her out of the chair, he covers her mouth, pinches her nose, deprives her of air.

Not many things can hurt her, but Farah still needs oxygen to live. Her wrists twitch roughly against the bindings tying her to the chair, Azadeh calls for her. Barkov snarls.

“I will not let terrorists like you ruin my country.”

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

As the edges of her vision darken, a soldier bursts into the room, his movements rushed as he informs Barkov the prison is under attack.

Barkov, always needing to have the last laugh, tells her she hasn’t saved anyone, that Karim’s role was only to doom her people, and orders his soldiers to the warehouse, to kill everyone.

Air fills her lungs as she inhales for the first time in over a minute. Barkov tells the man to take Azadeh to the warehouse, and her to solitary confinement. She gives Azadeh an encouraging nod, before they’re separated.

Karim hasn’t failed yet. As long as they’re still alive, she hasn’t failed.

Solitary is part of the older section of the building. Farah has been here enough times to know the rebar in the far corner of the cell is loose, and she herself have made sure, should the need arise, it will be easy to extract from the cracked concrete floor.

The moment the soldiers leave, she gets to work, pulling the metal with a grunt. With a few well-placed hits, Farah breaks the lock, and opens the door.

It is silent outside, in the way a graveyard is. Something sick spreads on her tongue, as she sneaks out of solitary. A few soldiers are making their way to the main cell block, to take the remaining prisoners to the warehouse, Farah assumes. The rebar feels lighter in her hands.

The first soldier she hits over the head screams as he goes down. The rest instinctively start shooting her. It doesn’t do much to stop her from caving their skulls in, besides ripping a few new holes into her clothes.

Searching the bodies yields her a key and an extra mag for one of the rifles. All of them were either empty or jammed, the frantic soldiers not recognizing her.

For them, all Urzik are the same.

Her sisters are relieved to see her approach. The gunshots scared them, fearing it was anyone but her. She opens the cell, freeing them. She uses the key to open a gun locker, and orders them to take up arms. No hesitation is visible on their faces. They all know this is an end.

Of the soldiers or theirs, it is yet to be seen.

“Our brothers have been taken to the warehouse to be executed. We are not going to let that happen.” Farah snarls, fingers aching as she grips the rifle, “are we?”

“No, Commander!” her sisters yell in unison.

Farah feels pride bubble up within her. They haven’t broken their spirit.

A series of far away explosions makes their little group flinch. Ayah asks, “who is attacking us, Commander? Are they on our side?”

“I don’t know. And as long as they distract Barkov and his dogs, it doesn’t matter. We need to move before it’s too late.”

They slam open the doors, Russian soldiers already ready at the other side. Her sisters’ aim is wobbly, the recoil more than they’ve experienced, but they have one thing the Russians don’t.

They don’t fear death anymore.

Nadia was injured in the firefight against a sniper. Ghalia has been limping since an explosion knocked her down. Darine and Azadeh are tired, they’ve been in solitary for days with little to no food or water.

They manage to hole up in the warehouse, but there’s no one there. Farah shouts for Hadir, her echo the only answer.

“Commander!” Azadeh calls, “there’s a way through here, this is must be where they are!”

Farah kicks the door open, turning right to clear the hallway, when a body slams into her from the left. She falls to the ground heavily, teeth bared as a barrel lines with her forehead. The other two soldiers aim at her sisters, Azadeh screaming in horror, “please don’t shoot!”

For a moment, Farah loses hope. Her mind supplies her with Barkov’s words.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

In the next, the skylights shatter. Precise bullets take out the three soldiers, not a single wasted shot. Ropes are thrown through the broken windows, and men wearing gas masks repel down. One of them looks at her, “Whose Commander Karim?”

Farah huffs as she pushes a dead body off of her, “I’m Karim.”

The soldier swings his weapon to the side, “we got your message” he lifts the mask up, revealing a pale face, “Lieutenant John Price. Where are the others?”

The Lieutenant offers her a hand, and Farah grunts as he lifts her, “in there. Straight ahead.”

Price looks at the dark hallway, before turning back and lowering his mask, “stay close!”

Azadeh’s expression is uncertain when Farah stops her from following them. Wordlessly, she nods and returns to her wounded sisters’ side. They both know the path ahead is meant only for trained soldiers.

Trained soldiers, and those who cannot die to a bullet.

Farah keeps her rifle up as the soldiers and her scan the hall. Tanks with warning signs plastered on their exterior line the narrow passage way, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to know what’s inside.

“Got two!” Price warns, and takes out one of the guards. The other doesn’t waste time watching his partner go down, and before one of Price’s soldiers puts a bullet in his head, he aims and shoots Farah.

Straight shot to her heart. These guards are more skilled than the ones she fought through to get here.

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders, and Price’s wide eyes stare at her through the gas mask, “you’re not wearing armor- Karim, sit the fuck down, I saw the bullet hit you-!”

Farah frowns, following his line of sight to the hole in her shirt.

“Lieutenant-”

He holds her as if she’s about to collapse, muttering, “why are you not bleeding…”

Farah grabs his hands, and the Lieutenant’s brows shoot up.

“You’re a revenant.” his hands loosen, and drop to his side.

Farah nods, “no bullet or blade can hurt me.”

Something odd passes by Price’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything to indicate what.

“Lieutenant, the prisoners are here! We need the breacher for the door!”

They run towards the back, and Farah slides to a stop at the scene.

In a room with large bullet-proof windows, where fire wars with the Russian’s sickly green gas, her brothers pound on the glass, their screams muffled.

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

She shakes out of her stupor when she notices Hadir. Slumped in the corner by a door, unmoving.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

Farah runs to the other side of the door, where Price and his men are attempting to pry open it. They don’t have time for this.

“Stand back!” she grunts, and Price barely pulls the other soldier away before she shoots 4 bullets into the lock.

She barely manages to catch Hadir when the door slams open, her brothers running out towards fresh air. She should feel happiness, that they were fast enough to save them.

But in her arms is the still body of her brother, the one who has been through this hell with her from the beginning. The one with their mama’s eyes, and their baba’s kindness. Farah feels tears run down her face as she presses two fingers to his pulse. Nothing.

There are voices around her, speaking to her. She doesn’t hear a thing. No sound is worth hearing when her brother’s heart does not beat.

Price crouches in front of her, his mask off despite the gas filtering in from the room. His voice is gentle when he speaks, “Karim… we need to move.”

She shakes her head. It reminds her of how Hadir didn’t want to leave their house, when baba knew they had no choice. She has no choice but to leave him.

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

As the Lieutenant urges her again, as her brothers and sisters start to realize what happened, as Farah’s fingers stay on a paling wrist, she feels it.

A heartbeat.

Hadir gasps, his hands shoot up to claw at his neck frantically, and he jumps away from Farah. Everyone is watching him carefully as he catches his breath, silent and knowing.

Farah clenches her fists, failing to quell the shaking, “...why…?”

Why did you choose this over seeing mama and baba again?

Hadir turns to face her, but his eyes don’t meet hers. They’re not the blue-gray they were before, she notices. Green, like the gas that killed him.

“You survive, whatever it takes. Never give up.” Hadir repeats their baba’s last words. “Not even death will come between us, sister. Not anymore.”

“May your soul find rest.” she says, and her brothers and sisters murmur it with her. Hadir then lifts his gaze, and he gives her a sad smile.

Price and his soldiers stand back, looking properly shaken by seeing a dead man return. For them it is an anomaly.

In Urzikstan, they all know what a sacrifice looks like.

Farah gives herself a moment more to mourn Hadir, mourn the peace he refused to receive in death.

She gets up, grips her rifle, and orders her people, “collect survivors and supplies. We’re leaving.”

“Sister.”

She stops cleaning her knife for a moment, acknowledging Hadir’s presence with a nod, before continuing, “any sign of Barkov?”

Hadir drags a chair to sit in front of her, “no, we’re secure here. The Lieutenant cleared the area well.” he watches her hands work on the sharpening metal, “I… I wanted to tell you about my powers.”

Her hand freezes. “Immunity to the gas. I know.”

“No.”

Farah opens her mouth to question him, but when she looks up at Hadir…

Mist flows from his eyes and nose, pouring down his features. Green, toxic, smells of chemicals and death.

When he speaks, more gas flows from his mouth, “I’m not only immune, sister. I can create it.” fear paints his words.

“Enough.” she orders, though to her ears it sounds more like begging. Hadir stops using his power all the same, and it is with shame that he looks at the thin level of gas coating the floor of the run-down room.

Farah puts the knife and whetstone away, and hugs Hadir. He presses closer, and she feels his body tremble with silent sobs.

“You will not use this power. We do not need weapons of the enemy to win this war.” Her brother may be doomed, cursed forever to bear the gas within him, but it does not mean he needs to continue Barkov’s legacy.

Hadir doesn’t respond for a while, but when he pulls back, he nods. “Yes, Commander Karim.” he says, pride in the title. “What are your orders to our brothers and sisters?”

Farah sheaths the knife, her voice strong and clear, “Barkov must’ve had more prisons. It’s time we find more hands to help our cause.”

Alex Keller is… odd.

He had a surface level knowledge of the situation in Urzikstan when he arrived. Not from a tactical standpoint - CIA doesn’t let details like those escape them, of course. But from a human’s, and perhaps a revenant’s, it was clear Alex was not used to seeing such disgusting levels of violence unhidden for all to see. Barkov doesn’t need to hide it. America already knows.

The world already knows.

Keller’s abilities as a revenant proved advantageous from the very first mission they had. Infiltrating has never been easier, with a man able to become invisible to the naked eye. Later on he has told her of his weaknesses, that his form is still corporal even when see-through, and that electronic optics are able to catch traces of him. His honesty doesn’t go unnoticed, and Farah appreciates the trust he puts in her.

Hadir didn’t trust him at first. Despite his relation to Captain Price, he was wary of the American. It didn’t matter much to Farah, as long as they were amicable enough to work together, but seeing Hadir slowly let his guard down over the weeks was a moment of happiness in her days.

It helps most in days when Hadir seems distant, when a fog she can only call a thirst for revenge clouds his eyes. It feels like the times she has to fight against his violent suggestions double every new mission.

Something is brewing in his mind, she can tell. Hadir doesn’t want to share it with her.

At least Alex doesn’t push back against her orders with no good reason…

They’re on ground now, Alex using Hadir’s Sniper to scope the Highway of Death, and Farah spotting for him. They’re waiting for forces of Al-Mudahiyn, The Sacrificers, to pass through.

Al-Mudahiyn and the ULF used to be one and the same, until they weren’t. They share the goal of liberation, but where the ULF chooses to prioritize the safety of the people of Urzikstan, The Sacrificers choose the retribution on the Russians to be theirs.

Liberation will not be achieved peacefully, Farah knows that. But revenge won’t bring it either, and as much as she would hate it if it were to happen, if she had the choice to free her country but let her oppressors walk away unharmed, she would. She is sick of seeing her brothers and sisters die, and sacrifice, and bow their heads to men who see them as lesser.

In that, Al-Mudahiyn and her disagree. The militia focuses its powers on creating chaos among the Russian’s ranks, within Russia itself, and anywhere where its sympathizers live. And while they both deal in violence, Farah cannot agree to it being the objective.

It is a tool. One she will wield only as long as her enemy does. 

The SAS and CIA have begun to retaliate against Al-Mudahiyn, as has Barkov, their actions too flashy to ignore. Stealing several containers of Russian experimental gas was the last nail in the coffin.

The ULF along with Captain Price’s team decided to work together to stop them.

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

On her mark, Alex takes down the two snipers that attempted to set up on the roof. Killing them is a calculated risk; it could alert their target and cause them to change course, but leaving them alive could’ve risked Hadir and his team, who are nearer to the road.

Two fighters from Hadir’s team take the truck and park it in the middle of the highway as a makeshift blockade. She watches as they rig it up with explosives, and orders them to wait for her signal.

Their target, as do many in The Sacrificers’ ranks, is a revenant. According to Alex’s sources in the CIA, they’re just a Revenant of Flesh. Their healing powers could save them from some injuries, but an explosion should kill them.

And if the explosion doesn’t do them in, bullets will.

They were ready for an ambush. Armored trucks, snipers, mortar teams.

“We need help! Where is Captain Price?!” Farah shouts as she fires on a few fighters making their way through the ruined house they’ve taken cover in. Alex pops up to shoot as well, but she pushes him behind her when a few bullets hit too close for comfort.

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

Hadir shouts from the rooftop beside theirs, “we cannot wait! I’ve got more firepower in the truck!” an explosion shakes the foundations of the house, “Alex! Follow me!”

Alex looks back at her, and she nods. Hadir’s intuition never failed them, his habit of preparing for the worst saved operations more than once. He’s not her second-in-command just because of their blood relation, she trusts him more than anyone else.

That is why, when green, toxic gas started covering the abandoned village rapidly, Farah didn’t dare think it was him. Hadir wouldn’t do that, he promised her.

She hears him shout to Alex that there are gas masks in the bunker. It should’ve tipped her off. It didn’t.

Coughing horribly, she ran towards the bunker, her steps unsteady as the gas coats her lungs. She has never forgotten the way it claws down her throat, burning, seizing her muscles.

Alex comes into view just as Farah’s vision begins to fade, and the last words she hears singe worse than any chemical could.

��H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

When she comes to, it’s to the smell of dust. Her throat still burns, but as she coughs, she feels clean air filter through her nose. Farah blinks her eyes open, to see Hadir equip a gas mask on Alex’s face. He notices her eyes following his movements.

“Sister…” Hadir leaves Alex to approach her, his arms open. Before, she would’ve taken comfort to see he is not injured.

Now, all she sees is anger. Green, sickly, violent anger.

Farah pushes him away, but she is weakened, so his arms don’t leave hers, “how could you do this?!”

He tries to placate her. It makes her shake with exertion to get away. “I had no choice, Farah! I-”

“No. Not like this.” her eyes roll back, and before she loses consciousness again, she mumbles, “you promised…”

“-Farah!… Alex!”

She grunts. Her arms feel weighted when she pushes the dusty gas mask up and off her face. Alex does the same, trying to get up on his feet and failing.

Price’s voice invades her mind, and she winces. It is an unfamiliar feeling, still. “You’re alright, Farah. You’re alright.”

Still unused to the powers, she chooses to speak, “where is he…? Where is he?!”

Price finally reaches them, helping Farah get up, only for her to push off to rush out the crooked door, “he’s gone, Farah…”

She snarls. How dare he run, how could he leave- “no… Hadir… HADIR!!!”

“Farah!” Price follows her, catching her when she stumbles on the steps outdoors, “Farah, stop! Stop, he’s gone!”

Her fists clench on dry earth and she screams. Coward, liar, monster. No curse is bad enough to describe that fucking dog.

She feels Price wrap an arm around her, not to support, but to comfort. It reminds her why they’re here in the first place.

“There is no thief.” she tilts her head up, staring at Price’s blue-gray eyes. His brows knit in confusion, and she continues, “he created the gas. I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

She feels Price pull images from her memories. She lets him.

The Captain looks through her interactions with Hadir for the past few weeks. At first, Farah thinks he doesn’t believe her word, but Price relays to her that he’s not doing it for himself.

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

“There’s no way you could’ve known, Farah.” he says out loud.

Alex joins him behind them, leaning on another soldier, “it’s okay, Farah. We’ll get him.”

She wants to bristle at those almost meaningless comforting gestures, but the look in Alex’s eyes is pleading her to let it go, for now.

Price helps her up again, shouting to Alex, “we need to un-ass this target- NOW!”

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

Corpses line the desolate streets, no bird dares to sing at the sight. Both Al-Mudahiyn and ULF fighters lay still, eyes bulging and throat scratched raw. She grits her teeth, but her eyes don’t stray from the sight, even as the aircraft rises to the air.

Alex places a hand on her shoulder after a while, a questioning hum following.

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

A voice that has haunted her for the last two decades drifts closer to her, whispering into her ears a sentence she hates to acknowledge has never been wrong.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

At twenty-seven, Farah Ahmed Karim has lost the last remaining blood relative she had. There was no one left to mourn, except her.

In a dusty helicopter, with the smell of noxious gas still in her every breath, Farah promised to find him, the walking corpse of her brother, and stop him before he drags more of them down.

And unlike the man who once was her brother, Farah keeps her promises.

[fromtheseventhhell]

Saying that non-conforming female characters don't face as much misogyny as their "feminine" counterparts is so funny cause literally the misogyny in their treatment is more overt because they aren't staying "in their place" like men think they should. The disdain for women + misogynistic societal ideals are so much more blatant in male characters interacting with these women. Countless times they are, in essence, told they need to sit down, shut up, and know their place but somehow that translates into them having "masculine privilege". I can only assume that people with this take haven't actually read the books and only get their information from second-hand sources.

[cielrouge]

tagged by @piyo-13 to make a poll of my top 5 characters and see who comes out on top and well....

Honorable Mentions: Mishil from Queen Seondeok (the OG baddie bitch antiheroine!!! Watching this sageuk as a kid literally alternated my brain chemistry hahaha), Emily Throne from Revenge (another OG antiheroine girlie I was frothing at the mouth over!!!) and Jem Carstairs from The Infernal Devices (the stranglehold this boi had on me during the heyday of the YA paranormal romance era LMAOOO)

Tagging @gyuseulogy, @selkiestars, @skadren, @whenquietthunders, @yukipri, and anyone else who wants to do this!

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

hi. pretty please consider. Saki and Souma parallels

[inkbagel]

This collab I joined like eight months ago that I didn’t really enjoy being in finally got posted today but for some reason only on twitter and I don’t go there so I can’t even see the whole thing :/

[mariocki]

Donald Sutherland guest stars as the appropriately named Philip Guest, a less appropriately unbalanced kidnapper, in Gideon's Way: The Millionaire's Daughter (1.21, ITC, 1966)

[amberskywrites]

Hello! I return your STS-- I see that you do a lot of fanfic as well as original writing, which is awesome! Engage with what interests you! I wanted to know what your favorite part of worldbuilding was as well, and what worldbuilding is like in fanfic, if there's worldbuilding at all? I hope that doesn't sound rude, I just haven't really engaged with fanfiction on the writer or reader's end too terribly much, and on one hand, you would think the world is already established, but on the other, I feel like there have to be gaps you need to fill in sometimes? Thank you!

Thanks for returning the STS!!

So, first a disclaimer: I am still very new to worldbuilding! At least, worldbuilding in-depth. I used to just make sure I had basics figured out, enough for the story to progress, and then just figure things out as I went. Worldbuilding used to be super daunting to me 😅 and still is sometimes, I won't lie! But recently I've found myself really invested in it, and it's been a lot more fun than I could have imagined!

Alrighty, that outta the way...

A TL;CR as well because I kinda rambled on: favorite part of worldbuilding is magic systems and was the whole reason I began writing Not of This World. As for fanfics, I personally rarely worldbuild with the exception of my most beloved fic (by me. i adore writing this fic) Eternal, where I did quite a bit of worldbuilding especially where the magic system is concerned.

My favorite part of worldbuilding:

My favorite part of worldbuilding is definitely creating magic systems. I love writing high fantasy, and creating a system (or systems) of magic has always been a part of worldbuilding I've enjoyed, even when I was hesitant to do much worldbuilding. Usually, it's the magic systems that get me really invested in a world.

My current wip Not of This World began, really, with the initial thought of "what if magic physically manifested on a person?". Then it turned to considering what kinds of magic would have a physical manifestation, what those manifestations would look like, why would certain manifestations occur (arms vs legs vs hair vs eyes etc.), what are some kinds that wouldn't have much physical manifestation. This then led to considering, okay, what if people practiced more than one kind of magic? What would the consequences be? What would they look like then? And then as I started writing some characters, I also started considering would these characters feel pain when learning magic? Could this lead to these characters becoming disabled? How would they accommodate those disabilities in the world?

And I gotta say, exploring all that has been probably my favorite part of writing NoTW so far. I could talk all day about the magic system beyond like, the questions that led to my decisions, like full on just ramble about the answers to those questions and more, but I shall move on for now ^^

Worldbuilding in fanfics!

By the way, not rude at all to ask about this! Especially if fics aren't something you dabble in, I think it's really great that you asked, cause there are definitely differences I think! Personally, I don't worldbuild too much in my fics unless I am writing an AU and even then, it's still not often. Often I stick with the canon world, and only worldbuild if I am drastically changing the setting. (my awesome friend @hihopelessromantics does some fantastic worldbuilding for fics though!!)

I will talk about the one fic that I have done more worldbuilding than usual for though!! It's my darling child, Eternal. It's a canon rewrite and divergence of the anime/manga Nanatsu no Taizai (The Seven Deadly Sins). In a lot of aspects, I kept what was from the canon world, because I enjoyed how that world was already built. It was one of the things that drew me to the series originally on top of the potential the characters all had.

However, just because I liked most of what was in the world already does not mean I liked all of it. As you mentioned, there are definitely gaps in places, and in others, there are downright plotholes that, when planning a canon rewrite, just... gave me a headache if I'm honest. And then in some instances, I just outright did not like what was in canon.

Ironically, for me, this happened to be the magic system. Specifically how some characters were impacted by magic they either possessed naturally, were bestowed with by higher beings, or cursed with in some way. So, a lot of my worldbuilding for Eternal has focused on this, altering the magic system to make more sense to me but also, in my opinion, utilize potential that was not met in canon. Figuring out these aspects of worldbuilding genuinely makes ne super excited to write the fic, because I'm excited to share my twists with others and get their takes on it, and see how other's may like it compared to the familiar canon worldbuilding.

I think for me, I have two mindsets when it comes to worldbuilding: original fiction worldbuilding and fanfic worldbuilding. For the first, it's more of a sense of "What do I want to see/explore? How far can I take x concept and what would it then influence in culture, characters, and landscape?" For the latter, for me personally, it is very much a case of "What do I want to change?" And I'll admit, for fics? If I worldbuild too much/too far from the original world, I end up wanting to just turn it into an original story instead. That's how I got wips like You're Something Else and The Prince's Guard (which I still need to put info about here eventually lol).

Thank you again for sending the ask!!!

[disabilityshowdown]

[IDs: Taimi is a light skinned asura (a dwarf-like species with large bat ears) with short brown hair and gold eyes. She is dressed in a black and green cybernetic suit. Eli Vance is a black man with a grey beard, wearing a yellow coat, green suit, and black beanie.]

Disabilities: Taimi has a degenerative disease causing chronic pain and limited mobility, Eli is an amputee with a leg prosthetic

[tillman]

When characters have gender symbols all over them. Idgaf it is always transgender as fuck to me. Can someone make a “this is about I-no guilty gear do not derail” banner . Just imagine that on this post. Thanks.