#putting the harrier in his name with this one

[allmightyscroll-swag]

@cryptid-crw This one's for you :)

Harrier du bird

Kim wip under cut, he's a falcon!

I originally meant to finish Kim today, too, but this took me way too long and it's way now too late.

[jakethesequel]

Welcome back to Tumblr's Poorest Wettest Saddest Littlest Meow Meow Competition! Before we announce the final verdict, let's see how our "lovely" contestants are doing backstage!

VRISKA SERKET, hailing from welcoming Homestuck, is in the blue corner! She's a TROLL, a TELEPATH, and a THIEF. She has also attained GODHOOD, and I'm informed she did nothing wrong! Just off the heels of a dramatic loss in the recent Tumblrwoman Election, she deeply resents being trapped in this narrative device!

Her attire today is plain by Earth standards, but well put-together by ALTERNIAN ones. Nevertheless, she has been known to dress up on occasion, particularly in the colors of her ANCESTOR, the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang!

She is extraordinarily determined, and extremely manipulative. She will do anything she can to make herself into the hero her story needs, consequences be damned. Her actions have made her the source of eternal, vitriolic discourse. Some believe her entirely justified, some believe her a heartless villain, and others believe everything in between; every one steadfast and passionate about their specific stance! Love her or hate her: VRISKA!!!!!!!!

HARRIER DU BOIS, also known as HARRY, sometimes referring to himself as RAPHAEL AMBROSIUS COSTEAU or THE REINCARNATION OF KRAS MAZOV, is here representing scenic Disco Elysium! He is a DETECTIVE, an ALCOHOLIC, a recent AMNESIAC, and a WASTE of ENERGY. Having just recently recovered from an attempt at drinking himself to death, we thought inviting him to compete might raise his spirits some! Unfortunately he does not seem to be totally aware of his surroundings, as he has already tried to touch himself twice on air!

His garish and mismatched clothes are STAINED with seemingly every substance a human body can produce. His face is locked in an EXPRESSION that can only induce disgust and discomfort in those who view it.

The few memories he can draw from his fractured mind paint him as violent, selfish, cruel, and pitiful. He has been trying to get over a breakup for six years, and has only partially succeeded through near-total retrograde amnesia. Worst of all, he's still somehow a decently successful cop. He has no friends and few allies on Revachol, with perhaps the sole exception of the impossibly patient and composed Lt. Kim Katsuragi. Even among his fans, you'd be hard pressed to find one who'd defend him, and ever harder pressed to find one willing to stand in the same room as him. Nevertheless, from the safe distance of fiction, let's hear it for HARRY!

In but a few moments, the doors in front of them will open, and they will be able to approach the trophy onto which we have engraved the name of the winner. 5… 4… 3… 2…

AND THE WINNER IS: VRISKAAAAAAAA SERKET!

—

Vriska: WH8T THE FUCK.

Vriska: WHAT THE F8CK!!!!!!!!

Vriska: I WON THIS????????

Vriska: You pieces of shit can't supp8rt me to win ag8inst some lanky rain8bow-drinking 8itch, 8ut 8eat one-in-fuck8ng 16777216 odds to win poorest, wettest, saddest, littlest g8ddamn meow8east?

Logic [Easy:Success]: She won. That means we lost.

Conceptualization [Challenging:Failure]: Another loss in a long, long line of losses.

Pain Threshold: You've gotten used to the feeling by now. Losing something barely even hurts anymore.

Endurance: You still carry each one with you. Well, except…

Volition: Not now. Not yet.

Authority [Medium:Success]: This doesn't have to stay a loss. Stare the girl down. Challenge her. Don't let this be taken from you.

Wait, what *is* she doing, anyway?

Perception: The grey girl seems to be shouting at someone, but there's no one else here.

Vriska: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Inland Empire [Godly:Success]: The unseen audience, the string-pullers of fate. The sadistic writer terrorizing their creation. The storybook itself, the confines it sets. She has seen the death of the author, and needs more.

Empathy [Medium:Failure]: What's got her so upset?

Harry: Is there something wrong with you?

Vriska: I'm not taking that from a walking dumpster, asshole!

Suggestion: There's still time to fix this. Say something nice, quickly.

Harry: I just mean, you seem upset. I thought you'd be celebrating your win. It’s a big accomplishment, right?

Vriska: Are you kidding?

Drama: Are we, sire? Should we be, perhaps?

Vriska: You thought I’d 8e cele8r8ing this? A vote for the most pitia8le, pathetic person in paradox space? I’m not so desper8 to fill my pity quadrant that I need to resort to CROWDFUNDING! That’s like the lowest form of 8egging!

Electrochemistry: You are that desperate. Don’t think we're above begging for it, piggy.

Conceptualization [Easy:Success]: Oh. This was not a contest one wants to win. Maybe our loss was for the best.

Vriska: And I WON!!!!!!!! With this kind of competition, HOW did I get all the votes? All of them!

Reaction Speed [Trivial:Success]: "This kind of competition?" She’s talking about you! Say something!

Harry: It was a tight race. You fought with honor.

Vriska: IT SH8ULDN’T HAVE FUCKIN8 8EEN!

Vriska: Look at you! What the fuck kind of su8juggl8or suit are you wearing? Did someone 8leed on it?

Savoir Faire: No, no, this outfit is *cool*. You just have to give it a little *disco*, man.

Strike a pose.

Vriska: …

Vriska: You can’t seriously think any of that is appealing.

Vriska: Your clothes look like they were dragged out of 8 different gar8age 8ins.

Vriska: You couldn’t 8e more greasy and stained if you drowned in a pail of 8rooding slurry. From the st8 of your body, you actually might have!

Physical Instrument: I told you. You need to cultivate more mass.

Composure [Challenging:Failure]: Please, don’t start crying in front of a teenager.

You realize that you already have.

Vriska: Are you seriously crying right now? I might not 8e an expert on the human metamorphological process 8ut you definitely aren’t a pupa anymore. Shit, you look like you’re halfway dead already. Grow up, Pupa Pan!

Endurance: You need to stop this, now, before you break down further.

Harry: Fuck off, fucking spidery bitch! Leave me alone!

Vriska: Wow. I don’t think I’ve seen a grown man act this pathetic 8efore. How the hell did you not win this!?!?!?!? Do you even have a single thing going for you?

Esprit De Corps: You have a badge and a gun. You are a Detective Lieutenant-Yefreitor of the RCM. At least for now, you have that.

Harry: I’m a pretty good fucking cop.

Vriska: There are no good cops you dum8 8itch!

Authority: Make her stop.

Vriska: I’ve known you less than a minute and you already disgust me. I feel 8ad for the people that actually have to 8e near you.

Half Light: Do what you have to do and do it now.

Vriska: You deserved to win this. I don’t know how you can live like that. 8ack home you would have 8een culled sweeps ago.

Hand Eye Coordination [Legendary:Success]: You have never fired a shot so quickly or instinctually. You didn’t even know your gun was loaded. You pulled it out the way a cat scratches a hand, or a drunk pisses himself. You don’t remember when violence became second nature to you, but you didn’t forget how to do it either.

Harry: Oh, God.

Perception (Sight): Is that blood… blue?

Visual Calculus [Legendary:Success]: Light swirls and shimmers around the girl’s body, flashing a technicolor code you cannot decipher. Her body floats into the air, and her eyes flash open. All eight of them.

Inland Empire: No justice. No heroism. Just mindless violence.

Half Light: RUN.

Vriska: OW!

Vriska: Oh no you fucking don’t!!!!!!!!

(♏) Volition [Impossible:Failure]: You try to run, but your will is seemingly powerless to drive your body. I’m sorry.

Physical Instrument: Don’t look at me. I’m in great shape.

Interfacing: Connections seem fine. Don’t tell me we have to unplug him again…

♏Vriska♏: What the fuck.

Harry: Wh-wh-what are you doing to me?

Vriska: Shut up I’m trying to f8cus!

Inland Empire: Welcome, Thief of Light.

♏Vriska♏: What the hell is wrong with you?

Encyclopedia: Severe alcoholism. Retrograde amnesia. Partial facial paralysis. Dehydration. Heart palpi- (♏)

♏Vriska♏: 8e quiet, 8ook8rain! I’m trying to rifle through memories here and it’s a MESS!

Interfacing: We haven’t quite organized since our recent… restructuring. Try the thought cabinet.

Rhetoric: Don’t tell her that!

♏Vriska♏: Too late, sucker! Found it!

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: Jegus christ.

♏Vriska♏: In pu8lic? Why would you—

♏Vriska♏: Ugh!

♏Vriska♏: You said THAT?

♏Vriska♏: There was a8solutely no reason to do ANY of that, what the hell!

♏Vriska♏: You should honestly just kill yourself if you’re going to keep 8eing such a fuckup!

Reaction Speed: Yes!

Logic: Sound. You should kill yourself.

Empathy: It would make everyone feel better.

Endurance: Hasn’t this all gone on long enough?

Savoir Faire: It’s a hell of a statement.

Drama: The noble sacrifice, like Romeo, like Juliet!

Rhetoric: You should kill yourself NOW!

Authority: She has bested you. Listen to your better.

Half Light: Anything to get away from her.

Volition: …

♏Vriska♏: Can you creeps 8e normal for two damn seconds?

MORALE CRITICAL

The light fades from your eyes, and you fall to the floor.

Shivers: You are being called back where you belong....

—

Kim: Yes, Lieutenant. A fascinating dream. I’m sorry you did not win the competition.

Harry: What do you think it means, Kim? Do you think it could be some kind of message? Should I try to find that girl?

Kim: “That girl?”

Harry: Yeah! Vriska!

Kim: No, Lieutenant. I do not think you should go looking for Vriska Serket from Homestuck. Perhaps try looking for the killer in our murder case?

[supertrainstationh]

GAME GEAR

Super Train Station H

• • • • • • • •

Game Gear: keeps you busy till the train's here.

Full color screen, 8-bit graphics so vibrant they make your eyes tear. No one cared that it's just a smaller Master System, it had top tier games, so we put it into commission.

Stereo sound to listen, but only if you've got headphones: can't squeeze two speakers on something that predates iPhones.

Playing on the ride home - Dad's stuck in late night Brooklyn Bridge traffic, speed's a no-go: but I'm behind the wheel with Ayrton Senna racing in Monaco.

The glow of the screen, makes the back seat a party scene, the batteries running out now would be a bad dream - they drain faster than Sonic dying in "Sonic Spinball". Mom's got extra Duracells, she has it covered, so trust her.

Vanishing colored gems in "Columns" like Fruit Gushers.

"Fantasy Zone", a shooter with Lisa Frank syndrome, space combat so cute you don't wanna quit.

"Sonic the Hedgehog", where do I start with this? I admired Eggman's robot transformation gimmick, but roboticizing my animal friends is beyond my limit.

Doc mocks me with Cumming's Robotnik cartoon voice, because my head-canon for this game is multiple choice. Sally, Antione, Bunny,and Rotor are my back-up crew, gonna beat Robotnik, and all his Badniks too, and solve mechanical puzzles too tough for Nancy Drew.

The Doctor's sinister, his boss stages make my head spin,   but in the name of great justice: I gotta fight him - powered by six double-A's of bottled lightning.

Loved my Game Gear, for playing in the dark; nothing came near, but its nemesis the Game Boy was one for Sega to fear. Nintendo's black-and-white screen made Sega get cocky, let their guard down, but Game Boy came swinging like Rocky.

Smaller price tag - which the parents loved. Needing less batteries fit budgets like a glove. Barely small enough to fit into a 90's kid's pocket, looks like a brick today, but back then, it was some hot kit. You know Mr. Yokoi's team was proud of it. And the batteries lasted a lot longer too, you could play all day hiding it under your desk at school.

And Sega boned their own ads by dissing Game Boy fans, instead of luring handheld gamers with an olive branch.

Wow. What a system, How could I not miss it? Nostalgia soaring high like "Space Harrier" missiles.

I showcase it on Twitch to help spread the word, sometimes it's new to even long-time Sega nerds. I'd talk forever on Game Gear, you know I like this. But my batteries are low, so it's time to split.

[My Twitch] [My VOD Channel] [My FA] [My Ko-fi]

[jodjuya]

One of the best genres in fiction is the noir-core convergent evolution collection of profoundly alcoholic, utterly dysfunctional, dangerously unstable, tormented, and wildly out-of-control chain-smoking renegade super-detective geniuses named Harry who cause ludicrous amounts of property damage in their obsessive and self-destructively-reckless fixation on Solving The Case and Getting Their Man, NO 👏 MATTER 👏 WHAT 👏 IT 👏 TAKES 👏

Irrevocably anguished in equal measures by the scumbags that he couldn't put away, the innocents that he couldn't save, the systems that failed him, and the dame that broke his soul, it's been 0 days since his last internal monologue, 1 day since his last fistfight, 2 days since his last sleep, 4 days since his last shave, 8 days since his last shower, 16 days since his overdue rent was due, and 32 days since his last bender.

COUNTERBALANCE WITH SAFE/SANE/CONSENSUAL SIDEKICKS TO TASTE

Shown here:

Lieutenant double-yefreitor Harrier "Harry" Du Bois, of the video game 'Disco Elysium'.

Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, wizard and private investigator, of the 'Dresden Files' series of novels.

Inspector Harold "Dirty Harry" Francis Callahan, of the 'Dirty Harry' film series.

Norwegian police officer Harry Hole, of the eponymous novel series and film adaptation.

(I discovered this guy exists only, like, an hour ago, but I'll be damned if he doesn't fit in perfectly right alongside the rest of these Loose-Cannon Lawmen)

"Dirty Harry" came along first, so I suspect he set the mould and the other three are in homage to some degree or another... 🤔

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 9: Lend an Ear

It was a cold night out in Empyreum as Esredes began to make his way home from a bar outing with friends, smiling to himself as the idle joy of the evening stayed with him through the streets. The wind was blowing and the snow was coming down lightly, but though he drew his coat closer to himself, Esredes didn't particularly feel the cold seep through him.

That was, until a familiar sight made him stop in his tracks. Sitting on a bench just up ahead was a hunched over figure Esredes had come to recognize anywhere by now. Another Elezen man who held his head in his hand while covering his face, both elbows on his knees and a flash hanging from fingers that threatened to let go of it entirely. His eyes were unfocused on the stone in the ground, and most tellingly, he didn't have a coat on. The sight felt so uncannily like history repeating itself to the harrier, that he couldn't help but be seized by momentary panic, fast-walking over to stand directly in front of the bench. "...Alvere?" His coworker didn't even look up at him. His gaze fixated on his boots and his face twisted into a petulant frown. "What." That single word was slurred, and his voice came out drier than normal, barely audible even more than usual. Perhaps Esredes had a complicated relationship with the Inquisitor and unresolved feelings, but each time he saw him like this, in these pathetic and vulnerable states, all he could feel was his heart aching and the protective urge to correct the problem take hold of him. "Alvere." He put his hands in between his legs and bent down to try and make eye contact. "It's snowing. Do you have a place to sleep tonight." Alvere still didn't look at him. He looked away to the right. "Yes." "So you're not out here again because you're homeless. I was worried for a moment. ...Something else just as bad must've happened." "Not homeless yet. Maybe. Don't know." He shrugged only one shoulder, shaking off the snow from it. "...Good eyes." The sarcasm dripped from his voice.' "What do you mean don't know." Esredes sighed. "You'll probably go to your office again, but worst case scenario, you already know where I live. What's going on, Macaire?" Ever since Alvere had told him his middle name, Esredes felt like using it in select circumstances. "Do not call me that." His eye finally snapped up to Esredes as he snarled that out, his pupil wide and colored by the red around it. "Why." "Why what?" "Why do you care?" The man continued to slur out, the copper in his mouth more than pungent from Esredes' relative distance. "What confessions have you?" Spoken like a true Inquisitor, before he looked to the flask and took another drink. Esredes opted to watch him do so for a moment, letting the air linger in silence. "Because you do." He said. "And because she did, but that wasn't enough by itself."

He took a seat next to Alvere on the bench. "You look like you've aged twenty years in one night. Talk to me. Tell me something." "Something." He said with a bitter edge, smushing his head against his cheek in the least elegant fashion. Esredes smiled a little, but Alvere continued. ".... Told you once, I envy you. Meant it. Would trade places in a heartbeat, if you wouldn't go nuts as an Inquisitor." Esredes glanced off at the darkened sky. He let Alvere's words linger over him for a long moment, stewing like in a pot of boiling water.  "...I don't blame you." He finally said. "Everything I have is going to wither and leave me to die alone just the same. But witnessing a rose's beauty even in its short life isn't fun. And I know you'd take the hell of the shadows for what it's worth in stride." He looked back to him. "Why do you feel lonely again, Alvere?" ".... I tried to make buuz. Wanted to make it. Share it. Liivi taught me." His lips wobbled, his shoulders curved in, and he sunk. "That's the uh... the dumplings, right? Like the noodle place had." Alvere nodded his head vigorously. "Sounds delicious. What happened?" Esredes scoots a little closer, tilting his head at him. "Made them. Not perfect, but good. Good filling. But... no one tells you, your house isn't yours. Kitchen isn't yours. Ruining people's night because cooking's their job, and you wanna make buuz." He gripped that flask tight. "I didn't get to eat them." Esredes squinted. "...Someone got upset you wanted to make food for people?" Alvere nodded, wordlessly. "That's... you make food all the time. That's just what you do. That's your thing. One of your things. A lot of people cook. You do it because you love it. It doesn't matter whose job it is." "Her kitchen. Not mine." Alvere's jaw tightened, and he grinded his teeth again. "...I got mad. Forgot. Called petulant." He nodded vigorously again, staring at Esredes with a look bordering on devastation. "It was one night. Just wanted buuz. But she- claimed she could make them better. Because, paramour. Maybe she could, but not mine. Liivi made those. Showed me. Liivi might be dead and that is all I have. Buuz. I didn't get to eat them."

A fat tear fell from Alvere's eye. Esredes' expression grew into an ever more concerned frown, and there it was. That ache in the heart. That natural pulsation which longed for that the world said wasn't allowed to be. "...That's just baffling." He offered to his words. "I don't cook. I don't know shit about cooking. And even I can tell how much cooking means to people who do it. Two people don't make a dish the same way, regardless of quality." He inched closer to Alvere. "...Tell me about Liivi?" "Xaela. Good warrior. Was Arliana's bedwarmer, though, never told him that. He loved her. She didn't." He frowned, looking down. "First friend, after... everything. Then he went home, after Arliana. Said he'd come back." "And he never did." "Liivi does not lie." "I don't know much about the ways of Xaela. Maybe he has a lot of tribal obligations on top of trying to process her wickedness. He could be dead, but that's also not necessarily the only explanation. A lot of dead people in my life end up showing back up in the strangest ways." "Mhmn." Alvere bowed his head, staring at the flask. And then, he let it go, and it fell into the snow. "Always make an extra buuz. Even if it goes to waste. Wanted Majalis and-" His breath caught. "...Vallenaux. Wanted them to try it. Was gonna spar him. Owe him one. After dinner. I was hungry." "Why didn't you get to eat it? Alvere, have you eaten...?" "Not hungry." "Just please try to get something in before the end of the night?" Alvere didn't answer him. "Or else I'll draw a shitty portrait and hang it in your window?" Esredes smiled. That got a snort out of the other man, followed by a hacked-out laugh. "Scare you?" Had it scared Esredes, the war-torn man, to see a painting of Alvere in his All Saints costume hanging outside his window? "You can't prove anything." "Heh." Alvere lifted a hand to his throat, massaging it. "It scared you." "How much gil did you spend on painting yourself in a costume, Alvere."

His brow knit together at the question. ".....Don't remember. Got plenty of it." His smile fell away. "...too much." A tightness thinned his lips, and his hand fell away from his throat. Esredes' smile dropped. "...Alvere?" Alvere was staring at the ground again, his fingers touching the missing finger on his hand and then digging into it. "Do I look like a Lord? Lords do that. Drop gil on a prank. Too much gil." "Alvere, I brought three friends and myself to an overpriced seafood opening and got shitfaced drunk. I'm making a point about how much -effort- you put into that." "Wanna be shitfaced drunk. Just normal drunk, though. Hard to sober up from shitfaced, and Laudine will worry." "I'd rather you don't wake up with me sleeping on the futon like I had to experience. So let's pride your self control, all right? Majalis and..." He hesitated. "Majalis is a very flexible person, from what I've seen of him. I think he'll understand." "Not drunk because of Majalis. Like Majalis. Though waiting." "What?" "Hmn?" "Though waiting on what?" "Oh. For him to hurt too. Or leave. Or both." "Ah. I see." Esredes looks out at the street, sighing. "...Yeah. I know that feeling all too well. It's the worst, isn't it?" "Mmn. Tell you, they don't wanna hurt you. Knowing it will." His lip began to wobble once more, and his face tightened up. "Im so tired." "You should be. One thing I notice in the process of being left constantly is, it's not always you. People who hurt cut themselves off from everyone but make you out to be the problem when you're not. And I know it's not, that simple, with people like us. But... you do learn to at least better spot, when it's a transaction and when someone actually sees you. Even if they can't see all of it." Alvere's expression shifted, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "...It hurts." He said it so softly with his ruined voice. "But my hurt doesn't matter." Once more, Esredes felt that painful, hurting ache. "...I think it matters." He said. "Why do we talk to each other instead of trying to kill each other, Alvere? How did all of that start?" "Dunno. Still think you'd try to kill me, so. Dunno." "It's because you were visibly hurting." Esredes said. "You were -feeling-. You were being a person. You were being more than you were allowed to be. And that had significant meaning. It's something I look for, to figure out who people really are." "... I don't get it." "I'm trying to say that was the point you demonstrated being human. By hurting. There were other, smaller ways before- but it was significant. It's easier to connect to peoples' fabrics if you know how they hurt. ...In the emotional sense, I mean." "... I hurt a lot." Alvere was somehow the stupidest and most intelligent person in one. Even drunk. "You do. Mutually. We both know it's all the worst for people like us. We've said so many times by now. We couldn't have come to that understanding if you didn't hurt." Alvere's gaze went to the ground, and his arms tightened further around himself. "...wish it'd stop. I try. I try and try and try and it's never enough. Lied to. Mocked. Bullied. Feared. Hated. Sick of it. Tired." "I hear you. It's been like this your whole damn life, and it never stops. It just keeps changing form. And you're allowed to accept, that it feels like gods-damned shit. But for what it's worth, I know you're trying." I care about you. I hate to admit it, but I do. "You don't always get it right, but you have grown. So much. From each mistake. In a way that I personally find... hopeful. Hopeful on a scale that extends beyond you." "Don't say that." Alvere bowed his head. "I will fail you." "Why do you think so?" "Always do. How it goes. Im used, or, I fail them and they leave. Expectations too high. Failed as a Lord. Failed as a lowborn. Knight. Only good at being an Inquisitor. What has that earned me?" He gestured out ahead of them. "Lies. Lies, and lies, and shit."

Esredes squinted. Oh no. He suddenly knew what this was about, and it wasn't just buuz. "...What happened to Majalis and Vallenaux? After this incident?" Alvere opened his mouth to talk, but abruptly snapped his jaw shut. "Did they just... leave?" "... yes. Met with Vallenaux, later. Or earlier. Don't know. Later than buuz. Before," he gestured to the flask still lying in the snow. "Did something happen?" Alvere just pressed his lips together. "...I see. You had the same reaction." Alvere just frowned.  "I can't bring myself to like that man. He is driven by impulse. I have told him, time and time again, to think, to stop making everything about himself, to stop getting people hurt. And that was so long ago now, and yet, nothing has changed. Nothing. And constantly crying and apologizing won't fix the cycle being so endless." Alvere looked away. ".... him and Reinette. Apologies, but not for me. His hurt." "He got emotional, didn't he? Rash, and emotional, and he cried and said it was about you, but it was about him and what -he's- been through?" "....Not entirely." He stared down at the ground. "....Confessional. After seeing the buuz thing. Told me he did not wish to hurt me. Lies." Alvere's shoulders sagged again, his expression haggard, worn, and far too old for his years. "Always." "He told me too." Esredes offered. "You're not alone on how this one feels." Alvere shot Esredes a look immediately. "You knew?" "I tried to ask him a couple simple questions. And he confessed. And I tried to tell him about all the people who were being hurt by this. But does he truly listen? No." No, of course not. Why would he listen? A man who denounced Esredes years ago suddenly wanted to talk to him again, as if he didn't know who he was, and he turns out to be a fake. A random man from the Shroud impersonating the original who died a while ago. Alvere's entire expression crumbled. "I trusted him." The words came out softly. "Was gonna make buuz for him. A friend. My friend." Next came a choked sound, clawing its way out of his throat. "He knew- he knew what happened. Told me anyway. Couldn't... couldn't keep it for one more day. Then didn't wanna hurt me? Didn't want to hurt me?" His laugh was a horrible, choking sound, and he buried his face in his hands. The sight made Esredes frown. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Alvere vulnerable, of course. The last time he'd sat out on a bench like this, he had been kicked out of a house. There was the time he told Alvere his beloved had seen the best in him even after finding out his true, shadow Inquisitorial nature- that had made him truly break the first time. And just as he did those times and more, here he stayed, trying to find the right words to say to his drunken coworker. "...Yeah." He settled on. "Complete bullshit. That's all he's full of. Bullshit. He's some unknown anomaly from elsewhere choosing to be someone he isn't. There is nothing to him. There can't be. And for that, I can't feel bad for what happens to him. He's nothing. And it's not fair you have to suffer for your trust like that. Not at all." Esredes reached a hand out... and lightly patted his shoulder. Alvere let out a sound like a sob and leaned into the touch slightly, his frame trembling.  "Not nothing. Was a friend." He dug through his hair, tugging at the strands. "It hurts. Every time." Esredes went ahead and rested the hand on Alvere's shoulder, to which the man leaned in harder.  "...You're allowed to just let it hurt." He said next. "Who wouldn't? I didn't like him, so it didn't hurt as much as it did piss me off. But it hurt in a very different way, instead." He let out a low and pained sound from deep within his chest. "I can't. If anyone else... petulant. Childish."

Esredes moved his other hand to Alvere's far shoulder and gently pulled him into a lean against himself, looking out at the buildings of Empyreum as the man slumped into the half-embrace without hesitation. "We're not operating by the rest of the world's rules in this moment." He said. "We both know what we are. Forget about everyone else. Just be, for a while. Whoever Alvere is, be him." Alvere was still digging his fingers into his hair, face unseen. "I don't-" he tried to say, but his voice cracked and he fell silent. It lingered over both of them for several moments before the word could be forced out. "-Know." "I figured you don't." Esredes said. "In a lot of ways, I don't really know who Esredes is either. If he really exists, if he died with that knight, so on. It's hard to figure out when so many pieces of you die and haunt you, others get smashed together or painted over for everyone's viewing pleasure." He paused for a brief moment. "I don't imagine Alvere is the man you keep mourning. But I don't think he's all those shards of glass people stabbed you with and embedded into your skin, exactly, either. He's still forming a mirror out of shards of glass, for now. But he's trying to form, and that counts for something." Esredes patted his shoulder twice, watching as Alvere's body shook and shivered. A pained sound came out of him like that of someone sliding a knife into his belly. "I cannot bear it," he said. "I sympathize." Esredes said. "For as fucked up as I am, I don't know what it's like to go through what you did." He patted his shoulder some more as he spoke. "I don't truly change. You... hold on to some things, no matter what. And by gods, it's not an easy fight. Especially alone. But I've said it before and I've said it again. By the gods, I want you to win, Alvere. I desperately want you to be strong enough, in the end. So, I mean it. Just feel. Don't think too hard about it." "Stay." The word was barely audible from the other man at this point. "Please." "I'm not leaving." Esredes held Alvere a little tighter. "I will stay right here, until you want me to take you home. All right?" With a nod, Alvere leaned into that partial embrace and fell completely silent, his hands still covered his face. Something told Esredes he wouldn't get to see it again tonight.

But he made a promise to him, and he kept it. He stayed with his shivering coworker until he could manage to get him up from the bench, retrieving his flask in the process. Since that night, neither had spoken of it again since. Esredes wasn't sure how much of it Alvere remembered at all, or if he'd truly registered any of his words- but he didn't try and ask, either. He'd simply opted to leave that moment at its place in time.

Perhaps they were a harrier and an Inquisitor, even if they had both once been Temple Knights. Perhaps they fought, and argued, and yelled at each other, threatened to leave only to find neither could, and found some new understanding in the hesitation. But each and every time the other showed themselves like this, all of it washed away and didn't matter.

They always stayed with each other, in that unspoken, small world shared between the monsters the world shunned away. That, at least, they had between each other, and always would, as long as they kept trying to make things work.

[bloomburnweepwilt]

Harrier's short guide to drawing

Hi!! My name is Harry and I've been drawing consistently for about 5-6 years. And uh- I wanna show a basic overveiw of my process!!! then here ya go https://www.tumblr.com/bloomburnweepwilt/758926600395980800/oh-look-its-ameliedoree-her-videos-slap-go?source=share

Also go watch Amelie Doree- thats who this drawing is a fanart of.

1- Getting your rough down

The first and most foundational step is getting a basic layout of your drawing, before you do anything you have to make sure you get a good idea of what exactly you're drawing. This is one of the few parts of drawing that you don't just have to ram yourself into the wall with practice to get good at. You just have to play around and have a fun time and look at the art you like to see what compositions they use.

My roughs are relatively clean because I have a lot of experience with this art style I use and I don't need a lot of guidelines. If I was doing furry art, realism, a western comic book style, or even something more simple like a gravity falls or owl house inspired style I would need a lot more guidelines because I'm not used to the parameters of the style. Though if you're just starting out then no matter what you do you're gonna hafta build up a lot no matter what style you go for.

2- Sketching/Lineart

For me my process has evolved to where I carve out my lineart from the sketch directly. But this is where you have to just put in the hard work and time into building your skill. I don't have any particular advice on this end besides follow your bliss, do gesture drawings, and make sure you have measurable goals.

If you want to take inspiration from my artistic inclinations specifically, then keep your lines loose, try to have decently realistic proportions but don't stick too hard to them. Especially if you're drawing a fictional stylized character and not a character or person with a real flesh face where you have more room for conveying likeness. Also sketchy loose lines are pretty much always look better, it allows your art to look more lively!

3- Get background colors down

Nothing much to say here, you just need to do this so you get an idea of what the rest of the colors will feel like. It doesn't have to stay the same color but getting the vibe down is important.

*also normally I wouldn't use bright white for a masking color, but because I want the art to be very bright and colorful so I decided to go with white.

4- Flats

Another thing you kinda just have to learn and get used to. If you feel like your colors are just a bit too disonant, use your programs hue slider and move it just slightly left or right. Its a really good way to get everything feel cohesive while also not loosing the core pallete.

6- Linessssssss~~~~~~

For me this is where all of the life of my art comes from, its where i get to be super loose and impressionistic with my stuff and I get to color up the thing. A lot I'll go with "unexpected colors" in places because those unexpected colors can add a lot of texture and life to your art but this is meant to be pastely and fun so i decided to go wit more conventional colors.

7- Add coloring layers on top for final adjustments

these don't have to be super obvious and noticeable, but often the right mix of overlay and multiply layers can make a piece look better.

And thats basically the whole process. Add and remove what you want, I just wanted to share since Baby artists sometimes don't have a realistic idea of how art gets made and having a step by step can be useful.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

GONE FISSION

Opening in theaters this weekend:

Oppenheimer--This biopic splits time the way its hero splits the atom. Narrative is fissionable to writer-director Christopher Nolan; he skips back and forth between episodes of Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) as a bumbling student, then as a philandering rising star in the new field of quantum physics, then as the determined yet haunted lord of Los Alamos, then as a post-bomb martyr to '50s era red-baiting. It glides along smoothly through its fractured scheme, beautifully shot by Hoyt van Hoytema in black and white and varyingly muted shades of color depending on period and point of view, and pushed along by a solemn Philip Glass-esque score by Ludwig Göransson.

Often crowned by a horizontal wide-brimmed preacher-style hat that makes him look like Brad Dourif in Wise Blood, Murphy uncannily captures the bursting, wide-eyed, near-ecstatic face that we see in photos of Oppenheimer. But he manages to give the performance a human dimension, with everyday foibles and touches of humor. He's not a pageant figure.

Murphy carries a star presence. But he's very ably supported by a huge, colorful gallery of star character players: Robert Downey Jr. as AEC Chairmen Lewis Strauss and Josh Hartnett as Ernest Lawrence and Benny Safdie as Edward Teller and Tom Conti as Albert Einstein and David Krumholtz as Isidore Rabi, Oppenheimer's menschy colleague who makes sure he eats and nudges his conscience, and Matthew Modine and Casey Affleck and Kenneth Branagh and Rami Malek and Alden Ehrenreich, to name only a few.

They're all entertaining, but two in particular jolt the movie to life: Florence Pugh as Oppenheimer's joyless lover Jean Tatlock and Matt Damon as the practical-minded, professionally unimpressed Leslie Groves, representing us laypeople in his deadpan, flummoxed scenes with Murphy. For a while it seems like Emily Blunt is underserved as Kitty Oppenheimer, but near the end she gets a juicy, angry scene opposite AEC lawyer Roger Robb (Jason Clarke), who has underestimated her.

Other than maybe a few too many scenes of the young "Oppie" having visions that look like the psychedelic mindtrip at the end of 2001, there was no point where I found Oppenheimer less than absorbing. Few would suggest that this ambitious, superbly acted, superbly crafted film isn't a major, compelling work, a vast expansion on Roland Joffé's watchable but modest Fat Man and Little Boy from 1989. If Nolan's film isn't quite completely satisfying, there could be two reasons.

One is that trying to arrive at a moral conclusion about this movie's hero seems impossible. Put (too) simply: on the one hand, Oppenheimer won World War II for the good guys and checked fascism (not checkmated it, alas) for more than half a century. On the other hand, his invention has the potential to ruin the world for everybody. Both can be true, and the ambiguity is unresolvable.

Another problem with the film, however, is a matter of simple showmanship. Back in 1994, James Cameron brought his silly action picture True Lies to a point where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis kiss while, far in the distance, we see a mushroom cloud erupt on the horizon. Triumphant, but then Cameron pushed his luck, piling on one last struggle with the villain in a Harrier jet. I remember thinking (and writing) at the time that when your hero and heroine kiss in front of a mushroom cloud, the movie is over.

Oppenheimer, obviously a very different movie, is uneasily structured in the same way. The scenes leading up to the Trinity Test at White Sands in 1945 are riveting, pulse pounding. The explosion and the immediate aftermath, ending the war in Japan, is a stunning dramatic climax.

But then the movie keeps going, for another hour or so, detailing the war of spite and will between Strauss and Oppenheimer, and the revocation of Oppenheimer's security clearance. It's interesting, provocative material in itself, but it seems a little petty and trivial after the "I am become death; destroyer of worlds" stuff. Given Nolan's supposed consummate skill at scrambling sequence, couldn't he have somehow structured the movie to end with a bang and not a whimper?

Barbie--Something is rotten in the state of Barbieland. As this, her first live-action feature begins, our titular heroine finds herself haunted, right in the middle of raging dance parties at her Dreamhouse, by thoughts of death. Still more alarming, when she steps out of her pumps, her feet go flat to the ground.

To be clear, the Barbie in question, played by Margot Robbie, is "Stereotypical Barbie," the blond, inhumanly thin and leggy iconic version of the Mattel doll. She shares the relentlessly cheery pink-plastic realm of Barbieland with countless other Barbies of every race and body shape and profession, all happy and accomplished and untroubled and mutually supportive. They're dimly aware of us in the "Real World"; they believe that their own harmony has created an example that has led to female empowerment and civil rights over here.

The Barbies also share Barbieland with Ken (Ryan Gosling) and countless variant Kens, as well as Ken's featureless friend Allan (a perfectly cast Michael Cera). But the guys exist entirely as accessories to the relatively uninterested Barbies. Ken's unrequited fascination with Barbie makes him subject, unlike the Barbies, to dissatisfaction.

Barbie goes for advice to "Weird Barbie" (Kate McKinnon), whose hair is frizzy and patchy and who's stuck in a permanent split. She's told that her troubles come from the dark feelings of somebody who's playing with her in our reality, so she sets out on a quest to the Real World, emerging in Venice Beach. Barbie connects with a mom and teenage daughter (America Ferrera and Ariana Greenblatt) whose relationship is strained; she's also pursued by the all-male board of Mattel, led by Will Ferrell. Ken, meanwhile, learns about our patriarchy, likes what he hears, and heads back to Barbieland alone to institute it, with himself at the top.

Mattel was founded in 1945, the same year as the Trinity Test, and there are probably feminist social critics who would argue that Barbie, invented in 1959 by Mattel co-founder Ruth Handler (well played by Rhea Perlman in the film), has wreaked only a little less havoc on the modern psyche than Oppenheimer's gadget. Even though I'm in exactly the right generational wheelhouse (I was born in 1962), my own childhood experience with Barbie was very limited, and thus so were my nostalgic associations with her.

Even so, this nutty fantasy, directed by Greta Gerwig from a brilliant script she wrote with Noah Baumbach, made me laugh from its inspired first scene to its Wings of Desire finish. Narrated in the droll, arch tones of Helen Mirren, it manages to come across as both an ingenious pop-culture lampoon/celebration and an unpretentious but surprisingly heartfelt deep dive into the implications of the Barbie archetype. I wasn't a big fan of Gerwig's 2019 version of Little Women, but here she builds her world with the freedom of, well, a kid playing with dolls, but also with the confidence and adult perspective of an artist.

Not everything in the movie works; in the second half the narrative gets a little lost at times in some very strange musical numbers/battle scenes, and the whole thing comes close to going on a bit too long. And it's hard to say just who this movie is for. It hardly seems intended for little girls; however smart, they're too young for the commentary about female identity to mean much to them yet. It seems more like it's meant for adult women with both a fondness for and an ambivalence toward Barbie.

No doubt there are those who would also complain that, however witty and self-effacing, the movie amounts to a feature-length commercial for the brand. But in the age of Marvel and other such franchises, it seems a little late to object to this.

The revelation in the film is Margot Robbie. It seems ridiculous that she's able, in the role of freaking Barbie, to give a performance of such subtlety and nuance and shading and quiet, unforced wistfulness, but she does. And she gets to deliver the best last line of the year.

Theater Camp--Joan, the founder of "AndirondACTS," a slightly gone-to-seed theater camp in upstate New York, has fallen into a coma. The job of keeping the struggling camp afloat falls to her decidedly non-theatrical "crypto bro" son Troy. Meanwhile the devoted instructors work with the exuberantly happy campers to mount the shows, including an original musical about the life of poor comatose Joan (Amy Sedaris). Needless to say, all does not go smoothly.

The creators of this Waiting for Guffman-esque "mockumentary" comedy, Molly Gordon, Nick Lieberman, Ben Platt and Noah Galvin, know the world they're depicting well; all of them have been doing theater since they were small children. Gordon and Lieberman co-directed, from a script by all four; Platt and Gordon play Amos and Rebecca-Diane, the utterly enmeshed, co-dependent acting instructors and Galvin plays the low-profile tech director.

They capture the camaraderie and the sense of belonging that theater can give kids, and their affection for that world is unmistakable, but they're careful not to get too sentimental. The envies and resentments and passive-aggressive denigrations among theater folk, especially at this often professionally frustrated level, are vividly represented.

Getting laughs from the self-important vanities of theater people is pretty low-hanging fruit, I suppose, but Theater Camp is nonetheless often hilarious. The film also manages to get a little deeper at times, touching on the irony that while theater can create a haven and a community for misfit kids, this can generate its own clannishness and exclusionary snobbery, as in Amos and Rebecca-Diane's coldness toward the imbecilic but well-intentioned Troy, charmingly played by a sort of poor-man's Channing Tatum named Jimmy Tatro.

The real joy in Theater Camp, of course, is the acting: Platt, Gordon, Tatro, plus a few vets like Sedaris, Caroline Aaron and David Rasche bring the material to life. But as Glenn, the long-suffering backstage drudge who really ought to be onstage, Noah Galvin, who replaced Platt on Broadway in Dear Evan Hansen, is the revelation among the adults in the cast. He's a knockout.

The revelation among the kids playing the campers is, well, pretty much all of the kids playing the campers. There are some real singing, dancing and acting prodigies in this company. If there was a real theater camp somewhere with this kind of talent, their shows would sell out.

[v-spicata]

Yeah, no fucking shit, this has been going on for fucking decades and it makes me so angry. Harry or Charlie or whatever the fuck his name is literally shot a hen harrier and faced no consequences for it. Their arrogance and lack of regard for the world around them knows no bounds.

And for what? Grouse? Fucking pheasants? It's all so a bunch of poncy London financiers can dick around a country manor getting ginned up and pretend they're actual hunters. It's so shallow and transparent but the environmental damage these estates cause is on a landscape scale.

You know how they get such high numbers of grouse on the moors? They dump piles of medicated grit for the grouse to innocculate them against gut parasites. Like, in this era of panic about antibiotic resistance they are just dumping huge quantities of antibiotics into the wild. How the fuck could that possibly have any negative consequences? How the fuck is that even a legal practice? Should I go on about the flooding they cause downhill communities? The ecological desert they've made of the moors? Pesticides? Poison? Raptor persecution is only the tip of this shitty iceberg.

The root cause is that every practice of these places is geared towards one thing: the production of gamebirds as a product. As a commodity. Higher bag counts mean higher profits and nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of that, not native birds, not flood prevention, not even the law. You get a bunch of young, often skint, idiots on as gamekeepers, you put huge pressure on them to bring gamebird numbers up and then you put in front of them the expectation that they'll do whatever it takes to achieve that. Then when one gets caught stamping a harrier into the mud by some obsessive environmentalist, the gamekeeper gets a fine and the estate managers in charge don't even get their names mentioned. This is literally, by definition, organised crime.

From the article:

"A spokesperson for Sandringham said that it “fully supports and cooperates with any investigation into alleged wildlife or pesticide incidents”... [the estate] prides itself on all estate operations reflecting the most recent and relevant legislation, with staff abiding by best practice at all times”."

And this is the most infuriating thing, they spout such obvious bullshit like this. They know what they're doing, everyone knows what they're doing but they're just allowed to lie about it, they're just allowed to continue considering the law optional. And it is for them. Through their money, their connections and the pockets they line they are above the law. Even people who don't care about environmental issues should look at this situation and ask themselves: "If this culture of corruption is allowed to exist here, where else in our society is it allowed?"

Fuck these people, fuck the damage they do, fuck this country.

[th-vanity]

(   laura harrier.  cis woman. she/her.   )   ⸺   🦬   greetings, buffalos ! walking around campus, sporting her untrustworthy smirk we’ve spotted VANITY RYMES, a thirty year old who contributes to our thriving community as an armorer. according to our intel, they’ve been around the sanctuary for three years and what we know about her, aside from the fact that they DON'T agree with the decision to close the gates, is that she aspires to become the gunsmith but is not considered responsible enough to do so; she grew up in a small town in Alabama, and learnt how to hunt with her dad and older brothers from a young age ; she’s an adrenaline junkie and doesn’t mind putting her life at risk . doesn’t that make them fantastic ? we think it does, and that’s why we appreciate her so much, grateful for what they give to our community.

name: Vanity Rymes nicknames: Vee, Rymes age: thirty gender: cis woman sexuality: bisexual occupation: armorer + traits: skilled, good-humored, resilient - traits: unreliable, impulsive, uncommitted aesthetic: the smell of gunpowder, leaning the chair back almost to the point of falling, the smile of someone who knows something you don’t, cheap wine in an unmarked bottle, military green, undone worksheets.

I.

Vanity was the last child of Ernest Rymes, the only daughter out of the three he had. As a child, she liked toy cars, watching t.v. and causing mayhem. The teachers said that she was smart enough, but her grades would’ve greatly improved had she not spent her whole time at school causing trouble. Most of them saw in her behavior a call for attention; her mother appeared once every few months, without any real explanation of where she had been nor how long she would stay, and her father was often gone too, since he was a merchant that had to travel a lot. 

For the most part, Vanity was left at the care of her older brothers (who weren’t that much older nor responsable than her), or with his grandfather at his armory shop. Her brothers didn’t spent a lot of time with her, but they provided the basics: made sure she ate and that she was at the house to sleep at night. And while her grandfather could be sometimes cold and distant, he cared for her in a way that few other adults did. He passed away when she was sixteen.

Wyatt, the middle sibling, took possession of the armory. Vanity didn’t mind; even if she was the one who spent most time with her grandfather, she had no interest in working. And this didn’t change once she graduated. 

Once she got her diploma - a miracle, according to the principal, due to how many classes she skipped just to smoke at the parking lot -, there were few useful activities she was interested in doing. For the most part, she did small jobs, enough to buy chips and a can of coke from now and then, and sometimes, when her brother insisted enough, covered a shift at the armory. 

II.

Things changed overnight in the town when the pandemic hit. As soon as the first infected person arrived, it was over for them; it spread like a wildfire. Vanity only got out of there alive because Wyatt, who was at the house while she covered a shift at the shop, called to let her know what was going on. The call ended by a shout of panic and the distant sound of growling in the background. Vanity closed the armory shop, used a couple hours to get ready, and left with as much ammunition as she could carry. Perhaps it would’ve been smarter to wait there; after all, the doors and windows were covered with metal bars. Vanity had never been good at sitting put, though. 

She never found her older brother, nor is she sure if he’s still alive. He was out of town when the epidemic hit, so she can only hope.

She went solo for a while, until a hostile encounter with another group of survivors made her realize her chances of living multiplied if she wasn’t alone.She found a group with whom she lived for a couple of years, led by an ex-militar with whom she started a romantic relationship. However, a miscalculation of threat while they were traveling caused everyone to die at the hand of the infected while Vanity was out scouting, rendering her the only survivor. 

Still believing that there was strength in numbers, but not wanting to rush into any group in order to make sure they were people whom she wouldn’t mind living with first, she spent a couple months on her own, avoiding hoards of infected and investigating group of survivors she run into, until finally, she decided that the University of Colorado had what she was looking for. 

III.

She likes living on campus enough. It’s a safe space, she has her needs covered, she found a job she can do without causing much of a fuss. The skills and experience she possesses are enough to be the gunsmith, but the fact that she sometimes skips work and that she’s known for not paying enough attention makes it difficult for her to secure that promotion. However, she’s no longer than the eighteen year old kid she was when the epidemic first hit - over the years she learnt how to be slightly more responsible, meaning she might fight for the position a little harder in the future. 

Vanity is against the rule of not letting new people in only because she finds newcomers exciting; since she’s not a scout, that’s the only way she has to find out what’s going on on the outside. Her worst enemy is boredom, and she’s willing to sacrifice safety in order to avoid it; after all, they won the first coup, didn’t they? They can win another one. 

[everygame]

Air Twister (iOS)

Developed/Published by: YS Net Released: 24/06/2022 Completed: 21/10/2022 Completion: Finished it! Trophies / Achievements: n/a

Air Twister is a fascinating bit of work, representing, as it does, the return of probably one of the most important game developers ever, Yu Suzuki, to the kind of classic arcade play that he made his name with–the most obvious comparison being Space Harrier, only his third game released mere months after his second (Hang-On). But… and I’m trying to be gentle here, Yu Suzuki is also in his sixties, and the last arcade-style game he directed was over twenty years ago, meaning Air Twister gets to be possibly the first example of something that cinema fans have long dealt with: an reappearing auteur putting out new work that isn’t a revitalising return to form but just a pale imitation of what they’ve done before.

The thing is though, it’s not like I hate Air Twister. It’s a little bit charming in its way, with a lot of work being done by Dutch artist Valencia’s, er, derivative–but catchy–score (His obvious Queen obsession means he might as well just be singing “he’s a thriller bean” on the game’s main track, but to be fair to him in one of the boss themes he’s biting Kate Bush’s Sat In Your Lap, which is comparatively a deep cut.) It’s just that with Air Twister I really couldn’t work out if this was something Yu Suzuki cared about or wanted to make or if it’s just like “people liked the bizarre fantasy sci-fi mish mash of Space Harrier, we’ll do that” the way that (say) Dario Argento keeps crapping out sloppy nonsense.

It’s probably not helped by the fact that as an Apple Arcade title, Air Twister either has a bunch of player retention nonsense in it that was originally intended for when it was a normal mobile title, or it’s go a bunch of player retention nonsense in it because you need people to keep coming back to your Apple Arcade game for the hours played stats. Neither option fits at all with the game, which is a straightforward rail shooter with no branching paths or random generation or anything that you have to play from the start every time!

Most of the game, honestly, boils down to you, the player, playing as far as you can get into the main game to unlock stars which allow you to buy things on the “adventure map”, which is actually just sort of a tech tree where you buy more life, charms that let you survive hits and occasionally new weapons and powers, but also have to buy loads of cosmetics to get to them. And then you play the main game as far as you can again, having basically memorised it.

Air Twister is not hard–but it does quickly get dull, because there’s not much to it either in gameplay–which is more like Rez or Panzer Dragoon than Space Harrier, as you’re mostly locking-on to enemies before firing–or in setting and story, and that it’s the same every time you play is kind of a death knell. You can’t even really argue that any of the enemy formations or level designs are particularly interesting, so the saving grace ends up being that you’ll eventually unlock one of the weapons (or get enough “trial tickets” to use them) and the weapons basically just infinitely kill everything on screen until you get to the last couple of bosses where you’ll actually have to dodge stuff.

Playing this is really a reminder that often what you want isn’t the person who made the thing you like making more things–because, after all, how can it live up to that first thing–but people taking that thing you like and evolving it in interesting ways. Space Harrier might have been a mad old mish-mash but it worked due to pixel art and super scaler tech, and by the era of the Saturn you needed Panzer Dragoon to evolve that into a consistent universe. By the Dreamcast, you have Rez adding music to the mix (and not just slapping a Dutch guy singing “Morovian Symphony” over it). If anything, Air Twister feels like an imitation of them more than a continuation of Yu Suzuki’s work.

Really, there’s a “you can’t go home again” sensation to this. While playing it, I tried to imagine it as a Dreamcast or even a PS2 cult classic, but it doesn’t feel like one of those, and no amount of squinting to imagine it being played at 480i helped (even with an iPad being about the size of a tiny CRT.) What it actually feels most like is an early iPhone game, which is not nostalgic.

Although I suppose for some people it might be? One day?

Will I ever play it again? There are a lot of bonus modes and stuff to this, including a kind of flappy bird thing and even an extra proper stage, but I didn’t even boot up the extra stage, so I’m done with this, clearly.

Final Thought: As usual, despite saying I don’t hate this, I’ve spent most of my time giving it a kicking, which is the result of playing it until I finish it instead of–like a normal person–playing it a few times and moving on. And I do think if you play this a couple of times, the combination of the mish-mash setting and odd soundtrack make it a charming diversion for just long enough. And, you know, Yu Suzuki is a legend, so add to his hours played for Apple Arcade and maybe they’ll do a new Hang On. Now that’s the nostalgia I’m talking about!

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi, either via a one-off donation (pay what you like) or by joining as a supporter at just $1 a month.

[revachols-finest]

[ rules and regulations ]

hello yet another basic ass rules post from that one guy who never learned tumblr formatting and won’t start now!

this is an RP blog for the lead character of Disco Elysium, whose name will be used below the readmore. do not venture below the readmore if you do not want that spoiled for you. if you haven’t finished Disco Elysium and/or care about being spoiled, we can’t write together yet. go play Disco Elysium.

still here? great. here’s the details:

mun is Chez, 30+, cis male, Indigenous American, biromantic/asexual, and hopelessly obsessed with mimicking terry pratchett, which is going to make writing this blog very interesting since Disco Elysium is *very* Estonian and Terry Pratchett is *very British* and I am *neither of those things*

normally i would put that because i am 30+, i would prefer that any NSFW writing partners be 21 or above, but in Harrier Du Bois’ case this does not apply, because Harrier Du Bois could not get laid if he was horizontal at a blindfolded orgy (and that’s part of his charm)

there will be no sexual assault or discussion of sexual assault in any roleplays in which i am a participant; elsewise i will very shortly cease to be a participant. i’m not trying to dunk on anyone’s preferences, nor am i judging anyone for having them, but i am intensely uncomfortable with the topic. end. stop.

same goes for discussions of prolonged torture and/or detailed injuries to eyeballs.

here’s the real important stuff: one of the things that made Disco Elysium’s supernatural elements so effective, in my mind, was how grounded they turned out to be. there was no big blue placard at the start of the game explaining what the Pale was; while an explanation was present in the game, you had to seek it out through conversation rather than getting exposition shotgunned at the start. the supernatural elements were so thoroughly baked into the setting, so carefully constructed, that i didn’t even realize they were there at first, and still kept working for glimpses of them even after they’d been revealed.

with that being said: i will not write with expressly fantasy characters with fantastical powers on this blog. that’s not to say i won’t write with you at all - i write an entire array of characters! i have an Artorias blog casting brooding shadows somewhere! - but if i want to chase the sensations that Disco Elysium gave me by writing similar material, it’s crucial that the material be reasonably grounded even if the surroundings are not. Harrier Du Bois will not be visiting Lordran and the Whirling-in-Rags will not be tolerating any reality jumpers. i am keenly aware that this likely means this blog will mostly be DE drabbles, and that’s okay.

you are welcome and encouraged to come up with a DE!AU version of your character and i will happily plot with you all day on that front, but in hopes of really trying to create some glimpse of what Disco Elysium meant to me, i need that grounding.

VOLITION: [Success] You made it to the end of the rules post. Congratulations. RHETORIC: [Failure] You stare blearily at the blocks of text, wondering how anyone could be so full of themselves without causing a localized gravitational anomaly.

[kiba-the-lucky]

Disco Elysium (SPOILERS)

I played through Disco Elysium a while ago. I recommend it if you haven't tried it yet... Don't buy it though, money doesn't go to the original devs anymore, and the people it does go to are shady af.

So, I had tried to play through the game before, but was never really able to actually get through much of the game. Very un-motivated at the time.

But a while ago I actually started a playthrough I'd be able to finish, and I gotta say, I love the game, best game ever made to be honest. Genuinely beats out any other game I've ever played, and that I'd ever play. So I'm making this post to share my experience, and the paths I took to complete it.

Day 1

Sobriety

I easily remembered the whole of the intro, the first day is all I've played at this point, and anything outside of the intro in the Whirling in Rags I did not remember.

I chose one of the template builds, the Thinker, and immediately started thinking of what kind of character I wanted this sad sad man to be. I ultimately decided in making him an ace detective, and horrible socialite, and also swearing him off of alcohol. Pretty much the opposite I imagined he was like before the INCIDENT.

He woke up, he grabbed his things, took a look in the mirror, and saw the beautiful man I would be playing for the rest of the game.

Behold!

He went outside to grab his other shoe, and then conversed with his neighbor for a bit, her being confused at his lack of understanding of who, what, where, why, and how he is. He goes downstairs and meets Kim Katsuragi, his new partner. When asked his name, he came up with "Raphael Ambrosius Costeau." This obviously wasn't his name, as faint bits of memory would later return in the form of "Harrier".

He would then go on to talk to the few people inside the Whirling in Rags at the time, learning about his new debt, and his job as a police officer. Learning about the world as he investigates. Once arriving at the crime scene he immediately throws up. Putting off investigating the body until later. He would investigate everyone around the crime scene, and those at the traffic blockade nearby. Getting a bit of a picture, multiple men carrying a man from a mercenary group to hang him on a tree, the main questions being: Why? Who? Was the man alive at the time, or already killed? He came back to the body, somehow resisting the urge to hurl his internal contents out into the now pre-stained ground. he was able to investigate some while the body hung, but he had an idea, a better idea. Asking for Kim's gun, he was somehow able to convince Kim that he would be able to shoot the body down. And he did it, after all, even if he doesn't remember, he took more off days at shooting ranges than anyone else in his precinct. He was a skilled shooter, and he knew it.

He tried his best to inspect the body, and did a decent job at it, but felt like he wasn't done, and took the body to a fridge to keep it cold to investigate tomorrow. He then went to go talk to the one person available he had not contacted yet.

God, he's ugly.

Managing to avoid sitting in THE CHAIR, he was able to get some information out of Evrart, namely the location of his gun, a rather important thing to have, and a bad thing to lose. Who knows what sort of malicious individual could have found it, and be actively using it for CRIME??

He took the money from Evrart, not because he was agreeing to help him, but because he needed to pay his debt.

He passed by the shipping container, and after yelling at the doors once, he pulled out his crowbar and tried to pry the doors open. In absolute disbelief, he managed to

WHAT THE FUCK

Quickly forgetting about what just happened, and whether or not he thinks capitalism is even an okay practice, he absconds with even more money than he came in with. And investment he said, somehow finagling a cool hundred into his pocket.

At this point, there wasn't much left to do, he had people to interrogate still, but they were elsewhere at the time. So he went back to his room, paid off his debt, and slept the day away.

...But not before tricking Kim into sleeping, and stealing the boots off the dead body, vowing to find the rest of the armor.

Day 2

The Hardie Boys

He went through a whole day without drinking, this is good, this is healing. He knew what he needed to do this day, and first went to investigate the body, as it was early in the day, and the Hardie Boys weren't at their spot yet.

He looked over spots he had already looked at before, but noticed something new.

A bullet hole, in the back of the neck of the body.

This is it, this is new, this implies that the hanging was not the true cause of death, or at least puts it into question.

He was hung post-mortem.

He went to the Hardie Boys for their interrogation at this point. They proved to be very... Strange. It's like they wanted to make themselves seem guilty, practically admitting outright that they hung the body, that they killed them. With the evidence of the bullet hole, this seemed off.

There was nothing else to do at this point.

He went to talk to someone who was near the tree where the body hung, and got directions to a piece of armor.

Harrier told Kim to bring the body back to the police while he went to sleep after a hard day's work.

Day 3

Communism

At this point, Harrier is getting a semblance of personality, a crucial part of any personality being, of course, politics. Harrier became a communist, partially due to the debt really cementing in his mind the idea of the cost of living being bullshit, but mostly just reflecting the beliefs of the player controlling him, who is also a communist.

Before his time, his prime time, Harrier's prime time, there was a war that broke out on this island, a fight between a group of revolutionary communists, and the government, a fight which, ultimately ended with the government winning. Of course, by the time of Harrier, this war was a distant memory of the older people of the island, specifically two people, two possibly gay men who both fought on different sides of the war.

A thought in Harrier's head as he investigated more of the surrounding areas of the body, was that, what if he, himself was the reincarnation of the founder of communism, Kras Mazov?

This was a stupid thought. He kept this thought for the rest of his life.

I'm starting to forget many small details at this point, so I'm going to skim through things.

At this point, Harrier was going into the fishing village, and there... He found his lost badge. In a car. Crashed into the ground. After it had been driven over the bridge connecting the village to the city. Which broke the bridge.

Harrier also joined a group of communists, although it wasn't what he expected, he had a good time with them, whether or not they are fit to lead a new-era revolution. They were fun.

During this time, Harrier also got really into the idea of cryptozoology. Becoming friends with a patron at the Whirling in Rags, and being asked to find her husband, a cryptozoologist. He was found at the fishing village, and he started helping him catch a cryptid, a sort of large bug of sorts, setting traps and lures to try and catch it.

At this point, he also talked to a friend of said cryptozoologist, noticing something strange about him, he got this friend to reveal that he had been keeping, and wearing, a piece of armor belonging to the hanged man.

He had acquired all of the pieces of armor he could at this point.

Day 4

Pew Pew

Today was the day. The day the gun would be found. Harrier's pistol.

It had originally been sold to a pawn shop, then bought by someone, and until today, the identity of that person was a mystery.

That person is "The Pigs", a policiphiliac, a wannabe cop. Possibly insane. Taking multiple things belonging to police, she pretended to be one. In front of the police. Harrier managed to talk her down, and was able to acquire his pistol, before telling her off and continuing the investigation.

It was at this point Harrier had found his style. He was a communist, unfortunately trapped within a reality of ultra-captialism. And at this point he didn't care who knew, which was perfect as he had found a had, a winter hat, worn by those during the war who had sided with the commune.

And thus. Harrier, ultra-communist, was finished.

And he looked damn good.

He also became very good friends with Kim yesterday, and was able to show off his sick pinball skills to him, managing to actually win a game. I only just remembered that.

His investigation was going well, as he was talking to his neighbor again. Klaasje. With her, investigating reports of sexual assault by the victim, reported by the Hardie Boys, although unintentionally. Harrier almost had a mental breakdown, losing touch with his multiple thought-personalities in the process of interrogating her. She revealed to him what actually happened with the victim...

Ellis Kortenaer, an Oranjese mercenary, and Klaasje's lover. During a party involving the Hardie Boys, she and Ellis had went up to her room, and FUCKED had private involvements within. This caught the attention of a so-called corporate assassin, who then shot Ellis in the back of the neck, while he was on top of her. Using his high perception, Harrier took into account the angles, the bullet hole in the window of the balcony, and where Ellis would have been when he was shot.

He deducted that there would only be three places where a possible killer could have be posted.

Klaasje, afterwards fearing that the bullet that hit Ellis was meant for her, and thinking if she covered it up as a group hanging it would not be noticed by who was after her, she gathered the Hardie Boys and another accomplice, deeply involved with the drug issues in Revachol, to fake a hanging.

Kim suggested they arrest her, but another option was to give her a note that makes her obligated to turn herself in.

Harrier took this option, at the behest of his easily-manipulated psyche, his inner thoughts, his personality. Although his volition was against it, his gut feeling, it told him to get Kim to arrest her here and now, but Harrier was too easily convinced by his other, compromised thought-patterns.

Within the day, he investigated two of the earlier mentioned killer's locations, noting that one has had no human life within it for weeks, if not months, the other, he was unable to rule out, being very secluded.

He then investigated a lead from an earlier delve into a drug trafficking ring. Below, where he found his revolutionary hat, in a secret tunnel network. He was assaulted by the accomplice of the fake hanging, Ruby, although not a willing accomplice. Using a device to disorient the two detectives, but after they destroy the device, she threatens to shoot herself. Harrier manages to de-escalate the situation, promising not to arrest her if she puts the gun down, and telling her they just want to talk to her. She does drop the gun, but runs afterwards, back towards central Revachol. Following her, the detectives stumble upon a most troubling scene...

The Mercenary Tribunal

The time has come, a promise from the mercenaries fulfilled. On this day, they have come to exact their revenge. Confronting the Hardie Boys. The detectives intervene, guns drawn, they try to talk down the mercenaries, trying to convince them that they know who did it, that the killer is going to be found soon, but nothing works. They say they already know who did it.

Bullets fly. Time slows to a halt. Harrier has just shot the leader of the mercenaries. He tries to yell for his comrades to shoot him, but he collapses before words could leave his hole-abundant mouth. The mercenary full clad in armor raises his rifle, but Harrier manages to dodge it, while Kim aims a shot at the man. Harrier notices the mercenary standing next to the leader raise her gun, towards Kim. Before he could call out, two shots ring out. Kim is unscathed, and the fully clad shooter is killed instantly... A member of the Hardie Boys has been shot. The leader, in his dying breath, his final moments of living, shoots Harrier.

Harrier blinks, collapsed on the floor, in pain too immense to describe. A lot of good the armor did him, he thought, as he bled out on the ground, seeing in his fading vision a figure, walking up to Kim who is trying to make sure Harrier is still alive. Harrier yells out to Kim.

Day 5

Harrier Du Bois

In the Whirling in Rags, Harrier wakes up, Kim standing next to his bed, explaining the situation, and aftermath. Two Hardie Boys have been killed. All of the mercenaries are dead. Harrier is in too much pain to move properly, unable to run too much, lest the pain take him. He decides to continue the investigation anyways, just one last place to look before it's all over, an island, an abandoned base back during the war.

Harrier, trying to feel better, brings a radio on the ride to the island. It feels badass. He feels badass.

Arriving, he makes his way up to the spot he had seen from the balcony of the Whirling in Rags. On the way, he spots a man, a very old man carrying a gun used by the communist revolutionaries.

After some time of questioning, Harrier discovers this man is a deserter of the army that fought for the commune in the war. The deserter explains some things, finally tired of the life he had been living all these years.

He had been spying on Klaasje from the island, and through a peephole inside the Whirling in Rags back rooms, watching her every move, watching her sleep every night, wake up every morning, watching her stand on her balcony in fear and contentment. He developed feelings for her, through these times watching her, leaving her flowers on her balcony that bloom mainly on the island he lived on.

Something is wrong with him, clearly, but something else is there. Another presence, which shouldn't be there, shouldn't exist.

Cryptid

The creature the cryptozoologist had been chasing the whole time. It was real. It was controlling the deserter through pheromones, controlling his brain processes, making him ignore its presence, but also making him go slowly insane the whole time he had been on the island, and live longer than he had any right to. Once it appears, the link is severed, and the deserter falls limp, catatonic.

Harrier touches it, linking his own fractured psyche with the creature. The conversation is long, a talk about the pale, a mysterious force akin to radiation, that appeared along with humans to the world, although Harrier, for a moment, thinks its talking about him when it mentions the pale coming into existence with "you". It talks about the bad relations between flora and fauna, and humans, with the creatures of the world believing humans will bring the destruction of everything, eventually. It talks about its own history, about how it, as a species, has gone unnoticed for over 4,000 years.

Harrier urges Kim to take a photograph. As soon as he does, Harrier moves away, sensing hostility building up in the creature.

The creature leaves, and leaves behind its nest. In the middle of which lies a helmet, the last piece to the set of Fairweather T-500 ceramic armor.

The detectives agree to leave and, when they get back, they find police officers gathered, finally catching up to Harrier, wanting to take him off the case, thinking he'd do irreparable damage to the stability of the investigation, not knowing that he had already completed his investigation.

The police have no idea of Harrier's recovery over the past week, Kim, having become very close friends with him very quickly, backs up Harrier saying that he has completely stopped drinking, and become a very good cop as well, at the same time also becoming extremely communist, though Harrier insists it won't interfere in his work.

They reluctantly accept this, and the evidence of a cryptid with the photo that Kim took, and in the end, Harrier is back to work, along with Kim who agrees to be his partner for good.

That was my completed playthrough of Disco Elysium. And I will never play it again. I feel like if I even make one, tiny, small choice that differs from my original playthrough, I'll be betraying my original experience of the game.

I recommend, even after reading through basically the entire main plot of the game, and spoilers on the ending, that you still play through the game. This was just my one perspective, and you could get a WILDLY different experience from this. You could become a fascist if you want, or a hyper-capitalist. Or a liberal. You can become a superstar cop, or a cop who is sorry all the time.

For me, I played through the boring cop communism, while accidentally dabbling into capitalism by constantly asking for money from people.

Please don't buy the game. Play it though.

[taiblogcomics]

They're Tiny, They're Toony, They're ALL a Little Loony

Hey there, amber spyglasses and subtle knives. We're getting own to the end on this one, huh? Eager to see where it goes? I hope so, coz I'm eager to show it to you~

Here's the cover:

I think this might be the most exciting and interesting one so far. First, you get a look at Zee and Uncle, she's the blonde and he's the other guy. It's got our characters running in peril, which seems to be a recurring theme. And to top it off, big ominous shadow of danger, which also promises some of the cartoony threats that have eluded the main cast so far. I like the high contrast and flat colours used for it. Additionally, Dick's moustache is also coming in nicely, as you can see. Good cover! If the final issue keeps it up, we may go out on a high note next time~

So what's the scoop? Dick and Mutt, on the run from their own government due to their involvement in a radioactive incident with rogue drone War Pig One, are slowly being transformed by the rainbow gas leaking from said drone. Mutt's been getting more dog-like, and Dick's personality and vocabulary are shifting. They were hunted by, then teamed up with, their Air Force allies Zee and Uncle. Zee's also having transformation troubles, but Uncle's unaffecte so far. And just when they set their differences aside and decide to meet the General, someone drops a nuke on Washington. Ain't that always the way~

We open with a squad of armed guys in hazmat suits. They're reading their equipment, and radiation and electromagnetic levels are normal. All the buildings and structures are intact. The explosion had visual characteristics of a nuclear weapon, but there's no known weapon that can do that without leaving any traces. Curiously, there's no sign of people--at first. And then they make contact. Out of the Capitol building swarm a bunch of cartoon monkeys in suits chasing a raccoon in a general's uniform. That Congress meeting has ended with the senators going ape~

Meanwhile, our protags have wandered into the Pentagon, since everything seems deserted. Zee takes a moment to note that she's undergone some further changes--namely, that instead of the reasonable, realistic build she had for an Air Force officer she had before, she's now got an exaggeratedly voluptuous, feminine build. She's not a fan, but Uncle can't help but admire it. Dick tells them all to shut up, leading them into a particular office. Inside is that same cartoon raccoon we saw moments ago: General Harrier, transformed into a toon by the explosion, standing on his desk attempting to burn some evidence.

They tie the general to his own desk chair, then go looking through the notes he was trying to burn. Among them are the research tapes left by Professor Dubious, and Harrier protests that they shouldn't watch them, as they might not like the answers they find. With that kind of warning, I hope it's not his sex tape. Thankfully not, though I'd hardly put it past Garth Ennis. Instead, it appears to be inside of a cave. The Professor, here still calling himself DuBois, is narrating what appears to be some kind of archaeology expedition. To some, this may be more horrifying.

So we're deep in a cave, and the professor is looking for some ruins he believes to exist due to his readings in the ancient book, the Looneytunicon. Written by the great magician Chuck Jonescraft, I'm sure. First he finds some heiroglyphs. Not only are they grawlixes, but they match the symbols War Pig One has been spewing in its rainbow mist. Then he discovers statues: the Buggoth, the Quacker in the Dark, Scoob Niggurath, Wileathotep… And they all sit at the feet of the dread starspawn himself: Cthluto. It's fair, trying to figure out the relationship between Pluto and Goofy does lead to madness.

Also among these statues, DuBois finds a chest with a latch on the front. Opening it, he finds a set of perfectly-made ingots of a clear material, glowing with power. He muses that perhaps this might be incredibly dangerous. And then he starts getting an idea as the element begins affecting him… Our four protagonists watch in horror, realising what's going on. So yeah, the ultimate secret of this series: cartoons descend from eldritch entities that Man Was Not Meant To Know, and Professor DuBois doomed us all by unleashing it.

General Harrier manages to escape from his bindings while they're reacting to the tape, and they decide to let him go. How much harm can a cartoon raccoon do? This is played parallel with him finding a telephone, implying he can do a lot of damage. Speaking of parallels, Mutt also takes the time to go find a phone of his own, putting in a call to his family. Or at least he tries. In a tragic scene, as soon as his wife answers the phone, he suddenly starts barking again, distressing her further. Dick first yells for him to shut up, but when he realises the situation, both of them break into mutual sobs of how they don't want to be what they're becoming.

They return together as the tapes go on, showing the Professor's further experiments, eventually catching up to when he prepares to introduce it to Unliklistan and renames himself Professor Dubious. Uncle also sorts through the various printed notes and files, discovering some further notes on how Unstablium works. It can be introduced to other elements, where it will react, but it will also gradually build up energy and react on its own. On its own the explosion is clean, while when combined, it amplifies other elements. That's why Unliklistan is a crater, while the explosion in D.C. oly affected the population.

There's another effect as well. If introduced to a sample of its own self, the explosions will cancel out and render the samples inert. So that's our current status: the sample in War Pig One is active, and caused the explosion here. If introduced to another sample, it'll probably cancel this whole thing out. And even the whole source is suspect. Was it really made by dark elder gods? Or did it just affect some natives long ago, causing them to go mad as well, inventing the statues and writings in reverence? It might just be some naturally occurring element in that case.

So they've got a plan! Unfortunately, they've also got a problem. The General has finished his phonecall, getting a bunch of special ops guys into the base. As the General gloats how this will advance his career and make him a hero, one of the soldiers receives a call and confirms his orders. General Harrier pays no attention, caught in his monologue. He wraps it up and commands the troops to fire when ready. They do so--shooting General Harrier into dust, and telling the four Air Force folks that the President would like to see them.

They quickly meet with President Clooney (the vice president who was sworn in earlier in the story), who is now a small cartoon fox. But he's not content to remain such, and he realises the four of them are much more valuable alive. The world's rapidly changing from the Unstablium, and he aims to stop it before everything goes nutty. Dick tells them he has a plan, outlining what they learned from the professor's notes. And the further he gets, the more enthused he becomes. As the comic ends, he's outright twirling his moustache and declaring this to be a job best suited for the four of them: Zilly, Klunk, Muttley, and Dick Dastardly! The rest of them have no idea who he's talking about...

This one's really fun. The cartoon shit's really hit the fan at this point, and we are in full apocalypse mode. I bet that's an apocalypse you didn't have on your bingo card: world doomed to become wacky cartoons. I like how it sets up a bizarre backstory, and then throws even that possibility out the window. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's madness. Either is likely at this point. And in between all the backstory and zaniness breaking out, there's some real character moments. Even in the middle of goofy toon antics and exposition, there's real tragedy happening. Next week, we'll see how this all concludes~

[dxrkenedheights]

Name: Gianna 'Gigi' Heller

Age & Birthday: 29 years old, August 16th 1994

Gender/Pronouns: cis woman she/her

Birthplace: Atlanta, GA

Time in Atlanta: 18 years (back for 6 months)

Neighborhood: Brookwood Hills

Association: Law Enforcement

Occupation: Secretary at Atlanta Police Department

Positive personality traits: Playful, Attentive, Confident

Negative personality traits: Over-Imaginative, Impatient, Narrow-Minded

Faceclaim: Laura Harrier

ABOUT

Little Gianna Heller came into the world at precisely 6:30am on August 16th, planned and on time like most things in Jerome and Lorraine Heller's life. From the get go, Gigi was welcomed into a charmed life within Brookwood Hills and into a childhood that was almost picturesque. Her mother worked in real estate and her father within law enforcement, eventually promoted to Chief of Police during Gigi's childhood. Despite the never ending workload, the Heller's were a tight knit family. Gigi accepted that her father's work was slightly more pressing than the dance recitals he missed and Jerome expressed, fairly early on, that Gigi needed to be realistic about her career.

Being taught to dream big in the same breath as being told to be realistic created a determined young woman, who never saw limitations where they should be and Gigi poured her heart into her passion of dance. When she graduated high school, she was off to an academy in California and remained living in L.A until recent months. It was difficult to make a name for herself but Gigi adored the lifestyle despite of the hard work, breaking off into some modeling gigs and growing her social media following.

Everything came crashing down after a harmless blind date from a mutual friend turned into months of agony. Not getting the hint, Gigi's date became as limitless as she had been throughout her life. She'd come home to obvious evidence of someone being in her apartment, she'd receive anonymous calls or texts and the cops did nothing because he was one of them, claiming there was no evidence it was him at all. Eventually, her father put his foot down and demanded she came back to Atlanta.

Jerome will always look after his own and he promptly gave his daughter a position as a secretary at the precinct but it's a far cry from California's sandy beaches and sipping champagne on a yacht while being told you'd be a great face for a Vogue campaign. However, Gigi is simply happy to be safer than before and has every intention of picking up where she left off once the dust has settled.

[the--silent-hero]

Let's go!

Quite hard to say.. Tenora Prime (i like the firing and reloading sounds quite a lot) and Cedo/Laetnum/Lesion

Frontliner

Either cold or heat

Excalibur!

Lotus. She deserves more love honestly

Teshin. I just.. can't stand him

Orokin. I really like this gold-white royalistic look

That you are a innocent child controlling a murderous machine. A reason for me to make my Tenno as an Oc but i just made him more innocent and more scared of doing any kind of fights

(I know this post is quite older but anyways) I am in absolute love with the Nora Nightwave Earpieces. They really are stylish in my opinion

Conquera 2 Ephemera (the ones with the flowers). It looks quite adorable on my Operator

Spore. It's.. eeehh

Suda.

I believe, last time it was on 20. But i had to put it up a bit higher again as i wanted to replay some quests

Second Dream. Will never forget the day i made my lil Operator (and somehow managed to glitch my Operator, that i somehow put a Sigil on his back and it is still there lol)

Suda, Arbiters of Hexes and Steel Meridian

Templestari (Uncreative ik)

I prefer Kubrow but sadly, they aren't that useful then Kavats are...

This Is What You Are, Canticle (Zariman Ambience)

Honestly, actually no one lmao besides... Excalibur maybe? (Not Umbra)

Corpus. I straight up hate these Nullifier Son of Bi-

It was on Octavia. First Prime, first finished build.. yea

Well.. not really. Zephyr and my Operator sometimes (Harrier is nice) but.. i was actually thinking about drawing my Operator in a Outfit, based on my Octavia Prime

Either Octavia, Excalibur or Yareli. But i would say Excalibur

Neutral

Not Planet but since the Zariman came out.. i spend most of my time there, doing missions and look at the details DE put into

Fortuna. Always love Cities who have bright Neon Lights in it

Rakka, Vasei and Simeli

For me, it's Garuda

My headcanon is, that the Operator are basicly "inside" the Warframe and do the moves which the Warframes do, instead sitting in a chair and.. control it somewhat

Solo. Never trust any random players...

Transference. It has sweet blue tones and soft purple ones

(I play the Game in German so, i'm not quite sure if this translation is right) Blood Red Kubrodon. I just love this white and purple lookin's cute Plush

Son. He may be an ass but i like him

"Dream not of what you are. But of what you want to be". It really helps me to keep a clear mind sometimes when everything is a bit too much at the moment

His Name is Link! .. No it wasn't entirely inspired by Legend of Zelda. In Short: My Name is Link and i had no idea how to name my Operator so, i named him after myself because dear christ you guys have no idea how bad i am with naming my Characters lol

Octavia. I love every Character in any game that has something to do with music. I realy just like this Concept of Characters based on Music

Warframe Ask Game 001

1. Which primary weapon is your favorite? Secondary? Melee weapon?

2. Do you prefer long-range combat or are you a frontliner?

3. If you could naturally inflict any kind of damage, what kind would it be (i.e. heat, radiation, cold, magnetic)?

4. Who was your starter frame?

5. Favorite NPC?

6. Least favorite NPC?

7. Which faction has your favorite aesthetic/architectural design?

8. What’s your favorite piece of Warframe lore?

9. What’s your favorite Operator accessory?

10. Favorite ephemera?

11. Least favorite ephemera?

12. Who is your favorite Cephalon?

13. What volume do you have Ordis set to?

14. Which quest is your favorite?

15. Which syndicate(s) are you allied with?

16. What is your Railjack named?

17. Kubrow or kavat?

18. What’s your favorite track in the OST?

19. Who comes to mind first at the phrase “Space Dad”?

20. Which faction do you hate fighting the most?

21. What was your first Prime build?

22. Do your operator and Warframe wear matching colors?

23. Which Warframe would you take grocery shopping?

24. Are you Sun, Moon, or neutrally aligned?

25. Which planet is your favorite to run missions on?

26. Cetus, Fortuna, or the Necralisk?

27. What are your Railjack crewmembers’ names?

28. Which Warframe is the most attractive?

29. What’s a Warframe headcanon you have?

30. Do you play public or solo?

31. Which color palette is your favorite?

32. What’s your favorite floof?

33. Business, Son, or Master Teasonai?

34. What’s a line of dialogue that stuck with you?

35. Does your Operator have a name? What is it?

36. Who is your comfort Warframe?

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 30: Amity

"Do you think anyone's going to show up?"

Esredes crossed his arms and leaned against the banquet table, looking around the large, rented out ballroom. In its current, mostly empty state, it felt as if he were in a very bright labyrinth. "Because if they don't, this is going to be. A lot of food to give away. Did we send out enough invitations?"

“Of course I do." Elouan replied. "I think everyone will. We sent all the invitations we could, nay? Besides, people care. If there’s something you’re in or—or involved with, they’ll come. You mean so much to people; why celebrate alone when we can celebrate with friends, nay?”

Elouan was the only member of the planning team who wasn't actually a harrier. Otherwise, behind him, Dione, Vette, and Heilyn were busy cooking with Vette, Mythirel, and Maylis doing a lot of the setup, Rae, Marcelloix, Marchand, and Artorias were put to work having to move things in, Rae using the help of his Titan egi and reminding Esredes those things can actually pick up matter. And that was it, his entire planning team for the feast, versus around thirty to forty invitations sent out.

"But we're essentially faking a holiday, for all they know." Esredes said, putting his hands on his hips. "Friends' Day Feast, ugh, it sounds more stupid the more I say it out loud. I should've come up with a better name. Why did my name win the vote."

“I guess any holiday can be fake if you think like that,” he mused, head cocking aside. Elou flashed a gentle smile. “A holiday’s a holiday if people believe in it. So why can’t this one be just as real as the others? It doesn’t have to be Starlight, it can be—smaller. Celebrated by people close to you. And Friends’ Day Feast isn’t dumb! It is very, um…on-the-mark? Is that the saying? Because it is about friendship and faith and trust, right? Like back—back when the dragons and people were friends, kind of like how we’re trusting each other again.”

"We're not exactly trusting each other again, man and dragon." He remarked. "But I see your logic. If you stretch it enough, I guess maybe it is a decent coverup for the Saint Day Feast. I just hope the rest of the team can keep quiet about what this actually is. There's no guarantee a loyalist won't show up."

They couldn't celebrate the holiday at the camp, not really. They couldn't afford to overindulge on food out in the wilderness. When it came around each year past the war's end, it was usually a private movement celebration. And Esredes would still help do that, but this year he was trying something different. What if they put on the feast for a public audience, pretending it was for something else? The loyalist friends Esredes wasn't out to would get to be exposed to their world without knowing it, and Esredes could use it to make them let down their guard later and accept they weren't the monsters. How could they be, if they put on fun events with food? Sometimes it was that easy to get someone in.

“But we’re getting there, aye? It will take a while, sure—and maybe can’t be like it was. It could get close to it, though,” he hummed, head nodding. Elouan smiled loosely towards his friend. “I think they’ll be quiet. To be trusted and—and help here, they’d know by now to not share what they shouldn’t share. People like being trusted and don’t want to break that trust, most of all with you. If there is one, maybe they’d not know. Maybe seeing so many people will—will get to them, too. Start thinking about how, how this new era of ours isn’t that bad.”

Esredes opted not to correct Elouan on just how many people were perfectly happy to break trust with him. Instead he turned his head towards the empty ballroom and sighed softly. "I sure hope so," he offered. "That'd really make this entire ordeal worth it."

It was half an hour to the time sent on the invitations. Thanks to the strict coordination of himself, Vette, Heilyn, and Mythirel, it looked as if the team had managed to get everything in place, even if Mythirel was being extremely blunt and sparing not a single drop of honey, even worse than Heilyn usually was. It certainly made the others shrink away and stay on task, especially Marchand, who he was pretty sure was terrified of Mythirel. Now the blue banners were hanging down by the entrance and above the banquet buffet tables, the blue tablerunner was straightened into place, and the orchestrion was playing the censored Ishgardian version of what they'd adopted as a traditional song of the feast. Could something be a tradition in three years? Debatable, but Esredes would say yes.

"Okay, everyone." He said. "Act natural and normal. Pretend Friends' Day Feast is important to you. People are due to start arriving any moment now."

And arrive they did. In the next few minutes, Marie, Xavierre, Nostrada and Kotaide, Fuyu, Kainen and Azarah, and Trosta all made up the first wave of early arrivals. Esredes took on the task of greeting each one of them, smiling to each. "Hi, hi, thank you for coming to the Friends' Day Feast. I'm glad to see you here. Help yourself to the food, socialize, and dance around the room if you'd like. We'll be having games as the afternoon goes on." He'd been memorizing this spiel all day. Xavierre already knew from his sister, but he was pretty sure Trosta and Nostrada caught on immediately to the true purpose of the event from the looks in their eyes, to which he just smiled and nodded. For Nostrada, he gestured back at the table and told him to help himself. That boy ate so much Esredes was still convinced it was a medical condition. Hopefully there'd be any leftover for all those arriving on time.

Esredes didn't know how many to expect right as the event started, but sure enough, a small crowd of people ended up making their way through the doors. Of all people, he hadn't expected Jude to be the first person on time, the young man walking right through the doors and then stopping to regard Esredes. "Esredes." He said.

"Jude." He responded.

These two greeted each other like this a lot, nowadays. It was still awkward for Esredes to talk to him, truth be told. They'd spent quite a while apart and Esredes was still getting used to the idea he wanted to be friends again and wouldn't leave with another outburst. "Thank you for coming," he offered to him. "Uh- help yourself to the food, socialize, and dance around the room if you'd like. We'll be having games as the afternoon goes on."

By the time he'd finished this brief interaction with Jude, Flavien, Victor, Judie, and A'leigh had all come in behind him. Esredes smiled and waved to the first three, his beloved typical components of nights out with his lowborn circle of friends, but put on an extra coat of paint to his smile at A'leigh. In truth, he didn't know if him and A'leigh were friends or not. He would personally say no- a relationship that formed entirely on an atonement complex was hardly one at all. Even if Leigh had, against all expectations, wanted to keep him around after the truth came out as the last connection to his deceased brother and put the past behind, he figured it was the only reason he tolerated his presence. "...Thank you for coming." He repeated to A'leigh. "Help yourself." And he left it at that.

Following him was Adel, who Esredes could spot before they even came through the door, emerging with their usual enthusiasm as they greeted Esredes wholeheartedly. Adel was certainly a character, an unlikely one but a character nonetheless. He'd befriended the Inquisitor despite all odds of such a thing when the Elezen was content to protect him against other Inquisitors and not put on a pity party about their actions. Perhaps the two of them were ignoring things by having a relationship at all, but so was Esredes by knowing loyalists at all, really. So he smiled at them and made some light jabs before they took their place at the banquet table besides Nostrada. Esredes prayed to Shiva now they made enough food after all.

Cammie said hello next, a young Temple Knight and Hospitalier Esredes mentored in an unofficial sense. She was accepting of his true nature now, that wasn't a problem- instead Esredes worried more about her ability to socialize at an event. So he greeted her and encouraged her to go talk to people, and watched as she went to join Azarah and Kainen. Well, Azarah could do the heavy lifting in that group, maybe.

Two people he hadn't expected to show up followed- Crescens, the wandering Triple Triad champion of the Gold Saucer who'd been showing him he actually had potential in the card game, and her boyfriend Rossignol, who Esredes... had certainly met. He greeted them both and ushered them onward, turning to greet the next trio of guests who brought a bright smile to his face. It was Clover, her daughter N'theya, and their former ward Teagan, who he'd been friends and associates with for a long time now. He shared a brief hug with Clover as N'theya immediately wandered over to the dessert table, and asked both her and Teagan how things were going. Once they joined the party, the door space was quiet for a few minutes...

And then more people showed up. Quincy apologized profusely for being a few minutes late, citing an appointment at the clinic, and Esredes had to reassure the young man it was fine and no one cared if you weren't at a big event on time. Evianne and Astraea arrived at about the same time without any fanfare, and he said his hellos to both. Alastor came next, and that prompted Evianne to move on quickly. Esredes could only guess he was late because he found a rock on the side of the road and tried to shove it in his mouth, but there were half a dozen other possible reasons the airheaded Miqo'te came late, and he could only speculate.

Mizzie was next, and as he often did, he came with a new tale of what unusual and wild occurrence had happened to him last week that rest assured, the conjurer had recovered from. Esredes greeted him and thanked him for coming, and in turn got questions about what Ishgardian holiday this was.

"Ah, it's... not. This is just a special event being put on." Mizzie knew about his true nature, but he was not about to explain the truth in front of earshot of people. But the explanation was enough for him, and he moved on.

But someone he hadn't expected to show up followed him- the man whose first name was not Mercer but for some reason insisted everyone called him by his surname. Esredes liked Mercer- he was a lowborn who was well-reasoned without taking peoples' shit. Him and Esredes found a lot in common with each others' thought process. He just hadn't expected him to show up, not that it was unwelcomed. Mercer chatted to him about how he was doing for a minute before Esredes had to move on to the next guest, Magdelaine. The older, motherly Inquisitor apologized and cited her knee as the reason she was late, but from the way she smiled at him Esredes could tell she suspected what was truly going on immediately, and that it made her all the happier to be here. The bigger question was who she'd end up talking to.

Perhaps she should've been an omen for the next person who made Esredes blink in surprise. Alvere came through the doors in his usual heavy fur coats, his hair as much of a disaster as always. "Alvere." Esredes said. In truth, he hadn't sent him an invitation. The cover was a Friends' Day Feast, and they were coworkers, acquaintances, but not friends. And yet somehow he'd found his way here anyhow. Was it a problem? Eh, he decided not really. He said hello and motioned him onward. Alvere had regained more than enough of his conscience to not make a problem of Esredes' activities by this point, and the man needed to get out more.

Speaking of Inquisitor who needed to get out more who Esredes forgot to invite, Mikhail showed up next, causing Esredes to blink up at him as well. Mikhail outdid Alvere for being an awkward associate. They used to know each other, as Temple Knights, they were in the same chapters together, until the man left for the Inquisition. And though he quit before Esredes' network came into existence and was left a pathetic and sad mess, Esredes would not want to relive their post-war reunion for anything.

Still, he had a right to be here, despite everything. Esredes smiled at him, said his hellos, and directed him to Marie and Judie. From there he'd manage somehow, he hoped.

After that, the doorway laid silent. Had everyone besides those to trickle in found their way? Well, then maybe Esredes could turn around and see how the mingling was going. Perhaps now it was time for-

The doors flew open, and Rusty came in, bellowing out a hello to all and causing a lot of heads to turn his way. And Esredes was reminded once again the large Roegadyn had adopted this need to outdo every dramatic entrance of his at each event. He sighed to himself.

The doors were silent after that, but the orchestrion was playing a sanitized, censored version of one of the songs they'd invented together in camp with full force. Esredes turned his head now to observe how the event was going. A quick headcount lead him to quickly realize there were about forty people in the room. He'd expected twenty at absolute most, good gods. And thankfully for his fears, people had managed to mingle. Maylis, Vette, Magdelaine, and Evianne were all caught in a conversation he could only imagine was gossip. Flavien was teasing Marchand as he was the usual nervous and awkward wreck he'd become since casting off his fake persona and joining their ranks. Mikhail stood near them awkwardly, about as he expected, but soon enough Judie was annoying both of them. Typical Judie. Kainen, Mizzie, Trosta, and Alvere were all managing even with their socially stunted awkwardness to hold conversation with Cammie, Astraea, Fuyu, and Marie. How interesting for that to happen.

Esredes watched and observed the conversation taking form. Oh, he was a military leader, not so much an event host... but as he checked his list, it did seem like it was going well so far. He smiled.

As the spirit of the party swelled within him, he went between mingling and playing host, trying to address everyone in the party at least once the best he could, but something lingered in the back of his mind. The most prominent rule of Ishgardian parties was that a fight would happen if allowed. Of all the parties he’d been to, he’d seen maybe a quarter have some kind of fight or injury. Why, the man supporting his counseling business by funneling money through his arrogant partner had thrown a book at him once at a birthday party, and that hadn’t even been in Coerthas.

Marcelloix put a hand on his shoulder and remarked that he looked tense. Esredes surveyed the landscape- Adel, Mikhail, Alvere, Trosta, Maggie, and even Jude were here, each existing as themselves despite all odds.

“…I just worry about the possibility of conflict.” Esredes said. “We’re treading dangerously close with this idea.” The idea which was his. Right.

Marcelloix patted his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out, boss. Nothing happens under my watch.”

Esredes managed a smile back. “…Thank you.” He offered. 

As the party continued, no conflict brewed. The noblewomen had all taken to dancing together or with a man they dragged along. Vette even pulled Esredes into a dance, as she always did, and a small crowd cheered them on, threatening to turn his face red. He was never good about handling this much positive attention, and this had never happened to him before the fall. There were balls, he danced with noblewomen he forgot by the end of the week- but never had he been the center of attention.

Oh Shiva, this was what his life had turned into, hadn’t it? Despite the hopelessness of the end of the war, here he was, dancing to the swelling music with one of his most trusted friends, who gave him that happy look in her eyes she always did, the look of someone who made you their world and you never quite knew how to feel about it. And between the cheering and the aether bond between them swelling with positive emotion, the anxiety melted away.

The party games went by well- last time he’d seen pin the tail at a party, the blindfolded had somehow managed to walk entirely across the way and pin it on him just standing there instead of the target. Hoarhounds were hounds of Halone- the loyalists wouldn’t suspect the theming. Esredes stood by and watched Alastor completely fail to even hit the paper, reminiscing about Fenrir as he eyed the drawing.

Nostrada, Jude, Mikhail, Mizzie, Azarah, Dione, and Verdant all failed miserably. Cammie and Kainen did all right. Maylis, Vette, and Trosta got close, Alvere managed the foot, and Adel somehow managed to pin the head instead. Incredible. But it looked like everyone was having fun, so the experiment was a success thus far.

Maybe it was all going to be fine, and he worried for nothing. Esredes should have known better by now those were famous last words.

“Esredes,” Heilyn began with his big loud mouth, “now that we’re all here, why don’t you give a speech about Ysayle?”

Esredes blinked, and his blood turned to ice. All the eyes on the room turned onto him. “I- ah- who, now?” He tried. Shit. Gods-damn it, Heilyn, why did he always have to do this?

Laughter erupted in the room. Esredes felt his face heat up. “Oh, he really didn’t know, did he? Don’t tease him too hard,” Magdelaine said to the crowd.

Esredes looked around at everyone’s attention on him. “You… you all knew?”

And indeed, everyone seemed to be aware of what had been left intentionally unsaid until now. Well… almost everyone. A certain duskwight looked about with nearly as much confusion as Esredes, meeting his eye with a shrug. “What’s so funny?” Marchand asked, clearly not nearly as aware of the joke as the others.

“Oh, Esredes…aye, of course!" Elouan said. "Why wouldn’t we, nay? I love and care about you so much, just like you must have about her, aye? And, and I want to care about her just as much as you do. She’s important to you. Can we hear about the Ysayle you knew? I’m right here—I’ll be right here for you, always!”

"She deserves at least a few words I think! If not more!" Alastor says with a few little flicks of his ears. "I had a lot of respect for her, and I think she'd want to be remembered well and nicely."

"Never got to meet her. I'll always regret that." Heilyn said. "Would have done some good to talk to someone who actually cared and wasn't some insane bastard hell bent on fire and vengeance. She did good. Good for us all. That should be acknowledged I think."

"It.. would be nice to hear.. only if you are feeling up to it, Esredes.." Fuyu nervously smiled, voice quiet among the others.

Rae simply nodded and gave a gesture with his hand indicating that Esredes should go on. He held up the Carbuncle sitting in his lap as well and nodded its head. "Carby agrees as well."

Alvere said nothing, but he was smiling. When Esredes looked over at him, he gave a very slight nod.

Seraphiaux fidgited slightly as he speaks. Unsure if he's even allowed to on this topic given... everything in the past. "She... she was there for you when I wasn't. The sibling I couldn't be. You deserved her being like a sister and she deserved you being like a brother and caring about her, and... and I... I don't think I have the right to say it but she'd like a kind word. I think."

Nostrada clapped. "Speech!" He said. He kept clapping and repeating this, until most of the others joined in with him.

In the background, Mythirel loaded an entire new set of orchestrion tracks into the device. The uncensored version of the music began to play, each lyric being sung softly about the hope which kept Her people going towards a better tomorrow. As the crowd kept chanting for him to do a speech, Esredes felt himself tearing up.

He turned towards the stage at the back of the hall, and ascended the steps, standing stiffly and firmly at the edge. He drew in a deep breath.

“…I want to thank each and every one of you for coming.” He began. “From the bottom of my icy heart, it means everything to me that you came. That I can look out upon this gathering of people from all walks of life, and see them all getting along in coexistence… well. I think she would have liked to see this.”

He put a hand on his heart, the audience silent. “What to say about her… I’ve said a lot about her in speeches like this in the past. Above all else, she was but one of us once. She lead a simple existence with the people of Falcon’s Nest, unaware that one day, her heart would change Coerthas and Dravania forever.”

Despite the tears that threatened to well up, he smiled. “And despite the moniker she took up, that was what allowed her to succeed. Her heart and her strength of character. Ysayle was a dreamer who believed the best in people even when she had no reason to. Hopeless and disparate as my people were, we were drawn in by her light. By her optimism and hope beyond what anyone dared to dream. And because of her dream,” he looked over the crowd, and smiled warmly. “I got to meet all of you.”

“If not for her dream, none of us would be gathered here today. Her dream gave me the strength to reach out to everyone like me and offer a hand in a new form of unity. Whether that was by asking you to join us years ago, or by daring to talk to you when I knew you might think the worst of me and being pleasantly surprised, I don’t regret any of it.” He paused to inhale a breath. “A lot of you in this room never got to meet her. You haven’t seen the light in her eyes that kept her pressing forward even when the risk of the movement’s oblivion and the demise of everyone in Coerthas weighed down heavy on her. You haven’t seen it, but you can feel it in the air around you. This, what we’re experiencing right now, is her hope. The love of a simple girl for the world around her and the people in it, regardless of origin or alliance. She once believed everything she did was Saint Shiva speaking through her, but the truth of it is that Shiva inspired her to be her best self in the same way she did all of us.” He looked around. “I know not all of you follow her, but we’ve chosen to make a life philosophy from her courage for good reason. Ysayle was the first to recognize that embodying her bravery- to rise above fear and hate, and instead see the humanity in something that looked monstrous- was the only way to truly end a war. I’ve taken this lesson she showed me to all of you I’ve met since the war ended, even to those of you I may have seen as an enemy if things were different, and further still to Garlemald and back, and in it all,” he shut his eyes. “I know I’ve continued something important.”

He opened his eyes again. “Regardless of your personal beliefs and what you think of Shiva’s people, you all came here. And I think that is what Ysayle would have wanted. She dreamed of a world like this, where people came together and accepted none of us are perfect, but we are all trying to do good in this world. The idea of this feast is to imitate the sort man and dragon had when they first forged a nation together. So too are we here today trying to forge a new Ishgard, a true Ishgard, one that will look out and care for all of her people. And at the end of the day, Shiva is a saint under Halone’s gaze. I believe- no matter what any of you personally do- that both of them smile upon this. And I can’t thank all of you enough for making it possible to make someone I love dearly happy all the way from the aetherial sea.”

The tears spilled over, and he curled his hand into a fist on his chest. “The name I came up with to hide this was stupid.” He continued. “But I still think it applies to what is going on. Ysayle would have wanted all of us to be friends, if not by bond, in spirit. A-and… And I just…”

He shut his eyes, the best way to end the speech eluding him as tears kept flowing. Yet when he dared to open his eyes a few moments later, everyone’s expression seemed to be that of a silent understanding. And so despite the tears, he smiled.

“I love all of you.” He said. “And I’m so glad you came.”

With that, he bowed and went off the stage. Applause filled the room and within moments he was swarmed by people asking if he was okay, some offering hugs, comforting touches, or words of encouragement. It was overwhelming, but in this moment, he was all right with being overwhelmed, because a warm feeling burned in his chest like an inferno.

Friendship. True and steady, trusted friendship. That was what he had all around him, despite the odds, despite being a lesser being and one of the most hated people in all of Ishgard. That was what Ysayle meant, wasn’t it? That everyone could find a way forward?

Esredes shut his eyes and embraced the people around him in a hug. A soft laughter escaped him, and before he knew it he couldn’t stop. Joy, pure and unfiltered joy, seized his every muscle and forced him to keep laughing as it cascaded him like a waterfall.

Here in this very room, he’d found the way to walk past the end. Together with the people who made each and every day worth it. And that was worthy of celebration.