#and he also sees that the vanguard's response to their own pain is to make more orphans and widowers of innocents in the name of ideology

[utilitycaster]

I know there have been many Takes about Laudna and Orym after latest episode. Yours saying that this is not a bad development for Orym is interesting to me because my knee-jerk reaction while watching was being horrified he went so cold about Bor’Dor’s death. But after some time, I guess him finally choosing to be pragmatic after days torn by his own idealism would be a much healthier route for him in the long run.

I want to know what you think about Ashton, though. Some people are saying, they “let” Laudna kill Bor’Dor because they thought it’s what she needed. That sits wrong with me because Laudna made that decision and she’s not a child, but Ashton is my favorite character and I can’t help think I am biased lol.

Please excuse my badly structured sentences, I’m not native speaker.

Hi anon! Your English is great!

I think this is a revealing question in that, in fandom, I think a lot of people lead with "well, obviously, my favorite character is clearly morally in the right, or, failing that, the character I don't like is morally in the wrong" rather than considering the situation, the context, the genre norms, what makes for the most interesting story, etc. So recognizing that Ashton's your favorite and that might be coloring your opinion puts you ahead of a lot of people.

Anyway: I think it can be true both that Laudna made her own decision and that Ashton could, had they wanted, chosen to make an effort to stop her and they didn't. I don't think that means Ashton is responsible for what Laudna did per se, but I also don't personally think he had a moral imperative to save Bor'Dor. I think someone who thinks he did have that moral imperative might disagree, but they should also be blaming Laudna just as much in that case.

Someone else remarked to me that based on the discourse you'd think Orym - the only person who did not attack or restrain Bor'Dor - executed him in cold blood. Just to recap the fight: we only really had one round during which Orym gave Prism a potion to heal her up and did bait and switch to protect her; Ashton hit, with non-lethal intent; Deni$e restrained Bor'Dor; Laudna cast Hunger of the Shadow, knocking Bor'Dor unconscious; and Prism punched him. The following round was technically not run as combat in initiative order, and had it been, Bor'Dor could theoretically have died of a failed death save before Laudna's turn, but Orym and Deni$e made no attacks and Ashton chose to lead away Prism. Probably any of the three martial class characters could, had they wanted to, stopped Laudna. None of them did.

Which I think goes back to the second paragraph: In the end? I think most people are making their judgments of whether or not they think Bor'Dor should die, and even further back to whether or not the Ruby Vanguard is a cultish, terrorist organization, deciding on whether his death was justified or not, and then, if they think it was not, pinning blame on the character they like least. You can argue for any, though frankly, I think Orym is the weakest argument: Laudna is the one who literally killed him, both knocking him unconscious and taking the final death save. Prism took the most death saves with her punch. Ashton dealt a significant amount of damage and did not intervene when Laudna had an unconscious Bor'Dor at her mercy. Deni$e is the one who initially brought up her suspicions, forcing Bor'Dor's hand, and similarly made no physical effort to stop anyone. Orym indicated his approval to Laudna and did not try to stop her.

I think that had Bor'Dor not attacked the party, and had instead simply run away, tracking him down and killing him would have been excessive, but on the other hand, he had a lot of information that could have been extremely dangerous to Bells Hells, so at the very least I think they needed to take him prisoner; but he's not wanted by any specific legal system, so I think he'd just be their hostage, dragged along, indefinitely, as they attacked his friends over and over again. There isn't a nice, neat solution where everyone is happy. Deradicalization is an admirable goal, but it requires a massive amount of effort and resources that I don't think Bells Hells have, and no one should be expected to deradicalize someone who is actively committing violence against them. Once Bor'Dor attacked, to me, this became self-defense and an admission that he was lost: that he'd spent several days with them during which they were kind to him, but because of their ideologies, he attempted to kill them anyway. At that point, I don't fault any of the characters present for killing him/letting him be killed in response.

I guess the last point I'll make is that while, in terms of empathy, there is obviously a huge difference between killing someone regretfully, and killing someone and relishing it, they are, in the end, dead either way. I don't interpret Orym's behavior as cold, but rather merely calm acceptance that he can no longer avoid the inevitable war - and I do think that acting as though Orym's subjectivity in this situation is problematic while ignoring that Prism and Laudna were in no way objective either is an incredibly poorly considered argument, and deeply unfair- but in the end, whether Orym is stoic or whether he breaks down crying, Bor'Dor is still dead. I am not going to fault a character for having an outward emotional reaction that doesn't match what I think it should be when I think their motivations were reasonable.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role #I think a lot of people are mistaking empathy for forgiveness or mercy #i think Orym's actions are deeply empathetic. I think he sees that a few differences in circumstances could have made him a vanguard member #and he also sees that the vanguard's response to their own pain is to make more orphans and widowers of innocents in the name of ideology #and that prism - the one person who believed bor'dor - would have been the collateral damage #anyway sorry for making this about orym again but I think it's necessary context for understanding why i'm like ashton's fine #bc they're all fine imo

[annon-guy2]

Video Game Idea - Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World Revised Edition Character Bios

Emil is a young boy who lost his parents in the Blood Purge thay occurred in the Port City of Palmacosta. He has a naive personality and an innocence that leads him to believe anything he's told. Generally a coward, he's not successful in anything that requires a great force of will. He possesses a great hatred for Lloyd, the one responsible for killing his parents.

Certain circumstances lead him to swear a contract to protect Marta as a Knight of Ratatosk. As a result, he can call upon the power of the Summon Spirit Ratatosk during battle, which causes him to act as a cruel and unforgiving warrior. It would pain him to see the vast difference between the person he was and the person he's become.

==============================

Marta is a young girl who lost her mother when Lloyd's party sent the Great Tree into chaos two years ago. She has a mysterious jewel known as "Ratatosk's Core" implanted in her forehead. Determined and unafraid to make her voice known, she is not satisfied unless she can think of things in absolutes due to her bad habit of seeing the world in terms of black and white.

She thinks of Emil, who saved her, as a knight in shing armor, and has decided that his typically cowardly and passive attitude are simply modesty that hides his true strength. She hates Colette, who killed her mother, and Lloyd, who attacked Palmacosta.

==============================

A Centurion who accompanies Marta, Tenebrae controls darkness. Though he seems composed and serious, he does have some humanlike traits, including and appreciation for humor. He is also know for making rather "spiteful" comments as well.

==============================

Richter is a young man currently searching for Ratatosk's Core for unknown reasons. Sarcastic to a point, he is relentless in the pursuit of his goal. He meets Emil on his questnto find Ratatosk's Core, and while he's disgusted to see such a cowardly character and passive attitude from him, he puts himself at his service.

Clearly, there must be some reason for this...

==============================

The Centurion who controls water, Aqua's talkative nature clashes with Tenebrae's taciturn demeanor. For reasons only known to her, Aqua sympathies with Richter's situation and has turned against Ratatosk to fight as his side.

==============================

Despite her innocent appearance, Alice possesses an extremely sadistic personality and a desire for power. She leads the Vanguard's combat unit, using the monsters she controls to fight for her.

She too seeks Ratatosk's Core, but doesn't particularly mind if she has to kill Marta, who she hates for reasons unknown, in order to do so.

She is rearly seen without her three most notable monsters, Athos, Porthos and Aramis. All three named after the heroes from the story of the 'Three Musketeers.'

==============================

The leader of thr Vanguard's espionage unit, Decus is madly in love with Alice, following her wherever she goes and willing to do anything for her, even at the expense of his own person. Due to his overly intense personality, this love for the combat unit captain manifests as stalker-like behavior.

His most notably, and infamous, "trademark" is his mail ordered cologne Eau De Seduction, which smells really awful and yet... Decus doesn't seem to think so somehow.

==============================

Colette is the Chosen of Regeneration and was the one who planted the new World Tree alongside Lloyd. As such, this makes Colette either a hero or an enemy to the citizens of the New World. Regardless of how others see her, Colette never gets down and never loses faith in Lloyd. Together, with Lloyd, Colette aims to set the world back on its track toward regeneration.

Currently, she seems to be searching for Lloyd after losing contact with him some time ago. This eventually leads her to Asgard, where she has a chance encounter with two young teenagers...

==============================

Raine was Lloyd and Colette's teacher and is also the older sister of Genis Sage. As a half-elf, life is not easy for Raine. Along with her younger brother, Raine sets out to trynand make the world a better place for half-elves, but when she learns about Lloyd's actions during the Blood Purge in Palmacosta, she decides to track him down.

Despite her occasional pragmatic outlook, Raine is calm, nurturing woman who cares deeply for those around her.

==============================

Genis in Raine's younger brother. As a close friend of Lloyd's, Genis is concerned about his recent actions and is adamant about tracking him down with his sister.

Genis may be young, but he has grown a lot since his last journey with Lloyd and Colette. Genis is feisty and eager to fight and alongside his sister, is a valuable member of any team.

==============================

When it comes to Sheena's assets, there is more than meets the eye. Sheen is the successor to the Chief of Mizuho and, as such, she has a full fleet of ninjas at her command. Sheena is a skilled fighter, as well as a summoner of thr Summon Spirits of the world. Sheens is a bit clumsy and has a fiery temper when she is not getting the respect she deserves.

Like the rest of her friends, Sheena is searching for Lloyd and wonders what has become of him.

==============================

Zelos, like Colette, is a Chosen One from days past. Where Colette is Sylvarant's Chosen, Zelos is the Chosen for Tethe'alla.

Zelos lives a carefree life and rarely takes anything seriously. Zelos has no interest in Emil, but for Marta he will do anything. In the presence of a beautiful lady, his true nature comes out, as he is quite the ladies man.

He also has a younger sister, Seles Wilder, who he cherishes dearly and will protect her at any cost. Zelos is also searching for Lloyd, who he trusts more than anyone, and is willing to defend his friend's good name from those who accuse him.

==============================

Presea may look like a young girl, but her appearance mearly disguises her adult maturity. Presea os currently working for Regal, hoping to rebuild her hometown of Ozette while continuing her work of woodcrafting and making special good luck charms.

Presea eventually comes to Emil and Marta's aid during a desperate time of need and proves to be a literal lifesaver.

==============================

Regal was once falsely imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. Reluctant to break any laws or go against the system, Regal calmly and willfully serve his sentence.

Now a free man and as chairman of the Lorenzo Company, Regal is of high society, yet is uncorrupted by its greed and temptations. Regal's generosity knows no bounds and he is always willing to lend a helping hand.

==============================

Sometime after reuniting the two worlds and helping Colette plant the new World Tree, Lloyd Irving has gone off on a quest to collect Exspheres to ensure that they are never misused again for evil again.

However, Lloyd, in the name of the Church of Martel, is apparently responsible for the Blood Purge that killed many people in Palmacosta and as of now, has not given any explanation or his side of the story.

Currently, he is after the Centurion Cores for some unknown reason, even stealing the Centurion of Light's core in the process. This, along with the fact that he attacked Palmacosta, makes him Emil and Marta's enemy.

The question remains is why he would do such horrible things? Did he really commit these crimes or is there more to the story then Lloyd is willing to let on?

#Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World #Emil Castagnier #Marta Lualdi #Tenebrae #Richter Abend #Aqua #Alice #Decus #Colette Brunel #Raine Sage #Genis Sage #Sheena Fujibayashi #Zelos Wilder #Presea Combatir #Regal Bryant #Lloyd Irving #Video Game Idea

[thang1234]

Week 3 Blog

"The sympathizer"

Viet Thanh Nguyen

Pages Read: 91-140

summary

The General maintains that there are still allies in the battle, including Claude and the Congressman. A list of officers who wish to fight is available to the General. The narrator suggests creating a "vanguard" that will act secretly. The General chooses to launch a youth club, a women's group, and a thinkers group in addition to using Sonny's newspaper as a front organization. He claims that the congressman is establishing contacts to make it possible for them to send soldiers to Thailand, which will serve as a staging place. It is risky to talk about the conflict coming to an end since the General maintains that they must fight and reject the evil that is Communism. Their people must not become lazy.

Critical Analysis

In addition to using Sonny's newspaper as a front organization, the General decides to start a youth club, a women's group, and a thinking group. He said the congressman is building relationships so they can send military to Thailand, which will be used as a staging area. Since the General insists that people must combat and reject the evil that is Communism, it is dangerous to suggest that the war will soon come to an end. Do to what have shown above the things that have shown on of the evil thing that have had happen and the other group of people that was also was affect as well and the narrator have said that it was the "...the Vietnamese of any side would come out poorly, herded into the role of the poor, the innocent, the evil, or the corrupt." (pg 134) We can all see all the thing that just come from all the battles and war are the pain and their life turn all around even if they don't want to.

Personal Response

The thing that I found out though all the war and when I was reading this book was that after all war the people are the most affected were the poor become poorer and the rich also lost many that they have as well. The people that are innocent and didn't do anything wrong would be force to go to war even if they don't want to and but the evil people are the one that can freely leave because they can get through with money or try to escape as fast as they can when they can during the war or use other for their own need. The war that was caused was through the corruption of the higher up people where they would use beautiful and strong convincing words to make the people do things that the higher up don't want to.

[duskdragonxiii]

dusky in what ways do you think therapy would help q4?

I'll be honest i dont know the exact benefits of therapy ive only had counselling a couple of times bc it was free and i was on the brink but i do have so many many thoughts DJSKLBF

Every character in vanguard has thier own issues and while some of them are nuanced some of them are really really obvious

Aichi is very clearly depressed it's not even subtle and as someone who's been through situations that make Aichi's story relatable I think therapy is something he really needs but I've stressed before that Aichi even goes through relapses and such. Vanguard is what's helping him through it its the closest he's getting to therapy. Maybe it's from being bullied in school but Aichi has serious self esteem issues and the core of Vanguard is imagining yourself as the best version of yourself- It's really not a subtle message. Kai brought him into the world of Vanguard and it completely changed his life. Slowly but surely. Even his family note how happy he becomes after getting into vanguard and meeting Kai again. The development on aichis part is really slow but in fairness depression is just like that.

Misaki canonically has PTSD after the death of her parents (this was more severe in V series but at the same time it felt really brushed over which is a real shame) and similar to Aichi was depressed and had little interest in anything before being dragged kicking and screaming into a game she was so scared of. Once again Vanguard is the key to getting through- not over- her issues and she's far happier with her life now.

Kamui is easy to overlook bc he's younger and isn't as clearly distressed as the rest of the team but I think he has serious social issues. He's a popular kid among his peers and he thrives on enthusiasm but he's also vulnerable in his own way. He's intimidated by change and finds it hard to understand other people I think. He has a hard time feeling he belongs with people. One of those people who has so many friends but rarely lets any of them close. He found where he belongs in Q4 and thats why when he finds Kai hard to deal with he finds is especially hard. It's really hard to say what Kamui's issues are tbh but I don't doubt therapy would benefit him too. (I hc he has adhd and dyslexia but that's more of a me thing) Kai in particular has serious issues with running and hiding from his problems. He acts all cool in order to push people away. Obviously he's already fucked up from his parents death and the first person who got him to open up after that was of course Ren (and Tetsu) unfortunately as a result he didn't realize how high a pedestal he was putting Ren on that it absolutely shattered him when Ren turned out to not be the person he had been in his imagination (Don't give me any of that he changed bc of psyqualia thing, that's a metaphor and you know it and you're missing the whole point) and instead of trying to accept Ren as he was he ran away. This is addressed again in the Psyqualia Aichi arc when Aichi starts to get lost in his own power- giving Kai the painful reminder when once again someone he's connecting to might not be the flawless and innocent person he imagined them to be. The difference is, Aichi brought him close to a whole lot of other people and Aichi himself made him realize that he can't keep running and that's what brings him to his senses and able to face it.

Not Q4 but relevant; Ren has abandonment issues probably due to his shitty parents (although this is only really established in V series where things are quite different but i still think that's the case in the og) so when Kai didn't approve of his new self and worst of all walked away without even saying goodbye it sent him over the edge and he became the nasty and aggressive cardfighter we know him as in season 1- all because he wants Kai to come back to him. He has a single minded OBSESSION with Kai that's really not healthy- and while after season 1 he starts to get better he never truely lets go.

Kai and Ren could BOTH get over their issues if they would just talk about it but unfortunately they both have issues with communication that make it impossible- hence why cardfight is so important to them now. with thier imagination and putting thier true selves in this game it gives them something in common and a way to communicate through all the issues they have with eachother and at the end of LM though it's been really slow its clear that they ARE healing. It may sound silly, but Kai making an off comment about how he doesn't like the way Ren is dressed is a BIG thing for him. I could analyse this moment till the cows come home because its the first time Kai manages to express himself with words, clumsy as it is. What "I don't like the old you" really means below the surface is I know and accept that you have changed. And Ren's playful response being "Then you like me as i am now?" while he is being playful that in itself means I'm still not the person you want me to be I will never be that again but I'm happy that you can finally see me as I am. It's really important to me....

Anyway Sorry for this ramble i really feel strongly about cfv LOL welcome to my KaiRen agenda--

#answer time #THIS IS SO LONG IM SO SORRY #i have to rewatch cfv bc honestly i dont remember much abt kamui and im so sad bc i love him

[theoriginalladya]

50 Types of Kisses #4: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. For Rydenko.

from this list

on AO3 here

Okay, so my friend, you get your SECOND Rydenko prompt filled today as well!  Look what you’ve done to me!  

Setting:  Milky Way, roughly sometime in 2184-ish (before Shepard is ‘alive’ again)

Characters: Scott Ryder, Kaidan Alenko, Sara Ryder (sort of...)

Tags: Blood mention, battle/fighting mention, kissing  ;)

~~~

It’s crazy, Scott thinks, the things that pop into his head at the strangest times, and under the most unpredictable circumstances.

That’s you, Scotty boy!  Mr. Unpredictability!  

Of course, having a snarky response from his twin pop into his head a fraction of a moment after such a thought, while less unpredictable, is just as crazy, if not more so.

A shot from the batarian taking cover on the far side of the room just narrowly misses Scott’s temple at the same time Kaidan shouts out a warning.  Throwing himself to his left, Scott rolls out of the way – too late for it to be effective, but he does it anyway just to prove a point – and when he’s back on his feet once more, his kinetic barriers up and full, he yells back at the batarian, “Oh, no!  You did not just –!”

The batarian fires again; the second shot connecting with his barriers.  The hissing snap as the shot meets and is swallowed by the shields pops and crackles loudly in Scott’s ears.  

Guess he told you, huh?

“Shut up, Sara!”  He shouts it, frustrated and more than just a little irritated with himself because he knows better, he really does!  It’s just been… a hot minute since he was in active combat, that’s all.  All right, any combat, technically speaking.  Anger getting the best of him in the moment, he pulls dark energy to him with enough speed to leave a normal person dizzy and starts running straight ahead toward the bastard.  With a shout, a flick of his wrist, and a release of the appropriate mnemonic, he arrives in front of the batarian, jumps into the air as he forms a second mnemonic, and lands with a solid punch of biotic energy to the ground, sending out an explosive wave of energy.  In the half second before the batarian is tossed backwards where his back connects solidly with the wall, it’s impossible to miss the stunned look in its four eyes. Scott finds it amusing, if not more than a little bit disturbing.  When the body crumples to the ground, he steps over and takes aim at its head with his assault rifle, shooting once into the back of his head.  

Pulse check – just to make sure.

That’ll learn ‘im, Scotty.  

He can picture Sara’s smirk to perfection.  Dammit!  Some things don’t ever change.

Turning around, Scott searches for his next target. The scan he and Kaidan did from outside the room indicated four targets before they entered.  He’s taken down this one plus one other, and he’d seen Kaidan take one down.  Speaking of…

His gaze connects with the commander’s about a hundred fifty feet away from him.  “You okay?” Kaidan asks.

Scott huffs, shrugging just a little too casually while a smirk curls across his lips as he saunters in his companion’s direction. “What can I say?  He was a lousy shot.”  Something about the commander inspires him, gives him a bit more confidence in himself, boosts his self-esteem to previously unattainable levels, and yet, leaves an inexplicable but gentle ache in his chest when their eyes meet.

Kaidan’s dark eyes flare a little as he chuckles; Scott notices.  “That so?”

The response sets loose a thousand butterflies in Scott’s belly.  Or, maybe it’s simply the way his voice drops an octave, warming him from head to toe but centering mostly in his chest, the way a glass of good whiskey does.  “Mmhmm.”

Scott isn’t even a third of the way over when movement out of the corner of his eye, plus the way Kaidan’s head turns sharply in the same direction alerts him to the danger.  Scott reacts without conscious thought, simply grabbing at the dark energy, wrapping it around him, and flicking the mnemonic off his hand in haste as he launches forward the rest of the way.  This time, instead of preparing a second biotic attack, he moves both hands out in front of him with one singular purpose in mind; get Kaidan out of the line of fire.  

Time slows around him and, as fanciful as it sounds, he swears he sees the shot flying right next to him; side-by-side, a race to see who gets there first.  Scott has never really been good at racing before, but this is one he intends to win.

Just before he connects with Kaidan, he dials back his momentum, slowing as he prepares to connect.  Thankfully, his fellow biotic hasn’t had a chance to re-activate his barrier, instead taking his own shot in the direction of the enemy. Barring any last fraction-of-a-second changes, this end result shouldn’t be that bad, all things considered.

Hah!  You always say that!

Go aWAY, Sara!

The collision is jarring, to say the least. Yet as they connect, Scott slides his arms around the other man, enveloping him and twisting their bodies as they fall to minimize the damage.  Colliding at speed, even one that is slower than a full speed Charge, can still hurt if he isn’t careful.  They land with a thud, half on Scott’s right side and half on his back.  He grunts in pain and hears the breath knocked out of Kaidan.  The momentum sends them rolling across the floor together, until they come to a stop another twenty feet away, Scott now fully on top of Kaidan.  It also cannot stop their foreheads from bumping… or their lips brushing together and lingering for just a moment.

Sucking in a deep, quick breath, Scott pushes himself up, eyes wide as he stares down at Kaidan.  Okay, so… yeah, this is what he wants, but this isn’t exactly the scenario he had in mind when playing it out inside his head.  And just because he wants it doesn’t mean… “Um, I can explain…?”

Kaidan says nothing, only staring in Scott’s eyes briefly before drifting slightly lower.

Scott blinks, breath catching at the implication. In the same moment, he notices Kaidan hasn’t let go of him just yet… and his eyes remain locked on Scott’s lips.   He blinks a second time, and has difficulty swallowing.  And still, Kaidan’s gaze doesn’t leave his lips.  

“Oh, to hell with it,” Scott mutters, ignoring nerves and diving back down, this time with purpose, and fusing their lips together.  

If anything, Kaidan’s arms slide further around him.  Scott accepts that as tacit approval to continue and deepens the kiss, savoring it, reveling in it.  His world tilts somewhat awkwardly, but no less dramatically, as they roll over and when the kiss breaks in the next moment, Scott is left looking up at Kaidan as he gasps for air.  

A smug smirk toys at Kaidan’s lips.  “I’m still waiting.”

“Waiting?”  Scott struggles to recall what he could possibly be waiting for.

With a soft chuckle, Kaidan runs a finger down the length of Scott’s nose, tapping it once on the tip.  “I believe you said you could explain?”

Mouth hanging open, Scott nods.  A strangled sound escapes as memories of the attack flash before his eyes in a rush.  He bolts upright, or at least attempts to – it’s rather difficult to sit up when the commander is lying across him, and damned if Scott can think of a better reason to remain where he is at the moment – and looks in the direction the shot had fired from.  Their last batarian opponent lies face down on the floor in a growing pool of blood, motionless.  “H-how…?”

Kaidan glances over his shoulder in that direction. “I knew he was there and took the shot.”

“But, what about the shot aimed at you?”

Lifting himself off of Scott, Kaidan sits cross legged on the floor next to him for a moment, a field of dark energy slowly enveloping him.  “I had my barrier field up.  You?”

“I…”  He has his shields, of course, but they lose their effect for a short time when his biotics are active.  For the most part, Scott accepts it as a fair trade, but Kaidan’s simple question is a reminder of his father’s arguments against him opting for the Vanguard class and his shoulders sag as he shakes his head and glances away.  “Kind of pointless if I’m zipping all over the battlefield. Guess you didn’t need me after all.”

A firm grasp on his chin pulls him back until their eyes meet again.  “I never said that.”  There’s an insistence in Kaidan’s voice that confuses Scott for a moment, but then he forgets about it as Kaidan leans in and initiates a kiss this time; firm yet gentle, more exploratory than lustful.  The kind of kiss that most definitely can lead to other things. Kaidan rises to his feet when the kiss breaks off and offers Scott a hand up.  

The kind of things we don’t have time for right now, Scott realizes, accepting the assistance.  Ah, well. Not meant to be, I guess.  

As he lands on his feet, practically eye to eye with the commander once more, Scott catches a glimpse of Kaidan’s left shoulder. Narrowing his focus onto the area, he sucks in a sharp breath, recognizing what the groove through the metal armor, just deep enough to crease, really means.  Without thinking, he lifts his hand and runs a finger over it.  To the naked eye, it isn’t deep at all, doesn’t even technically ruin the armor, but it does tell Scott one thing and that leaves him chilled to the bone.  His eyes drift back to meet Kaidan’s as the blood drains from his face.  “You…”

Solemn yet smiling gently, Kaidan nods.  “Guess I did need you, after all.”  

#50 Types of Kisses Prompts #ladya writes #Rydenko #Scott Ryder #Kaidan Alenko #kissing #blood mention #battle/fighting mention #did I mention kissing? #thanks so much for asking! #mallaidhsomo

[mythriteshah]

Visions of Winter

On the southern shores of Thavnair, the battle raged on.  Blows fell, spells blasted, and war cries filled the air all the while.  A massive entourage of Voidsent bombs had emerged nearby to assail the Near Eastern island.  Answering the call to battle as always were Thiji’s Angels, along with the local dance troupes and Matanga warriors who supported them. Sesena Sena, leading the vanguard alongside Umimi, had been withstanding the brunt of their attacks, while Lilina was putting her new Reveler’s Trance to good use, dousing the bombs’ explosive attacks with the power of water, and causing unstable detonations with lightning blasts.   Susuna, using her uncanny speed from her stints as a Rogue, kept the flanks secure, zooming around the battlefield thanks to her Red Mage abilities, while also tending to any wounded alongside Koyuki, who came from the Othard Branch to offer assistance while Yuanji dealt with Telophoroi attacks in Doma. Sosona, Meriri and Lelena provided artillery support atop the backs of adamantoise, striking at the Voidsent from their vantage points while also sealing any portals that were opening.  Luluma, together with Veeveena, supported the dancers and Matanga lest they would find themselves surrounded. The explosive menace was being contained.  Meanwhile, Thiji was astride Glacius, heading to the battle site with due haste alongside Suki.  The words of his mother echoed in his head… “Embrace your sorrow.  Accept it, and bring the beauty of winter to your friends and foes.” Then he remembered the times he participated in the Feast – the everlasting contest of might that pitted adventurers against one another, vying for dominance and bragging rights as they fought tooth and claw to be leaders of the pack.  He recalled the resplendent armor he wore: winged motifs and a figurehead of the Fury proudly displayed on his chest.   This Halonic armor was like a second skin to him during his stint as a knight, and he reveled in the glory of battle for which Halone was well known. “Your dream of becoming a Sorceress’s Knight is not dead.” It was time for the beast to be let loose once more.  But he was going to do so in his own way.  As the assault upon the shore continued, a roar was head from beneath the waves, with such magnitude that it shook the earth, commanding the attention of all as they looked toward the source of the sound.  The area went silent for a moment, then something in the water began to stir.   A pair of horns emerged from the deeps, followed by spines and glowing blue eyes.  As it approached the shore with its cumbersome gait, a hulking brute which towered over the jungle canopy showed itself, letting loose another roar that would terrify all but the Angels. “So that’s the ringleader, huh?  A Muud Suud!” Veeveena pointed out. “That thing’s technically a Gigas, right?  That means we can get some Giantsgall from its blood!” Susuna remarked.  “The Brugaire Consortium’s still outsourcing for these!” “Ever the resourceful lass, aren’t ye?” Meriri chuckled.  “Orders, Miss Sena?” Before Sesena could even have the time to give any commands, the remaining bombs fell back to the shoreline and merged themselves into a massive grenade, taking to the air and landing in the hands of the Muud Suud as it began discharging unstable fire-aspected aether.  The creature had intended to incinerate the surrounding area with an explosive fastball special! “Oh, shit…” Sosona calmly stated.  The lumbering behemoth of a Voidsent clutched the grenade in its right hand as it primed itself, rearing back in preparation to throw. “Good Matanga, fall back!” cried Veeveena.  The elephantine warriors gave a few trumpeting noises and sequential stamps of their feet in response.   Thankfully, there was a certain oddity of an Angel who did a study of Matanga language to translate… “They say that they’re going to hold this line, even if it costs them their lives!” Lilina stated.  Sesena sucked her teeth as she rose her shield. “Then we can get behind the adamantoise!  We have no choice but to mitigate the impact of the blast!” spoke one of the dancers.  With a swing of their hips, they protected the area in a pinkish barrier as Sesena dug her mythrite katzbalger into the sand, causing a pair of angelic wings to sprout from her tower shield to augment the zone of protection as the other Angels and locals took cover behind her. The Muud Suud then let loose a mocking laugh as it chucked the grenade with all its might at its victims.  Everyone did their best to brace for the impact, its massive size casting a shadow over the area.  As it touched down, it released its payload, going out in a tremendous blaze of glory, the force of the impact sending everyone skidding along the sands… The battlefield went silent again as the Muud Suud chuckled, seeming to have succeeded, but when the smoke had finally cleared, it let out a questioning grunt as it noticed something odd: the area suddenly began to snow! Sesena, raising to her feet, beheld the sight, as well as the bodies of the defenders strewn throughout the beach.  Everyone seemed fine save for a few burn marks and damaged clothing.  Even the adamantoise were relatively unscathed. “No casualties, Miss Sesena,” Luluma reported after giving a scan of the area.  “But I’m not sure how to explain this sudden weather change.” “I think I have an idea…” Veeveena interjected as she turned toward the jungle.  Out from the shrubbery layer emerged Glacius in his blissful barding, along with his mate, who began tending to the wounded with their curative abilities.  One could only imagine who next followed after them… “The Mythrite Sultan…!” gasped one of the dancers.  Whispers began to be exchanged between the others as Thiji began making his way down the beach… “Slow, small strides; eyes shut; calm demeanor; arms behind back… Analysis: this Muud Suud’s fucked, now,” Sosona concluded.  Veeveena bowed her head low as he passed by. “We held as best we could, My Sultan,” she said.  Veeveena then caught a glimpse of the items attached at his waist and gasped.  “Wait – those are…!” Thiji continued his advance until he reached the point in which the tide flowed furthest inland, his footwear barely touching the waters, staring down the massive Voidsent before him.  Then, there was the strumming of an oud which came from behind them.  Everyone sans Thiji turned their heads and saw Mimizo, a smile made apparent on her face as she approached the Angels. “Valide-” was all Koyuki could get out before she was interrupted by Mimizo. “Angels, pray join me,” she requested.  “You will want to see this.”  Without hesitation, they took the instruments and fell in beside the Mythrite Sultan’s mother, while the locals clapped to the rhythm, and Matanga and adamantoise kept time with their stamping feet.  Thiji would then brandish his weapons as he began to twirl on the heel of his foot, throwing a flurry of frost at the Muud Suud’s face so as to incite its wrath.  Easily taking the affront as a challenge, the hulking brute balled a fist and prepared to strike at Thiji.  Just as the hit would land, the Mythrite Sultan dashed with a spinning finish past its left leg, leaving behind a streak of ice blue as he did.  Now entering the water, the aether Thiji gathered kept him atop the surface as it began freezing over! “Wait… Wait…!” gasped Lilina, pointing out the spectacle.  Thiji dashed once more to its other leg as the Muud Suud attempted to retaliate, throwing a fan at its hip, which it would then let out a pained growl in response.  As he continued befuddling the Voidsent, it was becoming clearer to the audience… “The ice formations… the freezing waters… It was our Sultan all this time?” Lelena asked.   “I even feel that sadness from looking at it all… Holy hells, it was our lord!” Susuna deduced.  Thiji’s attacks and movements left behind small motes of ice-aspected aether, and he leapt in time with the clapping rhythm, leaving tiny spots of frozen water around the Voidsent to confuse it until stopping again directly behind it.  The Muud Suud rose both arms to smash Thiji into the deeps.  But too little, too slow – the Mythrite Sultan once again zoomed between the creature’s legs, returning back to shore as he began to perform a Step.  Though it gave off a different aura than the usual Standard or Technical.  This one gave off strands of blue and white as snowflakes began twirling about the Sultan’s form.  The crowd, awestruck at this unique dance form, slowly stopped their music.  Now Thiji was stepping to his own beat – which is just what he wanted. A pas de bourree, an arabesque, a glissade, a chasse, and a flourishing fouette later, Thiji released the aether stored into a powerful burst of ice and snow.  Everyone shielded themselves from the frigid gale, trying their best to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.  The Muud Suud sustained considerable damage, and as it reeled back in agony, Thiji continued his attack. With glacial agility, he skated along the frozen sea, assailing the Voidsent between graceful lutzes, whipping axels, and tricky salchows, culminating in a frigid Saber Dance which struck at the creature’s arms, pinning it to the ground in ice spikes.  Thiji then stopped behind the Muud Suud once more, jumping on and running along its back before vaulting off and performing a spinning maneuver with his fans outstretched, using the centrifugal force to levitate safely back onto land. With the Voidsent sufficiently immobilized, it was time for the finisher.  The Mythrite Sultan went all out as he performed a frenetic series of gyrations, jumps, and twirls as he collected the aether generated from the defenders’ efforts, along with the ambient ice clouds that littered the beachhead. “Is this the Crimson Lotus…?!” gasped Luluma.  “No… It’s too… blue.” “We’re not about ta die, are we?” Meriri said with a worried tone.  “’Cause that’s a lot o’ aether he’s gatherin’!” “Hold your ground, Angels; you are safe,” Mimizo reassured.  She spectated with a light grin as she watched her son show his true colors.  All of the aether he could possibly contain – and perhaps more – enveloped Thiji in bluish-white as he performed a dash toward the injured Muud Suud, glaring daggers at the creature who had dared to encroach upon his home before he unfurled his fan.  What followed was a sound akin to that of a shrill ring – he struck diagonally upwards, leaving a streak of white in his path.  He then descended diagonally downwards, landing on the ground with another white streak left in his wake.  He would repeat this attack thrice more as the aetherial streaks formed a star around the Muud Suud in a fivefold attack.  At each point was a large bluish-white lotus that twirled slowly in the air.  Upon returning to his starting point following the fifth strike, he slowly rose to an upright position before furling his weapons. What followed after a beat of silence was the violent display of exploding lotus petals as aetherial blades of silver and blue surrounded and cut into the helpless Muud Suud from all directions.  This would, of course, free the Voidsent from its bonds, allowing it to strike at Thiji one last time in defiance.  With a guttural roar, it mustered all its strength to deliver a downward slam with its fists.  Thiji was still, maintaining his position, for the climax was not quite over yet. The gashes and wounds left behind from the initial attack left behind residual ice-aspected aether, which sort of kept the beast from bleeding out.  It was because of this that the Muud Suud could still stand.  But it would not stand for much longer as the aether’s glow began to intensify, turning a bright white.  The beast ignored this reaction and continued its attack, but just as its arms were within ilms of hitting the Mythrite Sultan…

*BOOOOOM!!!*

A glacial explosion with force and sound not unlike that of a firework erupted within the Muud Suud’s body, blasting its arms clean off as they were flung into the far ends of the beach!  Everyone was in awe at the wintry spectacle, though they shielded themselves from the ensuing rain of blood with some convenient parasols, ensuring that Mimizo was unscathed. “GIANGSTALL MINE, HERE WE COME!” Sesena cheered to herself.  The other Angels couldn’t help but chuckle until they focused back on the shore.  The icy detonation conglaciated the Muud Suud’s body, inside and out, leaving behind a diamond sculpture of a corpse.  The tide would rock the Muud Suud’s frozen remains back and forth until it would finally tip over, shattering into a storm of dancing frost particles and lotus flowers.   And in the midst of this wintry scene of gelid spires and frigid formations… was the Mythrite Sultan, standing silently with eyes closed. “Well, we did it, girls,” Sesena congratulated with a sigh, “and in no small part thanks to our lord’s timely intervention.  Let’s see to the rest of the region before heading back to the city.” “I shall tend to our Matanga allies!  I shall make my return to the Othard Branch afterward!” Koyuki stated.  Lilina translated to their beastmen friends, to which they would graciously accept, before following them back into the jungle. “Never in my life have I ever witnessed such beauty and grace… and great sadness,” uttered one of the female dancers with a hand to her heart.   “Lady Mimizo, what know you of this spectacle?” The Valide Sultan advanced several paces forward, gesturing towards her son. “My beloved Thiji is a proud son of Thavnair,” she began.  “He has faced countless obstacles, and endured myriad hardships.  And any seasoned dancer knows that what truly separates masters of the art from fools twirling around bladed rings… is their soul.  It is the source of all emotion – it is their spirit, their conviction from where it springs.   My beloved Thiji has ever been fascinated by the colder climes.  He has developed a love for it, for winter and all things associated.  And anyone who understands the soul of winter to its core knows what lies beneath its dazzling beauty; its stark, silvery splendor…” Mimizo gave a pause as the snow fell upon her hair and cheek, basking in the scenery with the others.  All were moved by her words, most of all Veeveena, who was practically in tears.  She kept her composure, but the mere sight tugged at her heartstrings, which only made it difficult. “… It is sorrow; the silent lamentations of a damaged heart.  The Kriegstanz, though redoubtable in its own right, could not convey such emotion, for it was created solely to reverse the Danse Macabre – the Totentanz.  This dance, invented by my son, wears his sadness like a glove, and becomes an extension of himself, dominating the battlefield with the switness and alacrity that only a master of ice-aspected aether can muster.  It is a performance that expresses one’s longing… and turns it into something truly beautiful.” “What does he call it, Queen Mother?” Meriri asked.  Mimizo gave another pause before slowly turning towards the Angels to give her answer…

“… The Eistanz.”

It was at this moment that Veeveena, unable to keep it together any longer, fell to her knees in tears, succumbing to the powerful emotions drawn by this scene, coupled with Mimizo’s explanation.  Sesena hurried over to her fellow Angel to comfort her. “You okay, Miss Veeveena?” she asked as she rubbed the Advisor’s back.  Veeveena quickly dried her tears and met Sesena’s gaze. “Yes… It’s just… so beautiful… so powerful,” she replied, staring once more at Thiji, still motionless and silent.  “Could this… truly be the man to whom I may one day be wed…?” “Dear Sesena, pray maintain your current orders and ensure the surrounding environs are safe,” commanded Mimizo.  “Miss Veeveena shall escort us back to the city.” “Yes, Valide!” acknowledged Sesena, leading the others back into the jungle, and leaving the three alone to their devices. “I’ve known that handsome Lord Thiji for many years,” Lelena began as she ordered her adamantoise away, “but never in my life did I imagine him being this… well, powerful!” “None of us did,” Luluma followed.  “But if there is one thing I’ve learned from all we’ve seen, it’s that anything in this realm is possible.  It is clear now why he is no longer embracing the life of an adventurer.” “A true king doesn’t seek war, but always prepares fer it!” Meriri exclaimed. As the beachfront was clearing out, Veeveena and Lady Mimizo were finally left alone, with Thiji still in the distance.  The Valide Sultan slowly lifted the Advisor to her feet and comforted her with a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “My Lady,” Veeveena said in a hushed tone as she choked back tears, “am I truly worthy of this man…?  Could I truly help fulfill his dream…?” “If you were not, dear Veeveena, I would have not taught you so well,” Mimizo softly replied.  “As Valide Sultan, it is my duty - my charge - to seek potential suitresses and train them to become worthy prospects for my son.  But remember: this our last resort per our deal.  A lot may happen within the next two summers, so we will leave this to the hand of fate.  But I meant well what I said to you moons ago; he will have his Sultana, for a man of such elegance and kindheartedness is deserving of such."

"Valide, let me go to him... He must know... my lord must know," Veeveena pleaded, her grip on Mimizo tightening somewhat.  The Queen Mother chuckled as she shook her head.

"No, dearest," she declined.  "You need not rush this.  The effects of the Eisenstanz are influencing you.  While your heart may be true, it is still far too soon.  I wish to give my son this chance - to see if his Sultana is truly out there somewhere, waiting for him."

Veeveena once again dried her tears and smiled, getting herself back together.  Grasping her weapons in hand once more, Veeveena steeled herself and was prepared to escort Mimizo back to the city proper.  "Glacius.  Suki.   Pray watch over my son," the Valide Sultan requested, to which they would nod in acknowledgement before joining him at the shoreline. The Mythrite Sultan, now alone with his thoughts, had his gaze fixed out towards the sea for about a half-bell’s worth.  Glacius and Suki sat quietly by his side to keep their master company.  Lifting his gaze to the heavens, the clouds would slowly part, giving way to the light of that silvery star that always shone its light so proudly amidst the evening sky.  Thiji squinted his eyes at it, seeming to revile its luminescence, but his countenance softened after a moment, his annoyance subsiding as he would slowly climb on Glacius’ back and giving him the order to move.  His trusted companion took to the skies with his mate following suit, leaving the frost-kissed shore alone until it would eventually dissipate into diamond dust...

“I always despised You, Menphina... but I see now as to why You share the domain of ice alongside Halone.  ‘Tis no small wonder why the Wanderer longs for You so.  But it is thanks to You and the Spinner that I have tapped into a new strength, and with Halone ever at my side, this power will help ensure Thanvair’s protection, as well as the safekeeping of my allies.  There are still moves to make before the adventurers set their sights eastward.”

Glacius eventually dropped his master off at the balcony of his bed chambers in the Main Branch Headquarters, where Nyra was eagerly awaiting Thiji’s return.  Once done so, he ordered his chocobos to assist the Angels in their efforts, and they would fly off into the jungles below.  He then laid upon his sofa, relaxing with a pitcher of Winter Lassi that remained from his previous conversation with his mother.  He scoffed before taking a long sip, gazing back at the moon...

“I was never one to question Mother’s judgment, and even though I carry my sorrows with me... perhaps, when all of this is over... she will finally come to me.  ‘Til then, they will have to deal with Thiji sor Higuri, Mythrite Bachelor, and the Knight bereft of a Sorceress.”

#thiji higuri #Higuri Regalia #thavnair #thavnairian #short story #radz at han #hannish #matanga #dancer #kriegstanz #eisenstanz #Lalafell #valide sultan #lalafell master race

[lordbloodysoul]

Name:

Rift Doorman

Title:

“The Layer Breaker” – “Usurper” – “Ever Hunger”

Nicknames:

Rifty / Riff Raff / Tele-Broski (Fresh)

Freak of Nature / Parasite / Anomaly Animus (Error Sans)

Paperworm / Layer Breaker / Clown Vomit (Ink)

Age:

[REDACTED]

Height / Weight:

Varies

Soul Type

“Collective Soul”

// - A Collective Soul shows trades of all known Soul Types and is shielded by a thin membrane of Void. It looks like a blank Soul with a black outline, that has a small pitch dot in its center from which a vibration rolls across the surface of the Soul. Those waves appear in different colors and strokes. To those who are very sensible to Soul Energy, the vibration will sound like an endless army of different voices breathing simultaneously in sync. The rhythm changes with Rift’s state of emotion. It has an aroma/flavour that could be described as “Retro and vibrant”. The feeling it would induces is more reminiscent of Allure and vivid Chaos. Like a puzzle started, but left unsolved. With every piece just raining passed fields of endless colors, trapped within a pool of blackness. - //

STATS:

LV

[REDACTED]        // It will show the “ : P “ Emoji //

HP

[REDACTED]        // It will show the “ >:] “ Emoji //

ATTACK

[REDACTED]        // Just spells out “YOLO” in painfully bright colors //

DEFENSE

[REDACTED]        // Just spells out “LMAO” in painfully bright colors//

Doorman-Tier:

Tier A—Strength Level is not readable, due to its current activity behavior.

History:

Rift Doorman was born outside a Universe of the Undertale Multiverse. Its behavior is unusual compared to other Doorman. Rift traverses the Layers of the Timelines in search of something, but without a Universe to akin to, both its Power and Ambition were altered in a dangerous manner. Throughout its travels, this Doorman has eaten itself through various Timelines and Multiverses. However, these places didn’t just disappear, like usually when things are being destroyed through Outcodes or beings from the Anti-Void. They stay mostly intact. Broken like shattered glass, but still existing. Each piece would then connect with another part. A puzzle, that was willingly done wrong, with Timelines and places in Space just overlapping in chaotic patterns. Strings missing, but not forgotten, rules shifted, players removed and entire areas shifted incoherently.

When Rift gained conscious it felt nothing. Devoid of anything, it just drifted. This state changed when it fell into a Genocide Timeline by accident. Within it, Rift faced the Fallen Human in the Judgment Hall together with Sans. As it wasn’t able to feel pain, watching Sans Dust became its first experience with Death. It amused it. Thus it smashed the human child. Seeing as the child’s death was different from Sans’s, curiosity began building up. More so as Sans returned from the dead when the Timeline reset. The battle broke apart, literally, when Rift tried mimicking voices and speech patterns, causing a ear ripping shriek that splintered the very fabric and Layers of the Universe it was visiting. Sans, slain once more begged the creature to stop the child’s madness. Still incapable of understanding why, it understood that this Fallen Human had caused the Skeleton grievance. He understood the visualization of agony and hopelessness, but couldn’t comprehend the feeling itself. Amused by the concept of FIGHT and MERCY, they decided to experiment with it in this broken place. Trapping the Human Child in a never-ending loop of Resets they had no control over. Dying as plaything to the anomalous creature. Rift bored itself over the course of 17.589 Resets, ending the Human Child by eating first their upper body and disintegrating their Soul for absorption. This act loaded the Fallen Human’s Timeline Data Layers into its own being, giving it a broader view on what’s been happening. Still not able to comprehend things, however, Rift left the splintered Timeline and returned to the Layers between.

More travels were its answer. Further down its path, this Doorman entered a Rampage, experiencing many Emotions from interacting with various worlds in different ways. However, it couldn’t feel them at all. It understood. It could see them. Could comprehend what actions would lead to what reaction, but not why it was necessary. Hollow. It was hollow. Like a Black Hole. Just ripping everything apart and consuming it, but nothing could look back or return it. Within it grew a terrible Hunger, which it satisfied by devouring various portions of the visited Timelines and Multiverses. Places, Sections, Memories, People. All fell to its strife to understand. To engage. To be part of something. It began building a sort of pocket dimension in the Layers between the Multiverse, where it gathered things from various Timelines that kept intriguing it. In one already destroyed Universe, Rift recovered a monitor of round shape, still functional. It had the shape of a face, much like all the other creatures it met had. Thus it connected with the screen and used it as a makeshift face-mask, ensuring its actual form wouldn’t freak out too many people.

While striding through the Timelines, absorbing information, energy, magic and various other stimuli into its form, Rift discovered that it was possible to READ these Data and use it. Shaping its attacks in combat into Patterns and Styles unlike anything this Multiverse had ever witnessed. But not only that, it began to hunt and kill other Doorman instinctively, absorbing them into its form as well, leaving their Timelines defenseless. Rift became a true threat to many, just through its curiosity and yearning for understanding. It also began leaving pieces of itself behind in various distorted Worlds, hidden from view. Small Homunculi, holding enough Data and energy to reincarnate it. Rift slowly devolved into a Parasite that endangered the delicate balance of the Multiverse. A thorn in the side of both the protectors of the Multiverse as well as the Vanguards of the Anti-Void. As its shattering of Timelines caused multiple Universes to intertwine with one another. Rift became a target for eradication, even though no one knew about its existence yet.

It was during another stride into another Timeline that it encountered the parasitic entity known as “Fresh”. Their interaction was quite different than what it was used to. And something began to stir within it. Rift felt something. Something that was unfamiliar and strong. It played with Fresh, before that one disappeared to safety, as the creature seemingly grew too attached to them. That escape started it all. A chase that both were not prepared for nor understood. Rift’s conscious was completely fixated on Fresh. It didn’t understand why, but knew it was important. For days, weeks and months it kept chasing them. However, the Parasite didn’t need or wants anyone following them, so they kept fleeing and hiding. Despite their best efforts, though, Rift finds them every single time.

[!!!SPOILERS WARNING!!! - for those who wish to Read the FanFiction or wait till I get around to making the Comic, since the LITERATURE SUBMIT on DA doesn’t allow much creative Freedom, so I have to do a lot of Re-Spacing and Editing on those Parts. This Section will spoil some of the Plot in exchange for Character Build - If you don't want that spoiled, please proceed to the APPEARANCE Section - !!!SPOILER WARNING!!!]

Fresh found himself in a skirmish with Error and Ink, as they both tried tracking him down. They misjudged and thought they were responsible for several Holes within the Multiverse. With no secure escape Route, they were forced into battle, holding their own well. Up until the Anti-Void’s Enforcer, C0D35 Doorman, stepped onto the field. His entire presence alone began to erase the Universe he’s chosen as a battleground. Manipulating Space was practically useless against this foe, as one of C0D35 special abilities was to block all types of magics. Before the fight could harm Fresh, however, Rift shattered the Universe into several pieces. It took Fresh with it and delved through several Layers of broken Code, Timelines and hid them in a small Space it had created from the leftover scraps of Multiverses long forgotten. A Null Space of sorts. Due to the strenuous battle with Error and Ink, the body Fresh had chosen was slowly failing. They had to let go of the host body and seek out another. Rift, even though unable to talk and acting more like an excited puppy, willingly helped the Parasite. It took them to another Timeline to gain a new host body. Fresh, unable to understand or comprehend the motivation of this anomalous creature, decided to experiment how far its warped sense of loyalty would go. Curiosity getting the better of them. Since they couldn’t escape from it for long anyway. Thus the duo began their journey to try and understand what this drive was, where it was coming from and what it all meant. But Fresh already has the slight suspicion that something was off with Rift. Something huge was brewing.

Appearance:

Rift Doorman has no corporeal form. It’s a mass of black noise, free floating energy and magic. The almost cloud-like, dense column attached itself to an egg-shaped monitor. A remnant of a long forgotten Timeline. Due to the vapor form of its body, Rift can change its density and size at will, ranging from grasp-less like fog and air to solid and unmovable like a wall of steel and stone. This Doorman is holding its form together through sound wave. The magic and energy flooding its form gives these waves color and form, embracing its shape and fueling every movement of the mass. This special way of mass control makes it possible for Rift to even split itself into multiple smaller versions of itself. The Energy and Magic coursing through its vapor shape glows in various colors, like a swarm of bugs and fireflies. The ones that are mostly present range from neon-pinkish to eye-stinging green lights. The color of the Emoji faces on its screen are similarly bright and colorful, while the biggest mass of the body is a pitch-black buzzing fog.

Rift uses the screen it found as a makeshift face. By sending energy and magic through it, it channels different words and expressive Emojis, which it uses for communication, since it cannot speak. It developed this form of talking, which is accented with Retro musical tunes and sound effects, due to its own lack of actual vocal cords. Rift can only mimic various words through pitching and dipping sounds and tunes.

Underneath the screen is a distorted black orb-shaped head, with a bright, monstrous white jaw and eyes. The magic, energy and sound waves, which course through the body are accentuated here, pulsing through the big eyes that stare empty into the world. As the delight of murder and fighting was presented with a smile by both his first encountered Sans and Fallen Child, Rift has adopted that same expression into its own. Empty of empathy, reason or guilt. Hollow.

Personality:

Rift is a peculiar Doorman. Even though highly intelligent and fast learning, it prefers to act like an excited puppy or curious child. Devoid of any real emotion to drive its actions, it only acts upon what other people think is the “good thing” to do in a situation. Leaving trails of Chaos and destruction in its wake. Rift’s first real emotion was “a sense of joy” which emerged from killing the Fallen Human in their first ever visited Timeline. After loosing that, it was filled with a Hunger to learn more, experience more and discover why it was unable to understand or hold emotions like other beings do. It likes being lout and giddy, causing confusion and messes all around.

Rift learned from its travels that violence is considered bad, thus it only acts upon it when given a cause or being asked of. Through Fresh’s company, it grew found of their way of speaking, censoring and general demeanor, which they try to imitate. Not always successful. Rift lacks empathy and basic moralities. Doing the right things as much as they can, but never getting appreciation, feelings of guilt or delight out of any of its actions.

It is a slight hoarder, liking to collect various things from visited Timelines and just storing them in their own little Null Space.

Likes:

Fresh

Eating

making music through its distorted Retro Voice (which would probably sound much like the music you can hear in the “Just Shapes & Beats” Video Game – example here )

helping people

playing with Fresh

exploring and learning / education

collecting stuff for its Null Space

cuddling and hugs

dancing

Fighting, when allowed to do so

people laughing and smiling

inducing Fear into ‘evil’ people (it doesn’t understand it, but their expressions give it a sense of ‘delight’, which it can’t comprehend)

Dislikes:

pointless violence

swearing

anyone who tries to harm Fresh

disrespectful and rude behavior

the other Parasites spawned from Fresh

seeing other people go through loss, sadness and hopelessness (it doesn’t understand, but it dislikes their expressions during these moments)

Capabilities:

Rift is a special Doorman. Unlike any other it can and can’t do various things that are unlike its species. Since Doorman are shaped by what their Timeline / Universe needs, their abilities will be manifested into something they can use as an exploit to reach their goal. Rift, however, has neither a goal nor a world for that to work. Being born outside the Multiverse, Void and such, beneath the Layers of the In between, corrupted its whole existence. Thus it learned an ability so variable, loose and dangerous, that Rift managed to break its own power limitations. That ability is ADAPTATION. Through it, the anomalous entity can learn anything that it finds. This ability is limited only by its corrupted special skill, ARCHIVE, which extents its own Data Volume by absorbing that of other objects, Worlds and people. Through these two abilities, Rift extended its repertoire of skills by taking those of others into its own. By devouring other Timeline versions of Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Mettaton, Napstablook and various other monsters, it learned their magics, attack patterns, strengths and weaknesses, accumulating them into its own form and using them against various aggressors along the way. Taking the Souls of the Fallen Children, it enhanced its own Soul Power, HP and influence over various aspects within the Timeline Layers. Even though unable to cause REWRITE or OVERWRITE, its Determination rivals the power output of such abilities, nullifying their affects on its own self. By devouring various Doormen, Rift added their special abilities into its own arsenal. But not only these are something to worry about, since they also absorbed the (apparently) infamous “COLOR PUZZLE”, which appeared in various Timelines. Through absorption of its information, Rift learned to utilize the principle in its own combat patterns, making for, probably, the worst experience of a FIGHT for any genocidal maniac. During a FIGHT Rift delights itself by causing its opponent as much headache and frustration as possible. All its patterns are a mix of things it accumulated from various Timelines, objects and people. The difference to its style is that every pattern follows a rhythm it deliberately switches to cause as much distress as it can. Their own original patterns appears as orbs, bars and string lines, which move in a sort of symphonic flow. It likes to abuse the rules of the infamous “COLOR PUZZLE” into each of their attacks. Goal during these fights are to keep itself busy till its bored. It will reset its opponent back into battle till it can’t get enjoyment out of it anymore. Than the most common outcome is for Rift to grab its foe and devour it (or part of it), just to satisfy its hunger for a bit.

// Attack Patterns for this Character would look like a mix between Undertale and “Just Shapes & Beats Style //

Rift’s voice is a powerful instrument of destruction, as its wavelength and pitch can shatter and fragment entire worlds, when threatened. Most of the time, though its a tool for amusement and distraction as they can’t use it to speak, but make totes rad Retro music and sounds with it.

Due to their body being so fluid, Rift tends to shape-shift a lot. Switching sizes being one of the more common transformations, however, it is capable of turning into practically anything it has a rough understanding off. From people to buildings and even entire landscapes. The greater the scope, thought, the higher the risk of its Soul overloading and damaging it. This skill it uses often to entertain Fresh’s curiosity and help them fight their boredom.

The Doorman is capable of using the Data collected to create completely new Multiverses out of them, which it does by filtering the most intriguing information into its “Null Space”. A collective widespread anomalous space in the Layers in between. Much like the Core Universe, it is a hidden pocket dimension that is unreachable unless you’ve been there once or are aware of its existence. As the Null Space grows, so does Rift’s power, which is connected to it. Would this secluded fragment in the Layers in between be destroyed, the damage to Rift itself would be tremendous. Rift is capable of creating “BACK UP FILES” for itself. So called Homunculi, which it scatters across the various splintered Timelines, hiding them in various objects. Through those Back up Data pieces, killing the Doorman has become nearly impossible. For its adversaries it is even unclear if this anomaly can ever truly be completely killed, since normal, widespread magic and fighting abilities are completely wasted on it. However, Rift is not completely invulnerable. All of its outstanding skills require huge amounts of magic, which it needs to store by devouring and absorbing Energy, Magic and Entities from other Timelines. Starvation is a realistic issue to it, since their moral compass started to change with the appearance of Fresh. Survival becoming an “optional goal” to its primary instinct fixating on the Parasite and its well-being. Rift can be harmed by beings from the Anti-Void as well as Ink, which is why it tries to stay hundreds of paces away from them. Especially C0D35, as his ability, ANNIHILATION, exceeds its coded protection by a margin. When Rift’s Soul reaches critical its body becomes fully corporeal and eats at its own mass till burn-out. The energy and magic from its body will slowly dissolve the very fabric of Reality, Time and Space as it goes on, till everything just becomes absolute Chaos. This meltdown can cause any nearby organism to be entrapped in a cascade of pain and maddening delirium, slowly eating at their very existence. It would cause an unseen apocalypse of shier Madness, but also cause the very Death of Rift, if the burn-out isn’t stopped.

Relations:

Rift has no great attachment to anyone besides Fresh. And even that “affection” is a level of understanding it can’t comprehend. For it, its something that it was born for, but doesn’t know why or what it is supposed to do with it. Finding the answer to this riddle is the only ‘purpose’ it got and after wandering aimless for so long, it decided not to let go of it till it knows.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Trivia:

The first word Rift ever spoke was “YOLO”, when it read the glasses of Fresh at their first meeting.

There is a Momma CQ version of Rift.

Kid!Rift entire backstory is goign to make people wanna stab me to death. I am sure of that.

Rift’s musical Battle Patterns are inspired by the game “Just Shapes and Beats”

Yes, I am aware that I messed up the Color Patterns of both of my Fresh Designs there. They were both drawn separately before placed in the same picture together. It has bugged me to no end!

Yes, there will be a Momma CQ version of this one coming (probably soon, since I don’t want to loose my shin. It’s not worth making Rifty mad)

Fresh Sans belongs to @loverofpiggies

--------------

#Rift #Doorman #LordBloodySoul #Horrorpuppets #Darktale #Undertale #Underfresh #Fresh #Sans

[changingourdestiny]

Beyond Light Part 2: The Gift

Summary:

Rae, Blaze and Tif head to Eramis’s base of operations, Riis Reborn, to learn more about Eramis and the power she wields - Stasis. But they quickly learn defeating her and her house may not be as easy as they thought.

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

The weather had cleared up a bit as Rae, Blaze and Tif entered the abandoned building where Variks was hiding. It looked like it hadn’t been used for centuries and items were strewn about the room, except for a wet floor sign that was still standing upright. ‘Did Variks put that there?’ Rae thought to herself before continuing to where Variks stood in front of a control panel with a window above it. “You do not trust Variks, yes? But leave your distrust, your blame, for later.” Variks began before noticing the third member behind Rae and Blaze, “Hmm…you dress like a captain, yet you are human.”

“Captain Tifawt Kariuki of House Light. Tif to my friends.” Tif greeted with a smile, “You’re Variks of House Judgement, right? Misraakskel has mentioned you before when talking about his time at the Reef.”

“A Guardian captain of Misraaks. A welcome ally.” Variks gave a nod to Tif. “With formalities out of the way,” Blaze interrupted, “Who was the Eliksni that tried to turn you into a popsicle?”

Variks tilted his head in confusion. “What’s a…pop-sik-el?” Tif asked, sharing Variks’s confusion. “It’s flavoured ice that people eat.” Rae explained. “Oh, that makes sense! I think…” Tif smiled. “The Eliksni who attacked me – she is Eramis, Shipstealer.” Variks explained, “A new Kell of Kells, unifier of the houses – and she seeks to build an army of Eliksni, powered by Darkness.”

“Great. Skolas 2.0.” Blaze muttered. “So that ice power she used was the Darkness you sensed earlier.” Rae said as Ghost appeared beside her. “Sounds about right. If the Eliksni weren’t already a threat, they certainly are now.”

“If she is not stopped, she will destroy us all.” Variks added, “You must go! Variks will help you find your way.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Rae and Blaze sped across the snow on their Sparrows with Tif beside them on their Pike. “Hey, Variks.” Rae began, “Anything we should know about that power Eramis was using?”

“We call it Stasis.” Variks began, “Power in opposition to your Light, given by the Pyramid. It led Eramis astray. Europa was to be a haven for Eliksni. But Stasis corrupted her. With it, she turns obsession into opportunity, working in haste to empower Eliksni with the Dark gift. If Eramis is not stopped, she will build an army capable of snuffing out the Light, once and for all.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Blaze smirked, “Dark or not, ice stands no chance against fire. And we have three Guardians who specialise in Solar plus a Guardian who can turn into an inferno. We got this handled.”

“Let’s not get cocky.” Rae warned, “We don’t know what Stasis is capable of, or Eramis for that matter. We need to play this carefully.”

“I’m with Rae. I don’t wanna be a pop-sik-el!” Tif added, “Hey, am I saying it right? Pop-sik-el?”

“Close. Popsicle.”

“Pop…sik-il…popsicle! I think I got it!” Tif cheered, “I’ve been with House Light for a lot of my life so I’m not too familiar with some human stuff.”

“You should come to the Tower after we’re done here.” Blaze suggested, “We can show you around!”

“Ooh! Yes please!”

Rae couldn’t help but chuckle at Tif’s excitement. It made her feel a little less antsy about this mission.

 The trio emerged from the tunnels into an area filled with ruins of old buildings. “What is this place?” Tif asked. “No clue.” Berhane replied. “This is what remains of Eventide.” Ghost answered, “Clovis Bray’s Europan colony. Built to house those who came to build Exo…and to become them.”

“You think Cayde was made here?” Blaze asked. “Cayde, Banshee, Ada, Shiro…probably every Exo we know was made here.” Rae replied, a grim expression on her face. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” Tif asked, sensing the atmosphere drop. “Clovis wasn’t a good person.” Rae replied, “He was a genius, but was also egotistical and a megalomaniac. He was responsible for a lot of deaths while making the Exos. From what I’ve been able to read up on, the first people went insane upon becoming Exominds. We’d be here all day if I listed off all the stuff he did.”

“That’s awful…what happened to him?”

“He made AI and Exo version of himself.” Blaze replied, “Nobody really knows what happened to them though. Frankly, I hope they’re dead too.”

“Let’s focus on the mission.” Rae sighed, “Any more talk of Clovis and I’ll be temped to blow up what remains of this place.”

“Well if we’re changing the subject,” Ghost began, “Variks, why did you come to Europa in the first place? Hiding from the Vanguard?”

“Variks knows of the ‘elephant in the room’. Cayde-6’s death was not my intention.” Variks replied, “No day passes without regret. I will answer for these crimes. But not before my people are safe from Eramis.”

“I don’t blame you directly for what happened to Cayde.” Rae replied, “Though you are responsible for the release of the Scorn. I’ll try to see if I can organise something with Zavala, but I promise nothing.”

“Variks appreciates this.”

“What’s an elephant?” Tif whispered to Blaze as they pulled up to a building. “I’ll tell you later.” Blaze replied, “Let’s go scope out Eramis’s place.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The three Guardians crept through Riis Reborn until they arrived at a bridge with a window peering down into a large room. There a large gathering of Fallen stood around a large Pyramid shard with Eramis stood with a large servitor and several other Fallen. “You’re all here for the same reason.” Eramis began, “Because you desire freedom for our people. And I can give you just that. Chains! For centuries, we have been bound by them. Servants to the so-called ‘Great’ Machine.” Eramis motioned to the servitor, “We even built idols in its image. We have become pawns of our own devices. No. Longer.” Eramis summoned an orb Stasis in her hand before using it to completely freeze the servitor. “Whoa…” Tif muttered as Eramis continued, “Today…we begin breaking free from our chains.” Eramis punched the servitor right in the centre, causing it to shatter. Tif flinched at the sight as did some of the Fallen below. “This power is a gift.” Eramis said, holding up her upper hand, “One I will share with all of you, in time. Phylaks!” Below Eramis, a baron stepped up towards the shard. “No way…!” Tif gasped.

“Do you know her?” Blaze asked.

“I know of her. Phylaks the Warrior. According to Misraaks, she used to be with House Devils and was famous at Twilight Gap. She’s super strong.”

“And she’s with Eramis. Greeeaaat.”

The shard began to glow orange as Eramis began to speak again, “One by one, we will rise again.” A small blue splinter emerged from the shard and Phylaks took it in her hand and placed it in a slot on her gauntlet as an icy mist emerged from her arms. She slammed her arms down and large spikes of stasis emerged from the ground. The Fallen began to cheer as Eramis raised her hands, “This is our future! Our enemies stand no chance against this power. The Great Machine will finally know our pain!”

 As the cheering continued, Rae’s expression turned grim, “This is bad. If they have access to Darkness this easily, they could be more of a threat than we thought. We need to-”

“Uhh…guys?”

Rae turned to Tif who wore a scared expression on their face as they pointed at the window. Rae looked back down to see a dreg pointing up at them while Eramis stood beside them…staring directly at them, “It would appear our enemies have arrived, eager to test us. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

“Oh crap…” Blaze muttered, before the sound of many footsteps began to approach them. “Time to go! Run!” Rae called out as the trio ran back the way they came. “I’m calling our ships now. Don’t stop. Keep moving!” Ghost called out.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “They actually have Darkness. The Eliksni. This is really bad.” Ghost muttered as he helped Rae set up the comms relays outside Variks’s hideout with Tif and Blaze standing guard. The trio had narrowly escaped Riis Reborn and were setting up a secret network to reach out to defectors of Eramis’s house. “We’ll figure something out. Panicking won’t do us any good.” Rae replied as they finished setting up the second relay. “You’re right. I’ll let Variks know we’re nearly done up here.” Ghost replied, “Okay, Variks, that’s two-” Ghost was cut off as Rae suddenly hear whispers echo in her head. As they faded, she turned to Blaze and Tif. Judging by their unnerved faces, they heard it too. “Did you…hear that?” Ghost asked, “Sounded like voices.”

“S-scary!” Tif whimpered. “What? Who?” Variks asked. “The one’s who spoke through me.” Ghost replied quietly. “The Pyramids…” Rae sighed, remembering their time on the Moon a year ago. “We must hurry then. There’s one more relay.” Variks replied. The three Guardians left the roof of the base and made their way over to the last relay. Ghost scanned over it and within a matter of seconds, it was up and running. “And done! Now let’s-”

“Uh…Rae?” Blaze pointed beyond the relay where a shard had taken form and had began to glow a bright orange. “That doesn’t look-” Before Tif could finish their sentence, the orange glow exploded outwards and everything briefly went white. “Oh no.” Ghost exclaimed as the whispers returned, “It’s them. They’re here. They’re…beckoning us.” Rae flinched upon hearing the last part, recognising Ghost’s change in tone as the Pyramids talking through him. “Not again…” Rae muttered, “Come on. Let’s see what it wants.” Rae glided over to where the shard was. “You’re joking right?” Blaze asked in disbelief. “Hey, wait up!” Tif dashed after Rae as Blaze let out a frustrated sigh before following them. But as they approached, the shard disappeared and reappeared in the distance. “We beckoned. You answered. We’ve kept you waiting long enough.” Ghost’s distorted voice began, “Come to us; salvation awaits.” Rae sighed as she muttered, “Not this bs again.” Under her breath before motioning for the others to follow her, “Come on. Let’s see what it wants.”

“You’ve dealt with this before?” Tif asked as the three Guardians carefully made their way down the cliff towards the shard. “You could say that. Remember when you helped us on the moon?” Blaze began, “Well it turns out that Pyramid was related to the Darkness and it began talking through Ghost when we got near it. I feel really bad for him.”

“He’s not the only one who’s sick of it either.” Rae sighed as she took out Ghost who was just floating with a blank expression, absolutely still, “Hey. I get you’re trying to get our attention, but can you do so in a way that DOESN’T involve possessing my Ghost? Neither of us really appreciate it.”

Absolute silence.

Rae sighed as she dismissed Ghost, “Figured.”

 As they made their way over a large gap in the ice, the Darkness spoke through Ghost again, “The Light believes you thankless. Nothing more than a soldier asked again and again to do its bidding. So we want to thank you. With a gift. To help you finally take control.” The shard teleported again down an icy valley. “A gift?” Tif raised an eyebrow, “Do you think it’s…?”

“Only one way to find out.” Rae replied as they trekked through the snow until they arrived at a large plain of snow and ice, a Pyramid barely visible in the distance. A large object emerged from it and flew across the plains, shifting as it went, until it landed on the ice and seemed to form some sort of temple. “What is-?” Rae was cut off by the sound of a Captain’s roar followed by the sound of battle. “Are there other Guardians here?” Blaze asked as the trio rushed to where they heard the commotion. “Possibly. But I think we were the only one assigned here-” Rae suddenly ground to a halt and put her arms out to stop Tif and Blaze as a loud boom echoed around them followed by a cloud of snow blowing past them. As the snow cleared, Rae heard a familiar voice that she hadn’t heard in many years.

“And here comes our Guardians. Right on time.”

The snow cloud cleared to reveal Eris Morn, Drifter, and Marcia standing beside a familiar white Exo. “It’s you…” Rae muttered as she stared in disbelief. Tif peered past them and gave a wave along with a grin, “Hi, Marcia!”

“S’up, Tif?” Marcia waved back. Blaze just glanced between everyone, the Fallen corpses around them, and the temple nearby before eventually letting out a sigh, “I say this a lot…but Traveller this is the weirdest mission I’ve ever been on.”

 To Be Continued…

#Changing our Destiny #rae drakyx #blaze kiria #tif kariuki #fireteam paralight #variks the loyal #variks #eramis #ghost #destiny ghost #exo stranger #destiny drifter #The Drifter #Eris Morn #destiny eris morn #marcia wyverk #destiny 2

[kianmaydelcam]

Hey all! I wrote something for my fictional writing class; I'm pretty proud. I present my short story, Protector of the Stars. Sorry in advance for the long post.

The plain before Nava was awash with the golden glow of thousands of campfires, the lights almost twin to the stars above her. This time tomorrow, she knew the verdant green plains would turn crimson as the Amaranthian people, her people, fought their last battle in a desperate bid to win their freedom from Ashya, a crude, brutal country determined to become an empire.

She snorted. They were foolish for believing they could enslave Amaranthia, a country of light and learning, a beacon of knowledge and hope in a dark world. Or perhaps they targeted Amaranthia first for those reasons. Either way, the fate of Amaranthia and their world would be decided tomorrow.

“My Queen,” ventured a young, feminine voice from behind her, interrupting her quiet brooding. It was a voice she treasured above all others.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘queen’ or ‘majesty’ or whatever fancy title they come up with, Nya?” Nava turned to smile at her younger sister. At 16 years old, Nya was already a great beauty. They might both have the silver hair and blue eyes that were characteristic of their people, but Nya took after their mother, with her courtesan-like features. Nava had the look of a warrior, albeit a feminine one. It was fitting, she supposed, considering the rebellion and eventual war she led her people through the last six years.

“Would you prefer ‘royal pain in the ass’?” She smirked. “At least, that’s what General Navin would like to call you after you decreed that you will duel that two-faced usurper currently occupying that stupid golden throne alone.”

“He can call me whatever he wants. This is my burden to carry, not his.” Nya began to respond, but Nava interrupted her, already knowing what she was going to say. “Neither is it yours, Nya. Our people need their Silver Flame leading the charge tomorrow.”

At the mention of her earned title, Nya smiled. She won that name after she recovered their sacred, silver flame that was gifted to them by the stars from one of Ashya’s nastier generals. The Silver Flame was eternal, requiring no air nor fuel, and was her people’s most treasured artifact. Nya’s recovery of it earned her both the title and the love of their people. “Yes, but they also need their Queen,” Nya sighed. “And I need my big sister.”

“Even if I die in this so-called suicide mission, I will always be with you in the stars.” She closed the distance between them and drew Nya into a hug. “I love you, but I need to do this.”

“You’re just like Father; stubborn and proud.”

“And you, little one, are just like Mother. Charming and loved by everyone.”

“We will win this for them. For Mother, for Father, for Sam,” Nava’s heart sank at the mention of her betrothed’s name. “We will win this for everyone we lost.”

The charge began at dawn, and Nava was forced to watch as the two armies, her soldiers in silver and Ashya’s in gold, collided in a clash that she swore rattled the sky above them. Even from here, she swore she could see her sister, resplendent in her silver armor and battle crown, leading from the vanguard. Swords flashed crimson in the early light, and already, the moans and cries of the dying and injured reached her at her vantage point almost a mile away. Her place wasn’t with them, not today.

She turned from the carnage and entered an old forgotten tunnel, a tunnel that her scholars said would lead her right to her quarry, King Garrow of Ashya. It was a small miracle when they discovered the tunnel led under the thick city walls of Ashya’s capital, Athurna. From there, its long, windy passages led straight to the castle’s dungeons.

Her spies told her that the king would not participate in today’s battle, due to his not entirely unfounded belief that his soldiers would annihilate her people. After years of wins and losses, her people were tired and many had called for peace at any cost. Walking through the damp, dark tunnels, her sword like quicksilver in the sparse light of her torch, Nava was alone with skittering animals and her thoughts.

Even if she was successful today, Nava would face an even bigger challenge. Becoming the true Queen of Amaranthia. She could still hear the hushed whispers that followed her through the countless war camps. Nothing like her sister. She chose war. Does she even care about us? Nya was quick to shut down any talk and comfort her, yet she still wanted to scream at them. She did this for them. She led them through hundred-mile marches, fought at the head of her armies, and accumulated numerous scars, both mental and physical, for them.

Despite that, despite the stars choosing her, she still did not think she was the right person to be Queen. She would rather serve as her sister’s loyal general. Nya was wise, strong, and even enjoyed the court politics. Hell, she even thrived under the shriveling gazes of their court that left Nava wanting to hide forever. But if she gave her crown to her sister, she would not only condemn her sister to the shackles of the throne, she would spit upon the will of the stars. Their crops would die, their children would be born deformed, and Amaranthia would fall into ruin. No, she could not and would not run from her fate.

Yet, as she walked through the catacombs, she allowed herself to daydream and reminisce. Anything to keep her mind from her impending fate, be it her death or crown. She pictured Sam, strong and alive, walking next to her, his silver hair practically glowing in the dim light. He could hear his laugh, twinkling like starlight, as he pulled on her braid when she was 15. They were betrothed the next year. She loved him, and he loved her. He made her feel like she could do anything. But she couldn’t save him when it mattered most. She sent him on that mission; his death was her fault, despite what Nya said.

All thoughts left her, however, when she reached the door she knew would lead her into the castle’s dungeon. Her mouth dry, she summoned her courage and pulled open the handle, sword ready at her side. She came face to face with a dozen guards pointing swords directly at her chest.

Summoning her notorious swagger and confidence, she sheathed her sword and crossed her arms. “What are you waiting for? Take me to the rat who calls himself King of Amaranthia.”

The guards, foolish in their arrogance, did not bother to disarm her as they grabbed her by the arms and led her through the extravagant palace. She did not dare reach for her sword or numerous dagger hidden in her black, leather armor, nor did she allow any expression to cross her face but that of cool detachment, boredom even. It grew difficult, however, as she passed by the numerous expensive trinkets and luxuries that were paid for by the blood of her people.

She did, however, allow herself a vicious smile as the guards pushed her onto her knees in front of the king. She was shocked when the guards left her and their monarch alone in the giant throne room, but she did not dare allow it to show. They even let her keep her sword. Did they not understand that all Amaranthian royalty was trained as warriors from the moment they could hold a sword?

“Nava Amaranthia.” For a man who considered himself Lord of the Realm, he was of surprisingly average height, yet his honeyed voice sent chills down her spine. “I am most curious; do all Amaranthian royals take on their country’s name?”

“Yes, your majesty.” She smirked. “I assume you already knew that, so let’s get the annoying small talk and eventual banter out of the way. You killed my mother, my father, and my beloved Sam. You enslaved my people, separated mothers from their babes, and turned brother against brother. I, Nava Amaranthia, Queen of Amaranthia and Guardian of the Stars, sentence you to death.”

Her sword whined quietly against its sheath as she drew it. The king laughed quietly and stood, drawing his own sword. “You do realize, Nava, that if you kill me, you take your throne?”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.

“You, the Queen who has led her people to death and destruction. My spies have told me exactly what your people think of you. Your generals barely tolerate you, your people fear what rash decision you will make next, and you are responsible for the deaths of thousands. Your sister, however, is loved by all. Wouldn’t she make a better queen?”

“The stars made their choice, and I will live with it.”

Nava did not give him a chance to respond as she closed the distance between them in two strides and struck. She was shocked when he blocked her blade with inhuman speed and, with an almost lazy flick of the wrist, knocked it out of her hands. The taste of ash filled her mouth, and she could not prevent the fear that made her heart pound. Shade.

She must have whispered the word out loud, because the king laughed as his eyes, even the whites, turned black. “Correct,” he said and stabbed her, the blade ice in her stomach.

He did not pull the blade out, and instead, leaned with a lover’s closeness to her ear. “How else did my armies almost wipe out your people in less than a year?”

Shades were evil beings that infested their land, harmless unless called upon by foolish sorcerers. They brought devastation to the world, and the fact that she was now in the arms of one stole her strength away faster than the sword in her gut. This wound would kill her, she knew it in her very bones. She could not, however, allow this monster to live. Doing so would doom her sister and her people.

She whispered, her voice already weak. “You were right.”

She did not give the king a chance to respond as she flicked her wrist and a silver blade shot from her vambrace into the king’s heart. “Nya would make a better queen.”

A dark wind filled the throne room as the king’s face contorted into an ugly mass of rage and pain. His body dissolved into a pile of ashes as shadows fled from his body and dissolved into nothing. Nava dropped to her knees. Outside, she could hear and feel a panic spread through Ashya’s ranks. No longer under the influence of the Shade, Ashyan men and women looked around in confusion and laid down their arms, and a flurry of nervous activity and shouting could be heard in the halls leading to the throne room. Amaranthia’s cheer of victory and relief even reached Nava. They won. They finally won.

She did not know how long she laid there, the sound of her rasping breathing filling the giant room. Minutes, days, years later, she could hear armored feet running towards her. Nya’s blurry face was suddenly in front of Nava, and a pang of longing wrenched her fragile heart. Her beautiful, wise, and loving sister was about to lose her last living family member.

“Hey there, Squish.” Nava referred to Nya by her childhood nickname.

“You know I hate that name.” She could hear the tears in Nya’s voice as she gently placed her head in her lap.

“Stop,” Nava gasped. “If I’m going to die, I want to at least be on my own two feet.”

“Shut up, you’re not going to die.” Nya was shaking her head. “The healers are coming right now. They can fix this.”

“No, they can’t.” Nava sighed. “Please, help me up.”

“You never said ‘please’ before, so don’t start now.” She was openly crying now but gently lifted Nava to her feet.

Stars swarmed in her vision as she stood upright and looked down at her sister’s face. So beautiful, so full of life. Even the blood and gore speckling her armor and face did not diminish her beauty. So many words filled her mind and weighed down her tongue, yet she could feel the stars calling her home. Not long now, so she settled for the simplest.

“I love you,” she said. “You’re going to be such a great queen.”

Nya let out a scornful laugh and glanced at the pile of ash near them. “Not as great as you. Looks like you killed yourself a Shade.”

Nya’s face crumpled. “Please don’t leave me, I need you.”

“You never did. Go, marry that General Navin. Be happy.”

Nya drew Nava into a hug and whispered, “I will. I love you.”

“I love you more, Squish.”

As Nava’s vision began to flicker and fade into darkness, three bodies came into view in front of her. Their edges glowed silver, and she, suddenly free of pain and weakness, ran into the arms of her beloved and walked into shining starlight with Sam, her mother, and her father. Above Amaranthia, a new star winked into existence.

#original story #fantasy #its short and lacking right now #maybe i will write a book? #i was only allowed 9 pages

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

57 Pings

The prompt from anonymous was this:

From the prompt list!! Can I get #51 w/Cayde-6 x female hunter reader? I don’t see any Destiny stories on ur page but it look like u mentioned it!🙏🏻

Cayde-6 x Female Hunter!Reader

Warnings: fighting and non-descriptive mentions of dying

1,698 words

“He is pinging us, again.”

You banked your sparrow against the Exodus Black debris sending up a spray of sand and dirt as your ghost spoke in your ear. Your cloak whipped around you, slapping against your helmet once, making you feel even more aggravated than you did 10 seconds before it happened. Usually you weren’t so sloppy or reckless on your sparrow, but according to the 57 pings from your Vanguard, time was of the essence.

“Open the communication channel.”

Static briefly filled your helmet before it turned to voices. The first full statement directed to you came from a cheery, robotic voice you recognized with ease, “Captain! Welcome back! The Cayde-6 is once again in grave danger, are you here to provide assistance?” Glitching static turned into a disappointed, dreary version of the robotic voice, “Somebody needs to put out the fire he’s caused.”

“Yes, I’m here to help the dumbass. Where is Cayde-6, Failsafe? Is he still in the Glade of Echoes?”

“Why yes, I am, and I do not appreciate the tone or derogatory comment on my intelligence.” Cayde replied himself and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. A pack of Fallen fired on you as your sparrow flew by them, but you just hunkered down onto your seat and sped up.

Nessus scenery was a blur of red and white around you as you finally reached an open portion of the terrain where you could really open up the engine. Failsafe, both her cheery and depressed side, rattled off another comment this time directed at the Exo himself.

“Just know this, Vanguard.” You interrupted whatever he was replying to Failsafe to speak up, “If the Vex and Fallen don’t kill you, I will.”

“Oof. Vanguard? You’re really upset at me aren’t, you? Did I interrupt something important? Were you—”

You groaned, “Shouldn’t you be shooting and not talking?”

“I’m a very good multi-tasker.”

You took another sharp turn and the sound of gunfire and yelling filled the air. The Glade of Echoes was not your favorite spot to visit on Nessus even on a normal day. It was a mess of metal wreckage where Vex and Fallen liked to wage war against one another, and there was just enough tunnels and coverage spots that made fighting back a giant pain in the ass.

A large Vex minotaur stood in an alley opening firing toward a half-broken billboard relentlessly while a smaller pack of Vex goblins fired at a pack of Fallen that were also shooting at the billboard. Something told you that’s where you’d find a certain, impossible Exo.

You drove your sparrow straight into their warpath and leaped off last minute. The sparrow tumbled into the goblins while you slid under the Minotaur, between its legs, tossing up a grenade at it at the same time. Shots were fired at you, you didn’t even know who from, but you ducked and rolled toward the billboard. The grenade went off, throwing the minotaur off balance, and you took this opportunity to climb up the wreckage and dive behind the cover it provided.

“Well howdy, Guardian.”

Cayde-6 was crouched down in front of you. His back was pressed against the wall and his hand cannon, Ace of Spades, was held up in front of him ready to fire when needed. His signature cloak’s hood was pulled up as per usual but none of the hood hid the smug look on his blue, metallic face.

You dismissed your helmet, letting strands of your [hair color] hair fall into your face. Cayde’s glowing blue eyes were trained on you and his jaw flashed yellow as he spoke, “Welcome to the party.”

“How did you manage to make every living thing in the vicinity angry at you?”

“Hmm, good question.” He held a finger up and motioned it toward you, “Why are you angry at me? That might help me figure out an answer.”

You pulled out your own hand cannon and Cayde’s eyes darted to it before landing back on you. Quickly, you made sure it was fully loaded and Cayde mimicked your actions. This wasn’t the first time the two of you were up against a crowd of angry enemies who wanted you dead. As Hunters, working as a team didn’t come naturally to either of you granted. It took years before you found a fireteam you trusted or worked well with. Cayde-6, though? Working with him was never difficult. Interacting with him was effortless, and you’d done it enough now that much talk wasn’t needed.

Your Vanguard gave you a look, and you returned it with one of your own. His eyes lit up with amusement as you brought your helmet back into place. Cayde nodded once, and then the two of you went to work. In a flurry of gunfire and solar energy, the two of you took out Vex and Fallen alike one by one.  Their numbers dwindled down to only a handful.

You fired your last shot, blowing a particularly annoying Fallen away, and then backtracked away from the corpse while reloading your weapon. As you turned, you watched as Cayde threw out his knife, taking out a Vex, and fired the Ace of Spades point blank into the face of a Fallen that leapt toward him.

One Vex crept out from behind a lump of broken metal and snuck up behind Cayde. You hadn’t finished reloading but gave up on it to grab your knife in your opposite hand. Without hesitation you lunged forward and buried it into the back of its head at the same time that Cayde spun around with his gun up.

The barrel was aimed at your head for only a second or two before Cayde grabbed the cloth of your cloak wrapped around your neck, yanking you towards him. He kept his grip tight on you as you stumbled into his chest and then he fired two shots towards enemies behind you. You glanced over your shoulder in time to see the last two Vex fall to the ground in sparks.

“Captain! The two of you did amazing! Thanks to you, the area is clear.” Failsafe spoke over the comm channel in her typical flip-flopping ways, “Granted, it was your fault the area was flooded with enemies anyways.”

Your shoulders relaxed and you put your hand cannon back into its holster. It was only then that you realized Cayde still had one hand tangled in your cloak, and now his other hand twitched at his side as his gaze didn’t waver from your helmet.

“Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” Cayde said in a tone that held amusement and something you didn’t quite recognize.

You dismissed your helmet again, gave him a soft smile, and replied, “No.”

His blue eyes blinked in shock, and you took his confusion as an opening to untangle yourself from him. Cayde rubbed the back of his neck, the confusion still evident on his features, “Well, either I’m bad at reading a room or you just ruined a perfectly romantic moment.”

“Romantic moment?” You scoffed, “Cayde, you’ve ignored me for nearly a month now and suddenly just call me up out of the blue to save your ass on Nessus randomly??”

You shook your head and brushed past him to leave the area. Maybe you’d stop by and see Failsafe in person before taking off entirely. That thought was interrupted as Cayde caught up to you with ease, “So that’s why you’re upset at me, huh?”

It was silly to be upset at this situation which was why you tried to avoid thinking about it the past month. There was too much going on in your life, and the universe, for you to worry yourself on the Hunter Vanguard dodging your messages and calls.

Cayde whipped around to stand in front of you, forcing you to come to a screeching halt, “Hold on, hold on.”

“What?” You crossed your armored arms over your chest tightly and twisted your lips in annoyance and embarrassment.

“Yes, I did sort of ignore you for a month and that is on me.” Cayde spoke with his hands, “But in my defense I was… thinking about something.”

You scoffed, “Oh, you were? Hope you didn’t hurt yourself too badly.”

You tried to push around him again, but Cayde side stepped easily and stopped you. This time he kept his hands on your shoulders as he spoke, “You said we should hang out more.”

That was accurate. On one of your last missions together, before the silent treatment, you suggested that the two of you should spend more time together. It came from an after-mission buzz of confidence. Things had gone very well, the two of you walked away with some great loot, and the words slipped out before you even really knew what you were asking. Cayde had nodded in response, went his own way, and then hadn’t talked to you until today when he sent a random message asking for back up on Nessus.

“Cayde-”

“I want to hang out more.” He said quickly. For the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, you saw hesitance on his face. Cayde-6 was a lot of things, but hesitant was not one. He tore his gaze away briefly before settling it back on you, “Sorry it took me some time to work through it and figure it out.”

Your own features softened and Cayde squeezed your shoulders with both hands. With a sigh, you lifted one of your hands to set on top of one of his, “When I said hang out more, I meant like get a drink. Notpiss off every Vex and Fallen in a 2-mile radius.”

Cayde shrugged and shifted so his hands on your shoulders turned to one of his arms hanging off it. You responded by putting your own arm around his waist as the two of you continued walking through the now abandoned Glade of Echoes, “Who says we can’t do both?”

#cayde-6 #cayde-6 x female reader #reader insert #destiny #destiny 2 #female hunter reader #fallen #vex #hand cannons #failsafe #nessus #guardian #cayde #hunters #ghost

[eri-223]

(how is a pigeon like the tower?)

on AO3 here 

The former Speaker’s reception room became an activity room for the Vanguard after his death. Guardians would meet with Ikora Rey or Commander Zavala there, or use it for the unofficial but Vanguard-sponsored (i.e. Ikora had nodded in agreement to the idea once) book club. Wicker chairs and a long table provided convenience, while skylights let in natural sun and warmth.

Eris Morn hesitated in the doorway. The Titans sat with their backs to her: Zavala folded over the clacking of knitting needles, Lord Saladin drinking something hot next to him, Lord Shaxx scooping cookies onto a plate on the other side of the room. Saint-14, ambling across the room with his own plate, was the first one to see her.

“Eris Morn!” He boomed her name and rushed toward her, one arm flung wide. His silver armor made him look even larger than his wide Exo frame already was. He had declined to wear his famous helmet, revealing silvery plating and ice-blue eyes. “Our favorite Guardian tells me you do not want hugs. I will honor this, but …” A graceful wave of his giant arm turned into a graceful return to the plate of cookies. “Let me know if you ever need.”

“My skin crawls,” Eris said. She watched for Saint to react with disgust to her tone, but he did not. Such a relief. Her truths were hard, these days, and she did not expect the Titans to stomach them. The invitation itself had been a surprise. She also found it courteous to let people know what to expect from the person she had become. “Touch reminds me too much of the creatures that crawl as well.”

“We will try to think of things other than that.” Saint’s thunderous voice held notes of scorn toward the Hive, which Eris respected. He did not belittle her pain. “I have a project for you, if you want it!” He moved around to one of the several empty chairs and scooped up a roll of blue yarn.

Zavala turned around, his hands still occupied with the quick-clacking needles. “Eris.”

“Are you certain you welcome me? Again the Guardians whisper that I touch evil I should leave alone. I will not endure such whispers easily.” She hated to antagonize the Vanguard, but there was no way around it. And …

The Titan Vanguard replied in just the way she had hoped he would. “You show us all an example of standing as a shield in front of others. Without you, the moon would be a more dangerous place. I hope you find that here, you do not have to shield your own heart.”

The words sounded like a speech he had rehearsed ahead of time. Eris respected the thought if he had. This was also, she knew, how the commander typically addressed people.

“Commander. Thank you for the invitation. While I have declined several times in the past, I found this timing … auspicious.” She glanced at the others. Saladin she knew the least, while she had spent the most time with Saint and Zavala. The days with Saint had been … centuries ago?

“Because Saint is here?” Shaxx sat down, facing her over Zavala’s shoulder, with his plate of cookies. The chair creaked under his muscled and armored frame. “He and I were just talking about you. About how we haven’t fought together since the Great Hunt, and how perhaps that should change.”

The Great Hunt. Eris remembered Ahamkara the size of buildings crashing down on fireteams … and the satisfaction of evading their meter-long claws, ignoring their tempting whispers, and piercing their violent hearts. She smiled. “It has been a long time since I faced a wish-dragon. Memories from … before … are fuzzy … but welcome all the same.” Try. Try, Eris, to let them know you appreciate them.

Saint was waiting for her response, holding the yarn up in enthusiastic little swoops. “Eh…?” Saladin and Zavala both kept level gazes on her. Shaxx stared down at his cookies, reluctant to remove his helmet.

“I brought something for you too.” Eris held out the satchel at her side. She plucked the Hive-leather roll from inside and partially unrolled it. The black beads inside glittered in the sunlight. It was strange to see them in bright Earth light instead of the gray-green murk of the moon. Eris had spent so much time working with stones like these, along with iron plates and incantations. Seeing them in the Tower for a moment seemed wrong, like bringing a painful shard of her new life into the wispy memories of her old. But with the sounds of the room—Saladin and Shaxx beginning a conversation, Saint creaking as his weight shifted—she was pulled into the present. These Titans—these old warriors—had wanted her to come here.

“Marvelous!” Saint said. He took the roll from her gently, his hands dwarfing hers. “Perhaps I will string them on the edges of my scarf!”

They traded the beads for the yarn. Eris took a seat and was immediately surrounded by the conversation of Titans: Shaxx’s laughter, Saladin’s measured and wise words, Zavala quiet, concentrating on the gradually growing knitting in his lap. Words and warmth mingled. She watched the steam rise from cups. Saint talked about Osiris’ work on the Sundial. Zavala stooped under a heavy silence, once raising his head as if he was as heavy as a boulder to add his voice to the chorus of praise for the Guardians’ latest exploits. When conversation turned to the moon some eyes glanced at her, but none of them wanted to talk about the thing in the canyon.

“It was the Ahamkara hunts, when we truly spoke last,” she muttered into the silence.

“It was.” She could hear the smile in Shaxx’s voice.

““Even before my ill-fated fire team began our task. The dragons were not as cruel as the Hive, but there is no purpose in measuring one suffering against another.” The words were laborious: she forced them out.

“We’re old, Eris.” Saladin intoned the words, but then smiled to show he meant them to be soft. The “we” struck her: no one had counted her part of a group for a long, long time. “We could measure one era of life against another all day. Or, we can fight to live another day.”

“Titans.” Saint pressed his fist against his own chest. “Good at many things. Defending the City. Giving advice.”

Eris picked up the yarn. “After such a long time, I have forgotten…”

“We were all beginners once,” Zavala said, and began to teach her the stitches.

*

Eris left with a thin string of knitting in her satchel. Saint looked to Shaxx after she left. Most of the cookies and tea were gone. The tone in the room had changed, from an informal meeting of the crocheters to a more somber Vanguard gathering. This was not the public club, where Guardians mingled. This had been a meeting of specially chosen old warriors. “Splendid. She learns quickly.”

“I have to ask,” Saladin said. “How much of that was about getting her to return to the Tower, and how much was about you?”

“Both! Of course it is both. I am new to the Tower. She is new to the Tower. I was stranded in time. Dead, perhaps? I cannot remember. Strange not to remember thousands of years gone by in one death.” Saint shook his head. “Hah. Then I come back, discover she was stranded on the Moon. We are similar in this, I think.” He turned the black beads over and over.

“I know Ikora invited her before,” the Vanguard Commander said from his chair. “She never took up that offer.”

“Ah! Then this is victory indeed.” Saint crowed. He remembered when Eris had leaned over to him, a few stitches loosely completed in her lap.

Zavala and Shaxx had been tensely asking one another if they could get the other anything, the old pain of their rivalry comfortably buried under enforced politeness that might one day mellow it into fondness. Saladin watched over them like a father. The signs that he still remembered them as Guardian recruits at Twilight Gap were clear. Both had been hard-living immortals even before the Gap, but Saladin’s conviction and skill at organizing troops had made him the foremost of Titans, and a template for what the nature of a Titan should be.

“So, you have also returned from the dead," Eris had said, with humor. “Did you feel like you walked in the Tower as a ghost?”

Saint could be quiet when he wanted to be, especially under the voices of his compatriots. “After the Guardian brought me back, I, well … I had birds to take care of. They needed me to be alive. A ghost cannot hold seeds.”

Eris narrowed her eyes, scrunched her lips. Even with the top half of her face mostly obscured, it was easy to read her dissatisfied expression.

Saint leaned closer. “Just like you take care of Guardians. Even when they make a mess.”

Eris smiled.

How was the moon like the snow of the gap? What did it matter to an immortal to lose the centuries he had lost, the years Eris had lost? Saint did not dwell. He watched the Titans begin their back-slapping, wall-rattling farewells, and looked down again at the minuscule beads in his palm, crafted by Eris’ clever hands.

Victory indeed.

#destiny #writings #eris morn #saint-14 #commander zavala #lord shaxx #lord saladin #inspired and beta’d by jen!

[thebladeblaster]

Pokémon: the Dark Circuit (AKA Vanguard Descends season 2)

Chapter 2 Stranded

Aichi’s current team

Level 80 Ahmes (Gallade) psychic/fighting

Moves:

Close combat

Solar blade

Swords dance

Future Sight

Level 79 Wingal (Lycanroc (dusk)) rock

Moves:

Stealth rock

Crunch

Stone edge

Play rough

Level 77 Llew (Golisopod) water/bug

Moves:

Sucker punch

Blizzard

Liquidation

First impression

Level 78 Gancelot (Lucario) fighting/steel

Moves:

Focus blast

Stone edge

Meteor mash

Dragon pulse

Level 85 Soul Saver (Haxorus) dragon

Moves:

Outrage

Iron tail

Dragon dance

Scale shot

Level 100 Alfred (Aegislash) ghost/steel

Moves:

Sacred sword

King’s shield

Iron head

Shadow Claw

In Galar…

Gin sat on top of his throne looking rather unimpressed. He tapped his foot against the ground. Leon bowed before him alongside Oliver who glared at him.

“I don’t see him with you.”, Gin pointed out the obvious.

“This psychopath thought it was good idea to hit him with a tsunami.”, Oliver said.

“Ahem...the tsunami was supposed to bring him to Galar, but it seems something intercepted it and changed his destination.”, Leon said, coughing nervously knowing that their master was rather upset.

“Do you know where he is now?”, Gin asked.

“From what I was able to detect. It’s likely that he ended in Alola considering the direction he was going in.”, Leon answered, trying to stay composed.

“Then, the Quatre Knights shall go to Alola to retrieve him.”, Gin replied, making Leon lower his head.

“I will bring 003v back to us I swear!”, Oliver vowed.

“Also, I have this. In case he’s not there we have a way to flush out 003v.”, Leon said as he raised up a dark ball.

Somewhere tropical...

“Show no mercy…”, Aichi mumbled as he rolled around in his sleep and a small smirk formed on his face.

The place where he was seemed rather tropical. Palm trees dotted the landscape and there was a beach in the distance. He was under the shade of one of the palm trees. It was rather humid, making Aichi sweat uncomfortably. He felt a searing headache through his skull. He felt something rub up against him. Aichi’s eyes cracked open to see what was rubbing up against him. It was Soul Saver rubbing her head against Aichi worriedly. She had a puppy look in her eyes which brightened when she saw him wake up.

“Soul Saver…”, Aichi whispered, looking down seeing a makeshift blanket made out of leaves over him being held together by something.

He looked over to see Gancelot sitting down, almost like he was on watch duty on the ground and he looked over to Aichi. It was Gancelot’s aura holding the makeshift blanket together.

“Haxorus! Haxorus! Haxorus! (You're finally awake mommy!)”, Soul Saver cheered, hugging him tightly.

Aichi accepted the hug sweated dropping. He was still extremely confused as to what was going on. He started to try and get up after being released from Soul Saver‘s hug. He suddenly froze when he realized…

“Luca-Lu...lu...Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (Wait-oh...Uh...you're naked I was about to warn you. Though, it looks like you’ve already realized that.)”, Gancelot said.

“I-I’m naked!?”, Aichi questioned as he blushed embarrassedly, holding up the makeshift blanket almost like a censor bar over himself.

“Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.Haxorus. Haxorus. (I don’t get why humans get so flustered about being naked. I’m naked all the time and I don’t get all red.)”, Soul Saver said cluelessly.

“Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario...Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (Your clothes are drying up there. They were soaking wet after well...we got hit by a wave.)”, Gancelot informed as he pointed up.

His clothes were hanging from a makeshift rope made from vines.

“Are they dry yet?”, Aichi asked, stills feeling rather flustered.

Gancelot got up feeling the clothes to see if they were dry yet.

“Lucario.Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario.Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (Yeah. They feel kinda hot though. I think we may have underestimated how hot this place is.)”, Gancelot replied.

Aichi instantly grabbed his clothes, getting what Gancelot said. His clothes were kinda hot like when you left a cold drink in a car in hot weather. Aichi simply put on his red turtleneck and jeans. He tied his white shirt around his waist because it was way too hot to wear. He rolled up his jeans and the sleeves of his turtleneck to alleviate some more heat.

“Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus?Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus? (If your clothes are making you too hot why are you wearing them?)”, Soul Saver asked cluelessly.

“B-because! Humans are expected to wear clothes. And it’s illegal to walk around naked.”, Aichi replied.

“Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus.( I haven’t seen any humans around here besides you.)”, Soul Saver replied.

“Still I shouldn’t be naked!”, Aichi replied, blushing nervously.

“Haxorus. Haxorus. (Humans are weird.)”, Soul Saver commented.

“A-anyway where’s the others? Where...are we exactly?”, Aichi asked.

“Lucario.Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario.Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (The others are out looking for people and food. As to where we are from what I’ve heard from the local Pokémon, Alola.)”, Gancelot answered.

“Alola?...Alola!!!”, Aichi replied, blinking, realizing something before freaking out.

“Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus? Haxorus. Haxorus. (What’s wrong with this place? It’s really warm and sunny.)”, Soul Saver asked.

“Well...first of all it's really far from Kakusa. Second…”, Aichi trailed off as he looked around.

“I thought this place had become inhospitable after Team Asteroid...they used it as an example to the other regions when they started their plan to take over the world. They shot a bomb here, some sort of special bomb that released radiation that killed all the humans here, but not the Pokémon.”, Aichi explained.

“Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. Haxorus. (Sure humans are weird, but shooting a weird bomb like that to kill them is just mean.)”, Soul Saver replied in a sad tone.

“Yeah, really mean. Considering that umm...how am I still alive?”, Aichi questioned.

“Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (I don’t sense any radiation. It must have been cleared.)”, Gancelot replied.

“That’s a relief. People have been too scared to come back here to check to see if it was gone...it’s really sad. This region used to be a very popular place to vacation. It brought a lot of joy to people.”, Aichi replied.

Gancelot looked down like he wanted to say something.

“Is something wrong?”, Aichi asked.

“Lucario…Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario.Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (It’s Ahmes he...he isn’t here with us. He wasn’t here when we woke up I mean. I can’t sense him anywhere nearby.)”, Gancelot answered a bit nervous.

Aichi froze as he heard the news. His eyes widened and Gancelot became increasingly nervous as felt Aichi’s aura change. Soul Saver flinched feeling the same strong emotions through the link. The restraint braces on Aichi’s arms glowed brightly in response now very visible due to rolled up sleeves. A massive negative aura of anger emitted from him. He shook trying to get a hold of his emotions as a dark blue aura leaked out of him. He hugged himself as if trying to contain something within himself.

“Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! Lucario! (It’s going to be alright, Aichi! I’m sure we can find him! He might be somewhere else in the region! I'm sure he’s okay!)”, Gancelot assured.

Aichi sweated nervously nodding as the dark aura started to recede into himself.

“I-I’ve just got to be calm...I can’t let myself freak out like this. I’ll just cause more trouble if I do that.”, Aichi told himself.

Aichi took deep breaths trying to calm down his own anger and worry.

“It was because I was so weak this happened. I should have had my guard up against 002f! I should have…”, Aichi thought.

“Show no mercy.”, Aichi heard the voice of his father ring throughout his mind.

Aichi grabbed his head and shook his it trying to clear the thought out of his mind. His heart banged loudly against his chest.

“N-no! I shouldn’t be listening to him! I’m not 003v! I’m Sendou Aichi!”, Aichi thought.

“Haxorus? Haxorus? (Are you okay mommy?)”, Soul Saver asked worriedly.

Aichi lowered his arm looking between Soul Saver and Gancelot.

“Yeah…”, Aichi replied.

In Kakusa…

“So, this is the team to recover the champion?”, Kyou questioned.

By Misaki’s side was Kamui and Miwa.

“Well, to be fair she did say it was supposed to be a small team.”, Kazumi replied.

“You can count on us to find bro!”, Kamui said as he pointed at himself.

“Well Emi and her little friend wanted to help, but Misaki refused.”, Miwa said, before Misaki stepped on his foot.

Miwa cringed in pain, grabbed his foot and hopped on one leg.

“Aichi wouldn’t want her to get involved and she has only one Pokémon.”, Misaki explained.

“One mythical Pokémon.”, Miwa replied, before Misaki stepped on his foot again.

“Mythical?”, Mamoru questioned.

“Celebi.”, Misaki replied.

“You know that flying grass not fairy fairy.”, Gouki said.

“Not fairy fairy. So, like how Charizard looks like a dragon type and should be, but isn’t?”, Mamoru asked.

“Yeah, just like Charizard basically.”, Gouki replied.

“That’s not important anyway. What’s important is that we’re going to find Aichi.”, Misaki said.

Kourin fidgeted but said nothing. Suiko and Rekka had knowing looks at Kourin.

“Do you want to help them out, Kourin?”, Suiko asked, before Kourin looked away.

“It’s fine if you come along. If you're not busy with your idol duties.”, Misaki said.

“Yeah, you’ve helped out bro lots of times!”, Kamui added.

“I never said anything…”, Kourin mumbled, still looking away.

“That’s because we all know you love him.”, Rekka whispered smugly.

This caused Kourin to blush embarrassingly and Takuto chuckled.

“Why not go along with them Kourin?”, Takuto joined with a knowing smile and Kourin looked mortified.

The others sweat dropped at Kourin’s reaction.

“You are so tsundere, girl.”, Rekka whispered.

“F-fine! If you want me to come so badly sure!”, Kourin replied.

“...Uh good I guess.”, Misaki replied awkwardly, sweat dropping.

In Alola…

Wingal flinched in pain when he tried to run away from a Beware coming his way. Llew scooped him up running with him under his arm. Llew turned his head back at the Beware shooting water at it. The Beware fell over slipping as it became covered in water.

The area around them had some buildings that looked like they were being slowly eroded away and reclaimed by nature.

“L-lycanroc. (S-sorry.)”, Wingal apologized.

“Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod.Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. (It’s fine. You were really hurt from the tsunami. You are weak to water after all.)”, Llew replied.

“Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc.Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. (I just wanted to do something useful. Though it looks like I’m more of a burden in my condition.)”, Wingal replied, looking down.

“Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod.Golisopod. Golisopod! Golisopod! Golisopod! (I don’t think you're weak. You beat a freaking legendary for Peet’s sake!)”, Llew replied.

Alfred suddenly flew in and they looked to him.

“I found a castle up ahead. It’s hard to see through all the greenery but it’s there and it looks like there’s actually people there.”, Alfred said.

Wingal and Llew perked up at the news.

“Golisopod.Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. Golisopod. (See this wasn’t for nothing. Now we have good news for Aichi when he wakes up.)”, Llew said.

“Lycanroc. (Yeah I guess so.)”, Wingal replied.

A camera that looked newer than everything else caught the Pokémon on it’s feed. It seemed to be relaying this back to somebody.

On a screen a shadowed figure sat in a chair. The decor around him looked rather lavish. He held a wine glass in his hand and took a small sip. Another screen showed the feed of a drone flying bits away from Aichi, Gancelot, and Soul Saver.

“To think such an interesting thing just washed up on my doorstep.”, the figure said.

With Aichi…

He shook off his little episode, and focused on finding some way to find Ahmes and a way home.

“Alright, can you lead me to the others Gancelot?”, Aichi asked.

Gancelot nodded, gesturing to Aichi and Soul Saver to follow him. Gancelot suddenly stopped as a palm tree just swung at them. They hastily ducked before the ‘tree’ shot out blue dragonic energy. Gancelot punched at the ‘tree’. This caused it to shake and growl?

#cardfight vanguard #pokémon #aichi sendou #misaki tokura #kamui katsuragi #taishi miwa #kourin tatsunagi #suiko tatsunagi #rekka tatsunagi #takuto tatsunagi #oliver gaillard #leon soryu #kazumi onimaru #mamoru anjou #gouki daimonji #kyou yahagi #gallade #lycanroc #golisopod #lucario #haxorus #aegislash #ahmes #blaster blade #wingal #llew #gancelot #soul saver dragon #king of knights alfred #my crappy writing

[alittlelessdemocracy]

Chapter 22

Excerpt from Robert Jay Lifton’s excellent book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism:

A discussion of what is most central in the thought reform environment can lead us to a more general consideration of the psychology of human zealotry. For in identifying, on the basis of this study of thought reform, features common to all expressions of ideological totalism, I wish to suggest a set of criteria against which any environment may be judged - a basis for answering the ever-recurring question: "Isn't this just like 'brainwashing'?"

These criteria consist of eight psychological themes which are predominant within the social field of the thought reform milieu. Each has a totalistic quality; each depend upon an equally absolute philosophical assumption; and each mobilizes certain individual emotional tendencies, mostly of a polarizing nature. In combination they create an atmosphere which may temporarily energize or exhilarate, but which at the same time poses the gravest of human threats.

1. Milieu Control

The most basic feature of the thought reform environment, the psychological current upon which all else depends, is the control of human communication. Through this milieu control the totalist environment seeks to establish domain over not only the individual's communication with the outside (all that he sees and hears, reads or writes, experiences, and expresses), but also - in its penetration of his inner life - over what we may speak of as his communication with himself. It creates an atmosphere uncomfortably reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984.

Such milieu control never succeeds in becoming absolute, and its own human apparatus can - when permeated by outside information - become subject to discordant "noise" beyond that of any mechanical apparatus. To totalist administrators, however, such occurrences are no more than evidences of "incorrect" use of the apparatus. For they look upon milieu control as a just and necessary policy, one which need not be kept secret: thought reform participants may be in doubt as to who is telling what to whom, but the fact that extensive information about everyone is being conveyed to the authorities is always known. At the center of this self-justification is their assumption of omniscience, their conviction that reality is their exclusive possession. Having experienced the impact of what they consider to be an ultimate truth (and having the need to dispel any possible inner doubts of their own), they consider it their duty to create an environment containing no more and no less than this "truth." In order to be the engineers of the human soul, they must first bring it under full observational control.

2. Mystical Manipulation

The inevitable next step after milieu control is extensive personal manipulation. This manipulation assumes a no-holds-barred character, and uses every possible device at the milieu's command, no matter how bizarre or painful. Initiated from above, it seeks to provoke specific patterns of behavior and emotion in such a way that these will appear to have arisen spontaneously, directed as it is by an ostensibly omniscient group, must assume, for the manipulated, a near-mystical quality.

Ideological totalists do not pursue this approach solely for the purpose of maintaining a sense of power over others. Rather they are impelled by a special kind of mystique which not only justifies such manipulations, but makes them mandatory. Included in this mystique is a sense of "higher purpose," of having "directly perceived some imminent law of social development," and of being themselves the vanguard of this development. By thus becoming the instruments of their own mystique, they create a mystical aura around the manipulating institutions - the Party, the Government, the Organization. They are the agents "chosen" (by history, by God, or by some other supernatural force) to carry out the "mystical imperative," the pursuit of which must supersede all considerations of decency or of immediate human welfare. Similarly, any thought or action which questions the higher purpose is considered to be stimulated by a lower purpose, to be backward, selfish, and petty in the face of the great, overriding mission. This same mystical imperative produces the apparent extremes of idealism and cynicism which occur in connection with the manipulations of any totalist environment: even those actions which seem cynical in the extreme can be seen as having ultimate relationship to the "higher purpose."

At the level of the individual person, the psychological responses to this manipulative approach revolve about the basic polarity of trust and mistrust. One is asked to accept these manipulations on a basis of ultimate trust (or faith): "like a child in the arms of its mother." He who trusts in this degree can experience the manipulations within the idiom of the mystique behind them: that is, he may welcome their mysteriousness, find pleasure in their pain, and feel them to be necessary for the fulfillment of the "higher purpose" which he endorses as his own. But such elemental trust is difficult to maintain; and even the strongest can be dissipated by constant manipulation.

When trust gives way to mistrust (or when trust has never existed) the higher purpose cannot serve as adequate emotional sustenance. The individual then responds to the manipulations through developing what I shall call the psychology of the pawn. Feeling himself unable to escape from forces more powerful than himself, he subordinates everything to adapting himself to them. He becomes sensitive to all kinds of cues, expert at anticipating environmental pressures, and skillful in riding them in such a way that his psychological energies merge with the tide rather than turn painfully against himself. This requires that he participate actively in the manipulation of others, as well as in the endless round of betrayals and self-betrayals which are required.

But whatever his response - whether he is cheerful in the face of being manipulated, deeply resentful, or feels a combination of both - he has been deprived of the opportunity to exercise his capacities for self-expression and independent action.

3. The Demand for Purity

In the thought reform milieu, as in all situations of ideological totalism, the experiential world is sharply divided into the pure and the impure, into the absolutely good and the absolutely evil. The good and the pure are of course those ideas, feelings, and actions which are consistent with the totalist ideology and policy; anything else is apt to be relegated to the bad and the impure. Nothing human is immune from the flood of stern moral judgments. All "taints" and "poisons" which contribute to the existing state of impurity must be searched out and eliminated.

The philosophical assumption underlying this demand is that absolute purity is attainable, and that anything done to anyone in the name of this purity is ultimately moral. In actual practice, however, no one is really expected to achieve such perfection. Nor can this paradox be dismissed as merely a means of establishing a high standard to which all can aspire. Thought reform bears witness to its more malignant consequences: for by defining and manipulating the criteria of purity, and then by conducting an all-out war upon impurity, the ideological totalists create a narrow world of guilt and shame. This is perpetuated by an ethos of continuous reform, a demand that one strive permanently and painfully for something which not only does not exist but is in fact alien to the human condition.

At the level of the relationship between individual and environment, the demand for purity creates what we may term a guilty milieu and a shaming milieu. Since each man's impurities are deemed sinful and potentially harmful to himself and to others, he is, so to speak, expected to expect punishment - which results in a relationship of guilt and his environment. Similarly, when he fails to meet the prevailing standards in casting out such impurities, he is expected to expect humiliation and ostracism - thus establishing a relationship of shame with his milieu. Moreover, the sense of guilt and the sense of shame become highly-valued: they are preferred forms of communication, objects of public competition, and the basis for eventual bonds between the individual and his totalist accusers. One may attempt to simulate them for a while, but the subterfuge is likely to be detected, and it is safer to experience them genuinely.

People vary greatly in their susceptibilities to guilt and shame, depending upon patterns developed early in life. But since guilt and shame are basic to human existence, this variation can be no more than a matter of degree. Each person is made vulnerable through his profound inner sensitivities to his own limitations and to his unfulfilled potential; in other words, each is made vulnerable through his existential guilt. Since ideological totalists become the ultimate judges of good and evil within their world, they are able to use these universal tendencies toward guilt and shame as emotional levers for their controlling and manipulative influences. They become the arbiters of existential guilt, authorities without limit in dealing with others' limitations. And their power is nowhere more evident than in their capacity to "forgive."

The individual thus comes to apply the same totalist polarization of good and evil to his judgments of his own character: he tends to imbue certain aspects of himself with excessive virtue, and condemn even more excessively other personal qualities - all according to their ideological standing. He must also look upon his impurities as originating from outside influences - that is, from the ever-threatening world beyond the closed, totalist ken. Therefore, one of his best way to relieve himself of some of his burden of guilt is to denounce, continuously and hostilely, these same outside influences. The more guilty he feels, the greater his hatred, and the more threatening they seem. In this manner, the universal psychological tendency toward "projection" is nourished and institutionalized, leading to mass hatreds, purges of heretics, and to political and religious holy wars. Moreover, once an individual person has experienced the totalist polarization of good and evil, he has great difficulty in regaining a more balanced inner sensitivity to the complexities of human morality. For these is no emotional bondage greater than that of the man whose entire guilt potential - neurotic and existential - has become the property of ideological totalists.

4. The Cult of Confession

Closely related to the demand for absolute purity is an obsession with personal confession. Confession is carried beyond its ordinary religious, legal, and therapeutic expressions to the point of becoming a cult in itself. There is the demand that one confess to crimes one has not committed, to sinfulness that is artificially induced, in the name of a cure that is arbitrarily imposed. Such demands are made possible not only by the ubiquitous human tendencies toward guilt and shame but also by the need to give expression to these tendencies. In totalist hands, confession becomes a means of exploiting, rather than offering solace for, these vulnerabilities.

The totalist confession takes on a number of special meanings. It is first a vehicle for the kind of personal purification which we have just discussed, a means of maintaining a perpetual inner emptying or psychological purge of impurity; this purging milieu enhances the totalists' hold upon existential guilt. Second, it is an act of symbolic self-surrender, the expression of the merging of individual and environment. Third, it is a means of maintaining an ethos of total exposure - a policy of making public (or at least known to the Organization) everything possible about the life experiences, thoughts, and passions of each individual, and especially those elements which might be regarded as derogatory.

The assumption underlying total exposure (besides those which relate to the demand for purity) is the environment's claim to total ownership of each individual self within it. Private ownership of the mind and its products - of imagination or of memory - becomes highly immoral. The accompanying rationale (or rationalization) is familiar, the milieu has attained such a perfect state of enlightenment that any individual retention of ideas or emotions has become anachronistic.

The cult of confession can offer the individual person meaningful psychological satisfactions in the continuing opportunity for emotional catharsis and for relief of suppressed guilt feelings, especially insofar as these are associated with self-punitive tendencies to get pleasure from personal degradation. More than this, the sharing of confession enthusiasms can create an orgiastic sense of "oneness," of the most intense intimacy with fellow confessors and of the dissolution of self into the great flow of the Movement. And there is also, at least initially, the possibility of genuine self-revelation and of self-betterment through the recognition that "the thing that has been exposed is what I am."

But as totalist pressures turn confession into recurrent command performances, the element of histrionic public display takes precedence over genuine inner experience. Each man becomes concerned with the effectiveness of his personal performance, and this performance sometimes comes to serve the function of evading the very emotions and ideas about which one feels most guilty - confirming the statement by one of Camus' characters that "authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing, to tell nothing of what they know." The difficulty, of course, lies in the inevitable confusion which takes place between the actor's method and his separate personal reality, between the performer and the "real me."

In this sense, the cult of confession has effects quite the reverse of its ideal of total exposure: rather than eliminating personal secrets, it increases and intensifies them. In any situation the personal secret has two important elements: first, guilty and shameful ideas which one wishes to suppress in order to prevent their becoming known by others or their becoming too prominent in one's own awareness; and second, representations of parts of oneself too precious to be expressed except when alone or when involved in special loving relationships formed around this shared secret world. Personal secrets are always maintained in opposition to inner pressures toward self-exposure. The totalist milieu makes contact with these inner pressures through its own obsession with the expose and the unmasking process. As a result old secrets are revived and new ones proliferate; the latter frequently consist of resentments toward or doubts about the Movement, or else are related to aspects of identity still existing outside of the prescribed ideological sphere. Each person becomes caught up in a continuous conflict over which secrets to preserve and which to surrender, over ways to reveal lesser secrets in order to protect more important ones; his own boundaries between the secret and the known, between the public and the private, become blurred. And around one secret, or a complex of secrets, there may revolve an ultimate inner struggle between resistance and self-surrender.

Finally, the cult of confession makes it virtually impossible to attain a reasonable balance between worth and humility. The enthusiastic and aggressive confessor becomes like Camus' character whose perpetual confession is his means of judging others: "[I]…practice the profession of penitent to be able to end up as a judge…the more I accuse myself, the more I have a right to judge you." The identity of the "judge-penitent" thus becomes a vehicle for taking on some of the environment's arrogance and sense of omnipotence. Yet even this shared omnipotence cannot protect him from the opposite (but not unrelated) feelings of humiliation and weakness, feelings especially prevalent among those who remain more the enforced penitent than the all-powerful judge.

5. The "Sacred Science"

The totalist milieu maintains an aura of sacredness around its basic dogma, holding it out as an ultimate moral vision for the ordering of human existence. This sacredness is evident in the prohibition (whether or not explicit) against the questioning of basic assumptions, and in the reverence which is demanded for the originators of the Word, the present bearers of the Word, and the Word itself. While thus transcending ordinary concerns of logic, however, the milieu at the same time makes an exaggerated claim of airtight logic, of absolute "scientific" precision. Thus the ultimate moral vision becomes an ultimate science; and the man who dares to criticize it, or to harbor even unspoken alternative ideas, becomes not only immoral and irreverent, but also "unscientific." In this way, the philosopher kings of modern ideological totalism reinforce their authority by claiming to share in the rich and respected heritage of natural science.

The assumption here is not so much that man can be God, but rather that man's ideas can be God: that an absolute science of ideas (and implicitly, an absolute science of man) exists, or is at least very close to being attained; that this science can be combined with an equally absolute body of moral principles; and that the resulting doctrine is true for all men at all times. Although no ideology goes quite this far in overt statement, such assumptions are implicit in totalist practice.

At the level of the individual, the totalist sacred science can offer much comfort and security. Its appeal lies in its seeming unification of the mystical and the logical modes of experience (in psychoanalytic terms, of the primary and secondary thought processes). For within the framework of the sacred science, and sweeping, non-rational "insights." Since the distinction between the logical and the mystical is, to begin with, artificial and man-made, an opportunity for transcending it can create an extremely intense feeling of truth. But the posture of unquestioning faith - both rationally and non-rationally derived - is not easy to sustain, especially if one discovers that the world of experience is not nearly as absolute as the sacred science claims it to be.

Yet so strong a hold can the sacred science achieve over his mental processes that if one begins to feel himself attracted to ideas which either contradict or ignore it, he may become guilty and afraid. His quest for knowledge is consequently hampered, since in the name of science he is prevented from engaging in the receptive search for truth which characterizes the genuinely scientific approach. And his position is made more difficult by the absence, in a totalist environment, of any distinction between the sacred and the profane: there is no thought or action which cannot be related to the sacred science. To be sure, one can usually find areas of experience outside its immediate authority; but during periods of maximum totalist activity (like thought reform) any such areas are cut off, and there is virtually no escape from the milieu's ever-pressing edicts and demands. Whatever combination of continued adherence, inner resistance, or compromise co-existence the individual person adopts toward this blend of counterfeit science and back-door religion, it represents another continuous pressure toward personal closure, toward avoiding, rather than grappling with, the kinds of knowledge and experience necessary for genuine self-expression and for creative development.

6. Loading the Language

The language of the totalist environment is characterized by the thought-terminating cliché. The most far-reaching and complex of human problems are compressed into brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases, easily memorized and easily expressed. These become the start and finish of any ideological analysis. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, for instance, the phrase "bourgeois mentality" is used to encompass and critically dismiss ordinarily troublesome concerns like the quest for individual expression, the exploration of alternative ideas, and the search for perspective and balance in political judgments. And in addition to their function as interpretive shortcuts, these cliches become what Richard Weaver has called "ultimate terms" : either "god terms," representative of ultimate good; or "devil terms," representative of ultimate evil. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, "progress," "progressive," "liberation," "proletarian standpoints" and "the dialectic of history" fall into the former category; "capitalist," "imperialist," "exploiting classes," and "bourgeois" (mentality, liberalism, morality, superstition, greed) of course fall into the latter. Totalist language then, is repetitiously centered on all-encompassing jargon, prematurely abstract, highly categorical, relentlessly judging, and to anyone but its most devoted advocate, deadly dull: in Lionel Trilling's phrase, "the language of nonthought."

To be sure, this kind of language exists to some degree within any cultural or organizational group, and all systems of belief depend upon it. It is in part an expression of unity and exclusiveness: as Edward Sapir put it, "'He talks like us' is equivalent to saying 'He is one of us.'" The loading is much more extreme in ideological totalism, however, since the jargon expresses the claimed certitudes of the sacred science. Also involved is an underlying assumption that language - like all other human products - can be owned and operated by the Movement. No compunctions are felt about manipulating or loading it in any fashion; the only consideration is its usefulness to the cause.

For an individual person, the effect of the language of ideological totalism can be summed up in one word: constriction. He is, so to speak, linguistically deprived; and since language is so central to all human experience, his capacities for thinking and feeling are immensely narrowed. This is what Hu meant when he said, "using the same pattern of words for so long…you feel chained." Actually, not everyone exposed feels chained, but in effect everyone is profoundly confined by these verbal fetters. As in other aspects of totalism, this loading may provide an initial sense of insight and security, eventually followed by uneasiness. This uneasiness may result in a retreat into a rigid orthodoxy in which an individual shouts the ideological jargon all the louder in order to demonstrate his conformity, hide his own dilemma and his despair, and protect himself from the fear and guilt he would feel should he attempt to use words and phrases other than the correct ones. Or else he may adapt a complex pattern of inner division, and dutifully produce the expected cliché's in public performances while in his private moments he searches for more meaningful avenues of expression. Either way, his imagination becomes increasingly dissociated from his actual life experiences and may tend to atrophy from disuse.

7. Doctrine Over Person

This sterile language reflects characteristic feature of ideological totalism: the subordination of human experience to the claims of doctrine. This primacy of doctrine over person is evident in the continual shift between experience itself and the highly abstract interpretation of such experience - between genuine feelings and spurious cataloguing of feelings. It has much to do with the peculiar aura of half-reality which totalist environment seems, at least to the outsider, to possess.

The inspiriting force of such myths cannot be denied; nor can one ignore their capacity for mischief. For when the myth becomes fused with the totalist sacred science, the resulting "logic" can be so compelling and coercive that it simply replaces the realities of individual experience. Consequently, past historical events are retrospectively altered, wholly rewritten, or ignored, to make them consistent with the doctrinal logic. This alteration becomes especially malignant when its distortions are imposed upon individual memory as occurred in the false confession extracted during thought reform.

The same doctrinal primacy prevails in the totalist approach to changing people: the demand that character and identity be reshaped, not in accordance with one's special nature or potentialities, but rather to fit the rigid contours of the doctrinal mold. The human is thus subjected to the ahuman. And in this manner, the totalists, as Camus phrases it, "put an abstract idea above human life, even if they call it history, to which they themselves have submitted in advance and to which they will decide arbitrarily, to submit everyone else as well."

The underlying assumption is that the doctrine - including its mythological elements - is ultimately more valid, true, and real than is any aspect of actual human character or human experience. Thus, even when circumstances require that a totalist movement follow a course of action in conflict with or outside of the doctrine, there exists what Benjamin Schwartz described as a "will to orthodoxy" which requires an elaborate facade of new rationalizations designed to demonstrate the unerring consistency of the doctrine and the unfailing foresight which it provides. But its greater importance lies in more hidden manifestations, particularly the totalists' pattern of imposing their doctrine-dominated remolding upon people in order to seek confirmation of (and again, dispel their own doubts about) this same doctrine. Rather than modify the myth in accordance with experience, the will to orthodoxy requires instead that men be modified in order to reaffirm the myth.

The individual person who finds himself under such doctrine-dominated pressure to change is thrust into an intense struggle with his own sense of integrity, a struggle which takes place in relation to polarized feelings of sincerity and insincerity. In a totalist environment, absolute "sincerity" is demanded; and the major criterion for sincerity is likely to be one's degree of doctrinal compliance - both in regard to belief and to direction of personal change. Yet there is always the possibility of retaining an alternative version of sincerity (and of reality), the capacity to imagine a different kind of existence and another form of sincere commitment. These alternative visions depend upon such things as the strength of previous identity, the penetration of the milieu by outside ideas, and the retained capacity for eventual individual renewal. The totalist environment, however, counters such "deviant" tendencies with the accusation that they stem entirely from personal "problems" ("thought problems" or "ideological problems") derived from untoward earlier influences. The outcome will depend largely upon how much genuine relevance the doctrine has for the individual emotional predicament. And even for those to whom it seems totally appealing, the exuberant sense of well-being it temporarily affords may be more a "delusion of wholeness" than an expression of true and lasting inner harmony.

8. The Dispensing of Existence

The totalist environment draws a sharp line between those whose right to existence can be recognized, and those who possess no such right.

Are not men presumtuous to appoint themselves the dispensers of human existence? Surely this is a flagrant expression of what the Greeks called hubris, of arrogant man making himself God. Yet one underlying assumption makes this arrogance mandatory: the conviction that there is just one path to true existence, just one valid mode of being, and that all others are perforce invalid and false. Totalists thus feel themselves compelled to destroy all possibilities of false existence as a means of furthering the great plan of true existence to which they are committed.

For the individual, the polar emotional conflict is the ultimate existential one of "being versus nothingness." He is likely to be drawn to a conversion experience, which he sees as the only means of attaining a path of existence for the future. The totalist environment - even when it does not resort to physical abuse - thus stimulates in everyone a fear of extinction or annihilation. A person can overcome this fear and find (in martin Buber's term) "confirmation," not in his individual relationships, but only from the fount of all existence, the totalist Organization. Existence comes to depend upon creed (I believe, therefore I am), upon submission (I obey, therefore I am) and beyond these, upon a sense of total merger with the ideological movement. Ultimately of course one compromises and combines the totalist "confirmation" with independent elements of personal identity; but one is ever made aware that, should he stray too far along this "erroneous path," his right to existence may be withdrawn.

#robert jay lifton

[the-gunslock]

Amanda 3 - Hammer

Third canon-deviant fic about Amanda Holliday and her journey to being greater, from a mini-series of four.

"This one would be pret-tyyy cool…"

The burnt-blonde Shipwright scrolls through the 'Collections' of Exotics Guardians found in their journeys, analyzing their perks as she patiently waits to be called inside the most envied library in the City.

For some seconds, her emerald eyes fall on a pair of knightly silver Gauntlets that could be what she looks for. She ‘hmm’s to herself for a second, trying on some shaders, and nods in approval.

"Amanda, let's go."

Her head moves to pay attention to the Warlock that has just arrived at her usual spot at the Bazaar, greeting her with a nod as she stows her tablet away and is transmatted into the library. She makes a mental note of the name ‘Stronghold’. Shaxx would probably appreciate her dedication to swordplay.

Other pieces like Fr0st-EE5 and Transversive Steps, which do not require Light usage, would also benefit her while she fought. Good to know, good to know. So many loopholes to be exploited.

Ikora Rey had devoted the day to silent studying and rewriting of her books, still not completely updated after the Traveler’s awakening in recent times. In order to focus better, she does most of it quietly and alone in the library, save for the Hidden that appear to report to her on occasion. Today was an exception, for she allowed the Tower’s Shipwright to keep her company under the pretension that she wanted to learn, and there was no better teacher for that than Ikora.

Ikora’s library has dim, yellow lighting and a rustic aesthetic, with bookshelves and flooring made of dark wood covered with blue and white tapestry. The overall layout of the place was circular, the center having her desk and simple chairs and couches disposed about.

"So, Amanda." Ikora begins, making herself comfortable at the table and suggesting Amanda to do the same, across from her. "What do you seek?"

Amanda quietly taps her fingertips at the table, fidgeting as she tries to formulate a good reason.

"I wanna learn how to… to fight. Like y'all Guardians do."

Ikora doesn’t turn her head, but smiles.

“Is that so?”

“Uh… yeah?”

Ikora gives a chuckle as she finishes rewriting a page.

“I think not.”

“...Why not?”

Not faltering, Ikora turns her head to face her friend as she hovers her hand above the book. “Because if you wanted to learn how to fight, you would have asked Zavala. And, if the words I received are true... you already did.”

Amanda doesn’t have an answer to that, only looking at the desk and pressing her lips together, the inquietude only building up. She observes Ikora using an emanation of Solar heat to dry the ink on the pages.

“Ikora, I… want to be a Guardian. I thought I could ask you to teach me how to think like one.”

As the Warlock turns to the book again, she turns a page and looks at a previous version of the book, also spread open on another part of the table, for reference. “Okay. And why aren’t you?”

She is caught off-guard by this question. She struggles to let out her answer, and the next sentence comes out a bit more condescending than she’d hoped.

“Because I’m not a Lightbearer?” Amanda replies as if it was something obvious.

“During the Red War, we weren’t either.” Ikora says as she starts writing once more. “And I went through the same dilemma. I was lost. I looked to the ashes emanating from the City, and vowed… never again. And since I had nowhere left to go, I found myself on Io, in search for answers. As time passes me by, I realized I was left without answers, without Light, without my team... without anything to hold on to.”

“And then?”

“A Guardian found me. One of those who had made the pilgrimage to the Shard of the Traveler and recovered their Light. They could have refused, but they didn’t. They could have quit the fight, but even if they knew they were going to die, they didn’t. And their very presence reminded me that, while the terms are, indeed, very associable to the outside observer, they are not the same.”

The Shipwright listens intently as Ikora recounts her tale. There were many angles to this. Most, she didn’t consider. Multiple viewpoints are a virtue Guardians must possess.

“It took me some introspection and some... unprecedented incidents, for me to believe that I am more than just my Light, and in being greater than the Light, protecting it and the people who live through its influence is what made me who I am. So, as long as you strive to perfect yourself, you’ll always be one."

Ikora eyes her friend without turning her head this time. Her eyes are amiable, as fierce as they looked.

"A Guardian, Lightbearer or not... is always a Guardian.”

The Warlock delivered each part of that sentence in a very light, but thorough manner, a way that Amanda didn’t even think was possible. It was a nail she still had to hammer, that Guardians are more than just their Light.

During the Red War, Amanda had argued with Zavala after the Traveler was imprisoned and the Light lost. “There are thousands of people like me stranded down there in the City", she had said; “We're all the same now, Holliday. The Light is gone.” She was too angry to realize at the time, but looking back, she realizes she had taken the Guardianship for granted.

While she still didn’t like having to obey Zavala and leave citizens to die, it was paying off, in a way. Everything they did, they did for mankind. And it was beginning to thrive again, the best they could. She could feel it, even if her mission was far from over and new threats were still bound to come.

With a deep breath, she promises to face them gladly.

"Thank you, Ikora." The Shipwright says, eliciting a smile and a deep nod from the Vanguard that was still focused on writing the page.

Amanda pulls out her sketchbook and starts drawing over a sketch of herself. But before she continues, she has an idea for the final part of the 'secret-unnamed-project'.

"Can I, ah, look around for a book?”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Wanna know where the name ‘Leviathan’ comes from.”

Ikora pulls up her own tablet, doing a query search for the word on the archive. It narrows down to multiple editions of a religious book from the old world, called ‘Bible’. Taking a break from writing, she hovers over to a particular section of the library, taking an intricate, gold-foil crafted book, meticulously turning its pages to where the query told her. “Job 41:1–34”, it said. She floats back to Amanda, laying the open book in front of her, before going back to her own seat.

She devours the verses, at first barely making heads or tails of what was on the pages. 'Why'd people back in the day write so weird?' She thought to herself. But eventually she managed to understand what it was about, and suddenly the name of Calus' ship made much more sense.

"Did you gather something new, my friend?"

Amanda recaps in her mind, making sure to try not to miss anything.

"Right, so- uh...” Amanda begins to explain her thoughts, trying not to let anything pass her by. “There was this man named Job, whose faith in this god couldn't be waived. In this part, the god is tryna teach Job how questioning a powerful being is futile by presenting him beasts so powerful that only he can control, one a them being a sea monster called, you guessed it, the Leviathan."

"How awfully appropriate."

"Yep. Apparently there were two beasts, a sea one, and a... land one."

Realization came into Amanda's mind as a name for her project finally snuck through her hands and into the paper.

"Reminds me of the World Serpent..." She adds nonchalantly, having doing some reading on the Edda in her free time back at Hiver’s place.

Ikora finally perks up from her book, stretching her writing hand. "You've been doing some homework."

"Hard not to, when you date a Warlock."

"And you are going to tell them about this… when?"

The one question Amanda dreaded, and it shows. Her 'Lightless Guardian' idea was nothing short of life-threatening, it's amazing she's got this far without being stopped.

Amanda had survived her whole life on the road, fighting off Fallen and hiding with hers and other families, but she would never, ever get rid of the pain of losing them. She survived and is happier than she's ever been, even if it's not a perfect life. Now, she was Hiver's family, and cannot bear the image of her lover having to go through the same — because of her own incompetence, nonetheless.

There was no telling how Hiver would react, the woman is already being a pile of anxieties, but of one thing she was sure.

It wouldn't be pretty.

“I don’t... know.“

"I can help if you'd like. But remember that this is your responsibility — and your burden."

She nods with a nervous face and gives a deep sigh.

“I’ll think of something. Can you take me back to the Tower?”

“Yes. And Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on finding love. Hold on to it. It is powerful.”

As nervous as she is, she nods smiling.

“Ophiuchus?” Ikora says to no one. Her Ghost, white and red and with spiking protrusions on the back of his shell, appears in the air next to her shoulder.

“One second.” He replies, spinning.

With a flash, Amanda is back at the Tower’s bazaar. Eyeing the drawing she has just finished, she runs to the Courtyard, in search of a person who could help her make it look much better.

Trying to ignore the built-up tension, she runs.

The Awoken woman stationed at the Tower Courtyard is, as usual, cleaning up dust and reorganizing her inventory, because it’s not home yet, but it would be. Then she hears a familiar voice calling to her.

“Tess!”

“Oh! Hello, Amanda. What can I do for you today?” Tess greets the Shipwright, assuming her usual hands-behind-back posture and giving her usual, welcoming smile.

“See, I got a lil’ project o’ my own, and wanted an expert’s opinion on how ta make it look the sharpest it can.”

Amanda presents the sketchbook with her sketch to Tess, who analyzes it meticulously.

It’s a suit of armor. Titan armor, to be more precise.

“Gothic knight inspiration… baroque decor… exquisite. Practical, but carries a lot of elegance. This looks incredible. Also, you draw extraordinarily well.”

“Thank you,” The Shipwright says, blushing. “But it lacks color. What would ya say works?”

“Excuse me.“

Tess takes the notebook into what appears to be a scanner, converting Amanda’s drawing into a digital projection that can easily be colored, and bringing it to the desk where they both could see it.

“Right, in my opinion the ornaments and trim should definitely be gold.” She says, quickly selecting the decorative parts of the plates and changing their colors to a light golden color. “The style reminds me of Gjallarhorn and the old Iron Lords’ armor. Maybe we can make it a bit more orange…”

“Would black fit with it, maybe?”

She changes the main plate colors to black. Tess and Amanda look at each other in disapproval.

“How about…” Tess changes the color to a deep blue.

“Can you try dark gray?” Amanda asks, and Tess obeys. However, it still seems to not fit, and they experiment with a midpoint between blue and gray.

“What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

Amanda scratches her nose, taking some time to think. The girls mix and match palettes for a while until finding one that fits the armor well.

Dark gray plates with crimson details, gold ornaments, and a white, gold-trimmed mark.

“Whew… Thank you, Tess. Anything I can do to repay ya?”

“The pleasure is mine. Although if you have some Silver on you…” Tess says, smiling smugly. “Just kidding.”

“My girlfriend does. She’ll probably come by again, she wants that duster you’re selling. Says she wants to look like a cowgirl.”

Tess laughs at this, eliciting a grin from Amanda, who picks her sketchbook and transfers the colored illustration file from the Awoken vendor to her own tablet, almost walking off and ready to send it to Crux/Lomar for forging.

“Oh, Amanda.”

“Yeah?” She turns back to face Tess.

“Does it have a name?” She asks in genuine curiosity.

Amanda smiles contagiously in pride, remembering what she read from the Bible in Ikora’s library. She had the perfect name for her project, given what was going down on the System — and how she’d fight it, if need be.

“The Behemoth.”

#destiny 2 #destiny fic #amanda holliday #hiver the gunslock #ikora rey #oc x canon

[noose-lion]

Human Shield

Jazz stayed on his charge's heels, as he navigated the over-crowded market place. The abundance mecha was making even him nervous so there was definitely no doubt it was overwhelming Prowl. The small black armoured Praxian wouldn't even be out here if he had a say, but the Prime was the boss. Not Jazz. And Jazz had more than a few choice words to share with Sentinel. "Hey, Prowler?" The visored Polyhexan said reaching out to grab Prowl's bicep.

The heavily tattooed mech paused without turning," Yeah, Jazz?"

"You ok, love?"

"Uh, huh?" Was the distracted response the guardsmech got from his charge.

"You sure," he said once more, pulling Prowl around to more fully face him.

The head-servent sighed tracing the oriental tattoos on his partners arm, " I'm fine Jazz, just a bit... stressed."

Jazz opened his mouth to respond when a loud shout sounded from the far side of the Town Square. Both he and Prowl spun toward the sound servos hovering over the swords strapped to their back (or in Prowl's case hip). Jazz gaped, "Wha' tha frag?!"

A group of large and intimidating mecha were charging though the crowd headed directly toward them. Prowl groaned beside him and Jazz chuckled at his lover's expense. "This can't be good."

Prowl glared at him. "You think." He hissed, sensory panels twitching in annoyance, as he and Jazz made a run for it.

The Polyhexan rolled his optics behind his visor, " you worry to much."

Prowl growled, " save it till we get to the equininoids."

They had left their steeds tied at a stand on the edges of the square, not wanting to draw extra attention as the traversed the market, and both mechs were beginning to regret it. Especially as an arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing both their helms.

They twisted, turned, and ducked, dodging around the other market goers. Ignoring the loud and angry shouts gaining on them. Finally they reached their mounts, the Equininoids ( both a regal silver) stood right were they left them, tied to a post. Prowl gracefully scaled and mounted his steed, Jazz untied both animals and effortlessly climbed aboard his own equine. With two quick kicks and a small sharp yip (courtesy of Jazz) the two were off. Charging down an alley.

" What was up with those mechs?" Jazz called over his shoulder as he and Prowl made their daring escape.

"Probably just ticked of at the Prime for one reason or another, and decided to attack the first mecha they see that's has the Primal Vanguard insignia." His lover responded with a deep vent and a dry tone.

Jazz snorted. " Should have picked easier targets."

Several arrows whizzed out of nowhere striking Jazz in his unarmored bicep and in his mounts side. "Slag," the guardsmech cursed instinctually yanking on his equine's reins as the steed staggered to the side, with a loud neighing cry.

Equine and rider went down with only an angered shout from the Polyhexan and a panicked snort from equine. Jazz was faintly aware of Prowl's own pained yowl as he hit the ground. With quite an effort Jazz stood, snapped the shaft of the arrow off ( pulling it out could risk more damage) and glanced at his partner. The Praxian was kneeling having also been hit, two arrows stuck through a sensory panel and a scrape along his thigh were another projectile had grazed him. "You good?" The Polyhexan grunted out.

"Functioning. But the equines not so much."

Prowl's equine was deathly still, several arrows piercing their chest while Jazz's own mount was venting laboriously, still alive having only been hit once. Jazz sighed. "Sorry ole pal, you carried me far."

Jazz drew his sword and carefully slit his steeds throat effectively putting them out of their misery. Sheathing his sword he limped to Prowl's side pulling the smaller mech to his peds. The Praxian lost his balance tilting to the side with a hiss. " Slag it. With my Sensory Panel out my balance has been shot to the pit."

Jazz grin lacked humor, " I can see that, love."

Looping his arm around his charge's waist Jazz started down the alley way again warily watching the building tops for more archers. Prowl was silent beside him except for the pained grunts and hisses that would occasionally escape the small mech. " We really are fragged aren't we?"

Prowl snorted." No. Really?"

Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. " We got no transportation. We're most likely surrounded by archers, and we're both injured."

"Don't remind me."

"And to top it off, we aren't expected back at the palace till sundown." Jazz muttered, he was starting to feel tired his limbs were dragging and his helm was foggy, Prowl didn't seem so coherent either.

" Who said you were expected back at the palace at all?" A thin, tall, copper armoured mech said as he rounded the corner, he held an armed bow firmly in his servos.

Jazz's deep growl rumbled throughout the narrow alley accompanied by Prowl's higher pitched but just as threatening hiss. The Polyhexan pulled his partner behind him using himself as a living shield.

"Don't worry," the newcomer said smugly, " you don't need to be back to the palace anytime soon.

Jazz's felt his limbs slowly stop responding at the same time that he heard Prowl thump to the ground behind him. With on last spark chilling glare the Polyhexan slumped to the ground unconscious.

The copper armoured mech smirked stalking forward to kick at the fallen guardsmech's arm. " The Prime is surely glad to be rid of you."

A/N: A medieval times Au? Guess so. So um, Cybertronians can't transform (except beast-modes) so thats why they needed horses. Equininoids = Horses

By the way the animal killing in this fic was merciful not evil. I hope that makes since?

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #whumpish #no. 4 #no. 4 human shield #its fragging November but I like the prompts #im so late #transformers #prowl #tf prowl #tf jazz #jazz #jazz and prowl #jazzprowl #jazz x prowl #animal death #wounds

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 09

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08

This time: Wants and needs and waking up.

-/

The Speaker chooses his words carefully, thus they sit in a momentary silence before he begins. The ambient noise of the room - puffs of air from the nasal cannula that helps her get enough oxygen, monitors that check blood pressure, gentle beeps of the monitors, the idle drip of medication into IV lines all blend together in a strange symphony. Zavala does not find it anything but anxiety inducing, though he keeps still and does not act in a way that would readily flag him as such.

Not that it matters, the Speaker knows him well. “I would presume,” He says, slow and quiet, mindful of the child sleeping in the bed an arm’s length away, “That you have spoken to your Ghost about this?”

“Shiori has made her opinions known,” Zavala admits, after a moment’s thought. Likely, also that he’s spoken to said partner, through the link that Guardians share with their Ghosts.

He hums in reply, leaning back in a gesture that isn’t quite relaxed, but appears more casual than official. “And your opinions do not line up?”

Amanda stirs beside them, a frown cutting through her features, but shifts and resettles without waking. Zavala sighs in relief, having been immediately distracted by it. “Wants and needs are two different things," He offers, instead of answering the question.

"Yes," The other man agrees. "Unless your want and her need aligns."

"It does not. My lifestyle is not conducive to raising a child, regardless of whether I would consider it or not," Zavala replies.

"And yet you're here," The Speaker answers. Though his expression is covered by a mask, the inflection of his voice gives away his feelings on the matter. He tips his head to the left, evaluating.

"She calls for me when she wakes," He tells the Speaker, just as he had Ikora, but it feels inadequate as a defense. Flimsy.

"Could the matron not fulfill her needs?" He asks gently, yet there's something blunt in his tone. "She could sit with the girl."

"Yes," Zavala agrees morosely, "I just-"

"But the matron cannot console the girl when she's in the throws of panic, certainly not when she's altered by medication and plagued by fever dreams. The trust is not intrinsic, subconscious." The Speaker crosses his arms. "Nor can she give the girl favor, even if she wanted to. She has other duties, other children she is responsible for." 

The child whines in her sleep from discomfort, and as if to prove his point, Zavala is at her side, gently adjusting the sheets tangled around her lower half, mindful of her injuries.

"I want to help her," The Commander admits, wistfully, looking down at the girl’s face.

Circling back, the Speaker reminds him, "And being at her bedside when she wakes, then withdrawing will help her how? The child trusts you. It would crush her."

"Then what do I do? I could not possibly forsake my duties."

"You could do both." Zavala stares, slack-jawed at the other man's masked face. "She will need therapies and treatments… A hospital stay like this requires rehabilitation, according to the matron. It will be months at least."

"It's impossible. There is no way I could take care of a child."

The Speaker ignores him. "Plenty of time to get your affairs in order, and this would not be easy, certainly not. This one hasn't hit her teenage years, and from what I've been told by others, it is rather taxing."

"I can't do this on my own," Zavala hedges. "There is no way. The Vanguard, my Titans, I-"

"Think, Zavala." The Speaker's voice cuts through his argument, firm and blunt, yet not unkind. "I never said you should raise her on your own." He rises. "I’m merely suggesting you consider that it may not be as impossible as you think." As he passes the Titan Vanguard, he squeezes his shoulder in a show of support, speaking softer. "A reminder of why we do what we do would not be remiss around here."

The Speaker leaves. Once alone, Zavala brings the chair he'd been sitting in to rest almost against the bed. Silently, he evaluates her: the wrinkle of her brow and nose while she sleeps, the way her fingers curls over the blankets before she pulls them against her chest. 

"He's right, you know."

"He always is," Zavala answers, watching his Ghost shimmer into being on the other side of the room.

She sighs. "You really want this, though."

"Yes," He admits, after a time.

"So we ask for help. Like he said, they don't plan on releasing her any time soon."

"Shiori-" 

His Ghost continues, speaking over him in that soothing mezzo-soprano of hers. "She hasn't been awake for more than twenty minutes and even that was debatable." Her white shell orbits her core slowly. "I don't think it's wrong to be happy, Zavala. And I don't think you're going to blow off your responsibilities to everyone and everything else because of her."

"But is it fair to her?"

That gives her pause. "Well, I would suspect she'd agree."

"That is not the question. She's a child. I have doubt that she knows what is best for herself."

"Well-"

He frowns. "She's been harmed because our efforts to keep the City safe failed her. I cannot tell if I feel guilty of if it's just that I somehow feel a connection-"

"You're doing it again, always overthinking," She tuts. "Listen to me, Zavala. You wanted to take Amanda home with us the first time we met her. You were beside yourself that you upset her." She drifts closer. "And when she came around, you spent an entire visit holding onto her. I teased you about it for a week. You remember what Karena called her?"

Zavala closes his eyes. Shiori takes it as a yes.

"You were furious with me when I told you we should at least consider taking her. You gave me every reason I'm sure you're thinking of now. But you forget: I know you, Guardian. I know you're going to make the right choice. You always do."

Scrubbing a hand down the side of his face, he regards his partner warily. "That transparent, am I?"

Shiori bumps his hand away from his face. "No. You just don't do things in half measures," She says fondly, her single eye meeting both of his. "You never have." 

“I just want to be sure,” He says in reply. “I need some time.”

-/

Amanda wakes when midnight and morning bleed into each other. Unlike other times, the muzzy fading feeling seems to burn off, leaving her licking her chapped lips and squirming. She feels uncomfortable. Something isn't right.

The only sound in the room is a not unpleasant timed click, an easy shuffle, and the muted sound of a monitor. She exhales long and loud, taking stock. Only three extremities respond to her. The fourth tingles in an angry buzz of pain and numbness. Trying to move it makes her whimper, the conscious thought put into moving her knee ends in a furious confusion of synapses that don't have anywhere to go.

With her muffled cry, the cadence of clack-shuffling stops. She takes a few more breaths, forcing them to stay even, her eyelashes beating against her cheeks as she tries to make sense of the strange new feelings she’s confronted with.

Instead of speaking, he watches as her stormy eyes open and clear, adjusting to the fluorescent lighting. She looks down and bites her lip, but does not make any more noise. Her eyes water but she doesn’t make any more sound, other than the tiny groan of adjusting herself. She’s already propped up between pillows and the angle of the hospital bed.

She almost topples over reaching for her bad leg, but her left arm manages to keep her upright while she regards the lumpy bed linens. It hurts, but she flips back one end of the covers to see what her leg looks like and immediately flinches back.

It’s a large bandage that starts almost where her leg meets her trunk, but it goes down to just short of where her knee should be - and stops. She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut and then braves another look. On the second inspection, she notes that there’s blood leaking through the dressings, faded and iron-brown. No knee. No foot. Gone.

The hand that touches her head makes her freeze, and only then does she realize Zavala’s watching her evaluate herself. She looks to him with something like panic twisted by despair.

"'m not dreaming, am I?" She asks softly.

The edge of the bed dips as he sits, perched on the edge facing toward her. "No," He answers.

She closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows. "E'ryone else's okay?"

"They are," He answers. "Do-" His voice catches on the prospect that perhaps she'd rather be consoled by her foster family, though they'd withdrawn rather easily - too easily, Karen's said, though she'd never been planning to allow Amanda to return to them. His stomach lurches at the thought that her calls for him were simply hallucinations, that maybe he has this completely wrong. "Do you want to see them?"

There is no hesitation in her reply. She shakes her head in the negative. "It had me by this leg," She points to the wrapped stump. "Did you get it?"

"The Guardian who found you killed it. It won't hurt you or anyone else."

"But you said they go through you." She doesn't look at him, still eyeing the bulge of gauze.

"I am the Commander. The Guardians answer to me." He sighs, trying to explain it in a way she’ll understand. "I was in command all night, making sure everyone that was in trouble was seen to." Selfish as it may be, he’s grateful he didn’t know. It would have ate away at him all night while he was trying to organize relief efforts, the way it had while he had sat with the matron what felt like the longest day he’d had in years.

"I thought it was you," She admits. "They - It was like lightnin' but… Th'same blue as yer eyes," She drawls. 

They sit quietly for a few moments.

Her resolve crumbles with a mumble of, "I really wanted t’see you." She reaches for him and he obliges, letting her press her face into his chest, feeling her lip curl and her shoulders shake through his sweater as she cries. It’s muffled against his sweater, but he hears her confessions. The fear of what she’d surely though was her death. That she should have tried harder to make them believe her, that she knew and it was all her fault.

That she didn’t want to die without seeing him again.

It felt like he’d never be able to walk out of the room. Part of that might have been the tiny fingers that threaded through his own with a surprising strength, but… There was more to it than that. It was like his bond with Ghost but not quite, a natural connection so wholly different from any he’d forged before and it was plain and obvious, terrifying and yet comforting all at once.

The morning comes too soon, and with it, the realization that he would have to leave. She seemed to know it too, her tiny grip growing exponentially.

“I’ll be okay,” She tells him, her voice faint against his side. Her fingers twitch and pull away from him. He doesn’t miss the way they wrap around herself as he rises. “It’s fine.”

He’s never been more certain that it is anything but. “Karena will come sit with you, or one of the houseparents,” He says. “Someone you know.”

“Would-” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if looking at him - seeing the truth on his face - would upset her. “Would you come back sometime?” She asks meekly.

It’s only after he rises, patting her head, that she sees the folded blanket in progress - a shade of red far brighter than the one she’d left behind at the Baumsol’s. He removes it carefully from the chair at her bedside and opens one of the drawers in the small half-dresser beside her bed, tucking it and the rest of his knitting supplies inside.

He smiles at her, she knows it not because of his lips - those are set in a firm line. His eyes spark, almost. Bright and good and true. “I’ll come back as soon as I am able,” He tells her. “You have my word.”

#destiny fanfiction #shipwright september #amanda holliday #commander zavala #the speaker #destiny #destiny stories #fluff and feels