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The Bright!verse: A Masterpost
Here, the ultimate shareable cheat sheet: links and synopses for brightephemera works posted from 2012-2023.
Seven novellas. Thirteen novels or novel-length serials. 1.4 million words. This is the Bright!verse.
Bright Originals
From a sorcerous fantasy romance to a children-noir adventure, Bright!verse fiction wanders the realm of speculative fiction.
Rimblyshivers (~2013)
The boys further up the line were already folding aeroplanes. As Sofia watched, one of them leaned in toward the Fence and threw his aeroplane hard into the darkness beyond. It soared, dipped, started rising again, and then, just a tiny bit shy of where the cobblestones ought to be, fell into black. One of the other children congratulated the craftsman on the distance; then two more went, their aeroplanes cutting almost straight up, then swooping through the gate to meet the same darkness that the first one had. The rimblyshivers gobbled them all up. Sofia carefully folded the kind of bird she had made to show Jesse earlier. There was a pause while the boys called for her to hold it up for examination, and there was general approbation of the unusual folded device. Then she wound up and threw the bird as hard as she could. It zipped straight out between the posts of the Fence and then, as if suddenly changing its mind, took a sharp turn, tumbling down until, like the others, it disappeared into the black coating of the ground.
From ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, the good Lord preserve us…
Obble Town is haunted by many haunts, but the night-crawling rimblyshivers are the worst of the lot. When Sofia the postmistress’s daughter meets Jesse, the boy who never got gobbled up, they learn new things about their town… and the things that creep beneath.
Rimblyshivers was a challenge for several reasons and is one of my few non-romances. I really loved the storybook style.
25,000 words
original setting
Not currently available
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Tatters, the Card and the Canary, the King of Star and Chasm (2021)
A letter from several weeks ago: Good Fortune: I try to count your hands. People call you a spider, but spiders scare me and you merely make me very, very curious. What do you do, day to day? Listen? Eat children? Something in between? You strike me as a gin kind of person. You can always buy me something to change my mind. Yours in surveillance, Piper* A letter from three days ago: To whom it may concern: The situation has changed. Or, perhaps, it has not. All our moves are as yet unilateral. If there is a side to be on, follow the enclosed directions three sunsets from now. Bring your sidearm. F*
I wanted a bad guy protagonist and I was reminded of crime lords and this is what happened: Fortune of Tatterdemalion and Piper who is supposed to exert the law over him. I shifted the cast to his adopted daughter Audrey for The Card and the Canary and The King of Star and Chasm. Photia, the City of Light, has a lot of dark corners. I crept around in them a bit.
Tatters is a gaslamp setting with empathic powers added. Rivalry, desire, peril, natty dressing, and corrupt power, but affection, too. I love antagonist/ hero Catalina, and all the others, really.
42,000 words / 6,000 words / 29,000 words
(original setting)
Tag for all three stories
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The Unwitting Sorceress (2014)
Soon, though, the sky’s blackness had passed on beyond them, leaving ragged grey clouds busy chasing behind. The lightning came further apart now, the gap between light and sound growing longer with each strike. Even the rain didn’t drive so hard, nor leave drops so large. Setua laughed. She tried to catch a breath and it ended up more of a sob. It only made her laugh more. Above her the world was tearing itself apart. And all of it would be gone, so soon. The sky tomorrow would never remember the scouring fury of today. She had only to survive this. And really, each new attack of the pounding rain reminded her that much more that she was still alive. The smell of rain was all around her and it was clean, wild and noisy and clean. Ettael sat up and shook off like a stung buffalo. “Are we done?” he said. His usual bravado was back, partly. “Maybe,” said Setua, stretching. “There always might be more.” “Ye gods. I like my water in the ground, thanks.” “I’ll remember your courage,” she drawled. Ettael shot her an outraged look. “Show me something I can win an argument with and I’ll show you courage. Until then, let’s go. I for one need to dry off.”
I knew two things when I started: these two youths didn’t want to be engaged to each other, and one of them certainly never wanted to ensnare the other. Then, of course, everything goes wrong. Noble layabout Ettael and prim heiress Setua didn’t ask for the war…in fact, fumbling some agency out of this whole situation ruled by magic and war is their primary endeavor. Those crazy kids. 57,000 words original setting
The Unwitting Sorceress
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Canon in T (2012-2023)
She gave a difficult glyph one last try, struggling to translate the archived two-dimensional sketches into a three-dimensional spell. “Even if I put that strut in C sector, it doesn’t work,” she reported. Draconis looked up from a writing desk. “Write it down.” “But it didn’t work.” “So you learned one way it doesn’t work. Write what you learned. Do you want your successors to have to run this exact experiment again, only to find it’s useless?” “Well…no.” “Contribute to humanity. Write it down.” It was just an upgraded shield against errant magic, anyway. She pulled a lap desk over and pulled out her loosely bound notebook of mostly successes. “Draconis, do people ever fight with magic?” “That is expressly illegal.” “But in your history books, or something.” “As cautionary tales. I find the idea repugnant. The highest expression of human ingenuity, sullied for blood?”
Canon in T, T for truth, for Tayzel, founder of the Church, T for Tarina. My oldest extant project and most recently completed novel. A story of love, ambition, and revenge, a story of exclusion from a magic school, a story of things one cannot have and the things one is willing to do to get them anyway. It is canon as in religious dogma, as in the official version of events… as in patterns repeating and doubling back upon themselves. As the story of a woman in a male-dominated workplace it is dear to my heart. As the story of researching wonders in a safe space it is my favorite escape. ~58,000 words
Original setting
Story tag for Canon in T
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Taglines for other original settings that I haven’t written:
Found Wanting: When an infrastructure-crushing disaster sweeps the Party-controlled city of Dale, a career Thought Cop must find a way to survive, and to change.
Roaming Speed: A jaded former sailor meets someone rich, dumb, and in search of adventure. The ensemble never had an opportunity like this.
City of Banners: After a hundred years of slumber, an Auditor wakes in Shai, the City of Banners. People are just trying to go about their lives…so what does it want, and why now?
Assassination of an R: Slices of life from a barista dropout living outside Boston, MA.
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Pillars of Eternity (fanfiction)
Watcher. In a world where the passage of souls is as ordinary as a cipher’s charm and as powerful as gods, the rare gift or curse of the Watcher carries much weight. The truth of the corruption of the Wheel of souls may not reveal itself any other way.
Lady Vail’s Pack (2020)
Kana smiled over his eggs and toast. “Your Engwithan machine is at the top of a tower in a district called Heritage Hill. It has been blocked off for several weeks now, and the guards don’t seem to have the details of why. Regardless, no one has been seen getting in or coming out ever since the lockdown. If there are people there, they must be starving. And if there aren’t…well. Something walks there.” Vailond looked at her toast. She looked at Kana. “When did you find all this out?” she said. “Last night.” “From who?” “Oh, people here and there. The guards.” “You just…went around talking to people?” said Vailond. “Yes,” said Kana. “And that works?” said Vailond. “They don’t write songs about Dyrwoodan hospitality, but in my experience it merits at least a ditty.”
Lady Vail’s Pack was the joy that was my first run of Pillars of Eternity, complete with unrequited love and belated realizations. Vail was a ranger and career poacher who came to the promise of free land with every intent of exploiting everybody else’s free land. She took the role of Watcher as a curse, perhaps well past the point when a responsible person would see the big picture.
74,000 words. Main plot of Pillars of Eternity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138648
Lady Vail and the Island Trail (2020)
Edér was the navigator here. In the low light from the window slits his chain coif looked sinister compared to the knowledge of his golden hair. He had a better sense for things indoors than Vailond did. Even after all this time…Vailond had had half of Caed Nua’s keep rebuilt to make it harder to get lost. Sadly she couldn’t make all other castle owners fall in line. Here, she was lost, except that Edér signaled at the next door. She signed for silence. The Grieving Mother nodded and waved. For a second something pressed on Vailond’s throat and she felt, with a stab of panic, that she couldn’t speak if she wanted to. Mother really could use some work on the consent front. Still, it did its job. The party was silent as she slowly edged around the corner. This doorway let out onto the throne room where Raedric the Death Guard, Lord of Gilded Vale, was supposed to keep court. Vailond nodded at Tyrhos. He would follow her first crossbow shot with all his muscle and teeth. She touched her throat and felt Grieving Mother release the block on her voice. She swung into the doorway, counting her opponents – eight in this broken court. “Second verse,” she yelled, and fired at Raedric. “Same as the first,” she yelled, and reloaded, walking. Tyrhos streaked beside her to hurl himself at a skeleton holding a grimoire. The hunt was at its end, and there remained only the kill.
Yes, the prologue is Raedric’s adventure! The trip to the Deadfire Archipelago stripped Vail to two old friends and any allies she could find. A ranger without a companion does what she needs to.
Pairings: Watcher/Serafen, Watcher/Aloth
77,000 words. Main plot of Pillars of Eternity: Deadfire.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775037
Trap and Release (2020)
“I don’t know which one of you shoved the adra in my front yard. Maybe you don’t want the others to know. Maybe that’s more interference than you were supposed to give. Well, look, I don’t know what you think I was going to do with it, but it’s out of your hands now. I hope you know that. “It’s out of your hands. “Which one of you wants to step forward and say you’re finished meddling with us? Magran? I’m about to test every soul in the In-Between. Abydon? Do you have any idea what we’re going to build with that adra? Rymrgand? You do not own the dead souls even if they do pile up. “Anyone? Are you listening?” Her friends’ breathing sounded in the stillness like a broadside of Deadfire cannons. There was no other sound. “Eothas? Are you back in play yet? You can die to the Godhammer or die to the Wheel but I won’t believe you’re really gone until stupid things stop happening to me. Galawain? Let me take this hunt myself, and we will not cross trails. Woedica? If that pillar is yours I’ll gnaw it to the ground and spit it out in the cesspool. But, Skaen, if it’s yours I will make it a spot of law. Wael? Are you just throwing random things at me to see how react? Because I will make something of it. Ondra? Were you trying to get rid of me? Because I’m coming back to your place when all this is done. You always did right by me. I don’t forget that. “Berath…fuck. I don’t know what to say. I feel like if you’ve started this, you’re not finished.”
Trap and Release was a novel-length continuation that brought Vailond back to the forests of Aedyr seeking answers about a live adra column that surfaces in Caed Nua. She faces someone in a dream world who may have answers…if only he could actually help himself.
Pairings: Watcher/Aloth
68,000 words. Scope: Original arc post-Deadfire
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072062
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Star Wars: the Old Republic (fanfiction)
As the galaxy lurches toward the end of a fragile peace, Star Wars archetypes trace their ascents through training, battle, politics, and love. Star Wars: The Old Republic is a massively multiplayer online roleplaying game set about three and a half millennia before the classic movies. The creators encouraged fanfiction from the very beginning, and that’s how a mix of plot retelling and original arcs began…
Forced Companions Daycare (2013)
LORD SCOURGE, stepping out of the kitchen and folding his arms over his chest: You are provided with food at all only by the grace of the Sith. Be grateful. BABY JORGAN: Mister Teeseven says Forced Companions is neutral territory. LORD SCOURGE: I don’t see Mister Teeseven here. Everything you have, you gain from my hand, and everything you have, I can take away. KHEM VAL: Listen to the Sith. If I had my way you would fight to the death for a single sandwich, as in the cafeterias of Yn and Chabosh. LORD SCOURGE: We’re not that hard up for white bread, Khem.
FCD was my first satire: a humorous look at the companions of SWTOR’s base campaign and their characterization under the conceit that they are all children at an interstellar daycare. The game has evolved, many things I lampoon no longer apply, but years after publication…well, the classic companions started somewhere.
59,000 words. Original stories, no pairings
https://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?t=506989
There Is No Death, There Is Only Wrath (NDOW) (2012)
Quinn relaxed his pose and raised one hand to stroke his chin. “But you’re on to something. You’ve finally worked out the start of my contingency plan, in case I failed. Go on.” She considered. “If you were counting on love, you must have considered it an exploitable weakness. Advantages: It kept me from killing you, and it kept you close to me. It was a huge blind spot in my defenses. Furthermore, if you really intended to kill me, then screwing up one attempt wouldn’t change that intent – you never give up, not while you have resources or raw will left to throw at the problem.” She stood up and paced. “So…if your trap failed, you figured I would welcome you back. You would wait for another chance to finish the job. You would do it. That’s why you needed me alone, too. Even apart from your odds in combat, you can’t recover a loss if my friends, who don’t share my weakness, intervene with deadly force.” “Excellent,” he said. “Perfect. I had despaired of teaching you anything, but you do learn, eventually.” “I was listening, Quinn. I was, all that time we were together. It’s just that smashing the problem has a 100% success rate, so why would I ever have to think like you?” Her higher brain, having lumbered into motion, kept going. “So basically forgiveness would’ve been fatal and you’ve been guilt-tripping me all this time for taking the only course of action that would have stopped you from murdering me.” Quinn returned to a cool flat tone. “Ah. That is…a very coarse way of stating it, my lord.” She crossed her arms. “Plans within plans to kill me. I was justified.” “It still hurt.”
Nalenne just wants to hang with her friends and read comic books. Is that so much to ask? When her traitorous dead husband shows up in ghostly form…well, something’s gotta give.
This is my oldest completed longform project, and I’m pretty proud of it.
50,000 words / 30,000 words (original story after the Sith Warrior storyline, no expansions) The Original…the sequel, the Helicarrier Chronicles
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Ruth Means Compassion (2012)
“I love you. I’ll go to my grave loving you. And for that above all I will never forgive you.”
Ruth Means Compassion was not the first story I wrote, but it’s the first complete story I mentally drafted. It flowed from the Quinncident and my frustration at having no kill option. I wrote why Ruth would ever, ever spare Quinn. The story developed from there: because the Dark Side wasn’t vanquished when Ruth kicked Quinn out and plunged into the role of the Emperor’s Wrath.
Pairings: former Sith Warrior/Quinn; temporary Sith Warrior/Imperial Agent.
71,000 words. Coverage: Game Sith Warrior plot as flashbacks in a post-game narrative.
Captain, Cipher, Soldier, Spy (2013)
The gunmen formed up around Gorath, blaster rifles and one assault cannon trained on where Quinn stood alone. The smuggler chuckled. “You still thinking you’re in charge here, buddy?” Wynston, without saying anything, stepped into the open behind them and tossed a thermal detonator. “Yes, actually,” said Quinn in a friendly tone. And the detonator blew. Between the two of them, Quinn and Wynston rapidly cleared the survivors of the blast. Wynston holstered his pistol and spoke in a stage whisper. “Formal pose, stiff neck, accent, plus gloating?” “Well, yes.” “Bloody hell, Quinn, try to remember you’re a mercenary, not a…well…an Imperial officer.” “The gloating needed to happen,” said Quinn defensively. “The opportunity was right there. Besides, it’s not like anybody survived to get offended over it.”
Some time later a comedy came to mind. After the florid melodrama of RMC, Captain, Cipher, Soldier, Spy explored the relationship of Ruth’s unlikeliest duo. It’s farce, pure and simple, about an Imperial Agent and Quinn.
51,000 words. Pairings: Definitely not anybody. Original stories. Serial, no long plot.
Lodestone AU (2013)
“I’m sorry.” She slipped an arm around him and gave him time. He set an arm around her to feel her steadiness. “It shouldn’t have happened the way it did. We needed him.” “He was important to you.” “We weren’t best friends, but still. He saw some of the worst of the road right along with me and he never gave up doing the right thing. It was hard losing him.” A little while later she said, “I don’t often hear you saying someone matters to you personally.” He cracked a grin. “I’m an independent sort of man. Besides, it’s bad business advertising your friendships.” “That’s true. Still, I’m sorry.” She squeezed his waist ever so slightly as if to tell him what she thought of advertising. Bad business. Against one’s own best interests. He knew he wasn’t around much, but had she really been surprised to hear that he cared about anyone? The years were fragile things, but by now she should have had enough of them to know. She turned a little to meet his eyes and she smiled a comforting smile. The years were fragile things, and she, unlike so many, was still here. He touched his wrist console and let the illusion of a pale human face dissolve to give way to his real one. He didn’t want a disguise in the way. She had been listening for so long; she should be hearing this from him. “I love you,” he told her. “Everything you are. Everything you do.” The sound of his own voice steadied him. He cupped her chin with one hand, pulled her close with the other. “Ruth, I love you. You know all about what I haven’t been and what I didn’t do for you. You deserve to know this.” Because, whether it was good enough or not, it was true.
Ah, my clumsiest novel…I had a lot to learn. Ruth and Wynston’s close relationship never got romantic post-one-night stand. But what if he could stay faithful? Lodestone follows the same original plot prompts as Ruth Means Compassion, but with a different love interest.
146,000 words (original plot after the game’s base campaigns; no expansions) Story Link
Knights of the Dawning Alliance (2018-2022)
Spoilers for the main line Sith Warrior and KOTFE questlines.
“You crave being ruled. From the day your childhood’s master called for your death, when you came running to my Servants. On Voss, the last time you ever rose a hand against me…and even then it was at my will.” She remembered. She remembered serving. “In my Voice’s station where the Wrath took her orders. Before my throne, when you begged me to make things simple. Did you think I could not read that in your open heart? In your prison on Zakuul. In your uneven first match with my son. In your desperate stand under city. In the ruins of treachery on Dromund Kaas.” He leaned forward. “In your darkest hours, it was never your friend or child or lover. It was I you prayed to. And I answered. I granted you certainty, life, peace. Those boons bought your fealty. Now I only require what you have already promised me.” He hadn’t said a false word yet. Not until the last two. She clung to that. “I promised nothing.” “Ruth.” He drew the name out, as damning as the litany that preceded it. “In every incarnation you ever met, you have knelt.”
The sprawling story of the Fallen Empire expansions, Knights of the Fallen Empire and Knights of the Eternal Throne, demanded a larger adaptation - for instance, one that integrates the Sith Warrior, Sith Inquisitor, Jedi Knight, Jedi Consular, Imperial Agent, and Bounty Hunter. The ensemble rallied behind or opposed the Outlander, former Emperor’s Wrath Ruth Niral. At 205,000 words, this is the Bright!verse’s longest and most complex work.
Pairings: SW/Theron, IA/Lana, JC/Koth.
Coverage: Story follows KotFE and KotET with some story edits.
The original, and completed, KotDA …however, a more class-balanced redo was created in Reforged: Knights of the Dawning Alliance, which is current through KotFE. I didn’t finish it. Reforged: Knights of the Dawning Alliance
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Overcoming Adviercity (2017) and Naturalized Citizens
“I don’t forget.”
The idea of getting an Imperial defector into Havoc Squad begged a story, so I wrote one. Vierce Savins has been battling Imperial occupiers since he was a child, and signed on with the Republic out of gratitude. He was fine with every order until the one that assigned Imperial defector Elara Dorne to his command. Vierce is a a hundred twenty kilos of broken glass in a uniform, but maybe they can learn to live together.
Pairing: TR/Elara Dorne.
76,000 words. Coverage: Overcoming Adviercity, Retelling of Republic Trooper base campaign. Naturalized Citizens, assorted scenes after the base campaign (no expansions).
Overcoming Adviercity: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608819 Unsorted post-OA scenes, Naturalized Citizens: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491983
Cross Faction AU (2013)
Balkar called in confirmation not two hours later. Dorne down. Imp down. Exchange heavies taken before they could walk off with a Republic-marked datacard that was going in for analysis now. I couldn’t look him in the eye. Or Jorgan, or anyone. I made it as far as the door to her quarters with this stupid automatic thought that I should pack things up. I got as far as the shelf just inside the door, with a neat little box full of hairpins, the kind she must’ve used a million of every day to keep herself together. No way could I do anything here. I took a pin for no reason I could really explain and went to my own quarters. I locked the door, sat down. Turned the hairpin over in my hands. And over, and over. I should have felt better, somehow. I saw it coming, didn’t I? More or less? Before I got careless? I knew she was trouble. Just, somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting her to be. I thought things were finally going all right. For a few hours, I’d thought things might have changed even more than that. For a few hours I thought she was beautiful. My vision was blurring. I gritted my teeth to keep myself from gagging and I snapped the hairpin in half. I thought a lot of things. I was wrong. I was wrong.
My most vicious AU: What if Cipher Nine framed Elara Dorne and got her killed? What if Vierce realized it was foul play…and went after revenge? I really enjoyed this exploration of the Agent staying one step ahead.
Word count 45,000 words. Intertwines with Trooper and Agent through Belsavis.
Not currently available
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Dragon Age (fanfiction)
In a world haunted by demons and torn by cataclysms from the imperial to the social to the spiritual, only a few stand in the right place at the right time. On the cusp of the Dragon Age, you may not choose the battle, but the battle will come.
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Angst and Arrogance (2016)
Something was squeezing Turin’s lungs and he didn’t know what. “I believe I should thank you,” he managed. “Truly, I had no idea of the reasons for her reticence. And now, to once again be physically stopped from saving her comrades…Maker’s breath. It must have been a trial beyond endurance.” “She subsists on will. Now as before she reserves herself for a cause worth dying for. She does not mean to throw away her life, only spend it where it will do the most good.” “She must have more hope than that.” “Not for a long time.” Sister Leliana looked away. “I am needed elsewhere. Think about what I’ve said. She has her reasons for caution.” “I understand. I do.” And he did. Maker’s breath! And to think he condemned her for too little feeling, when in truth she felt too much! Now surely it was too late for a new start born of mutual understanding and help. Oh, to think he had been some small cause of her grief! What abominable prejudice on his part - what forbearance on hers! He had thought his chagrin complete when she rejected him out of hand, but knowing now what injustice he had done her made everything ten times worse. What would drive a woman to retire from the world, to come out from hiding only when destiny made another demand? What a fool he had been, not thinking to ask! And what a fool to think that that destiny was his to control! If Fionne had come to him in that moment she could not fail to be moved, to find him humbler, more patient, more understanding. Yet no less attached than he had been before.
Angst and Arrogance was the natural continuation of a story in which a self-assured upstart named Turin fell in love with the tragic Fionne Cousland. When Inquisition came out, Turin got promoted to a Trevelyan and the pieces fell into place.
87,000 words. Pairings: Trevelyan/Cousland.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659299
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The Leif!verse (2016-present)
Alistair made a slashing motion. “No. No. You supported Branka and tossed aside Caridin, and I said nothing. You supported Witherfang and tossed aside Zathrian, and I said nothing. Well, you can’t have Loghain. Not without tossing me.” Comprehension flushed her face. “Alistair? No. You can’t be serious.” “If you take Loghain, I’m out.” “But…Anora…” “Oh, I’ll be your king. But I will not be your comrade. You figure it out.” “Please. Don’t.” She sounded genuinely scared. “I have to do this. It’ll be different when the Blight is over but right now we need every—” “Tell me? Honestly? Why are you fighting for him.” His voice rose and rose. “After everything he did. After selling elves into slavery. Your people.” This again. “I am not. Just. An elf. I have to worry about bigger things.“
Leif Surana’s story has been created by participation in out-of-order writing prompts. No-nonsense Leif thought she had a friend in Alistair until the crisis at the Landsmeet. Suddenly she must work with a Warden of a very different stripe. Their comradeship is the prime driver of the Fereldan Wardens’ fate.
All Prompts…Slightly more organized stories
Pairings: Very, very background F!Warden/Leliana.
72,000 words. Coverage: Technically spans the DA:O main campaign and an alternate DA:I. Has a lot of stuff in between that doesn’t really fit into the game.
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Gilmore Girls (fanfiction) (2020)
What if the revival never happened? Or, more specifically, what if it happened seven years earlier? Here, we catch up with Star’s Hollow just a few years down the road.
“Michel, you’re back!” “Ah, Sookie, your grasp of the obvious has not changed.” Michel was smiling when he said it. He even allowed a brief hug, not close enough to muss his lapels. Lorelai beamed. The entire energy of the Dragonfly Inn’s dining room was different with his return. “So, Michel, how was your exchange program with the big city?” “Oscar was such a disappointment,” exaggerated Sookie. “New York city slicker. We were counting the days until we got you back.” “With tally marks scratched into the front desk,” said Lorelai. “Come on, it was at least bad enough that you decided to come back.” Michel tilted his head, seeming to savor the attention. “They were very positive, it wasn’t natural. Can’t a person have a snippy day once in a while? Not there.” “It might have been the twice, three times, or every day in a while.” “I am happy you think my ordeal was so laughable.”
I wanted to write a different revival, closer to the time period of the original show, with a few significant changes. Actually I kinda made up a revival from whole cloth.
Pairings: Luke/Lorelai
19,000 words. Coverage: Original plot, post-Season 7, replaces A Year in the Life https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359081
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Other Fanfic (on Archive Of Our Own)
I post a variety of short fanfiction on AO3. It covers a number of fandoms.
Star Wars: The Old Republic (SWTOR)
Dragon Age
Planescape: Torment (PS:T)
Pillars of Eternity (PoE)
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend
Farscape
Angel
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Serials
Some projects never reached a plot arc, or are not finished with that arc. Every story on this page began its life as a serial publication. Here is one left unfinished, and one in progress.
The Duchesses’ Gifts (2020)
With the danger over and the injured being tended, the Mayor entrusted the Glory to the dutiful Hernandezes and turned his steps, not to the manor, but to the fairground. Most of the festival materials had been cleaned up and put away. The fortune teller stood in the off-white moonlight, skirt trailing into her red velvet tent, articulated hand poised over her table. The Mayor leaned in. “What did you see?” he said quietly. He touched her face and a sparkling red fleck fell from her eye like a tear. He wiped it away. “They remember nothing, old friend. If there’s anything in their minds, the technology we have here lacks the key. So what did you see?” He touched the fingertip with a chip to her gloved palm. He trailed his fingers along the unhighlighted outlines of cards she could summon. But she did not answer.
A colony planet loses touch with Earth. They must make the most of their limited resource and their new condition. One generation later, a trio of girls find themselves coping with entirely new abilities…
TDG has been discontinued, but it’s still hanging around. Word count 16,000 original setting
The story
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Inatia (2023)
“I should tell you the most important thing.” “Please do, ma’am.” “You’ve given us twelve years of your life.” That didn’t seem too extreme. Apprenticeships could last longer than that, with indentured work in the final years. But she was more solemn than that. “I don’t understand. What happens when I’m thirty-two?” She frowned as if willing him to intuit what she had to say. He sat stubbornly and let her talk. “Have you ever seen an old Warrior who didn’t come to us old?” No. She couldn’t mean that. He would have known. Someone would have had the decency to tell him. “Twelve years?” he rasped. “That’s…it, for me? Are you sure?” Implications crashed in. “But…you?” “I have four remaining. And I’ll spend every last one fighting the Ayer, because that’s what I signed up to do.” Good for her, she had a plan. But everyone deserved to know why that plan existed. “Why didn’t you say something?” “It would dissuade you. People value time they may never see.” “That’s not what I meant. Why didn’t you tell me this about you?” An eyebrow rose. “It’s Warrior business. That’s the worst of it.” “What does…how does it happen? After twelve years.” A monotone. “It’s gradual. You have time to line up your last stand. It becomes very painful if you try to hold on. But there are so many battlefields, and so many choices. If you act as we act, you will die making them bleed.”
Eight years ago, a powerful avatar of the elemental Ayer nearly destroyed the kingdom of Inatia. The Stone Warrior who survived killing it now marshals agents to bring the battle to the Ayer once and for all. Also, love. Word count: ~60,000 I call this original because of the Turin timeline, but the Everett timeline is basically Dragon Age: Origins.
Story Link
*
So there it is! I am on hiatus, and I would like to imagine that somebody might see this post shared somewhere and find something they like, but obsessing over seeing evidence of that is what has killed my enthusiasm for writing to begin with. So I'm going to drop this and walk away, with only controlled activity checks, until further notice. Thanks for reading this far.
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Did I stop writing? Part 2, or, I don’t want to publish. My ex-boyfriend is taking a leaf from my worse ex's book: loitering in public staring at me, making absolutely certain I know I'm being watched. Just, not physical loitering. He wants to copy that behavior digitally. He knew my ex. He saw this behavior, and how unhappy it made me. Now he's bringing up quotes from my posts and repeating them in group meatspace settings to let me know he's been watching. He was quiet for a while after I told him it made me uncomfortable, but oh boy! He's back! Joining a group at a party, making sure I was nearby, and recounting a joke I had posted that no one reblogged. Just letting me know that he didn't engage, but he was watching me. He was watching me in a context that I intentionally separate from my life, and spoke up outside that context to inform me. Repeatedly. I will not reward his head games. If he wants a reaction other than this one he can damn well ask for it using words. I no longer feel safe sharing here. I know, it's public, there are no laws or regulations banning his behavior, but someone with the empathy of a concussed badger would know that trying to hurt me exactly like my other ex hurt me - "I'm watching you wherever you go, I need you to know that I am watching you, and you can't object because being in public is consenting" - is unacceptable. Hence, no more sharing. He always thought my writing was embarrassing anyway, he was the original Dave, so there, he doesn't have to look at any more of it. The only thing stopping me from deleting my whole blog is the thought that maybe someone would enjoy one of my posted stories. I mean, no one ever does, but maybe. It's just crushingly unpleasant to find that a reader beyond my average of three likes per story may exist... and is a creep. I can and will salt the earth if I feel trapped. Bye-bye.
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Did you stop writing? ☹
Well, Nonny. There are two answers to that. I will address #1, Popularity, here. Warning, long rant.
Short answer: Yes.
I've been tagging ships and fandoms on four sites for twelve years now and I have a probability cloud averaging to three regular readers. I once built up to 105,000 words and earned five kudos. I am a failure. I am a bad writer. I've been writing for the love of it for twelve years of my life and it has objectively been a waste. It's not just the posting, it's the tail. I have left a long slimy trail of garbage. I thought that people might like my painstakingly documented projects as tagged here or elsewhere. Well, people do, if they already know me and cut me a break. Otherwise…I get about four kudos a month off of 120 ship/trope tagged stories. That is, in a typical year fewer than half my stories get one kudos each. I got about two likes last year on older Tumblr story chapters. Not "two groupings of likes from reading a project", two likes. Putting things out there forever does nothing. No one comes looking for more things I've done. Because my stuff is not good. I am provably inferior. I'm inferior to Redditors. I'm inferior to Tumblrinas. I'm inferior to Archivists. I could improve, maybe, if I worked hard, if I knew where to start. But my passion is about intuition. That intuition has decisively failed. I don't have the discipline or the intelligence to sort the good from the dross. (Being smarter would indeed be a big help, but we can't have everything, can we?) I just hate that I'm bad at this and it inspires zero new people to respond or remember. I make master posts and indices and blurbs and nothing happens. I write about classic projects that I was sincerely proud of and no clicks occur. I write novels about the most important things in my life and two people like them. Nobody enjoys any of this, all the stories about love and anger and wonder and trying and trying and trying; only people who already like me see anything in it. In twelve years, I have only diverted a few friends in the most selfish way possible: my stupid intuition. It does nothing for the rest of the world. And I can't do this forever. I can't run my words and my ideas and my heart up the same damn flagpole indefinitely waiting for salutes. I need to disengage. The difference between playing to an empty hall and not playing is one of sanity.  I'm not holding writing hostage. I'm not saying I will write when I get X many likes. First, I would be crushed when that doesn't work, second, I despise that behavior, and third, I have nothing in the pipeline. I just want to scream, no more and no less. I'm on a lot of caffeine right now. Maybe I'll calm down. Stay tuned for reason #2 I have stopped writing lately.
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My Own Ships, #10: Nalenne/Andronikos
Don’t get me wrong, Nalenne/Quinn is endgame. But when two ethically loose, violence-loving renegades come up against one colossal stick in the mud, well, things can happen. Nalenne/Andronikos was never supposed to be a love for the ages, but could they be a pastime for a few weeks during a marital spat in the sequel to No Death, Only Wrath: The Helicarrier Chronicles? Signs point to yes.
*
I mean, they started off harmlessly enough:
*
The Corellian op, to everyone’s displeasure, was a bust. The military had gotten their act together long enough to take the immediate objective, and the Republic was playing it cautious, leaving nothing very interesting to storm. Nalenne heard the report and retreated to the reading nook to flop over and sulk.
Quinn followed her. “The strike team did very well,” he said.
“Quiet, you,” said Nalenne.
Andronikos sauntered out of the engine room. “Nalenne, your ship looks like an Imperial textbook had its way with it.”
Quinn scowled. “That’s rather the point.”
“Sure, if you want to perform like a textbook in the field. Dunno if you noticed, but they’re not the most exciting rides in the world.”
“Excitement isn’t the–”
Nalenne interrupted. “Quinn, remember who you’re working for. Andronikos, you going somewhere with this?”
“Yeah. Been having some fun with my own ship while Nis is busy.”
“Have you told her it’s your ship, not hers?”
He grinned. “She knows. If I wanted out, she couldn’t catch me.”
“You casing mine, too?”
“Would I do that to my sister?”
“Yes.”
Andronikos’ smile widened. “I was just looking around. Yours could use a few engine tweaks, maybe.”
“You won’t touch this vessel,” said Quinn.
“What’d you have in mind?” said Nalenne.
“First, a name change. ‘S.A.B.E.R. Helicarrier’ is the stupidest name ever, especially for a rig that is neither a helicopter nor a carrier.”
“Unacceptable. Any other bright ideas?”
He shifted his feet, dragging them across the coffee table to a more comfortable position, eyeing Quinn to make sure the officer appreciated his unsanitary efforts. “Found some interesting alloys on the black market. Line the reaction chamber for the hyperdrive. Actually act as slow catalysts for the fuel. Gets you some really nice results.”
“When it doesn’t rupture the casing the moment the reaction starts,” sniffed Quinn. “I’ve heard about this…experiment.”
“Hardly ever happens,” said Andronikos. “Not if you get the composition right, and I know some guys who never get it wrong.”
“My lord…”
Wet blanket. “Go be useful someplace else,” she told Quinn, and waved dismissal. He saluted stiffly and radiated annoyance as he stalked away.
“This stuff’ll give your ship a real kick. Decent sublight results, too. I think you’ll like it.” Andronikos laced his hands behind his head. “How’s the new life, anyway?”
“It’s great. It’s perfect. Some days I want to choke him to death again.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Nalenne wrinkled her nose. “The part where I’m still stupidly in love with him.”
“'Stupid' is right.” Andronikos scratched his ear and grinned. “Come on, I should take you to meet my supplier. He doesn’t know he’s my supplier yet, and he’s kinda heavily guarded, but I bet we can get the materials for your engine mods before anybody else cracks him.”
“I didn’t say you were touching my engines!”
“Wait ‘til you feel the results before you judge.”
“Hmph. That’s what they all say.”
He stopped mid-standing-up and fixed her with a stern look. “No, they don’t.”
Well, they would if anybody dared to be suggestive around the Wrath. “Why are you always calling me on this stuff?”
“Because I don’t trust your captain to do it. Come on.”
*
But Andronikos’ wife, Nalenne’s sister Niselle, throws her own wrench in the works…
*
Niselle called. She had her full god-awful yellow makeup on, festooning her face ridges in a smear of bright fake yellow pigment that thinned through orange to the faint natural red left beneath her heavy Dark Side corruption.
“Nis, you look awful,” said Nalenne.
“Lenny,” said Niselle. “I was in a bit of a hurry this morning, had to clear out of Dromund Kaas faster than expected.”
“That’s very exciting, dear.”
Niselle’s upper lip curled. “The husband got whiny. I decided to leave him behind.”
“That’s nice.”
“In orbit.”
“I don’t suppose he was enclosed in something at the time? A ship, a suit, a coffin?”
“An escape pod,” she said casually. “It was the best I could do on short notice.”
“So you just left him there.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Well, now Andronikos is drifting in a decaying orbit with a limited oxygen supply.”
“You’re his wife. You fix it.”
“The boy is intolerable. I’m sick of him.”
“So we’re coming around to why did you call me?”
“I thought you were fond of him, that’s all. Thought I’d give you a chance to keep him.”
“I would yawn if I thought it were worth the effort. Splash your drama elsewhere, Nis.”
“He would be touched to know how much you really care about your family. Ugh, anyway, there’s my ten o’clock. Ciao, darling.” The holo cut.
“What was that?” said Vette.
“Nis hoping I would freak out on camera. Jaesa, course for Dromund Kaas, now. Quinn, I want anything we can use to track an escape pod from Nis’s ship, Broonmark, have some medpacs and an adrenal ready in case he’s already in bad shape. Vette, Pierce, you’re on call ‘til we’ve got this sorted out.”
They made it to Dromund Kaas quickly enough. How long had Niselle delayed before calling? It would be just like her to trick Nalenne into rushing to rescue a corpse.
“Milord,” said Pierce, “she’s probably just tricked you into rushing to rescue a corpse.”
“Or a total absence of any kind of escape pod at all,” said Vette.
“Hey, it might be my brother-in-law,” said Nalenne, hurrying to the door. “Found it? We docking yet?” she yelled. “Airlock, Quinn. Hurry it up.”
The door finally pulled open, revealing a considerable expanse of sealing walls and a very small entrance to a very cramped pod. Andronikos Revel took one suspicious look up at Nalenne, then started pushing himself out onto the Helicarrier’s floor.
She helped him up. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. But when our 2V kept saying he cleaned the vessel stem to stern? He definitely skipped the pod.” He coughed, hard. “That was disgusting.”
“What the hell did you and Nis fight about?”
Andronikos shrugged. “Not much. If she were really mad she’d’a killed me outright.” He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, then checked the blasters strapped to his legs. “All the same. Think I’ll strike out elsewhere for the time being. Any chance you could drop me on Nar Shaddaa?��
“You could stay here a while.”
“I can certainly get us to Nar Shaddaa,” volunteered Quinn, and hurried away.
“You could stay here a while,” repeated Nalenne. “We’ve got a spare bunk. You know our itinerary’s kind of tight a lot of the time, but I’d love to have you along for the work.”
Andronikos looked around the hallway, the airlock, the escape pod beyond. “You do make trouble like no one I’ve ever met. I could be convinced. For a little while, anyway.”
*
Adventure ensues!
*
They had rounded another turn in the twisting, earth-fragrantly fresh tunnels beneath the eerie shell of House Cortess. Another wave of Killiks came hissing at them, all electrostaves and blasters and rage. Nalenne and her team engaged them: Vette, Andronikos, and Quinn firing from behind while Broonmark, Jaesa, and Nalenne carved in front.
“You have got to be kidding me,” said Andronikos, in a tone more of disbelief than of horror.
“Welcome to my life,” said Nalenne. “Population: Rapidly declining.”
*
But then, whatever happened to her marriage? And moving in…
*
Nalenne was carving through a crowd of panicked rabble, and it was a good day.
“My lord,” yelled Quinn behind her, “I have secured the sequencer here. We need to get around to the north side.”
“Busy,” said Nalenne. She could disengage from these poor gangsters at any time, but it was much more fun to keep killing.
“My lord. We are on a limited timeframe and you’re free to disengage right now.”
“Busy,” said Nalenne. “Buzz off.”
Quinn darted to a control panel on the wall and pressed some rapid code sequence. Huge blast doors slammed down to block Nalenne’s rampage, cutting her off from the bulk of her enemies.
She rounded on Quinn. “What the hell is that? I’m not done here!”
“Yes, you are. We need to proceed to the north face to finish the fine work there.”
“The busywork, you mean. No. Screw it. I’ve done enough of your heavy lifting on this stupid op.” She deactivated her saber and stormed out the nearest door.
She didn’t really have a plan after that. “Stomping dramatically away from Quinn” seemed adequate for the time being. She walked until she could hear herself think, then found a relatively clean ledge in a brick-wall alley to settle on so she could sulk in privacy for a bit.
There wasn’t even anything to kill nearby.
A scuffing sound from the street grabbed her attention some time later. She watched, maintaining her sulky face, as Andronikos came around the corner. He nodded at her and leaned against the alley’s opposite wall.
“I wouldn’t intrude,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re accustomed to stomping off like that. The anger part here gets lonely if you’re not used to it.”
Then he looked out at the street for a while.
In time he pulled out a flask. “Thirsty?”
“Nah. I was gonna get that all done in one semi-suicidal binge in a little bit.”
“Okay.”
A little while later she spoke up. “I’m not being unreasonable, wanting a few seconds’ freedom a day, am I?”
“You’re Sith. Wanting is kind of your thing. Wanting, and taking.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right, it is.” She waited. “So you finally have me alone. You gonna kill me now? Nis would be thrilled.”
He smiled. “Nah. I try when Nis asks me to, but I’ve got nothing against you. And, frankly, watching you walk out on your control-freak captain was the best thing I’ve ever seen you do.”
“I don’t usually run away. I usually just kill people until all the survivors agree with me.”
“Sometimes it’s best to just go. Clear your head a bit. If the killing’s worthwhile, it’ll still be there when you get back.”
“’Just go.’ Think they could get by without me?”
“Anybody can get by without anybody. It’s all a question of whether it’s any fun to try. Ever think about it? You know, kick the crew out, take the ship, just…fly. No orders, no running interference between these lousy egomaniacs, no nothin’. Just stars an’ blasters.” He considered. “And a lightsaber,” he added thoughtfully. “Oh, and a well-stocked bar.”
“And comic books,” added Nalenne.
“And comic books,” agreed Andronikos, “if you’re that big a nerd.”
“You don’t complain about Scarlet Nexu, particularly the Insatiable run whose archive you’ve moved to underneath your bed.”
“We’re getting away from the question. Ever think about going? With any necessary or desirable supplies?”
“It’d be lonely,” she said.
“I know you like your people. But it might be good for you to maybe spend two minutes not bending over backwards catering to their every whim.”
“I like taking care of them.”
“Even him?” He raised one hand. “Wait, before you answer. Recall that this guy is about as sane as my girl, and he can’t even do tricks like killing people by looking at them like mine can. I know love makes you do the stupid. But he treats you like his personal lifting droid. It’s absurd.”
“He knows me well enough to know how to make my life hell if I don’t give him what he wants.”
“Screw that. Cut him loose. Him and his buddies on the Emperor’s Hand. Skip Jaesa’s lectures and let’s just go. It’d be a change, yeah, but freedom’s enough to keep you going for a long time.”
“Is it freedom if I’m doing it because you told me to?”
“Better’n waiting for the next schizophrenic round of orders your current babysitters give you.”
“They’re not my babysitters.”
Andronikos shrugged and stared up at the city skyline. They were quiet for a while.
“You going to get back to lecturing me?” asked Nalenne.
“Nah. Already did too much. I figure you get enough of that.” He pushed away from the wall. “I know storming out alone isn’t your usual thing, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Just so you know, it was a sight to see.” He chuckled. “You should consider doing more of it, but I leave that up to you.”
“Don’t go yet,” she said, standing up. “On the scale of rash and possibly regrettable things, I’m going to have to work my way up to ‘abandoning everybody and running away forever.’”
“You got a lesser rash and possibly regrettable idea in mind for the short term?”
“I do.” She moved closer. “You in?”
“Nalenne, uh. I’ve slept with your sister.”
“I am way too upset to care about how creepy that is right now.”
“Okay, then. Sure.”
*
Everyone reacts in different ways, but I like Pierce the best.
*
Andronikos lounged against the low outer wall of the Tatooine cantina, looking out over the rocky descent to the desert below. Pierce, after watching him for a few moments, left the shade of the cantina proper and moved to lean on the wall beside him. “You know, you’re even crazier than I thought,” said Pierce.
Andronikos took the remnants of some green garnish he had been thoughtfully chewing out of his mouth. “How’s that?”
Pierce looked out over the desert. “You. The Wrath.”
“Something you wanna say there?”
“Only that you’re even crazier than I thought.”
Andronikos twirled the garnish stem and grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never taken a shot at her.”
“Nah. Survival instinct’s too strong for that. (*) All the time I’ve known her, the Wrath’s had all of two lovers. Quinn an’ Servant Nine. And they both died at her hands. One of ‘em came back, but I wouldn’t stake my life on that happening again.” Pierce rearranged his arms to reveal a half-finished beer, which he promptly took a swig of. “It’s not too late. Some of her one-night stands have been known to survive.”
“If ‘one night’ is the operative thing there, it’s already too late for me.”
“Trying to think of a word stronger than ‘crazy’ here. Failing for the time being.” Pierce shook his head, drank again. “She worth it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I got no complaints.” Andronikos finally looked at Pierce. “You could just ask her sometime. She’s not stingy, you know. And she likes you enough.”
“You getting some kind of refer-a-friend bonus out of this?”
“Nah. Just saying, you deserve some happiness.”
“Heh, I get plenty of happiness. From sources a lot more stable than the Wrath. Speaking of things more stable than the Wrath, I wanted to mod a few more thermal detonators before we go out tomorrow.” He straightened and started for the door. “‘Night, Andronikos. Be careful.”
“Where has ‘careful’ ever gotten the likes of you and me?”
Pierce chuckled. “Try not to wear her out, then. I’ll be wanting her in the field tomorrow.”
*
And, of course, he gets used to the crew.
*
Jaesa giggled. "I can't take Mynock's Season 2 uniform seriously. He just looks so spindly."
"Spindly? He's sort of kind of almost closer to normal proportions only still a complete cartoon," said Nalenne.
"Spindly," insisted Jaesa.
Andronikos yawned. He was slumped in a chair, watching the two women who were stretched out on the bed watching the holo. "So are you two going to make out already?"
"No," said Nalenne.
"Why would we do that?" said Jaesa.
"Don't mind him," said Nalenne. "He's just jealous of our relationship."
"They always are," Jaesa said glumly.
*
At some point the party meets Nasan Godera, the superweapon-spouting maniac of the Jedi Knight line!
*
The galaxy's most slapdash bolt job secured the missile launchers to the S.A.B.E.R. Helicarrier as it streaked through hyperspace to the Nosovil system. Jaesa made multiple efforts to contact Quinn via holo, but since the reconstruction of the ship's holo they had had a new frequency and Quinn wasn't answering the new one. He would get no warning.
Nalenne slid her hands over Andronikos' shoulders as he maneuvered into orbit over Nosovil III, seeking a good shot at the location Doctor Godera pointed out. "If you make this in time," she said, "I'll make it very much worth your while."
"Huh. You realize you're offering sexual favors in exchange for rescuing your husband."
"Is it going to work?"
"Well, yeah, but still. Weird."
*
Godera watched the console anxiously. Nalenne had chewed most of the way through her lip before he finally closed his eyes and relaxed. "The primary exhaust on the planet's surface is clear. It seems to be venting nonviolently."
"So everyone on both planets is not going to die."
"Not because of me, anyway," said Godera.
"Oh," Broonmark blorped disappointedly.
"Ordinarily I would just off you now," Nalenne told Godera, "but it's so much funnier to leave you on the loose. Jaesa, drop him off someplace." Nalenne grabbed Andronikos' tunic. "I'll be busy."
Vette watched them go and blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but is she about to celebrate the rescue of her husband by banging Andronikos Revel?"
"Yup," said Pierce.
"…And yet," said Vette, "as of right this moment she is still not the most unethical person on the ship."
*
Ah, but many good things come to an end…
*
"Andronikos," said Nalenne, "I'll need you to run sniper cover for the Jedi Teacher's Union party we're crashing next week. Prep the big rifle."
"If I'm going, I'm down in the melee with you guys."
"'If' you're going? This is going to be the best game of the season, of course you'll be there."
"Says who?"
"Says your love of mayhem?"
Andronikos sat up slowly. "You know," he said, "I like you, but you've been getting a lot of ideas."
"Like…how beating up Jedi schoolteachers will be a ton of fun and you should be there?"
"No, like I'm gonna take your orders when I get there." He frowned and stretched. "I may not be around next week. In fact, I may not be around for a while. There's places to be." He hopped out of bed and grabbed the one battered bloodstained leather bag that held his non-weaponry possessions, and took a look at Nalenne. "It's been a lot of fun, don't get me wrong. I'll be seeing you sometime."
She followed him into the hallway. "You can't just go!"
"I believe I can, Nalenne."
"I'm the Wrath! You have to listen to me!"
"No. No, your apprentices and soldiers and slave have to listen to you. You wanna bang somebody who'll take orders, try the guy who already promised to." He stopped short and faced her with a small smile. "Neither one of us likes sleeping with control freaks. So let it go."
Nalenne stood with her mouth hanging slightly open, trying to figure out the logical puzzle of imposing her will on someone in order to preserve a relaxing freedom-loving relationship. The only solution appeared to be that she got to be relaxed and free while he served her every whim, but by the time she had figured out how to phrase that, Andronikos was gone.
Vette delicately cleared her throat.
"Why does nobody ever let me down easy?" demanded Nalenne. "It's always BAM, vanish."
"Probably because they all know you'll kill them if they try to discuss it at any length in person," said Vette.
"That's completely unfounded. I didn't have long discussions before I killed Quinn or Servant Nine or any of the others. Maybe trying to be tactful would make me less likely to execute them for leaving me, ever think of that?"
"I actually don't spend a lot of time thinking about how to break up with you," said Vette. "Apart from the whole 'trying to get out of the slave collar' thing, I guess."
Pierce wandered in from the mess. He carried a large frozen carton. "Ice cream?" he offered.
Nalenne crossed her arms. She wasn't that predictable. Not really. "Rebound?" she counteroffered.
"Not likely, milord," he said.
"Hm. I guess that would be pretty weird," said Nalenne.
"Very," agreed Pierce. "Here. Triple coco loco chunk."
"You're the best."
*
And, eventually, Nalenne returns to the guy who continues to love her. I mean, there’s a time period where he is promoted to Emperor’s Wrath due to his heroic efforts, and she quits her claim to the title and wanders off into depravity…but they’ll come back together. Of course they will. This is a love beyond death, whether they like it or not. They are heroes to each other, always.
And Andronikos? Nalenne likes him too much to kill him, so the galaxy is his oyster. I really like Andronikos, in spite of his straight-up assertion that he likes killing people. I wanted this plotline for him.
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In the There Is No Death, There Is Only Wrath: The Helicarrier Chronicles, the Quinncident was fatal but he got over it:
"After everything Malavai Quinn has accomplished, the most you can do when he returns to the regular chain of command is Colonel?" "My lord, since his promotion from Lieutenant less than four years ago, some of his most conspicuous accomplishments have been failing to execute a failed Sith Lord's plan and then, er, dying. We have to take these things into account when making personnel decisions."
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“‘Did you get any monogrammed stuff you don’t want?’ If he said yes, I’d hurry ‘round and we’d exchange initialed presents.”
— Cary Grant on his Christmas tradition with Clark Gable (x)
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A Visit From Red Five
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the station No sign stirred of life or of droid automation. Some contraband stockings were hidden with care, No rebels in sight. This night no one would dare.
The Stormtroopers settled all snug in their beds, While visions of victory danced in their heads. And Tarkin and I, bent on world domination, Had planned an effective ka-boom demonstration.
When off went the klaxons! It made such a clatter I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter. Away to the viewport I flew like a probe, Pushed open the blast shield and lit the search strobe.
The sky of the station, unchanged day and night, No space debris showed, and no planets in sight, When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a flight of X-wings in full rebel-scum gear,
With a cocky young pilot who’d threaten us soon: I knew he had noticed that this was no moon. More rapid than Kessel daredevils they came And a voice rising high whooped and called them by name.
“On Binli, Antilles, on Naytaan, on Gaul! On Porkins, Darklighter, come one and come all! Pew-pew them with presents, pew-pew them with cheer! The sector will know that Red Squadron was here!”
As tactical experts ‘round turrets they sped, And ducked to the trenches, still full speed ahead, So toward the exhaust port the rebels they flew, With a youth in their midst who might be Jedi, too.
And then, in a twinkling, surveillance made clear The face of our enemy barreling near! A ghost on one shoulder, a girl on the other, (You never would know they were from the same mother.)
He was dressed in a jumpsuit, and buckled with care, And he suffered, it seems, from extreme helmet hair. A bundle of toys did his astromech carry, And he looked like a target to those who aren’t merry.
The X-wings they formed up in consummate Vs, And ran down those trenches with holiday glee. I heard as I looked while the raid zoomed about, Each pilot fire presents, and miss, and fly out.
“Get me to my fighter! I’ll blow them away!” But then something shifted, the Force had its way. There dawned in my shriveled and barbecued heart Some holiday spirit, an overdue start.
“Hold fire in the trenches! Take turrets offline! Let pilots stay grounded to drink and to dine! Come, Tarkin, and smile once, it can’t be that bad, I’ll lay off the choking, so people, be glad!”
Luke spoke not a word, but he fired with joy And behold! the exhaust port was filled up with toys! Then, laying a finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, with the rebels he rose.
He soared from the trench, to his team gave a yell, And left us all feeling, I have to say, swell. And I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight, “Happy Star Wars to all, and to all a good night!”
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serialephemera · 3 months
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The fact that gaslighting is not merely the act of saying something that's false, and I'd have to question your trust in any online source you quote claiming that it is, absolutely fucking kills me
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serialephemera · 3 months
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I can’t find it on tumblr and IT CHRISMAS GOD DAMMIT.
MERR CHRISMAS.
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serialephemera · 3 months
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I have always been torn on whether to call Niralia (gnomish frost mage) or Liranya (draenei enhancement/resto shaman) my "main."
By time it's Niralia, hands down. Niralia has been around for longer, she's the one with a PvP career, she had all the achievements before cheevos became account-wide. It's she who experiences plot first for me. And she's a more fully realized voice in my head.
But...by utility, Liranya wins. The blacksmith, the jeweler. And, most importantly, the heals. Nobody asks for Niralia unless they're feeling starved for overpull. Lir, however, can slot into any party and make herself indispensable. Lir gets the PUG invites, gets the shorter LFG queues. Lir is a part of a raid configuration that is hard to replace. Because I'm good at what I do.
If I could save only one character, it would be Niralia, but it should be Liranya.
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serialephemera · 3 months
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I played WoW for several years and I had a lot of fun.
I was every stereotype of the mad DPS (my mage main) and the tank-chasing healer (my shaman second). Had a lot of fun. I was in a small social guild so I took my shaman out to PUG with larger guilds for raids semi-regularly. Far more often, though, I was the sole healer in five-player groups. I spent a non-negligible amount of time coaching fellow players in how to avoid taking damage so I could focus on the tank. I also spent a non-negligible amount of time cussing out the players who knew when to pull cooldowns to survive doomsday abilities. I didn't know they knew that. I just thought they were irresponsible monsters as the casting bar filled up.
Yes. I remember the ones who did that. I have a long memory for some stunts.
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serialephemera · 3 months
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guys. healing is awesome
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serialephemera · 3 months
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Someone asked why I DNFed Dragon Age: Awakening, and... well, I didn't like anyone in my opening party. I started questing with three characters I actively disliked, and it wasn't fun.
Neverwinter Nights 2 might be the only other game where that happened, and, well, Khelgar and Neeshka aren't bad, only bland.
Mask of the Betrayer had Okku, One of Many, and Gann, all brilliant, in early questing.
Planescape: Torment have Morte and Dak'kon in the first full party. I would die for these idiots.
Just as good, Pillars of Eternity and Deadfire had Edér and Aloth.
Torment: Tides of Numenera had Aligern. I think Erritis was an early gain, too.
KOTOR had T3-M4. KOTOR 2 had Kreia. So much to love.
But Awakening? Anders "I'm so witty", Nathaniel "why am I suddenly not killing you" Howe, and, heh, Oghren. Nope.
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serialephemera · 3 months
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We will never know their names.
The first victim could not have been recorded, for there was no written language to record it. They were someone’s daughter, or son, and someone’s friend, and they were loved by those around them. And they were in pain, covered in rashes, confused, scared, not knowing why this was happening to them or what they could do about it - victim of a mad, inhuman god. There was nothing to be done - humanity was not strong enough, not aware enough, not knowledgeable enough, to fight back against a monster that could not be seen.
It was in Ancient Egypt, where it attacked slave and pharaoh alike. In Rome, it effortlessly decimated armies. It killed in Syria. It killed in Moscow.  In India, five million dead. It killed a thousand Europeans every day in the 18th century. It killed more than fifty million Native Americans. From the Peloponnesian War to the Civil War, it slew more soldiers and civilians than any weapon, any soldier, any army (Not that this stopped the most foolish and empty souls from attempting to harness the demon as a weapon against their enemies).
Cultures grew and faltered, and it remained. Empires rose and fell, and it thrived. Ideologies waxed and waned, but it did not care. Kill. Maim. Spread. An ancient, mad god, hidden from view, that could not be fought, could not be confronted, could not even be comprehended. Not the only one of its kind, but the most devastating.
For a long time, there was no hope - only the bitter, hollow endurance of survivors.
In China, in the 10th century, humanity began to fight back.
It was observed that survivors of the mad god’s curse would never be touched again: they had taken a portion of that power into themselves, and were so protected from it. Not only that, but this power could be shared by consuming a remnant of the wounds. There was a price, for you could not take the god’s power without first defeating it - but a smaller battle, on humanity’s terms. By the 16th century, the technique spread, to India, across Asia, the Ottoman Empire and, in the 18th century, Europe. In 1796, a more powerful technique was discovered by Edward Jenner.
An idea began to take hold: Perhaps the ancient god could be killed.
A whisper became a voice; a voice became a call; a call became a battle cry, sweeping across villages, cities, nations. Humanity began to cooperate, spreading the protective power across the globe, dispatching masters of the craft to protect whole populations. People who had once been sworn enemies joined in common cause for this one battle. Governments mandated that all citizens protect themselves, for giving the ancient enemy a single life would put millions in danger.
And, inch by inch, humanity drove its enemy back. Fewer friends wept; Fewer neighbors were crippled; Fewer parents had to bury their children.
At the dawn of the 20th century, for the first time, humanity banished the enemy from entire regions of the world. Humanity faltered many times in its efforts, but there individuals who never gave up, who fought for the dream of a world where no child or loved one would ever fear the demon ever again. Viktor Zhdanov, who called for humanity to unite in a final push against the demon; The great tactician Karel Raška, who conceived of a strategy to annihilate the enemy; Donald Henderson, who led the efforts of those final days.
The enemy grew weaker. Millions became thousands, thousands became dozens. And then, when the enemy did strike, scores of humans came forth to defy it, protecting all those whom it might endanger.
The enemy’s last attack in the wild was on Ali Maow Maalin, in 1977. For months afterwards, dedicated humans swept the surrounding area, seeking out any last, desperate hiding place where the enemy might yet remain.
They found none.
35 years ago, on December 9th, 1979, humanity declared victory.
This one evil, the horror from beyond memory, the monster that took 500 million people from this world - was destroyed.
You are a member of the species that did that. Never forget what we are capable of, when we band together and declare battle on what is broken in the world.
Happy Smallpox Eradication Day.
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serialephemera · 3 months
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anyone else have a word they absolutely cannot spell as in no matter how many times you read or write this particular random word your brain just absoltuely will NOT play ball for me its "genius" and "parallel"
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serialephemera · 3 months
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Me: I'm tired of Reddit rabbit holes. I will go to the library and pick something at random to read. This probably won't go well but I'm out of ideas
Mr. Bright: Have you considered...*runs into the other room and comes back with three well- loved books I've never noticed before because they were stacked three deep on one of his shelves*...Wraith Squadron?
Me: Well, I have now.
I cannot adequately express how much I love this person
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