#jazz shepard

[aves-pantherart]

things i missed/forgot to upload

[setokaibapetty]

5 + 1 Fic Friday Roundup: On Campus

One of the things that April is an awareness month for is community college. So, have some fanfic with student//teacher characters or a school setting.

Mahogany (AO3) - "Shepard and squaddies are students at the elite Galactic Training Academy. (Think Starfleet meets Hogwarts. In space.) Reapers have been dead for hundreds of years, but there are still plenty of baddies out in the galaxy. Shepard-in-training rises to the occasion, with the aid of her squad and a certain snarky flight student. Currently Rated M for language and mature situations."

The Night Will Come but Not to Stay (AO3) - "Jazz is excited about going to Gotham University for college. It's halfway across the country from Amity Park and anyone who knows about her weird family or ghost nonsense. Finally, she can pretend to be a normal woman who just wants to go into psychiatry. She meets a cute guy named Jason, and they seem to be getting along great."

Form 23-C: Application for a New Roommate (AO3) - "After battling ninjas, aliens, madmen, mafiosos, other heroes and death itself, Jason was about to face his most unknown foe yet: a normal life. It's fine. He'd always dreamed of going to college and for once reality sort of lived up to expectations. He loves the classes, he can handle the workload and his cases too. His roommate is a total douche, but whatever. Jason's fine, he's got this. Then he meets his roommate's brother. Jason totally doesn't have this."

Holy Romantic Overtures, Batman! (AO3) - "After the heist of a lifetime, henchman!Jason decides to go legit and enrolls in college. The last person he expected to see there was Robin, and he certainly didn’t expect to fall for him either. But somehow it all works out. Maybe it’s all the labels?"

campus cryptid vs. future valedictorian (AO3) - "Mara Glass did not care about "weird hot guy," the supposed "campus cryptid." She had heard of him her first couple years and had him pointed out to her by a classmate once, but what was there to notice? Okay, he was probably thirty, a nontraditional student, so what? There were a number of those around. Apparently he was hot--well congrats to people who were into people, they could keep him. And if you asked Mara, from her extremely objective perspective, those Disney-green eyes were doing a lot of heavy lifting. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about a thirty-something guy who didn't talk about himself to twenty-year-old classmates. He probably had, like, a real life. There were rumors he was married, although Brittany noted that the only reason people thought that was because one time someone heard him finish a phone call with, "You light the candles, I'll bring dinner. I love you." None of that was remotely interesting to Mara. He sounded like a normal person, and she wished people would shut up about him. Then in third year, she had a history class with weird hot guy."

Bonus: Scholastic Nightmare (AO3) - "Nara Sayuri, a religious studies major from a traditional household, would be hard pressed to come up with a worse nightmare. It was her first time presenting a paper at a conference and apparently her paper was so wrong that one of her ancestors - a deified ancestor, the Shikabane-hime herself - came down from the heavens specifically to point out how off base Sayuri was."

[bainer]

[full---ofstarlight]

Despite everything, it's still you.

nyx shepard during the events of mass effect 3 by @theredtrails

--

listen, when i say i've had an idea to commission a piece like this for AGES... (seriously, it's been in my 'commission ideas' doc since i made a commission ideas doc)

I am sooo jazzed with how this came out!!!! laura absolutely understood the vibes i wanted and im just !!!!!

[zangtumb]

Giant Steps Shepard Tone - Risteárd Ó hAodha

[hallaheart]

i am finally playing ME Legendary Edition

[madamedramatics]

I think of Mass Effect, and the brain train reroutes me to Shakarian thoughts. I don't make the rules. I just follow them.

Now then,

Hear me out. Plz. I'll only be a second of your time.🩷

Turians are sort of a homogeneous society that likes predictability, rationale, integrity, honesty, and all that jazz. Since they have to be selfless, always putting the whole before one's self, they are more than likely not very materialistic meaning whenever they do give or receive gifts, it's a rare moment and probably something that reflects quality or some sort of sentimentality.

Now imagine the beginning of Shakarian's relationship. We have Garrus reading up on human cultures where a large chunk of human societies have gift giving sometimes all year round, which varies in price and other factors. Then imagine Shepard being stumped on what to get Garrus as a gift because she doesn't want to cross cultural boundaries and get something that isn't meaningful to him. The first date happens, and Garrus gets Shepard something super sweet and cost efficient, like a handmade card, so he doesn't come off as desperate (according to the forums he's read) and Shepard gets Garrus the most expensive gun money can buy. Neither knows the other has done their research. Garrus thinks he looks like an asshole by not sticking to his values, and Shepard thinks she looks desperate for such a new and budding relationship since Garrus got her something small but sweet.

They both loved the gifts they received, but they felt internal turmoil about the gifts they bought. Then it comes down to the awkward confession that they both looked up what to do when it comes to gift giving. They both decide they should probably just ask each other from now on about any questions they have since their relationship is neither strictly turian nor human. It's human AND turian, meaning they should just do what feels right for each other and no one else ❤️

[mattdillonbae]

THE OUTSIDERS HEADCANNONS-.

greaser girls————

Angela Shepard-.

-can be the biggest bitch ever like you mess with this girl your done 😭

-is NOT innocent at all this girl has done everything in the book.

-literally just like Tim and Curly but a girl version.

-if the Curtis brothers had a sister I feel Angela would be besties with her.

-Knows Dallas A LOT (because of Tim)

-Bisexual, like this girl will go down on woman and guys I don’t think she gives a fuck 💀💀

Sandy Hatheway-.

-since she is a natural blonde she literally makes sure it STAYS blonde. She will put lemons, lay in the sun and do EVERYTHING to keep it that color. And Soda is like wtf?????

-I feel like Ponyboy says Sandy is sweet but she is actually kinda sassy and tough when she’s with friends or stuff 😼

-LOVES PUPPIES. (Like this girl will see a puppy on the side to the road and will scream)

-she loves when she gets to dress like a total slut (it makes her feel SMEXY) 🤩🤩

-has an obsession with chocolate I don’t know why but when Soda ask what’s she wants from the DX or something it’s always chocolate 😋

-THIS GIRL THINKS OF MARRYING SODA TOO

-still sleeps with stuffed animals (me too girl me too)

Sylvia Jackson-.

-Now like Angela this girl can be a huge bitchhhh like this girl knows how to throw hands and talk nasty. (She learned a lot of it from being around Dallas a lot)

-she smokes when she’s excited or angry 🚬

-loves flirting with anyone like she will flirt with anyone (not in a whore way but like joke flirting.)

-LOVES PHYSICAL TOUCH AND PDA 😚😚

-she lowkey likes when Dal gets in trouble she finds it hot.

-INTO BAD BOYS. (no wonder she dated dal)

-their girl loves red or black like her nails are always red and her toes (lol dawgs) 💋

-she loves to get dolled up, Evie always does her hair and she adores it.

-THIS GIRL SLEEPS IN STRAIGHT DARKNESS.

-she’s into rock definitely or jazz music 🎶

Evie Langenkamp-.

-she loves her curls so much.

-FAVORITE COLOR IS PROBABLY BLACK AND PINK.

-actually really smart she doesn’t show it a lot but she is. (slayyy) 😚😚

-she’s more like Sylvia then Sandy. Yes she can be sweet but will be a bitch and she swears A LOT.💋

-loves partying.

-she tried barrel racing once and hated it ever since

-is a lifeguard with the other girls in the summer. (She never shows up tho)

-she smokes too but not a lot 🚬

-DESPISES FOOTBALL. Like when Steve would take her to games with his buddies and their gfs she never focused on the game at all.

-hates chocolate. She thinks it’s to sweet.

-LOVES LOVES ROSES

-gets sent away to camp every summer by her parents and she is ALWAYS PISSED. She hates it there and she just wants to spend time with stevey poo 😚😚

[humunanunga]

So I looked it up, because of course the Holmes books aren't alone to enter the public domain this year, and Metropolis has too. So here's the list I found of creative works that are now public domain:

Books

— The Gangs of New York, by Herbert Asbury (original publication)

— Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather

— The Big Four, by Agatha Christie

— The Tower Treasure, the first Hardy Boys mystery by the pseudonymous Franklin W. Dixon

— The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle

— Copper Sun, by Countee Cullen

— Mosquitoes, by William Faulkner

— Men Without Women, by Ernest Hemingway

— Der Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse (in German)

— Amerika, by Franz Kafka (in German)

— Now We Are Six, by A.A. Milne with illustrations from E.H. Shepard

— Le Temps retrouvé, by Marcel Proust (in French)

— Twilight Sleep, by Edith Wharton

— The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder

— To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf

Movies

— "7th Heaven," directed by Frank Borzage

— "The Battle of the Century," a Laurel and Hardy film directed by Clyde Bruckman

— "The Kid Brother," directed by Ted Wilde

— "The Jazz Singer," directed by Alan Crosland

— "The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog," directed by Alfred Hitchcock

— "Metropolis," directed by Fritz Lang

— "Sunrise," directed by F.W. Murnau

— "Upstream," directed by John Ford

— "Wings," directed by William A. Wellman

Musical compositions

— "Back Water Blues," "Preaching the Blues" and "Foolish Man Blues" (Bessie Smith)

— "The Best Things in Life Are Free," from the musical "Good News" (George Gard "Buddy" De Sylva, Lew Brown, Ray Henderson)

— "Billy Goat Stomp," "Hyena Stomp" and "Jungle Blues" (Ferdinand Joseph Morton)

— "Black and Tan Fantasy" and "East St. Louis Toodle-O" (Bub Miley, Duke Ellington)

— "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" and "Ol' Man River," from the musical "Show Boat" (Oscar Hammerstein II, Jerome Kern)

— "Diane" (Erno Rapee, Lew Pollack)

— "Funny Face" and "'S Wonderful," from the musical "Funny Face" (Ira and George Gershwin)

— "(I Scream You Scream, We All Scream for) Ice Cream" (Howard Johnson, Billy Moll, Robert A. King)

— "Mississippi Mud" (Harry Barris, James Cavanaugh)

— "My Blue Heaven" (George Whiting, Walter Donaldson)

— "Potato Head Blues" and "Gully Low Blues" (Louis Armstrong)

— "Puttin' on the Ritz" (Irving Berlin)

— "Rusty Pail Blues," "Sloppy Water Blues" and "Soothin' Syrup Stomp" (Thomas Waller)

Source: https://www.voanews.com/a/public-domain-debuts-include-last-sherlock-holmes-work-/6898309.html

[littleshopofchaos]

Hey guys

I just wanted this to be my full formal apology. I've been needing to write this for a few months and I think I was blocked from the right words to say, out of anger and my own struggles. Let me explain

I started this blog last year to get away from writeblr drama and like, some people I considered friends who we all turned on each other and now no longer speak to each other.

I admit I have a part to play in the blame, what I said and did was wrong and I pushed some very important people away when I didn't intend to. I'm learning to be a better person and learning from my mistakes because sometimes I don't understand things and they're not really explained well.

I thought what I was doing, was helping people but maybe I wasn't doing enough, or I was doing too much of the wrong thing. All I know is, looking back on it - I was wrong. And I was too hurt to see that.

I only want to make writeblr and my friends and everyone else, happy. I want writeblr to be a nice place for everyone to get along with, to get feedback and support and all that jazz.

That doesn't make things better. I know I can't go back and repair the bridges that have been burnt and I can't repair those relationships. But just know that I am very sorry if I ever came across as rude or weird. It was not my intention.

Looking back, I could have done things a lot better and through learning things about myself, I've learned that I need to do better. I want to understand. I want to help.

Words can't describe how sorry I am and I know that won't bring anything back. But hopefully we can look to the future now. I want this year onwards to be a good year for everyone I'm friends with, with those who want to get to know me. I don't want to fall out.

I've met so many wonderful people and I really owe everything to you guys. Ya'll are amazing.

Thank you

Ash Shepard, formerly Athena Anna Rose

@albatris @abalonetea @antique-symbolism @bardicbeetle @blackandwhitecircus @blackrosesandwhump @bard-coded @digital-chance-rb @dyrewrites @endlessburningdarkness @emery-silverton @foxy-lisard @galactic-mystics-writes @garthcelyn @hallowedfury @hippiewrites @icaruspendragon @irilenaps @insidedamienshead @illarian-rambling @isabellebissonrouthier @joshuaorrizonte @jezifster @kalu-chan @kosmic-kore @multi-lefaiye @midnight-blue-moon-princess @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @pheita @pluttskutt @philosophika @pen-of-roses @revenantlore @scribble-dee-vee @sergeantnarwhalwrites @thorlokibrother @that-chibi-writer @theprissythumbelina @uccelletto-di-kokuyo @violetcancerian @vacantgodling @waltzshouldbewriting @wait-a-minute-lassie

[pumpkinsy0]

Do u have headcanons about or what do you think about a 90s or 00s AU (maybe) where Curly Shepard is a punk and Ponyboy a goth or a babybat? ^_^ Like imagine purly but ponyboy tries to show his obsession for edgar allan poe and curly or the gang JUST DON'T GET IT 😭

wym anon that literally already IS purly🙄🙄

BUT YEA I DO HAVE HCS!!!! o(^-^)o

(for context who dont know, baby at is the name for like ppl who r newly goth basically, theyre just starting out listening to music n stuff like that)

•since curly is punk here and the whole idea of punks is essentially anti establishment and love individuality i will NOT make him make fun of pony for being goth, especially when hes a babybat hes just embracing himself

•also curly is curly i feel like hes a bit morbid himself and would be at the very least interested in edgar allen poe, so even if he wasnt punk he wouldnt make fun of pony for liking him, even if he does thats just bc hes being friendly and just does NOT like poetry

•ill place this in like, late 90s and early 2000s, so there is that huge thing against goths and punks for being ‘weird’ and against god or something along those lines

•curlys pretty used to being targeted for being different for his punk style and such while pony isnt exactly used to that so i imagine that hes more protective while ponys trying to figure himself out in that regard

•some bands pony would b interested in is evanescence, the cure, and siouxsie and the banshees, london after midnight, of course there IS more but these r like more so his favs

•how pony found out about gothic bands was like, a song was playing in darrys car radio and darry didnt rlly like it so he changed it but the song was already stuck in ponys head

•he brought it up to curly but pony was just like ‘idk maybe itll pass’, it in fact DID not pass and later they was just chillin in curlys car and the song came back on the radio and pony was like ‘neuron activated’

•curly was personally not rlly into the song, but hey, ponys happy so its whatever

•personally i imagine that pony doesnt have a gothic STYLE more so he has a love for gothic songs and literature, yknow what i mean??? but maybe he does borrow some clothes from curly thats more on the gothic side or thrifts some clothes

•other than edgar allen poe, he does like phantom of the opera, frankenstein, dracula, carmilla, dr jekyll and mr hyde, also he would like ruby gloom (thank my gf for this hc)

•his art style is kinda influenced by those media actually

•as for what type of goth he is i could mostly see him being like a geek goth, but he is interested in the looks of victorian goths and gothabilly goths

IVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT PONY FOR TOO LONG NOW ON ABOUT CURLY

•tbh, not much to add for this guy, punk curly is literally just regular curly but more understanding of who he is and what he wants in the world yknow??

•think of curly but actually a lil more, idk thought provoking in his own curly way with a better understanding of the world

•MAY I INSERT MY HC OF CURLY HAVIN AN AFRO MOHAWK HERE🗣️🗣️

•he is from a haitian household tho and haitian moms especially tend to be more, religious and all that jazz, so while tim and angela get their ears yelled off for well being them, its especially happening to curly bc in his moms eyes hes “turning away from god” n what not being a “vagabon” as many haitian moms would put it

•he likes customizing his own clothes, he thrifts and gets a bunch of hand me downs so might as well make them look cooler

•hes a graffiti artist and hes acc pretty well known, everyone knows its him but they dont rlly say anything cause 1) hes curly shepard but 2) his work rlly isnt that bad actually

•i could totally see him liking green day and he does NOT like fall out boy but he does like a coulle of songs from them (much to his dismay

•hes picking up guitar (how he afforded it??? i payed for it lets just say that)

WHEN IT COMES TO THE GANG, they dont rlly get pony being goth, they support him of course, but they do tend to make fun of him a bit</33 but darry, soda, and johnny do try to understand him more, its rlly just two

ps anon my gf said she loves u for ur idea (shes goth, u got the goth stamp of approval)

[greypetrel]

Later Than You Think ( 🎶 )

Last prompt asked by @shivunin! Thank you dear, it's been fun!

I played both on what the prompt list said about the card and the more traditional interpretation. I hope you'll like it (and that I nailed Garrus' voice decently. They're buddies.)

(re: pronouns. In the first scene Max is 8. Doesn't know what non-binary means, gender is still a foreign concept. The family uses she/her, Max is fine with it. As long as they don't call her Maxine everything's good. They'll realize they'd rather they/them for themselves later on in life.)

Tis the prompt List

[ Female Shepard x Liara T’Soni (not the centre stage) | MAJOR SPOILER FOR ME3 | 4832 words ]

The World Upright: completion, achievement, fulfilment, sense of belonging, wholeness, harmony Reversed: lack of closure, lack of achievement, feeling incomplete, emptiness

2163, Mindoir

The sky was blue, from a lighter shade to a deep velvety blue, full of stars.

Crickets sang around her, and the cloth of the hammock was rough under her legs and arms, but she didn’t care. Laughters came from the veranda where her family was still dining, and she was granted some moments of peace to look up at the stars.

Grandma had books about constellations on Earth, and she had told her about them, and about their stories. Orion the giant, fighting against the Bull guarding the Princesses. Queen Cassiopeia and King Cepheus, who tied their daughter Andromeda to the rock, and the hero Perseus who came to save her from Cetus the whale. But when she first had dragged mom outside and told her to show her the real stars, she had been disappointed to see that up above, the sky was different than in the book. There was no Bears showing you the North. No Swan and no Eagle up against the galaxy.

Mom had kneeled and hugged her shoulders, and told her to invent her own stories. Mindoir needed constellations too, and its own stories to read in the stars. The next day, she found a notebook and pencils for that purpose. Grandma had huffed and shaken her head, called it just a way to fill her head with silly stories, and served her another slice of cake for breakfast nonetheless.

The notebook had filled up during the summer, and she was very busy with it: she had decided that the big triangle was a squid, running from a shark. That cross was a seagull, and a cormorant right beside it. There was dad’s boat, of course, and the record player, grandma’s farinata and mom’s smile, and Dolly Parton because grandpa insisted. All the important things.

But there was one shape she saw and couldn’t quite place. Nothing came to mind, and she stared at the stars first and at the map she had drawn, in blue, on a double page.

“Max! Come here!”

Mom called her, and she huffed through her nose. She didn’t want to go, but mom asked…

“Come on, Mimi, there’s cake!”

She hummed, fought between wanting to stay there and find a name and a purpose for that constellation, and wanting a slice of cake. Grandma baked a pie with the figs of the tree in the corner and they were her favourites Well, Mrs Nourdine's fig cake was the nicest in the whole village.

In the end, the cake won: she closed the pencil inside the notebook and rolled down the hammock, falling heavily on the grass and the dirt, still warm after the long summer day.

“Maxine, how many times I have to tell you-”

Grandma complained, seeing her coming back in the light with hair ruffled and dirt on her clothes. She didn’t care and jumped back on her place, between mom and grandma.

“I don’t like that name. I’m Max.” She protested, leaving the notebook on the table beside mom, and fixing the pillow better under her butt.

“Again, Mimi? It’s a pretty name. Very elegant. If you had to be named with an American one, Maxine is a very gracious name.” Grandma huffed, cutting her a slice and depositing the plate in front of her.

“It’s the name of a fine singer! Maxine Sullivan. She was a jazz one, but a great timber. Have I made you listen to her, Cupcake?”

“Yes, grandpa.”

“So what’s the problem? A rock singer would have been better, but-”

“Please, Stephen, if it was up to you, she would have been named Jolene.”

“What about it, Matilde? That’s a great song! Dolly Parton-”

Grandma and grandpa started to bicker, as per their usual. They always did, and by now nobody paid much notice to it, not even Max. Who didn’t know what to think about the chance of being named Jolene. It was probably even worse than Maxine, she considered, cutting a piece of cake with the side of her fork and raising it to her mouth. Maxine was a dog name, but at least she liked Max. Jolene shortened was Jo or Lene? She didn’t like either.

“How’s the project going, Mimi?” Her mother asked her, a hand coming to caress her hair.

“Mh.” She hummed, chewing well the morsel and swallowing before answering. “I miss one shape, but I can’t think of anything.”

She left the fork on the plastic tablecloth, rubbed her sticky finger on her trousers -grandma scolded her- and opened the notebook, shuffling the pages until she reached the map, and tapped thrice on the one without a name. A big, elongated pentagon, narrow and wide.

“This one. It’s a pentagon, but it’s too short to be a star. This star is too low for it to be a boat: if it was the prow all the water would flow right in.”

Mom nodded to her explanations, listening attentively as Max went on explaining her theories. Mom always listened to her with the utmost attention, and when she, dad and grandpa got back from the sea in the evening, she was always the first Max sought, to tell her how the day went, what she and grandma did at home, what did she learnt at school when it wasn’t the holidays.

Dad leaned in, peeking on the notebook too and smiling. He circled Mom’s shoulder with an arm, twining his pale fingers with her brown ones.

“Can I see, too?”

Max nodded, and Mom moved the notebook  in front of her, shifting the dish away so they all could see. They both started considering it, very seriously, as Max ate what was left of her cake quickly, to move her chair in position and lean against mom’s side, hugging her waist with a sigh.

“I think it’s a spaceship.”

Dad said, and his hand let go of mom’s to come down and ruffle Max’s hair more. The same warm chestnut he had. What her late grandmother had had, she was told -grandpa’s wife died way back on Earth. Max looked up, unsure.

“A spaceship?”

“Sure. Look at it, that’s the tail, where the motors are…” He traced the back line of the pentagon with his pointer finger. “And this is the prow, with the cockpit.”

Mom started explaining how spaceship worked and were made, from the inside. Where the motors where, the fuel was stored, the hangar, the cockpit and the crew cabins. How they took flight, and why they could stay up in the air even within the atmosphere. Her eyes were shining, and dad added details, here and there, explaining to her that they flew much like the boat sailed on the sea: you need to take care of currents and space and calculate veerings and slow stops. Soon enough, even grandma and grandpa stopped discussing whether Mina or Dolly Parton was the better singer, and started to listen to his son and her daughter talking about space travels.

Max was fascinated: dad was always happy when he talked about driving things, and running the boat fast, and mama’s hands were magical, they could repair almost everything, not only the fishnets. But she never heard them speak so happily over something, switching quickly between English and Italian as one forgot a word in one or the other language – it happened often, and there was either grandma complaining they used English words when speaking Italian, or grandpa for the opposite situation. Her heart beat fast, and soon enough she could imagine herself up there, driving a spaceship and going to visit all the stars she had named and woven stories about.

Dad chuckled, when he was done and went back to look at her.

“Close that mouth, flies are gonna enter it.”

Max didn’t close her mouth, but spoke instead.

“Can we go on a spaceship?” She asked.

No one answered her, and Max didn’t know why. Everyone looked sad, smiles faltering a little.

“Please?” She added, unsure why.

“We will, Mimi. We need to show you Livorno and where you come from, after all.” It was grandma, in the end, to answer.

She moved and squeezed Max’s shoulder, and when the child turned to look at her dear face, brown skin wrinkled in a smile.

“You’re gonna love it. I’m going to bring you in all the places I told you about. We’ll eat cinque e cinque and drink spuma in piazza Mascagni by the sea. Our sea.”

Grandma always said that the sea there wasn’t theirs. That their sea was the Mediterranean, for all her family and all her ancestors – even the ones that travelled all the way to Italy, long ago- were raised by the Mediterranean, be it Tyrrhenian or Alboran.

“All, save for Stephen, but he was thankfully brought to better counsels…”

They all chuckled at it, and Max was grateful to that sea that she has never seen. Even if she quite liked the sea she grew up with, there in Mindoir. The fishes were colourful and tasty to eat, and they sold well putting food on their tables in more ways than one. The water was cold but it kept her afloat, the waves were nice to play in. She didn’t really understand why it was different, but from how much grandma loved it, she loved it too.

“Then can we visit all the stars?”

“Tell you what, Mimi.” Dad said, booping her cheek enough to make her turn. “If you study hard enough, you can build your own spaceship and visit them all yourself.”

“Ettore-”

“No. No, why not? If she wants to travel the stars, she should be able to. There are scolarships.”

Max looked left and right, mouth open, without knowing what to do and what to think. Grandpa was saying that he shouldn’t put ideas in her head, for some reason, but dad wouldn’t budge. Grandma looked pensively at the cake.

With a whole lot of new ideas in her head, Max turned towards mom.

“Can I, mamma?” She asked, shily. “Do you think I can learn to build a spaceship?”

Mom’s eyebrows contracted a little, but she smiled brightly, nodding surely at her. She cupped her face and kissed both her cheeks and her nose.

“Of course you can. It’s gonna require a lot of hard work and all your best effort, because it’s very difficult to build a spaceship.” She told her, so surely that Max believed her. “But if that’s what you want, I’m sure you will make it, Mimi. I believe in you.”

Max smiled brightly and jumped to hug mom’s neck, breathing her in. She smelt like motor oil, and like a sea that maybe wasn’t exactly theirs, but it was home enough.

She looked up at the stars, quilting a velvety dark blue sky, and thought.

Soon.

---

2190, Charon Relay

“It’s going to fail, I tell you.”

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve been working on this piece of junk since two years! It will work.”

“Sure, and we got here before the Quarians did.”

“Heard they’ve been working on the other side.”

“Still without many communications and computers a century old…”

“Can you two leave me a moment of peace, plese?”

Gunnarsson and Patel stopped their bickering to turn towards the third member of their team. Who had stopped welding, as they were supposed to do, to turn to look at them both. Their face was covered, the glass reflecting the lights illuminating the outer hull, and the front lights on the suit of the other two. After two years of working together, tho, both Gunnarsson and Patel knew perfectly well wich expression hid behind that helmet.

“Sorry, Nourdine.” Patel told them, and was as per usual greeted with a mumble, a nod of head and an upturned thumb.

All three returned to work, welders running and hammers beating, in the deep, eerie silence of space.

It was a long recurring topic between them: Gunnarsson found the silence, when working on the outer hull, creepy and unsettling. Nourdine was a good person and a great worker, and if in the first months they were quite demanding and bossy, they were reliable to have around, honest and generous. They didn’t speak much, tho. Not that it was any strange: after the war against the Reapers, everyone there bore their scars, and personal informations were never shared with joy. Everyone had lost someone, and so the fact that Nourdine didn’t want to speak about how did they arrived there, working to repair the mass relay, nor how exactly did they lost a leg, was nothing strange. They grew together as a team, and relied on each other.

“I think we got it done, guys.” Nourdine declared, slouching back until the safety line tensed and they were lying back, suspended in space, and kicked the hull thrice with their prothesis. “It should hold for the test.”

“Christ, Nourdine, can you just hold yourself to the fucking hull?” Gunnarsson grumbled.

“Boia, dè.” They groaned in what they had told them was Italian but never explained what it meant exactly, pointing both hands on their hips. It didn’t help Gunnarsson. “It’s safe, I did it a thousand times. The line will hold, and I have a magnetic boot and magnets in my prothesis. Chill, man, nothing will happen.”

“You’ll tell me so when you’ll be floating away in space and we’ll have to save you.”

“Please, you two, can we-”

“I already did that and survived. Twice, I think. Try to invent a better horrible death, at least.”

“Can you two stop talking about death, for the zillionth tim-” Patel sighed, fully understanding why Nourdine wanted silence. But he interrupted himself, mind focusing on one tiny detail. A teeny, tiny thing. “Wait, what?”

“Twice? How does it mean? You floated in space twice? And you still-”

“You’re such babies.” Nourdine groaned, but kicked their back and pushed themselves so they were against the hull. “Done and dusted, I’m here. Now let’s get back before the test start, come on.”

It was always like this, with them. Gunnarsson and Patel could complain all they wanted: they never managed to erase that bossy vein out of Nourdine. When they grew tired and restless, they jumped back to orders. They never said what they were doing during the war, but both of their teammates suspected they were a chief engineer somewhere. Maybe down on Earth: it would have explained the missing leg and the orders.

Most irritatingly, tho, when Nourdine ordered them, they were most often right.

So the three of them unlocked the lines to the fixed posts and back on the travelling one, starting their way back to the hangar door and, hopefully, peacefully assisting to the first running test of the Mass Relay.

After two long years working at full regime to get it back in working order, none of them three wanted really to lose time and miss the show. So, they followed Nourdine, walking with her limping gait but a sure foot around the hull, and humming one of her horrible old songs.

They didn’t make it in time.

The relay started to vibrate, and the communicator buzzed alive in their helmets.

“Gunnarson, Nourdine, Patel. Central Engineering Unit here. Do you copy?”

“Copy that. We’re halfway to the door.” Nourdine answered first, as per their usual.

“You’re late, Nourdine.”

“Did you want the work done quickly or done well, Kovalenko?”

“Oh damn- I haven’t time to argue with you again, Nourdine. You’re late. Stay there until a new order. Copy all three: no one will move until the test will be done.”

“What??” Gunnarsson squeaked.

“Maremma maiala, Gunnarrson, get your shit together, we’ll be fine.”

“We’re going to die burned by the relay!”

“We are not. We’re far enough, we’re safe.”

“Can you three listen? The test will begin in-”

“I knew I should have stayed in Bergen! But no I had to take this job to keep working as an engineer did I? And now I’m dying a horrible death!”

“Oh goodness gracious, I almost miss Javik.”

“Kovalenko, I’m Patel and I copy. I’m tying Gunnarsson with a further security line myself. Gunnarsson, let me go.”

“I always loved you!”

“Aaaw-”

“Bozhe moj- STAY THERE. Test starting in 10… 9…”

An alarm flashed, and the station buzzed beneath their feet. Gunnarsson was still screaming in the comm, but Nourdine jerked up, her “Whoa!” dulled by screams of fright. The relay buzzed and vibrated, and blue light flashed.

And dulled right away.

Gunnarsson stopped screaming, and for a moment, everything was perfectly still.

“It’s over?” Gunnarsson squeaked, hopefully.

“Come on, come on-” Nourdine whispered, on the contrary, their heart in their words such as the other two had never heard.

Such as they turned towards them, surprised. Patel was about to ask something, ignoring the untold rule of never asked much about past, when everything started again.

Another buzz, a loud hummm, and a flash of blue light as the mass relay activated, jolting alive as in the good old times. The hull around them vibrated -it wasn’t good- but all three instinctively held their breath, looking from their vantage position at the blue energy buzzing alive.

One heartbeat, two-

- at the third, a flash of silver produced a louder boom and a shock wave that had the three engineers holding closer to their protections, huddling against the metal. Gunnarsson gasped aloud in the comm, and as soon as it was calmer-

“Is that…?”

“Oh my god, it is! Nourdine, do you- Nourdine?”

Patel turned, as the third member of their team did something they never did.

Nourdine left them alone and ran.

“They’re crazy, I always told you.” Gunnarsson said, staring agape as Kovalenko screamed in the comm for them to stay the fuck still and don’t move Nourdine I’m serious.

Nourdine didn’t stop, and kept running like their life depended on it, one hand on the lifeline.

“Well, It’s comprehensible. it’s the Normandy, after all-”

---

“Joker, how is it?”

“Well, it could be worse.”

“Precisely.”

“We made it through. The navigation system is in shambles, the ship is veering to the left if I don’t hold the route, I can’t see with the system we have if it’s guidance or the engines-”

“Tali?”

“Both thing, I fear. The pressure was too high, our right engine is not so good. I told you it needed some reinforcements still. But it’s still in line. It’ll hold.”

“Excellent. Can you bring us to Earth like this?”

“Please.” A scoff from Joker. “I survived the Omega 4, this is amateur’s work.”

“Even without-”

Silence fell. Three years later, and Tali on her own hadn’t been able to restore EDI to her former functions or personality. They had a computer and a diagnostic systems all in good order, but intelligence? No. Without communications and access to the Quarian fleet, Tali hadn’t been able to do much of anything, on her own. Particularly because all resources had been focused on repairing the broken relay.

“You know, Commander?” Joker chimed, trying to ignore how the Turian was surely glaring at him for the title, all the way from the back. “We’re lucky we have you, the ship would surely use some calibration, now.”

The cockpit all laughed, in spite of everything.

Garrus laughed too, from the place that had been Shepard’s, fingers relaxing a little on the rail.

“I told you would have missed it.” He replied, turning to his right. “Traynor, how’s the station? Can we leave?”

“Uh.”

Silence, as Traynor tapped furiously on her terminal, a deep frown on her brow.

“Traynor?”

“It’s… They’re not answering.”

“How come? Is the system broken?”

“Not on our part, Command- Lieutenant.”

“Call them.”

“I’m trying, they’re not picking up.”

“Well, insist. We haven’t saved the galaxy to be put on hold.”

“I’m trying! Not my fault if they don’t pick up!” A pause. “Or is it? What if- urgh, let me check and try again-”

“Five minutes. Joker, try to fix the guidance, Tali, on with that engine.”

“Roger.”

“Copy that.”

Garrus hopped down the platform and turned left, as everyone got back to work. She was there where he left her, right before taking command for the jump. Looking out of a porthole without a word.

“You’re all right?” He asked her, patting her shoulder. He knew she wasn’t. She hadn’t been since a while.

“Yes.”

“Do you want a shore leave, for Italy?”

“I…” Her voice cracked, but Liara kept staring out of the window, frowning. She didn’t cry, and took a deep breath instead, shaking her head. “I’m not coming back on the Normandy, on Earth.”

“Mh.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“No. I thought you would leave us. Thessia, Ilium…?”

She took a moment to answer, just observing the stars running along.

“Mindoir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I owe it to them.” At least she sounded less desperate than whenever anyone had tried to touch the topic with her in the last years. “I should bring their records back.”

“Not to Livorno?”

“I don’t know. I thought half of them there, and some on Mindoir. But maybe it’ll be better to keep them all together?”

Garrus looked at her. Three years ago she would not have even wanted to mention the possibility of a funeral. They hadn’t said goodbye, held a ceremony, done nothing to remember Shepard, even if it was a big missing on the ship, for everyone. Joker had tried to put their playlist up, saying it was too silent and he couldn’t drive without Creedence Clearwater Revival anymore. But Liara had burst crying, and there had been no more old earth music from there on. No funeral, no mourners: Shepard existed, and they still existed in absence. Always remembered, never mourned, never mentioned.

“A couple on Tuchanka, I think.” Garrus added, with a sigh. It was no mistery Max had loved that place and felt at home, as run down as it had been. Fought hard to cure the genophage and gave a piece of their mind to whomever tried to told them they shouldn’t have. “And I think they’d want you to keep the one they gifted you.”

“Mh. I think Grunt would like having one to remember them by.”

“Oh, for sure. He may be all though, but I remember how he couldn’t fall asleep without that one whose singer screamed.”

“Graveworm, yes.” Liara chuckled. “They told me he would.”

“I wished I could come with you.”

The Asari turned, a sad smile on her face. “You can ask a shore leave. We can go to Livorno together. I’m sure they’ll make some levo dishes if we ask around. It’s an harbour city, after all. We can reunite all the crew, now that the relay works.”

“And eat chickpea cake in piazza Mascagni for Shepard?”

“Something like that. Listening to Maxine Sullivan as we eat.”

Garrus sighed. “That would be nice.”

“It’s settled then.”

“Let me get the ship safely there, first…”

“Go on.” She stopped and looked at him. “Commander.”

Somehow, in her voice it irritated him much less. He just grumbled a little, for show, and returned to his place, putting everyone back in order. Holding command on the Normandy, after the battle, had not been so unpleasant. As much as he kept saying it was just on borrowed time, just until Shepard got back… Garrus knew he should settle. If Liara was talking about saying goodbye, he should have too. He led the Normandy in the last three years, all he had to do was enrolling formally in the Alliance for everything to set in stone and become official. Trying to think that he was not, in fact, keeping the seat warm for another person -that other person lied six feet underground, he could as well admit it- he walked back up on the platform and took a deep breath. Everyone was looking up at him, as they all -him included- had looked up at Shepard.

“Traynor, do we have a go?”

“We do, Commander. From Captain Mbaye of the Charon Relay: if we don’t need to dock for repairment, we’re good to go. I’ll send the report on the status of the ship as we travel.”

“Good.” It wasn’t good. “Good. Fine. So. Joker, route to Earth.”

“Aye aye, Commander.”

The crew cheered, and everyone got to their places, working to get the ship ready for the last distance they had to fill. Unlike the way there, when Garrus had little idea on how to run a ship -but Shepard left command to him, specifically- and relied on everyone knowing what to do better than him, this time he could advise the others, correct here and realize Nguyen didn’t hear in the general noise, and he should repeat the order.

They were ready to accelerate, when Traynor stopped him.

“Commander, wait.” She tapped quickly on her terminal. “It’s… It’s Sergeant Kovalenko, from the Central Engineering Unit on the Charon relay. Urgent call.”

“Take it. Stop, you all.”

The crew stopped, the ship stood still, and when the comm dialed in the call, there was a loud commotion shouting from the speakers. People spoke loudly, there was Kovalenko’s voice booming above the others.

“Take them out! Now! Out of the room!”

More shouting, someone yelled in pain in the background, someone else groaned.

“Sergeant, do you copy?” Garrus called, puzzled by all that.

“I don’t care if they have just one leg or none!” Kovalenko shouted, and it was clear they weren’t talking with them. “They can say the’re the fucking Queen of the Rachni, I want them out of my office and in to a cell for insubordination!”

“What’s going on, Traynor?” Garrus asked, aloud to be heard above the chaos.

“I have no idea, Commander.”

“Did they call?”

“Yes but…” She tapped on the keyboard. “The call was an automatic one? Weird… Unless someone hacked the system, but-”

“Kovalenko.” Garrus shouted, not needing to hear more. “Kovalenko, here’s Commander Vakarian, of the Normandy. We demand to know what’s going on, do you need assistance?”

“What the- I am sorry, Commander, everything is under control. We have a-”

“I’m an octogenarian krogan with a terrible taste in music and my playlist makes thresher maws cry!”

Everyone on the Normandy stopped, frozen in place by a new voice in the comm. One they all knew well. After years, but they knew.

In shock and puzzlement, this time from another reason entirely, Garrus didn’t react to the subsequent loud noises. Fight noises, a groan, a “Ouch! Figlio di un-”

“Good job, Zhao! Manacles!” Boomed Kovalenko again. “Nourdine, I swear I’ll have you-”

“Shepard!?”

It was Liara the first to wake up from the daze, shouting the name and running back until she was standing on the commanding platform, right next to a Garrus whom she almost pushed away. If she heard it too, it wasn’t an hallucination. It broke the spell on the cockpit of the Normandy, and everywhere there was buzzing of voices.

“What?” Kovalenko answered. “What Shepard, no, this is just one of my engineers. I don’t know what-”

“Sergeant Kovalenko, we’re docking on the relay.” Garrus insisted. “Traynor, call Captain Mbaye.”

That was Shepard’s voice, and there was only one playlist that was able to make a thresher maw cry, only one person whom Garrus specifically had called an octogenarian krogan. And considering that EDI and all other AIs they met were out of order since three years… It was worth a check.

“Negative, Commander, we’re-” The Captain answered on the comm, too, when Traynor dialed him in.

“It’s not a request, Captain. I still outrank you, it’s an order. Tell me where we can dock.”

Mbaye hesitated a moment. “Kovalenko, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Captain. One of my engineers, Petty Officer Second Class Nourdine, disobeyed direct orders, they demanded us to call the Normandy, and hacked the system when we told them no. I don’t know what-”

“We have reasons to believe that it’s Commander Shepard, Captain Mbaye.”

Silence fell in the comm.

“How- What- That Commander Shepard?”

“Nourdine was their mother’s surname, Captain.” Liara added. “They’re an aerospatial engineer, more than able to hack a communication system.”

“And an octogenarian krogan with a terrible taste in music.” Garrus added, just to remark. “We recognized the voice when they yelled in the comm.”

More silence followed, both officers frozen in computating the new information.

“Dock 1.” Finally Mbaye confirmed. “I’m sending you the coordinates.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

The Normandy buzzed with renewed excitement. Liara was crying, both hands over her face. Garrus passed an arm around her shoulders and held her tight.

“Ah, and Captain?”

“Yes?” A sigh.

“It’s Officer Vakarian, now.”

“You’d better!” The same known voice yelled from afar, but there was a smile in those syllables

Garrus had never been so happy to be downgraded.

[anonameisadditions]

So You Want To Write #2: The Roguish Type

It’s the 1930s in America, and the world is a dim, grimy place. Gone is the Jazz Age- with slick art deco, free-flowing illegal liquor from every speakeasy across the nation, and get-quick-rich schemes smothered under The Great Depression. The Great American Experiment seemed to be over- the rot in the once-great society (In the eyes of the vastly more empowered Caucasian men of the time) had become septic, and foul. The banks had shown themselves just as greedy and selfish as the average American, failing to properly plan for an economic bubble burst and ending up going insolvent within days of the economy crashing. The entire country would be placed out of work- the great boom of industry transformed into a sputtering, dying foghorn in the mist. It is no shock that in this era, our art would turn mistrustful, angsty, and depressed. And nowhere would this deep illness be reflected so cleanly as Film Noire.

These films- seedy, provocative crime films based around smoking, whiskey-swilling private dicks, and smoldering, vicious women would depict the dynamic of a dying society- a place where the police were rotten, the men weak, and the women hard. This is the environment we associate with the icon of the film noire- The private eye.

A “good” man, in a matter of phrase- for they always had some canny sense of right and wrong, a belief that their work was making life truer for someone. But, they’d be shaken- a dame, a woman worth trusting, beautiful and convincing, would lead them astray, tricking them into a deadly tango of treachery that would have them once again asking- Is it worth it to be good in a world that’s so bad?\

In steps The Man Who Knew Too Much.

“The Man Who Knew Too Much” is the common DNA of the modern rogue, in our modern conception of one. It stars Leslie Banks- a man known primarily for playing gruff, menacing bad guys across the pond at this point- and casts him as a leading man. He’s a brawler. He shoots first and asks questions later. He puts himself up against terrible odds- an entire criminal conspiracy to destabilize the political situation in London- and steps through with candor and charm, at each step along the way. He gets way too involved with a situation and ignores all rational advice given to him by the police- all because he trusts himself more than he trusts any institution.

And the audience EATS THIS UP

“The Man” becomes an instant classic, and Hitchcock begins to truly accue stateside appeal- and this only gets refined in his spy-fiction follow-ups, the best known being “North By Northwest.”

What’s the point of this brief history to the topic at hand- The Roguish Type, and how you want to write them? Everything. Because to write is to render fat from meat- it’s to understand how society changes a story as society adapts to it, to understand the underlying psychological underpinnings of motivation that makes an audience resonate with an archetype. And none is as misunderstood and spiritually confused as “The Rogue.” A scoundrel, A criminal, a scumsucking mouthbreeder who sits below the expectations of society- he flits from job to job, obliged to no one but himself- a modern cowboy, perhaps, but without an obligation to protect anyone but themselves. Within the rogue, however, lies an exceptionalist ideal we all wish we could live up to- the idea of innate goodness. 

Art from 2nd ed. Dungeons and Dragons, Kyle Punk and Tim Shepard

Prince Of Thieves

When we refer to “rogues”, the Jungian ideal in our world is drawn to the Tolkienesque, fantasy-focused interpretation of a rogue- a man bundled in leather, with a meaty look to him and a small, sleazy smile. He plays with knives, idly- using the point of his blade to clean out under his fingernails, suggesting a propensity for violence, and skill with a dagger. His eyes size you up and down, boldly, questioning whether a quick robbery could solve some problems that need solving, right, bub? 

But then we see him act. He joins our merry caravan, the rogue- this criminal outcast, this thief, this reject- and we see that he’s more than some petty criminal- he’s a self-styled robin hood, who won’t screw over people he likes, and will actively target those he doesn’t- but he' never given someone something they didn't have coming. He’s a self-styled anarchist- a true believer in individuality, who smiles and accepts the dog-eat-dog world of the undercity- and yet, this dog only eats a meal worth having. This “Robin Hood” didn’t need an education, a religion, a cause, or a care to be good to people- He only needed his wit. 

When Indiana Jones goes deep, deep, into the jungles of some tribal colony to steal their precious Incan gold relic, he does so to do… what? Sell it to a museum? He’s certainly making a buck off this. But, Jones is then contrasted to what a man like Beloq is- unprincipled.

A true asshole, willing to work with Nazi’s as long as they pay enough. He is quite rich from this-- His resources are plenty, his palette refined, his Jordan’s unsoiled. But then, as you see them interact, you realize that Jones and Beloq could not be more similar- The only thing stopping Indiana Jones from exceeding Beloq- no, what makes Beloq unable to win against Jones, with it’s final act, is the fact that Jones, despite his bad behavior and bad traits, still desires to be good. 

This is where I draw the core concept you must adhere to in “The Rogue”. Within our society, we have a strange relation to criminals. Our court system’s biggest inherent flaw- by design- is that ultimately, a jury of your peers will be the ones to convict you. We use this concept because we believe that a man must be considered a true criminal, a malintented traitor, worthy of punishment. This is why the jury must be convinced of the fairness of the charge to cast judgment on the offender, and why we don’t treat manslaughter and murder the same. Criminality is not inherently defined by breaking the law- it is defined by breaking the law for reasons that the state views as invalid.

Some say power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. But the rogue presents a different hypothesis- that one can use the tools of evil and still be good, as long as they can keep their moral code intact. This places the rogue in the place of the outsider- a common character used to question societal norms with pluck, determination, and humor. 

Examples? Right. Examples.

Look, Your Worshipfulness, let’s get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me.

Han Solo occupies an interesting role in the first Star Wars film. He’s a smuggler who’s working under the boot of a powerful fascist army, driving a spaceship that’s widely considered one cherry vehicle, and shows a reluctance to get himself involved with the fleeing Luke Skywalker and Obi Wan. His introductory scene- the infamous “Han shot first” under-the-table pistol blast helps establish Han quite well as a rogue, using an unscrupulous and dishonorable trick to remove an obstacle in his path. But as Luke spends time with Han, so do we, and we start to realize there’s more going on in the heart of this smuggler than he lets on. He implies a background working with the resistance, several times through the film; He quickly bonds with Luke like a big brother. What’s most important for this roguish character, however, is the clash of sentimentality and practicality. Han Solo denies an opportunity to work with the rebellion to strike a major blow against the empire, in what is considered practically a suicide run. But, in the last moments of the film, while Luke is left to perform the trench run, alone, Han Solo comes back, with a quip and a cheery face; For the rogue, despite his dog-eat-dog psychology, sentimentalism and heart is why he lives to fight another day. 

"It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."

If you thought for a fucking second i was going to use Benedico Cumshlupper or whatever, you have a lot to learn about me.

Hows this for a head teaser? It’s often easy to forget that Sherlock - the insufferable, upper-class advisor for all manner of criminal mystery - is, as accounted by the original short stories and novels, the roguish type. Consider- Sherlock seems to regard absolutely zero importance to the laws and rules of polite society, making an absolute terror to his landlord, doing large sums of illegal narcotics to stave off boredom, and generally treating the police as ineffectual at best and annoying, abusive bullies at worst.

Sherlock may be better off than the average rogue, but do not be mistaken- His interests, as selfish as they are, are still interested in helping his fellow man. Most Sherlock stories have Sherlock professing a lack of care towards the problems of “average people”, save for the mystery- yet most of his stories end with a brief segment of sentimentality, of Sherlock making right what was wrong often at personal expense, and recognizing the humanity in the poor souls who come to him, seeking his help. Sherlock utilizes both the concept of authority and breaks the law to bring justice and truth to people- despite his assurance of having nothing but self-interest in mind. 

"ARGH! The common language doesn't have enough swears!"

Chilchuck, from Dungeon Meshi allows us to explore this tendency further. Chilchuck fits our archetypical rogue- a highly skilled, vaguely illegal operator with a focus on the fine arts of thieving- mainly lockpicking, athletics, trap navigation, and other roguish skills. But while Chilchuck doesn’t typically encompass the criminal miscrent side of the rogue, he does showcase the other commonality between the last few examples- the eruption of sentimentality. Chilchuck constantly comments on how he shouldn’t even be working with the twins, and empathizes, again and again, that there is no possible way that he’s going to stick his neck out for his party beyond what he’s being paid to do. Yet, what does Chilchuck do every time the situation gets tough? He runs to danger. He only threatens to leave when he feels his concerns are unheard by Laius about the state of the adventure. Chilchuck can pretend all he wants that he doesn’t care about anyone but himself- but actions speak louder than words. 

Conclusion

The identity of the rogue is based in a rejection of the concept of nature vs nurture in a work of fiction. The Rogue, despite his background in skullduggery and criminality, showcases an intact moral compass that even the most polished wonderboy can recognize as a heart of gold. He exists in this environment to prop up an element of heroic fantasy- the belief of innate goodness, that one can utilize the powers of evil for the purpose of good and avoid letting it corrupt themselves too far. They work in contrast to other, more pure-of-heart characters to exemplify that circumstances don’t always make the man- and to let us, the audience know that we didn’t need to grow up a soft-eyed farm boy or be promised a great destiny to make a difference- only have our hearts in the right places and to do what we can to make evil lose. If you liked this blogpost, Give it a reblog and a like, and don't forget to follow me for more media analysis and creative endeavors. Below, you can vote on the focus of my next entry in "So You Want To Write" series.  

Yours Paradoxically, 

AN0N

[shivunin]

Three-Song Playlists

Rules: Compile three-song playlists for as many OCs as you can/would like to

Thank you for the tag @greypetrel! Like you, I am linking the full playlist in case anyone would like to listen to them c: The songs are in no particular order.

Tagging @star--nymph @zenstrike @daggerbean @ndostairlyrium @dungeons-and-dragon-age @inquisimer @idolsgf @dreadfutures @bitchesofostwick @vakarians-babe @jtownnn @nightwardenminthara @brother-genitivi and anyone who loves music (Please recommend music to me!! I love hearing new songs!!)

Arianwen Tabris (🗡️)

I Spit On Your Grave by ZAND (Spit your blood into my cup and then I'll gulp you down)

Trigger Finger by Coyote Kid (Bloodstains on a kitchen knife/ it wasn't made for this, but I know how to improvise)

Praying Mantis by Jazz Alonso (If I show my teeth, I must be hungry/ in you go, baby)

Maria Hawke (✨)

Nobody Wants to Be Alone by Christian Reindl, Atrel (When you strain your eyes to see the light, I won't be far behind/ Cause it's better in the dark when you're a friend of mine)

Champion by Fall Out Boy (I'm just young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in)

Gracias a la Vida by Mercedes Sosa (Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto/ Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto/ Los dos materiales que forman mi canto)

Emmaera Lavellan (✉️)

Every Other Love Song by MALINDA (So good at explaining/ at finding the right words/ but when I look at you, I fail)

No Choir by Florence + the Machine (If tomorrow it's all over/ at least we had it for a moment/ Oh, darling, things seem so unstable/ but for a moment we were able to be still)

Comfort by Deb Talan (If you can't remember a better time/ you can have mine)

Elowen Lavellan (🌱)

Overture III/Awake by Sleeping at Last (Today, I'll survive/ tomorrow, make sense of my life)

Soap by The Oh Hellos (I don't know I've seen a thing grow/ without an open coat/ not without a softness showing)

Queen of Nothing by The Crane Wives (Isn't this what you wanted? Time sure feels like it's running out/ Just finish what you started/ Queen of nothing, wearing such a heavy crown)

Salshira Lavellan (🍂)

punchline by KiNG MALA (I'm having a great time/being the punchline to my own joke)

Dutch by Dessa (Love is like liquor/ it burns when it moves you/ Far as I figure/ there's nobody fireproof)

Mean It by K.Flay (So when I say I love you, I want to mean it/ Cause I say a lot of things that I don't mean)

Tavitha (Tav) (🌤️)

Can't Cheat Death by The Ballroom Thieves (There are two things I know for sure: I will be free, I will be free, I will be free/ and you can't cheat death)

Greener by Anju, Uliya (You reached inside and took the parts you wanted out/ maybe you forgot/ you can take what I have, but I grow something better back)

Dancing Plague of 1518 by mollyofgeography(Make room to hold a want that's weighted/shapeshift to sate it/ 'til my head knows my heart betrayed it)

Jesse Shepard (☄️)

Machine Heart by Icarus (You've been looking for some kind of savior/ you created me and turned me into you/ to make me last a lifetime)

Glitter & Gold by Barns Courtney (Do you walk in the shadow of men who sold their lives to a dream? Do you ponder the manner of things in the dark?)

Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash (You wired me awake and hit me with a hand of broken nails...but I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run)

[voodoodaaddy]

Being pregnant ment a lot of mood swings and also ment a short temper so when him and Alastor were once again being snarky with eachother he had enough and started to yell at him in Enochian, how could he not understand that some banter was fine but making fun of his desk set up was crossing the line like come on .

•you useless son of a headless Shepard you think you can do so much better you don’t even work you just speak into a stupid microphone all day!!•

(( lmao ))

How the heck did this escalate so quickly? All he told him was 20 ducks all over his desk may be too many ducks. Before he knew it, Lucifer is letting out a slew of Enochian at him, none that Alastor understood in the least. There's nothing he could do about it, because at any normal time he would just smack Lucifer upside the head for acting ridiculous. Now, he couldn't touch him. So a dutiful mate he nods, happy Jazz music playing in the background.

"Of course, so sorry, whatever you need." He frog blinks at the King, watching him continue his rant. What he's ranting about? Who knows! "Careful my dear, you wouldn't want to raise that blood pressure."

[littleshopofchaos]

Lore drop time for The Ash Shepard Collective Wip Universe!

This got so fucking long so it's under a read more

There were multiple gods when the world started out. They were spread out across the galaxy/ universe, with the gods attending to the needs of every planet that was habitable, so e.g Terraclaw is a planet, Zalfari from Speechless is a planet, Earth, there are multiple planets like Valkyrie in Wildlands so and on, and they attended to the needs of every belief and all that jazz of every species so not just humans

Over time, as people turned on each other and stopped believing in the God's, the Gods started turning on each other and fighting amongst themselves in a bid to stay relevant and not disappear

Reapers still deal with Heaven, Hell and souls and all that but there is Purgatory and The Underworld too, depending on what you believe in and where you're decreed to go.

The Kingdom of Insomnia, which is situated in the void between Heaven and Earth, was built as a way to try and keep a bunch of faithful Angels and Demons together to plan a future in like a fort, as like a last line of defense if Heaven, Hell and Purgatory fell and got out of hand and try and keep any new God that came along, safe.

As the God's started to fade from existence, Angels and Demons started fighting over the world's, intending to not do their duty and instead opt for an apocalyptic event to wipe out the universe as a reset so they can start the worlds over and try again. Or they'll even make their own planets to try and move everyone they want there, too.

Depending on the book in the universe, Gods will create themselves when needed - e.g Chaos and Gordon from Amongst the Chaos

Angels can, have and will also sacrifice themselves or others to gain enough power to become a new God and take over.

Those with pure hearts and good intentions who manage to reclaim and restore the worlds and balance of the universe, set out to work together to make things right for a better future.