#there will always be at least one chunk rebelling

[kallie-den]

Hunting Hound

Leinth Aritimis, a rebel pilot, is captured by the enemy. Her personal hero, Sartha Thrace, is there to be a lifeline - but she's a changed woman. Can Leinth set Sartha free? Or is Sartha so lost to Handler's brainwashing, she'll betray a woman who trusts her above everything else?

This is a sequel to Warhound! Please make sure to read that story first so that you can understand this one

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Nothing makes Leinth Aritimis feel good the way being saddled up in the cockpit of a huge mech suit does.

It’s not a rare refrain for a pilot. Most are enraptured by the sheer power it brings. You can feel it in your gut; the thrum of the engine, the shaking of the earth, the divine thunder of artillery. It’s never been that for Leinth, though. Truth be told, the noise and fury of her own Genetor still frightens her at times. But what really matters is what it lets her do.

Fight.

Leinth never set out to be a hero herself. She just wanted to be a little like her own heroes. To do her part. That was the least anyone could do, and the duty had grown heavy in her belly during the last years of her adolescence, until she was finally old enough to join up. The war isn’t going well. They’re always on the back foot. But that means Leinth always has something to defend, and knowing that makes her strong. The looks of hope and relief she sees on peoples’ faces when she dismounts after a long, hard-fought battle - that’s what feels good.

Now, after a couple of years, people were starting to call her a hero. Crazy.

She doesn’t deserve it, and she always tells them so. She’s no Sartha Thrace, and her Genetor is certainly no Ancyor. Ancyor is a proud old beast. Genetor is a slab. A fortress as much as a vehicle. Huge, angular, unwieldy - but not for Leinth. She’s learned well how to wield it. In her hands, the rebel prototype is a bulwark. She takes pride in that, and she’s proud of her machine in turn. Proud of the way it keeps moving even now, with an awful, jagged chunk taken out of its right leg.

Leinth reaches up overhead and punches a few switches, shunting power into the sensor suite for one more sweep. A few moments later, it clicks back its report. Nothing. No movement. That’s a  relief. Maybe it’s actually over.

“Genetor reporting,” she says into her radio. “Sector is clear. I’m gonna stay out just a little longer. Make sure the bastards are gone for good.”

You got it, comes the warm reply, after a brief burst of static. But I think we got ‘em, Leinth. Don’t wear yourself out.

Right now there’s little choice but to take the sensors at their word. No use looking outside, that’s for damn sure. The day’s fighting has turned the cityscape into a blackened ruin where ash hangs in the air like fog, billowing on unnatural winds. What tall buildings remain are nothing more than burnt rebar skeletons ; in amongst them are the carcasses of mechs that haven’t quite managed to fall, looming over the shattered concrete like strange, harrowed statues. Most of them are so ravaged by the firestorm, Imperial and rebel models look exactly alike.

It’s demoralizing. But as long as there’s land and there’s people, they can rebuild. Leinth always insists upon that, to herself.

It’s been bad here. Intense. A fresh Imperial offensive. There’s no telling how much worse tomorrow might be. This could have been the final battle or merely an opening skirmish. Sometimes the resources and reserves at the enemy’s disposal seem all but unlimited. There’s a push-pull logic to the ever-moving front lines that Leinth can’t perceive. It’s not her job to, as a pilot. But like everyone else, she knows that they are not winning.

Maybe they can win here. Maybe Leinth can be the rock on which the tide breaks. She’s the one who never loses faith.

The falling dusk is a mercy, in a way. It hides the worst of the damage, and the most heartbreaking details. The contents of a wardrobe and a life ripped out of a building by an artillery shell and strewn all over the ashen ground. No good comes from looking. Those things - the human traces, the human remains - are too small for most mech pilots to notice. But in quiet moments, Leinth finds herself looking, magnifying them to fill the Genetor’s viewscreen. It’s a bad habit, and the darkness of night saves her from it. If she indulges, it’s too easy to let her thoughts turn to dark things.

Dark things like Sartha Thrace.

It’s been months since she disappeared. She went out like a hero. Her Ancyor was last seen plunging deep into the enemy’s lines to fight a furious rearguard. She’s listed as MIA not KIA, technically, but Leinth has done her best to make her peace with her hero’s passing. The rumors are making it damn hard, though. Rumors about seeing the Ancyor back in service on the wrong side of the war. Rumors about it moving the way only she could make it move.

Leinth hates hearing that shit. She’s said so often enough and angrily enough that no one says it to her face anymore. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t overhear when people are whispering about it. And it’s hard as hell to get it out of her head. Sartha Thrace means the world to her. Meant the world to her. That poster above her bunk in the barracks. An idol. Even Leinth’s transition goal, in the early days before she knew better. Now the kind thing to do is to let her memory rest until the time comes when they can honor it properly.

It’s not that she doesn’t wish Sartha Thrace was still alive. She wishes that more than anything. Especially in battles like these, it sure would be nice to have a hero to believe in.

Genetor! Headed your way! Leinth!

The urgency of her CO’s voice on the radio catches her attention just as much as her name. Leinth snaps back to attention and looks down at her scope - and then freezes. Her first response - her rational response - is that it’s a glitch. It has to be. It doesn’t make sense for a heat signature like that to be moving that fast. Then instinct takes flight. Leinth can feel it already. The vibrations. The heat in the air. She brings Genetor around to face the new threat, brings her weapons up, and kicks her searchlights up to max.

It’s too late. No time to brace herself. Ancyor is upon her.

Leinth would recognize its savage face anywhere, even here, and it makes her hesitate. If she wasn’t already screwed, that pause is what screws her. Once Leinth can make her hands move, it’s far too late to make use of Genetor’s shields. And Ancyor doesn’t stop to launch a blow. It simply barrels into her. With a raw howl of steel on steel, the mechs collide. Genetor might be a slab, but Ancyor is monstrously strong and it has momentum. There’s no contest. The impact sends Leinth off-balance. The ACS screams at her, but there’s nothing to be done.

Genetor topples over. The bastion falls.

And it will not be allowed to stand. Ancyor is still on her, driving its massive chainblades into the prone mech’s limbs. Leinth cries out in panic. She feels the severance in her own flesh. The rattling, the noise, the flashing lights as Genetor’s systems struggle to shunt power to the cockpit - it’s a nightmare. She already knows she’s lost. There’s no coming back from this.

But it gets worse. Ancyor rears up, and amongst the ashen city, lit only by Genetor’s flickering searchlights, it looks truly awful in its lupine fury. Then it brings its fist down, right on the cockpit. The sound of the blow is an awful crunch; a noise no metal should ever make. Leinth screams as the wall of her cockpit starts to bow in against her. Genetor holds, but only just. Another blow has it convulse, and Leinth’s scream is silenced when her head is thrown back against the back of the cockpit. No ACS to compensate now.

She starts seeing in black and white. Not good. Concussion, at least. It happened so fast. Leinth is still struggling to believe in what she’s seeing and feeling. It doesn’t make sense.

There’s only one woman who can pilot Ancyor like this. But it’s not her. It’s not her.

There’s no third blow. Or if there is, Leinth is too far gone to feel it. She hears something, though. Other vehicles approaching. Not mechs. Smaller. They get close, then stop, then Leinth hears scrambling. Shouting. Climbing. The realization of what’s happening makes her breath catch with fear, but she’s beyond even adrenaline now. Darkness is here for her.

The last thing she feels before oblivion is the Imperial engineers starting to drill their way into Genetor’s cockpit.

***

There is no time, in the room. No daylight, no clock. Leinth has been counting sleeps and by that tally it’s been fifteen days, but that’s surely off by a day or more. Especially given how hard she got knocked around.

Leinth remembers being pulled from Genetor’s cockpit. She remembers being bound and guarded and dragged into an infirmary, to receive only the most basic medical care. Leinth had been in and out for most of that, twitching and shouting whenever she was close to consciousness, but then they gave her something that brought her all the way back up to uncomfortably sharp awareness. Then, an interrogation. Noise, bright lights, sternness, threats - the usual. Crude. Blunt. Like all pilots, Leinth has prepared herself for this long ago. They got nothing from her.

She’d been bracing herself for torture to follow - but no. At least, not that kind of torture. Something had interrupted the proceedings. There had been a whisper in an ear, and then a strange ripple had gone through her interrogators. With fresh urgency, they’d dragged her to her feet and she’d been taken somewhere else. Somewhere down, under the hangar, far beneath the rest of the Imperial base.

It’s strange here. The walls are dark, and it’s much too quiet. None of the hustle and bustle that’s everywhere in any normal military facility. Since then, nothing. Leinth has been left to sit and rot in her uncertainty and her boredom. The solitude is maddening. There is nothing to disturb it except occasional meals given at irregular intervals through a slot in the door.

From how it leaves her feeling, Leinth is pretty sure the food is drugged. She eats most of it anyway. Tricking her into starving herself could be another way of softening her up.

The sound of locking bolts retracting into the wall heralds change. At once, Leinth is completely focused. Any information about her situation, any stimulation at all, is a sweetness she’s desperate for. When the heavy cell door swings open, she catches sight of the person holding the key. Immediately she regrets her eagerness. This is almost more disconcerting than seeing nothing at all.

The menial standing before her had once been an Imperial pilot, judging from the uniform and the wings on her lapel. Once, but no longer. There’s something unmistakably broken about her. Her uniform is wearing thin from neglect and she moves with a strange, stooped, shambling gait that just doesn’t look right on a person. She’s like an animal that’s been beaten one too many times. Leinth wishes she could see her face, if only to verify her humanity, but she can’t. The menial is wearing an awful hood that hides her face - leather, perhaps, and fashioned to look like a dog’s head.

It’s some sick shit, even for Imperials, and Leinth doesn’t have a clue what it means.

All is forgotten, though, when the menial steps aside and reveals Leinth’s visitor.

Sartha Thrace.

Her presence is electricity on Leinth’s skin, and for that reason she knows she’s real even before she pinches herself and blinks - three times, four times, five times. It’s impossible, but she’d know that face anywhere, even here, even in the dim glow of the cell’s lights. It’s the real deal. Leinth believes it with her whole heart, especially when Sartha Thrace flashes her a classic smile and reaches up to rake back her messy blonde hair. Somehow, in the flesh, she’s even more beautiful than she is on the posters.

“Leinth Aritimis?” Sartha says. “Looks like you got scooped up pretty rough, huh?”

“I… I… you…” Leinth’s mouth is struggling to catch up with her brain. There are too many questions, and the first to fall from her lips is embarrassingly juvenile. “You… know who I am?”

“Sure.” Sartha walks into the cell - ushered in, it seems - and the door closes behind her. “We fought together, right? The Dacian salient?”

Leinth nods numbly. She remembered. She actually remembered. They’d only met in passing, as two pilots amongst many, and Leinth had been nobody then. She’d assumed Sartha Thrace had taken no notice of her. She feels - and notes with humor - a faint flicker of gratitude for her captivity.

Then she blinks. She remembers her place.

“I should…” Leinth stands and salutes as best she can. “Captain!”

“Woah, easy.” Sartha laughs and waves her off. “I’ve never been a stickler, Leinth, and it doesn’t seem to make much sense here. Just call me ‘Sartha’.”

Leinth nods. She can barely believe her luck. It’s like a dream come true - circumstances notwithstanding.

“So they… they got you?” Leinth asks slowly, as Sartha walks over and sits next to her on the long bench that’s one of the cell’s only features. “We all thought you were dead.”

“Yeah.” Sartha smiles faintly. “I guess they did.”

“I saw Ancyor out there,” Leinth says. “It’s what took me down. I guess they… gods.”

Sartha doesn’t reply. She just looks down. In the dim light, Leinth can see there’s a strange look in her eye. Distant. Glassy. She’s not herself, in that moment.

Leinth can’t blame her for it. She doesn’t want to think about how she’d feel if she knew someone else had taken Genetor from her. Was using it against her people. The violation would be monstrous. She silently prays her mech was too damaged for that.

“So,” she says, hoping to bring Sartha back. “What happens now? To us. To… me.”

“Wish I could tell you.” Sartha looks up. She sounds OK again. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

“Did…” Leinth is afraid to ask, but she needs to know. “Have they done something to you? Anything I should prepare myself for?”

Sartha looks down again. “I don’t… know.”

Leinth has no words for that. She shivers. She clamps down hard on her own, faint disappointment. She tries to remind herself that Sartha Thrace is more than a hero on a poster above Leinth’s bunk. She’s been through hell. Anyone would be in pieces after months down here.

“But,” Sartha adds after a long moment, “you’ll be OK. I remember how I felt when they first put me down here. You’re strong. This is not the end. I’m still here, aren’t I? And now there’s two of us. It’ll be easier.”

Now Leinth feels ashamed of even that initial flicker of disappointment. She can hear the grit in Sartha Thrace’s voice. She can feel the warmth, and she is warmed by it. Thanks to her - thanks only to her - this chthonic hell feels bearable. She’s gonna get through this. They’re going to get through this. She can believe that, with a hero at her side. Leinth is so very grateful for Sartha’s presence.

But that begs a question.

“Thank you,” Leinth says, but frowns. “Why do you think they put us together like this?”

“Dunno,” Sartha replies. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

She? Who? The menial? Maybe, but there’s something about how Sartha said it. It’s probably not important.

“Could be they want to get us talking?” Leinth glances around. “This place could be wired for sound. Maybe they’re hoping we’ll let something slip.”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s keep it light, eh?” Leinth says. “Just in case. No secrets.”

“You got it,” Sartha agrees. “I have something important to ask you though.”

“OK.” Leinth glances around again. She decides to trust Sartha’s judgment, but just in case, she leans in so they can whisper to one another. “What?”

“Have you met Her yet?”

“No,” Leinth answers, before thinking. The question puts a nasty feeling in her gut. “Who?”

“Her.”

That one little word contains within it an ocean of feeling. Sartha quivers with excitement as she speaks it. She can barely contain herself. It’s a prayer, swelling with reverence, bursting with unnatural devotion. Leinth can sense already that Sartha is consumed by this ‘Her’. Nothing she said to Leinth before matters. Whatever - whoever - she’s talking about is utterly totalizing.

“Sartha,” Leinth says hesitantly. “What are you talking about?”

Sartha Thrace smiles, and now her smile is all wrong. It’s too serene. “Ah. You haven’t. You’d know if you had. Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“Sartha…” Leinth’s stomach is plummeting. She’s panicking again. This isn’t right. “What the fuck?”

“She’ll explain everything,” Sartha assures her, and it’s like she thinks Leinth will be grateful for the assurance. “Once She talks to you, everything will make sense. You’ll make sense.”

“Stop talking like this!” Leinth pleads. “Just… just tell me what’s going on.”

Sartha pauses and restrains herself. Leinth can still see the light of energy and enthusiasm brimming within her, though. She’s just holding back because she can see Leinth isn’t ready yet.

“Handler,” she explains. Her tone is worshipful. “Oh, Leinth. You have no idea how wonderful she is!”

“Your…” Leinth feels like she’s going to throw up. “Sartha. Out there. The Ancyor. That… please. Please don’t tell me that was you.”

“It was.” Sartha tilts her head. Her eyes grow distant. “Well. In a way.” 

Leinth doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but she’s heard more than enough. She springs to her feet. Leaps away. Anger is clawing at the inside of her skin.

“Traitor!” she snarls. “How… how could you? How did they… no, no, it doesn’t fucking matter. You betrayed us all!”

Sartha looks saddened, a little. Not enough to doubt herself. “She said you’d say that. But it’s OK. She said that I don’t need to listen. I think she just wants me to help you.”

“Help me? What the…”

Leinth doesn’t want to hear that. It’s awful - that whoever this ‘She’ is, all she has to do is say one word, and Sartha shuts off? That’s inhuman.

“Help you,” Sartha repeats. “It’s… an adjustment. Being with Her. I struggled with it too, at first. At least, I think so. She says I don’t have to remember anymore. But once you accept it - once you accept Her - everything gets better. You’ll see.”

Obviously they’ve done something to her. Brainwashing. Obviously she’s a victim too. Leinth knows that - but knowing isn’t enough. She would have kissed the ground Sartha Thrace walked on. She would have given everything for her. Now she’s with them. Leinth starts to shed tears as her voice becomes a bitter, frigid growl.

“Traitor,” she spits, hoping she can inject enough venom into her voice to make it sting. “You’re a fucking traitor.”

It works. Sartha looks offended. Wounded. She looks away, like she’s trying to go distant again, but she can’t quite manage it. Even now, even after whatever the fuck they did to her, she has just a little bit too much fight for that. She needs to retort.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” Sartha says defensively. “I’m not a… I’m a hero, right? You know that. The way you looked at me, it’s… I’m just here because…”

Because? Leinth can see gears spinning in her head, but she’s going nowhere. She doesn’t know why she’s here, or what she’s doing. Not really. She looks so lost.

“I-I have to do what She says.” Sartha sounds almost pleading now. “It’s not like I’m… we’re soldiers, aren’t we? We follow orders. And Her orders are special.” It’s like she’s tricking herself. Searching for justification. She’s found one now, however thin and false. Her distress abates. “If you just met Her, you’d understand…”

Her confusion is so obvious it hurts to witness. It’s embarrassing. Sartha Thrace is meant to be a hero. She’s meant to be better than this. Contradicting feelings tear into Leinth’s mind. She wants to forgive the confused woman in front of her. Their captors must have done something truly awful to her. But that also makes her presence hard to bear. Is it a warning of what fate they have in store for Leinth? Leinth doesn’t want to think about that. Not for one second.

Sartha Thrace is meant to be better. She’s meant to be the hero on the poster. Not this. Leinth doesn’t want to see her like this.

“Just leave me alone,” Leinth says quietly. When she catches Sartha looking sadly at her, she balls her hands into fists. It pisses her off. “Get the fuck out already! Go. It’s not like you’re a prisoner here, right? I don’t want to fucking look at you.”

She laughs bitterly at that. Sartha looks sorry for both Leinth and herself. She stands.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Sartha says stiffly. “I’ll be back, though. I promise. I don’t want to leave you all on your own down here. And I really think She wants me to help you. To look after you. She’s so kind, you see.”

Leinth just stares at the wall, so Sartha walks over to the door of the cell. She bangs on it twice with her fist and the door opens. Leinth stays dead still until she leaves and the door closes again behind her. Then she buries her head in her hands and starts to sob.

Fuck.

***

After that, it all changes. The solitude and boredom, as interminable as it was, is something Leinth comes to miss. Because after Sartha’s first visit, they start torturing her.

That’s how Leinth chooses to think of it, anyway - torture. She’s not sure what else she’d call it. It’s not a kind of torture she’d ever prepared herself for, though. It’s not an interrogation. There are no questions. It’s not pain for pain’s sake, either. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt at all. They drug her with drugs that make her feel like nothing else. They hook her up to strange machines that seem to do nothing and everything. They shine bright, flickering lights into her eyes, and it’s like they’re projecting something, like an old movie on film, and only part of her mind is able to see it.

Other times, it hurts worse than Leinth could ever describe.

Either way, by the time Leinth is dragged back to the cell she feels like her skin’s been ripped inside out. She feels like one of those mech carcasses, still standing even though they’ve been burned to ash on the inside. All she can do is collapse and lie shivering on the floor of her cell, trying to piece herself back together. Sometimes, all the sensations they inflict on her seem to linger on in her body, burrowing deeper, until she can remind herself they’re not real. Sometimes, the drugs leave her with an impossible euphoria that makes Leinth feel like she can’t trust any of her own thoughts.

At those times, when Leinth is at her very lowest, Sartha Thrace comes to visit. 

The first few times, at least, Leinth finds the strength to tell her to fuck off. To her credit, she does. But Sartha keeps coming and eventually, in a moment of weakness, she relents. It was meant to be just that once, but after that Sartha always ends up staying. Leinth is not made of stone. Without Sartha, she’d never see a single soul except for the hooded menials that drag her from her cell each day, and they barely seem to count as human.

She takes infinite comfort simply in sharing her cell, for a time, with another, familiar person. Just seeing Sartha’s face, seeing her little human gestures like the way she adjusts her clothes and rakes back her hair, makes Leinth feel less crazy. Less alone and forgotten, like she’s died and gone to her own private hell.

Sartha’s good company, too. Even though she’s a traitor. She only wants to talk if Leinth does. She’s never pushy. She’ll put up with Leinth’s insults and anger. And sometimes, it even feels like Leinth is getting through to her.

She’s so beautiful, too. That helps.

After a time, it becomes a rhythm. Torture, then Sartha. The rhythm makes it easier to bear. No matter what they do to her, no matter how it feels, after a while Sartha will be there. They can talk if Leinth needs to hear her voice, or not if Leinth needs quiet. Eventually, her anger abates. There’s no point being angry at Sartha Thrace. They’re both in hell. Maybe Sartha’s just in a little deeper.

The rhythm does trouble her, though. She’s not blind to all the ways it could be used against her. Everything that’s happening to her in this place seems as regular as clockwork, but sometimes Leinth senses something behind that. A presence. A person. The rhythm’s conductor, perhaps. It might even be that mysterious ‘she’ Sartha sometimes refers to.

Or it might not. Maybe Leinth is just losing her mind.

Talking helps with that. It feels like it helps, anyway. Not that there’s much to talk about. Mostly, Leinth talks about herself. Sometimes they talk about the war, although it’s difficult to draw Sartha out on that topic. It’s like she doesn’t want to think about what’s happening, or what side she’s really on. It’s like she prefers to be confused. Leinth learns that if she presses too hard Sartha might shut down on her, or worse, leave, and so Leinth learns not to. She finds the line where she can draw out Sartha’s sense of contradiction without scaring her off.

And sometimes there are glimpses of the old Sartha. Of someone bright and brilliant, full of charisma and heroism. Leinth comes to live for those glimpses. Even now, Sartha is a kind of hero to her.

“’In a way’,” Leinth says slowly, one day, thinking back to their very first conversation. “What did that mean?”

“Huh?” Sartha, sitting just along from her in the cell, turns her head.

“When I asked you about piloting Ancyor,” Leinth presses. “You said it was you - ‘in a way’. Tell me what that means.”

Sartha looks away. “I was… nothing. It was me.”

“Bullshit.” Leinth has learned what it looks like when Sartha doesn’t want to think about something. “Tell me. Stop hiding something.”

Now Sartha sighs. “I’m not… hiding. You just wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

It’s possible she’s pushing too hard, but the question has been burning inside Leinth. After a short time, Sartha sighs.

“It’s like… it’s like there’s someone else in my head,” she says slowly. Then, realizing how that sounds: “I mean, it’s still me. Obviously. But sometimes I can… let them take over. When She wants me to.”

Leinth doesn’t need to say anything. Her expression does all the talking. Sartha gets defensive.

“I-It’s not how it sounds,” Sartha insists. “I’m just not explaining it well. It’s like… it’s like how, sometimes, in the heat of battle, you just go on autopilot. You know that feeling, right?”

Leinth nods.

“It’s just… one step further than that.” She’s grasping and she knows it. Leinth can tell. “It’s better this way. A clearer separation.” Sartha taps her foot restlessly. “I wish She was here. If She explained it to you, you’d understand perfectly.”

“Why do you need to be separated?” Leinth argues back. “I don’t. I want to be me. When I’m piloting. When I’m fighting. I want to know what I’m fighting for. Don’t you?”

“I…” Sartha taps her foot faster. Agitated. “N-no. No, it gets distracting. Better to keep it separate. Better to focus. Better to ignore everything, except orders. Her orders. She says I don’t need to think, and the other me makes it easier. It’s better this way!”

By the end, she’s almost shouting. It’s the first time Sartha’s seen her get so worked up. She wants to push further, but she can sense this is the limit - for now, at least. Maybe Sartha’s mistress doesn’t realize how fragile she is. Maybe Leinth is starting to figure out where the cracks are.

But she’ll be smart about it. Rhythms go both ways. Now she can be the one to provide comfort. She slides along the bench and rests her arm across Sartha’s shoulder. She squeezes her. Sartha relaxes. She welcomes the touch.

“You know,” Leinth says slowly, after a minute or more has passed, “that it wasn’t always like this, right?”

“Yeah.” Sartha’s voice is empty.

“And…” Leinth takes a deep breath. “And you know it’s not like this for most people, don’t you? You know it’s not right.”

Sartha plants her head in her hands. She might be crying. Then slowly, finally, she nods.

***

Time passes. It goes on. It gets worse. Whatever they’re doing to Leinth, it’s getting more intense. Not more painful - no, that would be preferable. Increasingly, instead of agonizing memories that reverberate yet more pain, Leinth is left with no memories at all. She’s left without clarity. Often for hours, even after she’s returned to her cell. Blackouts. Lost time. It’s like her mind, her life, is being packed into smaller and smaller boxes. Each day, less space remains. Less of her is able to survive. The rest is all an endless, wandering fog. Each memory and each clear thought becomes a hard-fought battle.

It’s a war. And Leinth is losing this war too.

The pilot has no defenses against this. She knows how to be strong, but strength isn’t enough. Leinth’s emotions are starting to fray. She screams. She wails. She sobs. She bangs her fists on the cell walls until her skin breaks.

Leinth can’t even count the hours or the days. She can’t tell if she’s putting up a good fight. What haunts her more than anything is that all of this could have been no more than a couple of weeks. What if she’s falling apart like this in just two weeks.

It brings her to despair. Only Sartha Thrace can comfort her.

Leinth is lying across her lap, resting her head in the softness and warmth of her former hero. It’s the only soft thing she ever gets to touch. When the inside of her own head feels like a hive of bees or a yawning abyss, she can lose herself in the slightly scratchy texture of Sartha’s clothes. She can become something that only exists in the present tense, without her past to grasp at and her future to dread.

She can’t remember when she lost enough of her pride to accept this embrace, from a woman she’s called a traitor. But Leinth is glad she did. Without this, she couldn’t make it. Her very worst fear is that one day, Sartha will simply stop appearing at the door of her cell. She just has to pray they won’t start using that against her.

Sometimes they talk. Not often, though. What’s there to talk about? Nothing changes down here. Leinth tries to keep working Sartha, though. Putting her fingers in those cracks. Pulling them apart. She thinks it's working - not that she trusts herself to judge. But Sartha talks less about ‘Her’. She seems more uncomfortable, whenever Leinth questions. That’s something, right? That’s hope?

None of that today, though. Leinth isn’t together enough for it. All she can do is rest her head in Sartha’s lap and sob.

She tries to sob silently and cover the shaking motions she makes when her breath catches awkwardly in her throat. Maybe she doesn’t want to cry so nakedly in front of an enemy. Maybe she doesn’t want to cry so nakedly in front of her hero. Either way, she keeps her face turned away and hopes Sartha can’t quite see her in the dark.

Then it strikes her: of course she can. It’s dim in here, but not pitch black. And Sartha’s head is right above her. Of course she can see.

Leinth pulls her arms and legs in tighter. She tucks in her head. “Sorry,” she says quietly.

Mercifully, Sartha doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even make some condescending, cooing little noise. She just, very gently, reaches down and starts to stroke Leinth’s hair.

Leinth closes her eyes. At first in shame, but slowly she relaxes. Sartha’s touch is startlingly pleasant. It feels like an angel’s touch. Suddenly, Leinth is struck with a kind of vision.

She imagines that it’s the Sartha Thrace from the poster, sitting above her, stroking her hair. Sartha Thrace as she once was. Always victorious. Always right. Resplendent in her heroism. Her stirring beauty shining like the sun. Smiling a cocksure smile that lets everyone with her know that it’s going to be OK.

The fantasy is a little childish, she guesses. But she needs it right now. Leinth gives herself over to the pleasant daydream. It makes her feel like it’s going to be OK.

Eventually, after a long while, she manages to make herself still. She stops crying. She’s shed enough tears for the day. But there’s no escaping the knowledge that tomorrow will be the same. Fresh torments. And once they’re over, even less of her will remain.

“Sartha,” Leinth says. Her voice is shaky and hoarse. “I’m not going to make it in here. I’m going to end up like you. Or worse.”

There’s a long pause. Then: “I know.”

Leinth summons up her courage. “Will you help me escape?”

A longer pause. Then:

“Yeah.”

***

They make a plan, that night. It’s a simple one. No time for refinements. Leinth is desperate to get out and, frankly, she can’t trust Sartha to keep her word.

From what she’s said, simple should be good enough. This part of the base - the ‘kennels’, Sartha calls them - is large, but has only a small contingent of those dog-hooded menials. Sartha can send them away once the cell door is unlocked, and then she can lead Leinth to freedom. They shouldn’t encounter anyone else on their way to the hangar. All Leinth has to do is steal an Imperial mech and run like hell.

It sounds a little too good to be true. But what choice does Leinth have but to put her faith in Sartha, and hope she has enough of her own strength left to overcome any unexpected challenges?

The real sticking point is Sartha herself. She says all this like she’s not coming. Leinth senses that she shouldn’t ask. Now more than ever, she can’t afford to push Sartha to breaking point. She can see, plain as day, all the fear and doubt inside the captured hero. For all her reputation, she’s like an abused puppy now. She isn’t just thinking running away will earn her another kick. She’s thinking that running away will mean she’s nothing at all.

Leinth wants to prove her wrong. She’s nursing a hope that, at the very last moment, when they’re standing at the threshold, Sartha will choose to take her hand. They have a connection, as pilots and fellow prisoners. Whatever Sartha’s done, she can still be redeemed. She can be whole again. A hero once more.

And Leinth can be the one to take her back into the light. It feels like fate, in a way. Maybe that’s why her chest is filling with tentative confidence.

The moment comes. Leinth hears the lock on her cell door disengage. There’s a pause - longer than usual - before it opens. Sartha is standing in the doorway. No one’s behind her. Sartha steps back, beckoning Leinth. Leinth’s heart starts to race. It’s happening. It’s real.

“This way,” Sartha says.

They start moving quickly, not quite running for fear that their feet pounding the concrete will alert something or someone. It’s just as dark out of Leinth’s cell as it is inside it, and to her the dark corridors and passageways Sartha is leading her through are utterly indistinguishable. She’s tried mapping the place based on what she sees when the menials drag her out each day, but no luck. There’s too little light, and their work leaves her far, far too disoriented.

Sartha appears to know them intimately, though. She leads and Leinth follows, and eventually she senses that they are sloping upward. It takes longer than she’d hoped, though. How big is this part of the base? Is this sprawling complex just for prisoners like her and Sartha? There’s no sense to it than she can discern.

She can puzzle that out later, though. Now she just needs to escape.

They round a corner and Leinth almost runs headfirst into Sartha’s back. She’s stopped. Leinth can immediately see why. For the first time, they can see light - not the light of day, but the bright, harsh light of the mech hangar, and that’s close enough. It’s still distant and faint but it’s closer than had Leinth dared hope for.

But that’s not why Sartha froze. There’s something else. Someone standing between them and freedom. Not one of the menials. Leinth immediately knows who this is.

It’s Her.

Sartha’s handler. The woman she seems utterly in awe of. There’s no one else it could be. She’s wearing a strange kind of uniform - black leathers and a dark cap, with a long coat that lends her a formidable silhouette. Hair is platinum, almost white, as cold as her eyes. She wears a thin smile as she stares down the escapees.

This is bad. Leinth knows that right away. But she’s already running the numbers. This woman’s no bigger than she is. Even if Sartha freezes up, which seems likely, it’s a fair fight. Leinth can win those.

Sartha Thrace does something much worse than freezing up.

“Well done, Sartha,” the handler says. She gestures down. “Now. Heel.”

Leinth is frozen in horror as Sartha rushes across to the handler’s side and kneels.

Her obedience isn’t the worst part, much as Leinth wishes it was. The worst part is how bursting with energy Sartha is. With certainty. There’s no hint of doubt or shame or guilt in her demeanor. She’s rushing forward. Practically wagging her tail. So eager it’s embarrassing.

If she was going to betray Leinth again, the least she could have done was hesitate.

“Good girl,” the handler says as Sartha throws herself at her feet. She reaches down and blesses her head with a couple of fond pats. Leinth is grateful she can’t see the look on Sartha’s face. She’s sure it would break her heart. “Hello, Leinth Aritimis.”

Leinth grits her teeth. This is as bad as it gets. She needs to get her head into gear. This is combat. She should run. But she needs to ask the question.

“What did you do to her?”

Handler takes her time. She tilts her head. Considering, perhaps, how to answer. "I gave her a gift,” she says. “The kind of gift that wins anybody over. I made her perfectly happy.”

Anger swelled in Leinth’s bosom. “You’re sick.”

The slight smile on the handler’s face is maddening. “Do you think so? I believe I’d like to give you the same gift, Leinth.”

That makes her skin crawl. “She’s not happy, you piece of shit.”

“Doesn’t she look happy to you?” the handler replies. She extends her palm, and Sartha stretches her neck to rest her chin on her hand. There’s nothing more Leinth wants than to rush over and break the handler’s jaw. But who knows how Sartha would react to that?

“I’ve seen what she’s like,” Leinth growls. “It’s no gift. She’s suffering. She’s in anguish. I’ve seen it. Half the time, she’s falling apart!”

“Indeed,” the handler muses. “She struggles without me, doesn’t she? But she put up with it so bravely. I’m so proud of her.”

The emotion dripping from her lips is a sickening mixture of mocking condescension and genuine affection. Leinth has never heard anything like it.

“Sir,” Sartha pipes up. She has eyes only for her handler and she seems nervous about speaking, but excitement at the praise has overcome her. “May I have it back?”

The handler smiles down benevolently at her. She’s so proud. “Of course you can, Sartha.”

She reaches into one of her coat pockets and retrieves something - a small, elongated, metal cage with a pair of leather straps mounted to it.

A muzzle.

Sartha presents herself and keeps dead still as her handler bends down and affixes it to her face, taking care to brush her hair out of the way and make sure the straps are exactly as tight as they need to be. It’s as loving as a kiss. As twisted as a curse.

“Up,” the handler says once she’s done.

Sartha rises to her feet. She turns to look at Leinth but barely seems to register her presence. The muzzle jutting out of her face is grotesque. Leinth can’t help but notice how serene she is now. Sartha’s face is clear of doubt, wracked by none of the confusion that had plagued her whenever they’d spoken in Leinth’s cell.

Was it an act? Or does the handler’s presence simply have this much sway over her?

Which is worse?

Leinth swears to herself and spits on the ground. Fuck this. Fuck whatever this is. She’s not going to fall to pieces over this. She’s not going to stand here and stare and let this woman play games with her head. She’s getting out of here.

“See you in hell, freak,” she snarls, and breaks into a sprint.

All she needs to do is put the handler down and run. Leinth can figure the rest out on her own. Sartha isn’t going to help her. Not now.

She makes it a few paces before the handler reacts. She doesn’t panic, though, or raise her arms to defend herself. She just says something to Sartha in a firm, clear voice.

“Off The Leash.”

The next thing Leinth knows, she’s on the ground. It’s just like when she got laid out by Ancyor. Something is on top of her. Something panting and violent and angry. It’s Sartha.

Except it isn’t.

Nobody could go from zero to sixty that fast. Nobody. No person. But Sartha doesn’t really count as one of those anymore. She’s staring down at Leinth with a look of impossible, bestial hate, eyes as furious as they are shallow. Her hackles are raised and her back is arched, and her lips are drawn back to expose snarling teeth. There’s a sound coming from the back of her throat; a low, rumbling growl, like the rolling of thunder. It’s a sound that has no business coming from a human.

This is her. The other self Sartha was talking about before. Leinth knows it. Not a person. Just a honed instrument of her handler’s violent will.

A hound.

"Easy, Hound,” the handler says. “I don’t want her harmed.”

Hound eases off - but only just. The hate burning in her eyes as she looks at Leinth is so singular. It’s utterly totalizing. Leinth tried to desecrate her goddess. That’s all there is to it. The depth of her devotion is so unnatural it makes Leinth’s skin crawl.

The handler moves to stand over her, looking down at her. “You will not escape from here,” she pronounces. “You will never leave this place again. Not unless I permit it. Understand?”

Her manner demands an answer. Leinth doesn’t have one, not even a foul spit of defiance. She’s just trying not to fall to pieces. She’s cursing herself for her optimism. For not seeing the signs. She’s trying not to tear up too, because that would just be too pathetic. She doesn’t want to give this woman the satisfaction. But for that strength, she needs hope. And there’s precious little to hope for, now.

Only Sartha.

There has to be something left of her, right? You can’t just take a human being and take them apart and put them back together like this. Right? Right? You can’t just make a person this small.

There’s something left. Leinth just needs to get through to her.

“Please,” she mouths silently at the hound. She tries to meet her gaze, hard as it is. So much hate, in eyes that had become so familiar. Her muzzle disfigures her. It’s hard to look past that and see the face of a hero. But Leinth is determined to try.

“You have such faith in her.” The handler’s lips curl. “Don’t you see? She’s mine now.”

“No!” Leinth cries, although her voice is weak. “She… she wants to leave with me. She knows this is wrong. She knows you’re her enemy. I saw it.”

The handler arches an eyebrow. “Hound. Up.”

Hound rises to her feet instantly, offering Leinth one last warning growl. Leinth knows better than to try to stand.

“Take off your jacket,” the handler instructs.

Again, Hound obeys without thought. She discards the military jacket she was once so proud of like it’s nothing. Underneath she’s wearing a simple, khaki tank top. The handler lifts the hem to Hound’s chest and uses her other hand to fondly touch the pilot’s abs, feeling at their definition. She’s enjoying them - her smirk makes no secret of that - but this is all for Leinth’s benefit. She’s trying to piss Leinth off. Showing her that only she gets to touch Sartha Thrace this way.

It’s working.

Then the handler makes her hand into a fist and punches Hound in the gut.

She may not be a pilot, but she’s a military woman and her form is good. And more to the point, Hound makes no attempt to defend herself. The blow leaves her bent double, retching and heaving, before her legs give way and she sinks to her knees. She looks like she’s in agony.

Leinth is sure that Sartha Thrace - Hound - whatever - is quick enough to have sensed the blow coming. But she didn’t brace herself. Didn’t even tense her muscles or expel the air from her lungs.

What the fuck kind of control is that? Control on an instinctive level. In her nerves, her muscles, her reflexes.

And that’s not the end. After watching Hound contort and groan for a few moments, the handler lowers the offending fist to Hound’s lips and pushes her muzzle aside.

Hound kisses it.

The kiss is almost innocent. It’s like a knight kissing her liege’s ring. Knowing it's the hand that just left a mean bruise on Hound’s stomach makes it twisted. It gets worse when the handler extends her fingers and uses them to pry Hound’s lips apart, running her fingertips over her teeth, pinching her tongue, smearing drool across her face.

Depraved. There’s no other word for it.

“Do you still think she wants to leave?” the handler asks as she pulls back and fixes Hound’s muzzle.

“Yes, damn it!” Leinth’s wishes her voice sounded firmer. “You’ve done something to her. That… thing is not Sartha Thrace. It’s just something you put in her head. It’s not her.”

“Would it help to hear it from her own lips?” the handler asks. “I’m trying to help you see the truth of her, Leinth. She doesn’t deserve your faith.” She turns to Hound. “On The Leash.”

Light returns to her eyes - a semblance of it, at least, but smothered by the handler’s presence. It’s Sartha again. The muzzle, though, still ruins her face.

“Sartha,” the handler says. Sartha’s ears prick up, grateful merely for the attention. “Do you want to leave me?”

“No!”

The word bursts from her lips, an explosion, before she can catch herself and add the appropriate ‘sir’. Sartha is suddenly desperate. Panicked, far more so than she’d ever been with Leinth in her cell. Her eyes register a wounded confusion.

Is she being abandoned? What did she do wrong?

“No, sir!” Sartha repeats. Her eyes flick and flit manically. She’s on the brink of collapse. “P-please…”

“Don’t worry.” The handler pets her head again. “You don’t have to leave, Sartha.”

All at once, the hero relaxes. Shoulders sink, muscles release all their tension. Her face slumps into a glowing smile. This is all she needs. God is in her heaven; all is right with the world.

And Leinth’s faint hopes grow fainter still.

“That’s… not…” She feels the need to set this to right, somehow. To explain it away. To make an excuse. “You’re in her head! You have been for months, you sick freak. Whatever fucking game you’re playing with her doesn’t change the fact that she’s still Sartha Thrace!”

“Hmm.” The handler looks impressed, or something like it. “You believe in her so very much. More than I’d expected.”

Leinth would be proud. She takes faith as a mark of strength. For rebels like her, faith in one other is indispensable. She would be proud, if not for how pleased the handler seemed.

“Where does that come from, I wonder?” the handler muses. “Loyalty and admiration so fervent it persists in defiance of reality itself. You can understand, I’m sure, why I might take a professional interest.”

Leinth spits. She’s sure this woman knows absolutely nothing about loyalty. Less than nothing.

“The way you look at her is fascinating,” the handler goes on. She’s bending down a little, peering at the pilot. “Respect. Faith. But other things, too. Envy? That’s normal, between pilots. Who wouldn’t envy my hound?”

At that, Leinth just snorts. It’s nothing she hasn’t thought about before. ‘Do I want to be her friend, or do I just want to be her?’ She’s at peace with it.

“And,” the handler adds. “Lust. You want her.”

“W-what?” Leinth feels something pull tight in her chest, even as she laughs and scoffs. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You do,” the handler decides. She says it so academically. Like she’s putting together a puzzle. Like she’s dissecting a frog. “Why deny it? We know your inclinations. She’s attractive, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t mean…” Leinth glances at Sartha. She has eyes only for her handler, even now, but surely she can hear both of them. “Of course, but-“

“The way you look at her is obvious,” the handler interrupts. She glances at Sartha. “It’s obvious to her, too.”

Leinth’s eyes flash wide. That’s… no. No. She’s lying. The handler is messing with her, that much is obvious. And Leinth was always so careful. She never let those feelings reach her face.

Except…

She can’t be quite so confident, can she? Trying to sort through her own memories of her captivity is like trying to grasp at water. At times, she was all but delirious from the pain and the drugs. Did she let something slip? Did something filthy reveal itself in her gaze?

Leinth looks to Sartha, hoping for confirmation. She’s unreadable. She’s in a blissful daze, shining with gladness at the reunion with her handler and her muzzle.

“Tell me, Leinth,” the handler says. “That poster, above your bunk. Did you ever look at it while you touched yourself?”

Leinth recoils like she’s been struck. Cold washes over her, turning all the hairs along her spine into little icicles. “How do you know about that?”

“Our methods are very effective for extracting information,” the handler tells her. “Did you think that my staff were merely amusing themselves?”

Panic. More panic. Leinth scrambles away across the concrete floor. Suddenly the handler’s eyes on her skin are unbearable. What else might she know? Leinth tries to reach back into memory and find pieces of herself. She finds a black hole. She can’t remember spilling any secrets - but clearly she has.

Who has she betrayed? Please let it only be herself. Please let it not be anyone else.

“I think I can take that as confirmation,” the handler says. “Not that I needed any. You want her.” Her smile widens. “You could have her, you know.”

Leinth goes very still. “What?”

“Is that what would make you happy, I wonder?” The handler reaches out to Sartha again; a light touch across her torso, where a bruise is already beginning to rise. “All I’d need to do is say the word.”

“No! Fuck - no.” Leinth’s stomach churns at the suggestion. “I would never… fuck, she would never.”

“Not at all.” The handler’s confidence is supreme. “If I ordered you to, you’d give yourself to Leinth. Wouldn’t you, Sartha.”

“Yes, sir.”

She doesn’t hesitate before answering, of course. Leinth is just about prepared for that, but she isn’t prepared at all for how plainly eager Sartha is. She’s looking at her handler with hope in her eyes. She wants her handler to say the word. She wants to be given a chance to obey.

No matter what.

Leinth can’t tell if it’s too hot or too cold now. She starts to clamber to her feet, leaning heavily on the nearby wall for support. She feels dizzy. She feels like up is down and down is up. Before she knows it, the handler is right there, merely a kiss away, her eyes inescapable.

“Do you want her, Leinth?” she asks, voice barely a whisper, like what she proposes could be a secret, safely told. “Do you want her body?” She puts her lips against Leinth’s skin. “Do you want her to suck your cock?”

The handler is a pillar of ice, but somehow, just for that one, simple question, she makes her voice impossibly sinful and tempting, like warm syrup being poured into Leinth’s ear. It sticks to her. It makes Leinth’s body stir. Leinth recoils violently, thrown into panic, trying to flee - but she’s already against the wall, there’s nowhere to go.

She can’t let it show. She can’t. But it’s too late, of course.

Disgusting. She’s disgusting. The handler’s disgusting. Hound is disgusting. This is all disgusting.

“You could go down on her too, of course,” the handler adds. “If that’s more to your taste. But I think… yes. This is what you want. Sartha Thrace, on her knees, before you. Warm. Eager. Welcoming.”

“N-no!”

Leinth’s voice trembles. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her fantasies are turning against her and all she can do is turn inward, trying to obliterate them with white-hot shame.

“Well, let’s see.” The handler is ice again as she steps back and beckons Sartha forward. “Here, Sartha. Come. Kneel. Remove your muzzle. Open your mouth.”

“Yes, sir!”

Leinth can hear the eagerness of Sartha’s obedience as she rushes and falls, and briefly fumbles with the strap of her muzzle. Her mind’s eye does the rest, and the picture it paints makes her shiver.

“Look,” the handler commands, and the sheer force of will in her voice is irresistible. “Open your eyes.”

Leinth holds firm for a few moments but it only takes one lapse. One moment of weakness - or perhaps, she fears, of curiosity.  Once her lids part, there’s no going back. She’s transfixed. Sartha Thrace is kneeling before her. Her mouth is open. Waiting. She is ready to receive. There’s a warm smile on her face - it’s for her handler, of course, but it could so easily be for Leinth. It would be so easy to pretend. A fantasy, a wet dream, could never be so vivid and so real.

If it wasn’t already too late to pretend, it is now. Leinth is hard. Her clothes aren’t tight, but it’s still obvious.

“There.” The handler says. She’s not smug, just sure. She doesn’t need to be smug. She knew exactly what was going to happen. “Now, Leinth. Should I say the word?”

Leinth shakes her head in mute horror. If she answered ‘yes’, if she even considered it, she’d become something unforgivable.

“Why not?” The handler asks. “You want to. She wants to.”

“She- ah!”

The handler interrupts her by resting her hand on the back of Sartha’s face and pushing her forward until Sartha’s face is pressed against Leinth’s front. The touch is sparks to dry kindling. Leinth twitches awkwardly, trying to shrink back, but there’s nowhere to go and the handler won’t let her.

Sartha, sensing her handler’s intent, starts rubbing and nuzzling, eager, happy to be of use, and that makes it even worse.

“S-she,” Leinth stammers, struggling to keep the thread of her reason taut. “She doesn’t! She’s… you made her like this! It’s your fault! She doesn’t - Sartha Thrace would never - want this.”

“That doesn’t matter.” The handler shuts her down brutally. “Who knows why anyone wants what they want? It doesn’t matter. Look at the woman in front of you.” She turns to Sartha. “Sartha, would you like to clean my boot?”

“Yes, sir!”

Leinth winces. More of that bubbling, twisted eagerness. Each time is another knife.

“Then do so.”

She extends a foot forward pointedly. Again, there’s no hesitation. Sartha bends forward, prostrate, as if in prayer, and puts her lips to the tip of the handler’s long, tall, black, leather boots and begins to kiss. The wet licking sounds that follow stroke Leinth’s imagination.

Leinth wishes she could look away. But Sartha Thrace’s fall is transfixing. It’s a solar eclipse. She’ll take a punch and thank her handler for it. She’ll kiss her boot like it’s a lover. She’ll make herself a whore at her handler’s command. Is there anything she wouldn’t do for that woman? Any limit?

The question provokes an uncomfortable curiosity.

“That will do, Sartha,” the handler says, after several long seconds. “Stand.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sartha’s voice is breathy with excitement. When she stands, Leinth can see that the handler’s boot is shiny with her spit. She keeps staring.

“Look at her, Leinth,” the handler chides. “Not at my boot. Look at her.”

Leinth doesn’t. She doesn’t want to. The handler doesn’t fight her on it. She has other tactics.

“Sartha,” she says. “Kiss her.”

“Hu-“

Leinth can barely breathe before Sartha, her hero, is pressing against her. Their lips meet. Sartha is insistent, and Leinth doesn’t have the strength to push her away. The kiss isn’t chaste or robotic or forced. Sartha sinks into it, willingly embracing her duty. She’s passionate. Eager. After a moment, Leinth sinks too. The fantasy is too nice, even though there’s one unmistakable difference between this and her fond daydreams.

Sartha’s lips taste like leather and boot polish.

Sartha is the one who pulls away in the end, which is its own kind of humiliation. In the moments after the kiss, with her face inches from Leinth’s, she looks breathy. Flushed. It’s enough to make Leinth pine.

“Do you see it yet?” The handler’s voice breaks the moment. It’s as final as a sunset. “She’s not your Sartha Thrace. Not anymore. So why not enjoy her, if it pleases you?” Her smile ticks upwards. “Many have.”

A spike of anger brings with it a kind of clarity. This is wrong. It’s not even a fantasy anymore. Whatever daydreams and intimate thoughts Leinth has succumbed to, here and there, she never wanted this for Sartha. Never.

Many have.

It makes Leinth shudder. This isn’t a wet dream. This isn’t her long-treasured fantasy. This is just… cheap. Cheap titillation. It’s unworthy of her. It’s even more unworthy of Sartha Thrace.

“No!” Leinth cries. She finds her voice for the first time in what feels like an age, and the force in her denial drives Sartha back an uncertain step. The handler looks at her - surprised, perhaps, although more curious than afraid.

“No?” she asks.

“Just go fuck yourself already!” Leinth screams. It feels good to scream. “You can throw me back in the damn cell, but you’re not gonna get me to… to…” She just looks at Sartha. “I don’t know how you got so twisted that you get off on this sick shit, but I’m better than that. She is better than that.”

“She is not.” The handler says it with a knowing smile, like she’s the one who has grasped Sartha’s soul in her hands, and that pisses Leinth off even more.

“Yes she is!” Leinth insists. “She’s Sartha god damn Thrace! She’s a hero. She’s the hero. You can change a lot of things but you can’t change that!”

It feels good to say it to her face. Everything’s fucked up right now, but not Leinth’s faith in Sartha. She’s placing that beyond reach. Her faith is the midday sun, boiling away the morning fog. If nothing else, she can make sure the handler goes to her grave knowing that she was never able to tarnish it.

“There will always be people out there - rebels out there - fighting because they were inspired by her.” Leinth is finding her theme and her voice. “Her face and her name are on recruitment posters all over the planet. People will always believe in her. I will always believe in her. No matter what you make her say or do, people will always know: it’s not real. It’s not her. The real Sartha Thrace was always a hero.”

For the first time, the handler is silent. Her silence is intoxicating. Seeing her, of all people, seemingly lost for words is almost as rewarding as freedom itself. It’s tempting to keep going, to rub her face in it, but there’s something far more important at stake. Leinth turns, again, to Sartha. She steps forward and clasps her hero by her shoulders, pulling her close.

“And you,” Leinth says. “Listen to me. You will always be a hero. I know that’s not getting through to you right now because of how badly they’ve fucked with your head. But it’s true. We spent a lot of time talking down in that cell. It wasn’t all fake. You can’t tell me that. You’re still in there, somewhere. And one day, you’re gonna get out. You’re gonna escape. You’re gonna find your way back to yourself. It’ll be hard, it’ll be painful, but I know you’ll do it, because that’s what a hero does. And when that day comes, you’ll… you’ll…”

She trails off. There’s something in Sartha’s eyes. She’s listening to her now. Leinth’s words have made it through. The look dawning on her face is real, and that’s exactly what makes it so devastating.

Sartha Thrace looks pained.

It’s a bone-deep, weary kind of pain. Suddenly she doesn’t look like a captured hero or a brainwashed hound. She just looks tired. Like she’s a woman who’s been ground down and chewed up by the world. And now, just by talking, Leinth has become one of the teeth. She’s hurting her. Sartha just wants her to stop.

Leinth can’t go on. She didn’t think it would be like this. In the face of this mysterious wound in Sartha, she’s powerless.

But now, of course, the handler has something to say.

“There’s a chink in the armor of every single human being.” The handler speaks slowly. She wants every word to sink in. “At least one. And if you pry it open, you find a void. If you can fill that void, then they are yours. Right down to their soul. She is the chink in your armor.”

Leinth closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to hear this. She doesn’t want to know that all this, all her defiance, was just another part of this woman’s dance.

“You have such faith in her,” the handler says. “You think it makes you strong. It just makes you brittle. You can think you can handle seeing her broken and dirtied and disappointing. Perhaps. But you cannot handle the real truth of Sartha Thrace.”

It’s that pain. It has to be. Leinth wants to close her heart off to it. To make a hated enemy of Sartha in her head. Then she wouldn’t need to care. She can’t do it, of course.

“The chink in Sartha’s armor,” the handler tells her, “was you.”

Leinth opens her eyes in disbelief.

“Not just you, of course,” the handler adds. “Not you personally. But all of you who call her a hero and worship the ground she walks on. All that faith. All those expectations. Did you think she could carry that much weight? That she didn’t notice? That it didn’t drag her down with every step? She was tired of it, Leinth. Deep in her soul, she was tired of it. She wanted to be free of it. She would never have admitted it out loud, of course. But she knew it all the same. And when I offered her freedom, something deep inside her reached out and took it. That is how I made her mine.”

Leinth is frozen. She never thought about it. Not once. To her, Sartha was always a woman on a poster. Why didn’t she ever…

“I should thank you, shouldn’t I?” The handler says it without mirth. “For helping to wear her down. For helping to deliver her into my arms. And after that little speech, I think she’s more mine than she’s ever been.”

Sometimes, when Leinth pilots Genetor, she takes some pretty fucking big hits. It’s part of the job, after all. Genetor was built for it. It’s the kind of machine that was designed to stare down an avalanche and dare the mountain the do its worst. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like shit, though. It doesn’t matter how heavily built a machine is. When you get hit by heavy ordnance, the force has to go somewhere. It goes through you. And the noise. It’s deafening, in the most literal sense. After some battles, Leinth can’t hear properly for hours afterward. There’s nothing in her ears but a skull-splitting mosquito whine of complaint.

Even that doesn’t compare to how bad her head is ringing now.

It was her fault?

She looks at Sartha once again. That’s the only thing that can save her now. Sartha telling her that it’s a lie. That she never felt that way. That she was OK with it. But Sartha avoids her gaze, and her shame speaks louder than any words.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? She’s still just looking to Sartha to save her.

“A hero, a martyr, or a traitor,” the handler muses. “Those are the only fates you left her with. No wonder it was so easy to make her a hound instead.”

Leinth gets it now. There are no heroes down here. Not a one.

“Sartha,” the handler says once she’s sure it’s all sunk in. She knows the signs. The slumped shoulders. The sagging, lightless eyes. “Off The Leash. You can take Leinth to my room now. She’s ready for my personal attention.”

It’s a mercy to be faced with Hound instead of Sartha. Hound knows no shame, and no judgment either. Hound doesn’t hesitate. She just puts a hand on Leinth’s shoulder and starts guiding her, unresisting, away from the light and deeper into the catacombs beneath the base.

---

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#story #Warhound

[coentinim]

Okay @subiysu-chan for some reason I can't answer normally because your ask formats in a weird way and I can't read it.

It's gonna be loong

1. Honestly, that really depends on the feminist. The most marketable to social media is of course the "decinstruct everything" type of leftism, but actually most people don't think like that irl. My country is considered conservative, though there's at least 5 (prob more) lgbtq people in my class and a lot of young people hold leftist beliefs, and almost all of them treat the deconstruction/anarchism/communism/kink as memes and don't take it seriously. We're 17-18 for reference.

And yes, feminism is depressing. I consider myself someone with feminist views (though not a feminist bcs I'm not an activist), and learning about rape, domestic violence, pay gap, abortions of baby girls and the lack of female body autonomy is very depressing. I wish I can have the strength to fight it one day. I don't think deconstructing family values is a core trait of feminism, but I do think it's a byproduct, since a big chunk female oppression relays on marriage. That's why divorce laws, financial independence, men knowing that marriage doesn't equal always consenting to sex, etc... are so important. So a byproduct of that will be less marriages, less kids. I know you're particularly against total sexual liberation, and I agree that it can be harmful sometimes, especially by making nsfw available to little kids. Above 15-16 I think it doesn't do much harm, unless it's like degrading porn, but I've heard of 12 year old boys who watch torture porn, so that's definitely fucked up. But that's not the goal of feminism, that's probably what leftist men think it is since they get more access to women by making sex only a commodity. Tbh I think sex buyers, especially those who actually pay to rape people, should be castrated lmao but that's a bit unrelated. I agree that complete deconstruction shouldn't happen, and it won't. It's just that... the past was very prudish, so now there's a pushback against that in the form of the sexual revolution. People are confused and often experience a Madonna-whore complex, too, so they rebel more by being more out there with the sexuality.

Stuff like homosexual attraction have been villainized, and instead of going "sex with and attraction to and love towards the same sex are morally neutral", they go "yeah suck my d conservatives i am the degenerate!!" which is very cathartic (I went through that phase on the internet help), but ultimately unhelpful. Same with bringing kink to pride parades?? Like no one wants to see your bare ass and cat ears, dude?? There are minors and people who don't wanna see your kinks. It's not fighting the Madonna-whore distinction, it's just choosing to be the whore instead of Madonna. I'm gonna blame social media and people who want to sow discord for political gains.

2. I'd love to read that and I don't see anything inappropriate with it. If you mean like aftermath of torture, there's a lot of it on tumblr already and people of all ages and backgrounds write that stuff. Unless there's something inappropriate I'm unaware of. But tbh, torture itself is very nsfw. Has a bad vibe. I mean, a naked man, tied up, being all vulnerable to another man... or maybe I just romanticize violence, again. But yeah, it's easy to misinterpret as kink content, but anyone with common sense should know it's not for kink as long as you don't describe them doing... well, sex.

3. I will but in a separate post since this one got quite political.

#like i get it i find romanticism and maybe eroticism in gore sometimes since it tends to have analogies to that you know #but also i love hurt/comfort it breaks my heart in a good way #and works about extreme situations like torture can be somewhat cathartic i like them #plus gothic??? hell yeah #nika gets political

[anothersarcasticdolphin]

Oh! How about this au in which Rhaenyra wins the war, and some of the Greens are "spared," not out of mercy, but in a "fate worse than death" way. The Blacks ensure Aemond will never ride a dragon or pick up a sword for the rest of his life. Aegon is castrated (because what happened to Dyana and countless other women was horrible) and sent to The Wall, where he lives the miserable rest of his life in the cold. Criston Cole's sword hand is cut off by Daemon, and he is also left to rot at the Wall with Aegon (let's see how far his temper and outbursts get him when he doesn't have a Queen to hide behind). Maybe Daeron is spared if he doesn't cause any trouble. Helaena and her children are sent to Dragonstone to live the rest of their lives in peace. Otto is made to watch his fellow conspirators be roasted alive or skewered by Dark Sister one by one until he's the last man to die. Alicent is locked away in a tower; she remains deprived of friends, her children, and her status. Everyone moves on without her, and Westeros changes under Queen Rhaenyra's rule, with Alicent observing helplessly as King's Landing flourishes like never before from the bars of her single window. Finally, at the height of her despair, Rhaenyra gifts her the "beloved" page from their girlhood in a cruel mockery causing Alicent to break.

Ah, so kind of like a fate of the greens in the event of a black victory?

I think a fair chunk of the Greens still end up dead, but there is certainly some room for fates worse than death on the way. Having them alive is too dangerous to Rhaenyra, even having won the war.

I should be doing an addendum onto The Red Queen in the nearish future along a similar concept.

But in general, here are my headcanons for the fate of the greens if they lose:

Aemond: Probably already dead - generally I don't see the greens as a whole surrendering unless he is out of the picture, and if he decided to side with Rhaenyra then he is not getting punished. But in the event that the blacks do get to have vengence on him, I think at the least they'd take his other eye.

Aegon: Something public. Beheading or for a properly poetic end given canon, fed to Syrax. Before that - I mean who is to say what happens in the Black Cells? And demonizing Aegon would certainly potentially help Rhaenyra with PR. Castration could work for that.

Daeron/Jaehaerys/Maelor: Not killed - these three are important for Rhaenyra keeping control of both claims - it is hard to rebel in someone's name when they are the captive of your opposition. To that end, I think house arrest on Dragonstone is likely, with the possibility of being sent to the Citadel or joining the Queensguard, depending on how things work out with how loyal they are to the new queen. But they are unlikely to ever marry - Rhaenyra has enough boys of Targaryen blood on her own and this way the male line claim of Aegon II would die with them.

Helaena/Jaehaera: Again, not killed - these two are always beneath Rhaenyra in the line of succession, and given the relative lack of Targaryen boys, Jaehaera is definitely in the running as a wife for Joffrey or Aegon. That being said I would think Rhaenyra would require Jaehaera to be raised at court, and I think it reasonable that she would allow Helaena to remain with her. This also would be good PR for Rhaenyra.

Alicent: I see Rhaenyra being very vindictive and cruel in a personal way to Alicent, especially if Luke is dead in this verse. Something along the lines of being sent to a motherhouse in the Vale, never to lay eyes on any of her children or grandchildren again, and never to see the Reach again. After being made to watch all the executions. I also could see Rhaenyra declaring her father's second marriage to be invalid as it was not a Valyrian one, and calling Alicent nothing more than the king's mistress and her children nothing more than bastards. It would kind of fit thematically with Rhaenyra's eldest three actually being bastards. Alicent would definitely live a long, horrible life - and Rhaenyra would go out of her way to make it worse than death. And I could see her giving

Otto: Gets to watch as Rhaenyra reduces House Hightower to second-rate Tyrell bannermen, effectively undoing his entire legacy, before getting to 'light the way' - literally. Whether dragonfire or wildfire is used is optional.

Criston Cole: Daemon gets to do whatever he pleases with him. Likely would end with Caraxes roasting him - but not before he begged for it.

Where there any others you were interested in?

#rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #criston cole #ser crispy #helaena targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #maelor targaryen #daeron targaryen #greens lose #blacks #win #judgement of the greens #would obviously vary depending on how things went #Rhaenyra is much more likly to be magnanimous if Luke is alive #or visenya is alive #than if she has a number of dead children #hotd fic #caraxes #syrax #would probably get some snacks

[felassan]

Former Mass Effect dev Mac Walters did a podcast interview with Eurogamer's "One-to-One" podcast. The full interview can be listened to at that link (it's also "available wherever you listen to podcasts"). Also at that link is an article with some quotes from the interview and thoughts from the podcast host.

Some further notes from the interview in text-form for accessibility, under a cut due to length:

Mac created and wrote Garrus Vakarianin Mass Effect 1. Turians have a militaristic, almost Roman culture. Mac said it was like "Let's find a character who is kind've almost rebelling against that, to be a foil for that. I wanted someone who was struggling with that and their place in the world. And then that gave Shepard the in to provide insight and guidance."

On the decision to leave BioWare, Mac said that he did a lot of soul-searching, as when a game ships it's a good time to do so, usually. When he shipped MELE, it was both a success in general and an internal success. "The team that we got to put together for that were really well-bonded, we still hang out and talk regularly, it was a phenomenal experience despite having to go work from home, as the pandemic hit during MELE production". He knew that at the end of that that he was done, at least for the short-term, doing anything pertaining to ME. "I had done a lot of Mass Effect and I love the series but I also wanted to do something new. I also realized how extremely fortunate I'd been in my time at BioWare to be at the start of three IPs. People don't always get an opportunity to be there at the start of one." He said that he has that sort of thing in his blood and is always dreaming up new worlds, and was feeling like "I think it's time to start considering what is out there beyond Mass Effect".

Also, when working on Mass Effect: Andromeda, he found that there are now devs who go to work at BioWare who were fans of the ME franchise before they started working on it as a dev. "So I think it's also, I don't wanna make it sound too altruistic, making way for the next generation of game devs to add their mark to the franchise".

A further reason he gave on this decision was that he had started feeling that itch after 19+ years at the same place. He talked to some other people who had moved on to other things. "I think if I'm going to really stay engaged day-to-day in making games and really stay fulfilled, I need a bit more of a seismic shift, not just moving to another project internally. I looked at lots of options, 'is there something else at EA in general that I could do, is there something new I could do at BioWare', but ultimately I think the decision was, I needed a clean break. I needed the space a nine-to-five job doesn't afford you to rethink a lot of things and take some time for myself." Taking some time to really think about it was advice that he got from a lot of people.

In the early days of BioWare, "I loved how innovative we were. How we were really pushing narrative and trying to do new things", for example new things in interactive narratives.

On the story of how he came to BioWare, Mac said that Ray Muzyka, one of the BioWare co-founders, had given an entrepreneurial talk that he had attended. "So I met him and the thing that struck me was, he was talking about him and Greg, they both have their MBAs, they were talking about BioWare as a business, and I was like, hold up, everyone said this wasn't a real job, everyone said you can't get a job doing this, someone's lied to me. And so because I had the flexibility running my own business at the time to take some time, I took a good chunk of every day for about, I'm gonna say at least a month, maybe longer, just diving into the Neverwinter Nights toolset. [...] talk about innovation that people have forgotten about, what an incredible tool that NWN toolset was, and then I basically just created a submission and said I'm gonna do this, and here we are". Mac joined BioWare in 2003.

The first experience Mac had at BioWare, what hooked him in the industry, was the spirit world level in Jade Empire. He wrote a cutscene out and talked back and forth about the cutscene with a cinematic animator. "One day, they said, wanna see it? And I said yeah. And it just utterly blew me away that something I had pictured in my head was suddenly now real. Also it wasn't just my vision, the animator had brought all their own vision to it, so the ultimate end product was something even better than I had imagined. From that moment on I was like, this is incredible."

Jade Empire was a sweet spot for Mac when he joined BioWare. "I had my submission with my own scripting, writing, I had brought in music, edited all of that and had even created a map. And I remember after the interview, they were like, you've done all this stuff, what do you wanna do here? And I chose writing because I had always enjoyed writing and it seemed like, at BioWare, that writing was gonna be a key thing. In Jade Empire I often loved it because in the engine we were using, there was still a lot of things I could do just to set up the world myself, like level design work and basic scripting. So I was in this sweet spot of, I got to write and do all these other things. I also worked heavily with the audio team to help them flesh out the music system that we had to make sure that the music actually played. I don't know if anyone noticed, but we actually ran out of time I think about three quarters of the way through the game and the music scripting actually gets much less precise the last quarter of the game. We literally just ran out of time on it."

The biggest challenge they encountered on Mass Effect 1 was the "interactive nature of it, much more branching and conditions than we did in Jade Empire. I got to learn some of the branching stuff on Jade Empire as well".

When Mac was brought onto ME, there was a core plan. "I remember Preston Watamaniuk, Drew Karpyshyn and Casey Hudson were working on things pretty early. I had been working with Drew, Drew had come over to do some Jade Empire stuff, so they kept pulling me into some of their early meetings. So that was nice from that perspective, I would often sit in their office and we would talk about like, what is the game going to be? It was Jack Bauer in space. That was an early thing that we talked about. You know, the idea of it being a trilogy of games, that was something that Casey had put a stamp on really early, even when I was still finishing off Jade Empire. That was definitely Casey's idea. There were some things that he really wanted ME to lean into, one of them was the cinematic nature of it in general. So the conversation system that we developed came out of that. But also that sort've, 'three arc', much like the original Star Wars, that inspired him and I think that was a lot of what he wanted to see. We often talked about ME2 being the darker middle act, much like Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back. There was a lot of influence coming from that from day one. The other hallmark of BioWare, so the RPG side of it, we really wanted to have consequences that would then also have an impact, game to game to game as you went through the trilogy. We knew that that was really gonna be the thing. Like, saying we're gonna do three games in a franchise, that's challenging, but we're actually gonna do three games where the choices and consequences carry over. That was the big bold innovation that we tackled. That was really Casey driving all of that. It was brilliant."

By the time Mac was in there on ME regularly, they were working on 1- to 5-page documents for each game. Like, "'This is what ME1 will be' and at that time I would say we had maybe a generous paragraph on what ME2 might be and literally a line on what ME3 would be. And it would be very aspirational, like 'let's wrap this whole thing up in ME3'. I think things like the concept of, once we dug into it and once we had the idea of the Reapers, the idea that obviously that would all resolve itself in the third and final act was important. But we intentionally left a lot of that open because we weren't sure where we wanted to take everything. There's so much of the way that we handle story and worldbuilding in these IPs, it's very organic. Like there's obviously things that you hash out before anyone starts doing work to build the game, but then the actual building of the game is where I would say the majority of the worldbuilding happens. We'll say, okay, we wanna do a plot and we wanna center it around one of the alien species. And we realize, okay, we don't really know much about them yet, let's use this plot to do that, and that's where all of that gets fleshed out. And then on top of that you don't know how the fans are gonna respond, you don't know what people are gonna be attracted to, and I think, even just to say culturally relevant - it's important to really consider where you are when you go to do the next game, sorta thing. So really allowing us to let each story of each game stand on its own within the context of a trilogy, by not tying ourselves down too soon."

One of the key things that sets ME apart is the devs intentionally seeded a lot of mystery "where we were like, we're not gonna answer this now, and we don't know how or where or when we'll answer it, but we wanna put the mystery in there, and then pay it off some day going forward. The romance arcs was something I know we discussed a lot, we really, for Ash and Kaidan the idea was that could be a romance arc that you can carry throughout the trilogy. Obviously we added so many other options as you went through, but that moment was already planned to be an arc right through the series. I remember talking in the early days that having Ash or Kaidan survive, kinda fall away from you in ME2, only to return in ME3, and this idea that if you stayed true to them, there might be something different than if you didn't. Those sort've things we discussed early on as far as wanting to have that arc going through. When you look at the plot of each game, we wanted those to really stand alone as much as possible".

There is a story included in the BioWare: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development book which mentioned that at one point Mac fell down the stairs at BioWae and hurt his back. Mac said in this interview that two stories here got conflated and that this was another colleague. He had his own back issues at the time and recalls writing Garrus stuff for ME1 from home due to this.

On ME2, Mac said: "The fact that we created a Suicide Mission in ME2 where all or none of the characters could survive, tells you that we weren't too daunted after ME1 on complexity, because there couldn't be anything you could do that's more complex than that and then have to follow it up. By the time we kinda landed on that concept for the Suicide Squad we often joked in the early days like, 'welp, I guess our future selves won't be too happy with this but it's a great idea so let's go ahead with it'. So yeah, there is always complexities, even just the actual process of bringing all the conditionals forward. At one point I remember us talking about, we'll just bring forward the most critical conditional states from ME1 into ME2, and then we realized that, actually, well it depends on who you ask. It's so varied depending on who you ask, which or what's important, like some players really love certain things. We realized in the end, nope, we're gonna just have to carry every choice that you possibly made and every little state check. We had this tool called Plot Manager, it tracks so many different things, like thousands and thousands of things. We decided to bring it wholesale forward into ME2. And then what happens is you have all the Plot Manager from ME2 with all its states and changes, and layered in there are all the things from ME1, and that's where you start to go, there's a lot here, and then just wait until the next game when we have all three of these Plot Managers, states persistent, and that you can pull from them, like, yeah. I think that for folks who probably joined on the third game, I don't know how they, it would just blow their mind. I had the benefit of being able to just know what certain things were and what was gonna be important, even intuitively understand some of these things and keep track of them in my head, but yeah, like, so much data, quite frankly, that we're carrying from game to game. Just incredible".

On ME2 they "would often joke that our future selves are gonna have to pay for this. We didn't let this hold us back. We were like, this is gonna be challenging, but we had that sort've, we'll figure it out mentality, when the time is right. I'm so thankful for that. If you think of all the things that people tend to talk about when they're referring to ME2, they don't necessarily know all the technical things that are happening in the background and the complexity there, but without that, those things wouldn't exist. The Suicide Squad, the conflicts you can have with your characters. All of that is this spaghetti of conditionals in the background. If we had too much time and said, oh this is gonna be hard, let's not do it, then ME2 wouldn't have been what it was, so I'm so glad."

On ME3, "We realized that it was going to be tricky and expensive. A lot of folks just don't realize how much content is actually in ME3 simply because of all those conditionals. On a single playthrough you're only gonna see a fraction of what we created for ME3 because all these conditions come into play. Different people can be dead, alive, they like you, dislike you, etc. ME3 is on par with being ME1 and ME2 combined in terms of number of assets in there. When you look at line counts it's much bigger, there's just so much going on in there. And this was with us getting better at things too, keep in mind we were much more efficient by the time of ME3. In ME1 we shipped so much content that you probably didn't see, but because it was meant to come out of the game, but it was left in hooked up because we were still figuring out Unreal, the tools, all that stuff. So if you actually cleaned it up and got more efficient with it, that's where we were with ME3, and yet it was still so huge, just a massive amount of work. The team really understood what we were making better than the other two projects, simply from a perspective of, we've been there, we've done it before, we knew kind've with a level of certainty what something would cost, or the effort it would take. If you took ME3 content-wise and built that but back when we were figuring everything out on ME1, it would've taken us ten years probably to figure it all out."

The interviewer asked Mac about challenges. "Going from linear narrative to a branching interactive fiction where the player has autonomy, that's a challenge always to do. Then taking it that next step going game to game to game, the threads are just branching out to almost infinity. Then add the other complexities, the same writer might not be taking up the same thread game to game. A good example is on ME3 I wanted to write Garrus, but due to my role at the time I just didn't have the bandwidth, as lead writer I was managing all these threads and I was like, I have to give up Garrus. So John Dombrow came in and picked him up. So John not only has to worry about the voice of Garrus and making sure he's got all that right, but what are all the threads? What are all the permutations in there? We worked in a 'writer's pit' for ME3 where we were all together in a room. There was a lot of 'hey, what happened in ME2, what did you do with that?' It's a lot of spelunking, going back into these tools, trying to determine where the thread was. It is a feat that I think, because we were in it at the time, we didn't realize how special it was. The amount of work that we've done in there to really let the player feel like they have autonomy, like it's 'My Shepard and my story' and there's so many versions of that story out there, I don't think even I have a full understanding of how crazy and complex and ultimately, I think, impressive it was that we were able to pull that off over the course of three games."

Mac mentioned that he is "a glutton for puzzles. I love logic puzzles, so I never really felt like we'd bitten off more than we could chew, certainly while we were in it. I mean there were always small challenges that came up in game development that you always have, but nothing in the sense of 'we've bitten off more than we can chew. Ultimately if I'm being honest we often wanted to do more with each game than we were actually able to accomplish. We were always trying to do so much, so we often had to pare back, move things to DLC, do things in DLC instead of in the main title, etc".

After ME3, Mac went to work on Anthem.

The interviewer asked, "Does BioWare, has BioWare ever talked about doing a trilogy again, in the time that you were there, have you ever heard anyone talk about doing a trilogy again?". Mac replied, "I don't think so no, I don't think we've ever talked about that again. Even with the talk of the next game, when we were talking about Mass Effect: Andromeda, it wasn't really about, we knew that we wanted it to be a series for sure, but not a trilogy per se. We were looking, again, because we were innovating, we were like, we've done that, what else can we do? The early days of ME:A, I should say the idea of carrying plots and stories and characters through the series, and choices and consequences, was part of it on ME:A. In the early days of ME:A, I wasn't on the project then, it was very much, some of the concepting had been inspired by No Man's Sky, things like that, where it's like hey, we're a space game, what if we went bigger, something more procedurally-based, where you can really feel like you're really exploring a universe and tapping into the exploration side of things. Ultimately I think that was too much at odds with a lot of the way that we tell stories and the way that we create our content, it's very bespoke, a lot of big set pieces and things like that. It's hard to translate that into a procedural world. But I think that was at the start at the very least, the innovation, what the teams were looking at. Most of the core Mass Effect team was still, I guess you'd call us consultants, we were definitely consulted on a lot of things, but because we were also building out Anthem, which was codenamed Dylan at the time. This was our first new IP in many years, you can imagine that my day to day was not only taken up with that but that that was what my interest was. I spent 2006 to 2012/2013 on ME, now I get to start again and also ground floor, now I'm the Narrative Director. So that was all-consuming. And as much as I wanted to help the ME:A team as they were consulting I was like, I think they got it, they're good."

After 1.5 years Mac was pulled back onto ME:A. Things were "kind've in disarray, certainly from a leadership perspective as Casey had just left, as Executive Producer he had still been overseeing ME:A. Without him there they were lacking that continuity from the core leadership team. They also, I think, had just departed with their game director or creative director, so it was just that sort've void that they had there in leadership on the continuity side. So I came in there, and I would say that it wasn't so much that it was in disarray or anything, but it was that pivot point, that inflexion of, we can't do both procedural stuff and fulfill all the wishes and hopes of our fan base who really wanna see a lot of this bespoke narrative written in a certain way. So that was probably my first challenge, how do we marry these two things, or can we? That was the main challenge about that whole process, it wasn't just making another ME game, which the team was well on their way to doing, it was how do we do it and also innovate in more of an open-world space [at the same time]."

The host asked Mac his feelings on ME:A's release and reception. "I don't know if people were too harsh. We had set a very high bar with ME3. Certainly, on some key areas we didn't live up to that. I think the problem was, if you look at it just more internally and what we were looking at, it felt more like ME1 in the development. New engine, new cycle, brand new team (although a lot of veterans as well), but new team in Montreal. It goes back to what I was saying before. If you tried to put all the content of ME3 on the ME1 team it would've taken us ten years. Similarly there were just a lot of things that we had to relearn and refigure out on ME:A, and ultimately when you do that it's very challenging to come out and be as polished as your third iteration was, and we didn't hit that. And we probably should have in hindsight just reduced scope more and executed on what we could to quality. But we were also at a weird place/phase in the industry where a lot of people were saying quantity was quality, and so we were kind've, I think, you know, deluding ourselves internally a little bit like, you know, if it's maybe not as polished as ME3, it's fine, it's bigger, there's more here and more to do. We kind've hit a point where people were like, no, it isn't okay, or at least is isn't okay for your franchise, and that's fine, it's a lesson learned. I think ultimately when I look back on ME:A and what the team was able to do, it's another phenomenal game. If we actually look at where we innovated and what you could do in that space, there's a lot of incredible stuff. I only wish we had been able to then do a second one. Because then you would've really seen that polish, just like we did on ME1 to ME2 in the original."

The interviewer then asked Mac how he felt about the backlash and griping against BioWare, inside BioWare. "We definitely felt it, it felt like, there's a couple things. One, on ME:A we're trying to innovate onto a sort've open-world space and on Anthem we're trying to innovate onto a free-to-play co-operative space, and in both cases what we didn't do was marry that as well as we could to the expected BioWare Experience. On Anthem it was even more of a dichotomy I think, it almost felt like two games in one and neither really fully fleshed out, unfortunately, although still an interesting concept there. And I think even internally, we started to feel like there were people who were like, this isn't a BioWare game, why are we doing this? And then of course it's confirmed when it comes out. But the thing that I would often remind people of, especially people who hadn't been there as long is like, again, when I joined BioWare, we were innovative, we were always trying to push, and innovation means sometimes you don't get it right unfortunately. And what you really hope for is that opportunity to improve upon it, like on ME, you know, there's arguably lots of things that we didn't do right, but then we got to hone it and improve it on ME2 and then sort've perfect it on ME3. I think, you know, again, Anthem was already trending to something that was actually pretty unique and interesting, and had a really legitimate space and argument to be in the game space, but it just needed time there. And certainly had we shipped an ME:A 2 I'm 100% certain we would've improved on all the things that people called out and then also been able to lean into the innovative things we were trying to do as well."

The host then asked if Mac has had anything to do with the new vision for the Next Mass Effect. "Yeah, I mean, early days, Casey and myself, it was more of a consulting thing, where I was in, we were just talking about it as obviously, like you said, 'that Mass Effect Guy' [meaning Mac]. I was in there with Casey and we were talking about where that would go, along with Mike Gamble, and then once MELE kicked off and we got that greenlit - because we had been trying to get that greenlit, I don't know how long we'd been trying to get that greenlit - once it was finally greenlit it was like, alright everyone, I'm gonna go do this, good luck, I'm here if you need me but I'm gonna focus on MELE." Here the host said "So people would occasionally come to you and say, hey Mac, what do you think about this?" Mac replied, "Yeah, we'd set up, there was actually like formal meetings where I'd get involved, especially if they were gonna go into a pitch or something like that, just get another set of eyes and feedback on it. But I'll be honest, the deeper we got into the MELE production cycle, especially again having to deal with the pandemic and things like that, the more I was like, y'all have got it, you don't really need me for this. It's not that I stopped going, I just said, only call me if it's an emergency."

They finished up talking about Mac's stint working on Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. "It was strange, because it was weird being on this IP. So here's an interesting story. When I first started at BioWare, one of the programmers showed me a really cool sequence from the earliest days of DA. It was a sequence where there's a bridge and all these people are warring down below and stuff. [sounds like the Battle of Ostagar] He was telling me how they'd done it through cards and how it looked like there's thousands of people on-screen but there isn't, and I was like, wow, that looks really cool, I'd love to work on that. It wasn't day one, it was week 1 of my time at BioWare. So here's something that's been a part of my professional world for almost 19 years, and I've never worked on it. And you know, the closest I've come is sometimes we would do internal reviews or something like that, plus you have your quarterly internal milestones where everyone gets up and talks about the project. So you learn about the project that way, but it's always kind've just over there. So then suddenly being in it and realizing how little you know. It's what I was talking about before with how I can't imagine someone [a dev] who's new to ME3 trying to drink from that firehose of all the different things in ME1 and ME2, and that's kind've where I found myself on DA. Like I don't know half the stuff as instinctually as the people who are on this team. I was also in a very production-centric role on that, so I sort've came in to fill a very specific need. So you know I didn't have to be on top of it from a creative perspective, but it was kind've like a really kinda surreal almost, experience, to finally be working in that space that had just been so parallel to my universe for so long and now I was in that lane."

In general/kinda in closing, Mac said "Clearly, we've tried a bunch of things at BioWare over the years and some have been very successful and others not so much."

[source <- including embedded full video and article]

#bioware #mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #video games #garrus vakarian #best boy #long post #longpost #jade empire #anthem #next mass effect #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #tags based on what games mac talked about during the interview #covid mention

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - The Wives of Shor I: Moth to Flame

tagged by @dirty-bosmer tyty❤️ tagging @nientedenada and @tallmatcha

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (entire fic is E) Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: A scene from near the beginning of the fic, Kaidan and and Hadvar share a moment of soldier camaraderie the night before they delve into Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

27 Last Seed, 4E 401 The cool night air was bracing; the usual sounds of daily life in Riverwood had given over to the quiet of the evening: the creaking of the water wheel, the rippling of water in the millrace, and a thousand crickets in the forest. High overhead the stars glimmered.

A creak of leather caught Kaidan's attention. Just at the edge of the lantern-light from the sconces at the door of the Sleeping Giant, Hadvar leaned against the roadside fence, looking up at the arches that carved out chunks of the night sky. He turned towards Kaidan as the inn's door clattered shut.

"Peaceful evening," Kaidan remarked, walking over to Hadvar.

"Aye," Hadvar replied, taking a sip from the tankard in his hand. "When I was a lad I thought it was too peaceful, and that living here I would never get my chance at glory and adventure." He laughed bitterly. "Now I'm going to choke on it. Did you want something from me?"

"You looked like you could use the company," said Kaidan, also leaning on the fence and looking up towards the barrow. "I also wanted to apologize." Hadvar looked up at him in surprise. "For not believing you about the attack on Helgen. About the-" even after hearing multiple eye-witness accounts the word felt strange and ridiculous on his lips "-dragon."

"Don't mention it." In the woods an elk's bugle echoed out of the trees. "If the tables were turned, I wouldn't have believed you, either. But you and Inigo helped me and for that you will always have my gratitude. Would have been a fine ending to my tale, perishing of thirst within sight of Whiterun's walls."

"That it would."

They fell into a companionable silence; the muffled sound of a Nord drinking song filtering through the sturdy timbers and into the night. Kaidan hoped it wasn't too bawdy a tune, but he also knew he'd been able to recite at least a dozen ribald limericks by the time he was Pascale's age and he had turned out fine. After a few more moments Kaidan spoke.

"I've been selling my sword long enough to know when a man is dreading the morning."

Hadvar sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not too obvious. I, er, also overheard you talking to Lucien on the road," Kaidan admitted. "About the stories your gran told."

Hadvar groaned. "I've faced down bandits, rebels, anything else the Legion has pointed me at, and I haven't felt this nervous since the night before the first day of training." He suddenly turned to look at Kaidan. "If you're doubting my mettle, don't. My orders are to retrieve the Dragonstone, and get everyone back out safely. No matter how much some old ghost stories have me spooked I've never refused a mission and I don't intend to start now."

"Never doubted you for a second. I can tell you're a man who does what he intends to do." Kaidan turned to look back at the Sleeping Giant, its horn-pane windows glowing golden in the evening gloom. "I'm not too pleased about having tramp through a dusty old cave myself. Those places are always crawling with frostbite spiders."

Hadvar pulled a face. "And you just know that the mages will be wanting to stop to harvest venom and silk every time we kill one. Are you sure we can't leave them here?"

"I tried leaving them in Whiterun, you saw how well that worked!" Kaidan said, while Hadvar chuckled at his indignation. "Digging around in dangerous places is the entire reason Lucien came here, and trying to leave Pascale anywhere out of trouble...you might as well tell a cat to stay put." Hadvar laughed harder.

"I meant to ask you, how did you find yourself with such...an array of traveling companions?" asked Hadvar. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you strike me as someone who is used to working alone. And...that girl does not look like your kin."

Kaidan could tell Hadvar was looking at him sideways, judging his reaction, and suppressed the annoyance at the question. It was only natural - Brynjar probably fielded it countless times as he dragged Kaidan around from one end of Tamriel to the other.

"She's not kin. She's from High Rock." Kaidan met Hadvar's veiled reproach without apology. "And if you must know, she saved my life."

Hadvar choked on the swig of ale he'd been taking from his tankard.

"Laugh all you want, it's true," Kaidan smiled himself now.

"And you had difficulty believing in a dragon."

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #tes v skyrim #kaidan 2 #kaidan skyrim #wip wednesday #fic wip #fic: the wives of shor #hadvar of riverwood #kb writes

[never-ending-fanfic]

my friend, my dear,, pls,,, rebels ask game numbers 1-30 👁👁 (and course feel free to break into chunks or anything I just NEED TO KNOW- I'm genuinely so interested in your thoughts)

This is my absolute favourite way of receiving an ask ♥️♥️♥️ Thank you for that!!!

I already answered 1 and 28 right here, 16 and 27 right here and 29 right here

This is gonna be a lot so let's get started

2. Which episode did you not like at first but grew on you after one or more rewatches?

I don't think I disliked any episode

3. How do you feel about the Ahsoka show being live-action Rebels season 5?

I have a complicated relationship with live-actions and I'd personally prefer they just make animated Rebels season 5 xd and I'm kinda scared they're gonna destroy the Rebels characters in that or totally disregard the show because some fans didn't watch it so they feel they can (and that they totally ignore important characters like Zeb and Kallus), I'm also too much behind all newer Star Wars shows so I don't really feel much about Ahsoka show yet, at least not til I catch up on the rest

4. Who is your favourite one-off character on the show?

Hm Zare Leonis I think, I liked the kiddo and kinda expected more of him later but he never reappeared

5. If you could change one (non-death-related) plot point in the show, what would you change?

Off a hard one, non-death-related? I guess I'd want to see more of Kallus in season 4 and more of the clones in general

6. What are your two favourite ships from the show (canon or not)?

KALLUZEB AND KANERA

7. Who is one character you feel isn't appreciated enough by the fandom?

I stay in my safe corner of Kallus stans, but I'd say he is overlooked sometimes. He and Chopper, who is like, one of the most hilarious character in the entirety of Star Wars

8. If you couldn've added an episode/story arc to the show, what would it be?

Kallus' backstory for sure, bonus points if it's an angsty one

9. Obligatory "who's your favourite member of the crew?" question

Hard tie between all of them, thank you (read: all)

10. Aside from season 4 episode 10, which episode made you cry the most?

When in the end of Heroes of Mandalore: Part 1 Sabine's weapon gets used on her people and she thinks it killed her family, I WAS HEARTBROKEN

11. What is one joke/moment from the show that always makes you laugh?

"We stole a TIE fighter"

"You WHAT?!"

Never fails.

12. Which design of Sabine's hair and armour is your favourite?

Hair: white and violet, I adore it

Armour: season 3

13. Chopper vs Palpatine- who's making it out alive?

Ideally? Chopper. Realistically? Chopper.

14. What is your favourite moment of the crew being a family?

When Zeb admits to betting Chopper in Sabacc and Hera lectures him like a mom and then scolds Kanan like an angry wife (in Polish she literally says "what kind of example are you setting?")

15. What is your favourite Kanera moment?

Everytime Hera calls him "Love" ♥️ (in Polish- "Sun"☀️)

17. What is your opinion on the World Between Worlds?

I don't know honestly, but it's interesting

18. Where do you think Ezra has been all this time?

Out in the Unknown Regions with Thrawn, camping and bonding

19. What is one of your favourite Kanan moments?

When he acts like a drunk, embarrassing dad

20. What is one of your favourite Hera moments?

All, I love that woman (you should too)

21. What is one of your favourite Chopper moments?

Whenever he wrecks havoc, so like 98% of the time

22. What is one of your favourite Zeb moments?

That one part where after the battle over Atollon they get Kallus' coordinates and he looks so concerned abd scared for Kal ♥️

23. What is one of your favourite Sabine moments?

Her training with the darksaber

24. What is one of your favourite Ezra moments?

That part when he discovers he is Force Sensitive and saves Zeb's life

25. Which of Ezra's two lightsabers would you rather have?

First one, the original with a built in blaster

26. Would you rather be stuck in an elevator with AP-5 or Lieutenant Lyste?

Bold of you to assume I'd step into an elevator and besides the point I do like AP-5 unironically and would willingly spend time with him

30. Most under-rated episode?

The Future of the Force (S2E10)

#star wars rebels #star wars #alexsandr kallus #kallus #agent kallus #zeb orrelios #garazeb orrelios #hera syndulla #sabine wren #ezra bridger #chopper #kanan jarrus #captain rex #yogar lyste #AP-5 #thrawn #palpatine

[lichdragon-fortissax]

One thing I've always liked about Martin's work is that he has a good grasp on how medieval politics worked? Or at the very least it's not tHe KiNg SaId So! Like fundamentally if the people of the LB are prejudiced against Omen, Misbegotten, Albinaurics etc. there's only so much Morgott can do. Unveiled, they'd drive him out, Veiled, well the king just has "bad councillors" who are leading him astray. Short of brute force, there's not much that can be done in the midst of an eternal war

Yeah exsctly, I've got a lot of gripes about the overall tone of ASOIAF but the main draw for me was how the medieval politics worked, and I def. feel that a good chunk of that worldbuilding got integrated into Elden Ring pretty well. You have Marika creating a rule where the Golden Order oppresses all that opposes it with brute force, those efforts failing and the survivors rebelling, leaders who get displaced or put in a dire situation because their people/subfactions rebelled against them (Kenneth Haight, Rennala, Rykard), powerful factions/guilds holding enough power that the royals don't have much power over them reguardless (the perfumers, the cuckoo knights), rulers like Godrick who are feeble and weak because they lack the strength to have an allied force, so they resort to things like hiring mercenaries vs having loyal warriors. And then we see the opposite of that, where Radahn and Malenia were so formidable and terrifying BECAUSE they were great rulers who commanded respect, not because they themselves were mighty on their own. The people are not seperate from the royals, and the royals are not all-powerful.

Which makes Morgott a pretty impressive heir, honestly- despite being a shunned sewer child, he's canny enough to hide his omen status while also using it as a means of commanding fear and respect from other factions, and holds respect in the most xenophobic part of the Lands Between, with Leyndell not falling to sieges under his rule. But he's also not an all-powerful king- he has to hide his identity to stay in charge, and is subject to the whims of preexisting factions still holding power, such as the nobles of the court and the Perfumer's guild. He's tolerant to other beliefs, as seen by many of his knights using dragon incantations/him giving esteemed burials to Banished Knights, but he's still someone who regularily has to hide his identity to avoid being killed + needs to manage a whole city-state under the guise of someone else while doing so. And since Leyndell is the royal capital, where Marika ruled for centuries untold, that means that there is a LOT of preexisting power dynamics that he has to contend with before he makes any changes for the better

So yeah, Morgott IS actually doing his best to keep the omen of Leyndell safe, the problem is that he cannot actually do all that much without risking his position being put under scrutiny, and endangering his life/Leyndell as a whole.

#Elden ring #Morgott the omen king #Anon #Reply

[that-random-chaos-entity]

Random Nehetari Facts:

Despite being trained rigorously since birth to be an exemplar of Necrontyr society, after her time spent surviving in the desert wastes, Nehetari's regal, elegant composure became sprinkled with odd, feral behaviors.

Not that she didn't already have a strange, feral quality to her. Nobles who saw the princess frequently would sometimes comment that there was a strange... ...wildness in her movements. But after she started traveling the wastes and rescuing refugees from the various rebelling dynasties, the wildness became more pronounced.

For example: she began disdaining the many long and grand corridors of the Triarchal palace, and she could often be found leaping walls or climbing edifices to get from one place to another. Nobles who were not on good terms with the crown began to mutter of a primal sense of being... ...watched, while in the presence of the princess, like a prey beast being assessed by an apex predator. And her eating behaviors had the tendency to become... ...rather unpleasant when she was very hungry. So much so that she would often take a small meal in her quarters before attending banquets to keep her survivalist instincts in check.

And these strange behaviors did not abate after her death. In the 42nd Millennium, she could now be found leaping groups of marching warriors and scaling the great machinery within tomb ships. Her wild and feline movements stood out even more amongst the robotic gait of her subjects.

At least her eating habits had a companion though. Perturabo was perfectly polite when in professional company. However, behind closed doors, he could sometimes be found tearing into his meal like the feral child he started his first life as. In these situations, Nehetari would always be right beside him, ripping off chunks of flesh with the sharp teeth she rarely showed, or scything through organ meat with her talon-like nails.

Crucius swears that they're two different species but the same kind of gremlin.

#nehetari #perturabo #warhammer 40k #wh40k #necrons #necrontyr #necrontyr princess #iron warriors #post of shit

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 88

Arjun clicked quickly through the Matter Manipulator’s options. Nyota tended to avoid damaging the planets they crossed more than she had to; it was a sparse assortment of stone, dirt, and snow. Not enough stone to wall off the passage entirely. He was about to suggest just hiding in deeper when he spotted the traps.

“Alarmed. Those look terribly sharp,” Arrowmail said as Arjun clicked a series of long wooden poles into place.

“They are,” Arjun confirmed. “I’d bet Nyota raided a Floran hunting ground for these. Nasty things. Won’t kill anything without the long drop those Floran like making, but they’ll make people think twice about charging in.” He was fervently glad that he had read the Protectorate magazine so faithfully for all those years. The Matter Manipulator’s controls were exactly as the articles had claimed, and that was a good thing. He didn’t have time for errors and fumbling.

Arjun could feel the eyes of the room’s inhabitants on them, but the creatures either remembered their loss earlier, or decided that no one in the little group looked worth eating. The weight of their stares was almost as heavy as the penetrating cold, though nothing had surfaced from its hiding place just yet. Arjun hoped they stayed that way.

He placed the second layer under a layer of slush to make them an even nastier surprise. Some brash idiot would always try to force past in a situation like this. Better to make them a warning, right? He’d heard the rebels talking about this kind of defensive tactics before. Never thought he’d have to put it to the test, not like this. But he’d find his friends when this was all done and thank them, every one of them.

Then the portal crackled open and he didn’t have time to think.

A metal hand seized his shoulder and hauled Arjun back behind the barricade as Sonny shoved the last chunks of ice and dirt into place to buy them time. She was crackling with bright fear and had to pull back fast so the raw heat rolling off her didn’t melt the wall.

“Oh, now that ain’t fair,” she all but wailed as she saw what came through. “They got another of them drone things?”

“Steady,” Arjun growled. He couldn’t hide his fear, not from her, but knowing that just made him more determined to fight back and show her that they didn’t need to be afraid. He grimly refused to think of what the first one had done to Hadley.  

“I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’,” Sonny said, her nervous laugh warbling through the words. Arjun tightened a hand around her shoulder before she could yield to hysterics and she closed her fingers over his, humming and glowing. “I know, ol’ man, I’m fine, I just… I wish I was more of a—a half-baked nova, at least. If I could just shoot worth a darn, we might not be in this stick.”

“You think you could take that thing down by shooting at it?” Arjun asked quietly.

Sonny laughed again, quiet and bitter and the strangest kind of hopeful. “No, but I sure would rather go down beside ya than stay back and watch.”

She didn’t have time to say anything else. One of the Occasus shouted something—they spotted their quarry. Sonny grimly drew her knives and got ready to fight for the first and last time for the folks she loved.

Arjun wasn’t sure why the creatures answered then, but he suspected afterward that it was because of Sonny. Maybe she could talk to somehow with that reading of hers, or maybe they just liked her bright glow. Arjun himself held, later, that they recognized something in her that was worth loving. Because when the first Occasus shot breached a weak point their snow barricade and caught Sonny right in the shoulder, the whole room came alive, and even he could feel them seethe.

“Alarmed. Get back—Sonny, are you alright?” Arrowmail caught Sonny as Arjun shoved some ice in to fill the gap.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sonny insisted. “Watch out, don’t touch it!” She slapped a strip of nanowrap over the venting hole to cut off the flow of scorching plasma and whistled in relief. “Whoo-ee, that one smarts. They’ve got good blasters, huh? Hey old man, don’t stand so close there.”

Arjun didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the wave of living ice.

It was like the floor had come to life. Dozens, hundreds of wispers rose from the snow. If we’d known how many there were, we would never have come in here, Arjun thought with frozen horror, but they ignored him and his friends, focused on the heavy machine that had invaded their domain. Some of them began to spit ice, shoring up the wall. Others flew toward the machine, heedless of the danger as it struck out at them. Some wispers vanished into steam as the energy bolts caught them, but it couldn’t fire fast enough to stop them from spitting ice at its joints and blasters, coating them in thick ice.

“What in the world?” Arjun breathed. Were they helping? But that made no sense. “Do they plan to eat it or something?”  

Sonny reached out to touch one as it shot past and her color flared bright with wonder and surprise.

“Gramps, they're fightin'.” She turned her face to him, shining with hope and something he couldn’t quite name. “They've been stuck here so long, just stuck and fearin’, and now here's somethin' they can do. I dunno what they fear, but they’re tired of fearin’.” She shivered with bright wonder. “They’re fightin’.”

Several Occasus shouted in alarm as they dove for cover to avoid the crossfire between their drone and the furious wispers. Arjun smirked in grim satisfaction; Nyota’s odd words from before clicked in his head at last. He grabbed a dropped pistol as it skittered past across the slush. Value of life, huh? Time to keep living.

#sometimes i go back through and good GOSH i love my writing #what a wild feeling #arc two #repost

[damianwho]

Episode Arc (and Clumping) Guide for Star Wars: Rebels + Dark Disciple Audiobook Chapter/Episode Correlation

Because I could never find an "arc" guide online for Rebels, and as my favorite Star Wars podcast is transitioning into their Rebels era, I decided to clean up and post this list I made that tries to sort/clump episodes together based on shared plotlines, characters, or as failsafe, movieish-sized chunks. The point is to make a sort of manageable, weekly checklist for rewatches.

I'm also including my personal assessment of which of the unmade episode titles for the Asajj Ventress and Quinlan Vos arcs correlate to which chapters of the Dark Disciple audiobook, so you can listen to them in "episode" chunks over the next couple weeks before it is covered on AMCA.

Star Wars: Rebels

Season 1

[101, 102] - Spark of Rebellion  

103, 104, 105 - Droids in Distress, Fighter Fright, Rise of the Old Masters  

106, 107 - Breaking Ranks and Out of Darkness  

[108, 109] - Tseebo Arc  

110, 111, 112 - Path of the Jedi, Idiot's Array, and Vision of Hope  

[113, 114, 115] - Tarkin Arc(in)  

Season 2

[201, 202] - Siege of Lothal  

[203, 204], 205 - Clone Arc + Always Two There Are  

[Garel Arc] [206, 207, 208] - Brothers of the Broken Horn, Wings of the Master, and Blood Sisters  

215, 216, 217 - The Call, Homecoming, and The Honorable Ones  

[Garel Arc] [209, 210, 211] - Stealth Strike, The Future of the Force, and Legacy

212, 213, 214 -  A Princess on Lothal, Protector of the Concord Dawn, and Legends of the Lasat  

218, [219, 220]  - Shroud of Darkness + Chopper Arc  

[221, 220] - Twilight of the Apprentice  

Season 3

[301, 302] - Steps Into Shadow  

303, 304 - The Holocrons of Fate, The Antilles Extraction  

305, 306 - Hera's Heroes, The Last Battle  

307, 308, 309 - Imperial Supercommandos, Iron Squadron, The Wynkahthu Job

310, 311 - An Inside Man, Visions and Voices  

[312, 313] - Ghosts of Geonosis  

314, [315, 316] - Warhead + [Darksaber Arc]  

317, 318, 319 - Through Imperial Eyes, Secret Cargo, Double Agent Droid  

320, [321, 322] - Twin Suns + Zero Hour  

Season 4

[401, 402] - Heroes of Mandalore  

[403, 404] - In the Name of the Rebellion  

[405, 406, 407, 408] - Prototype Arc  

[Lothal] [409, 410, 411] - Rebellion Arc  

[Lothal] [412, 413, 414] - Loth-wolf Arc  

[415, 416] - Family Reunion - and Farewell  

Dark Disciple

Ch. 1-7 (Episode 1) - Lethal Alliance  

Ch. 8-12 (Episode 2) - The Mission  

Ch. 13-17 (Episode 3) - Dark Disciple  

Ch. 18-21 (Episode 4) - Conspirators  

Ch. 22-25 (Episode 5) - Saving Vos, Part 1  

Ch. 26-30 (Episode 6) - Saving Vos Part 2  

Ch. 31-36 (Episode 7) - Traitors  

Ch. 37-42 (Episode 8) - The Path  

The only place I could find online that has attempted to make a similar chapter-episode breakdown was the Clone Wars wikia, which has no source for the information, and in my opinion, cannot be correct to the actual produced chapters of the audiobook. At the very least, Dark Disciples and Conspirators were switched from their original script order just based on the actual content of the audiobook chapters.

#amca #a more civilized age #star wars #rebels #clone wars #dark disciple

[social-muffin]

For the Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😅🛒✨(🧠 for Skull)🤯

😅 What’s a story or scene you’ve created that you’re a smidge embarrassed exists?

A story I'm a bit embarrassed about... That would be this one!

It was the first purely self indulgent fic I ever posted to Ao3. It was so full of headcanons it barely even resemble khr anymore lmao. But it was written for me and the few commenter that kept me going back then. :'3

It was a thing of pure love, so I'm not embarrassed to the point where I don't love it anymore. So give it a read and have a chuckle at the formatting and ridiculousness with me!

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I seem to default to themes of isolation and loneliness, mostly counteracted by found family and platonic intimacy. Lately I've also been playing with the concept of tough self love, especially in the context of Hibari Kyoya >:3

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

I've only ever given up on a story once, and every single story has at least a little chunk of my heart and soul in it! :D

(The story in question was orphaned btw. I never delete anything I post because I always have pride and respect for what I create.)

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Oooo my favourite headcanon for Skull... Oof I have so so many... But I think my favourite headcanon would be that he is directly blood related to the Hibari Clan! He was either stolen/lost as an infant, or left of his own free will as an teen/young adult!

Related to that headcanon but also not really, I have really enjoyed toying with the idea that Skull is just Alaude, whom was nearly turned into an Arcobaleno to rebelled the Giglio Nero sky. Which caused her to turn his own flame against him, thus overwhelming him, erasing large chunks of his memories and possibly putting ghim in a coma for a number of years. The cloud flames explain the purple hair and eyes and he literally became immortal. (explaining everything else that's wonky with Skull)

🤯 What’s a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I don't know all the genres that exist so I'm gonna go with thriller and mystery I think.

Thanks ofr the ask Anon! 💜

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr fanfic #ask game #sweet anon

[genderfluid-roman-torchwick]

huge text dump regarding ren, ilia, and neo in my sci fi au who are all apart of the udinny species (sea bunny-like humanoids with the ability to alter their appearance and form)

this is massive so under a cut:

Ren: -ren for a chunk of his childhood lived on an extraplanetary space habitat (by the same name as his destroyed hometown in the show, kuroyuri), this colony was a cospecies habitat occupied primarily by udinnies and humans (the former being the slight majority, like 55%), his backstory is pretty similar where he lived there until the place was destroyed by grimm -ren speaks fluently both in his udinny language which is his first language, and gradually learned to speak both english and chinese (or rather, the equivalent of what they would be in this setting) and has equal skill in both, he did not become fluent in the latter two though until after the attack so his udinny accent was a lot heavier when he was young -ren out of the three characters ive designated as udinnies has the most familiarity with dominant udinny cultures and can successfully understand a variety of human and udinny cultural differences/formalities -ren has no "humansona" or any other alien species mimic form and out of the three he warps his appearance the least, and in fact barely does it at all -among udinnies ren considers himself genderless but among humans he considers himself male -ren is quite tall for an udinny, standing at 5′4′‘, most udinny do not exceed 5 ft Ilia -ilia at a young age was adopted by two faunuk parents who lived on the small planetary colony of mantle, her backstory is similar where her adoptive parents were miners, who saved money to send her to an academy in atlas (which im still trying to decide if atlas should be a massive space colony or a moon colony), eventually these parents were killed in a mining accident -from the beginning ilia was estranged from other udinny cultures and rarely encountered them, and finds herself far more comfortable around faunuk, she speaks very fluently in a few different human and faunuk languages and is entirely unfamiliar with any udinny ones -currently she lives on the faunuk homeworld, menagerie (the homeworld was not their original one but is their current residence) -ilia is a lover of women in both sexuality and gender and considers herself binary female -ilia has an imperfect pseudo faunuksona that has false horns and larger ears+a few other modifications, she did not create this form out of any express need to but as a desire to celebrate the faunuk culture she was raised in and continues to occupy, she has zero connections to any udinny cultures whatsoever -she does struggle with the concept of actually fitting in among faunuk sometimes, who are not always receptive to her presence -her pseudo faunuksona's appearance is based on various traits from her adoptive parents Neo -for neo ive already mentioned her own backstory to an extent but to reiterate parts of it, she was adopted by super wealthy parents who owned a large private microcolony orbiting the planetary colony of vale -she was adopted with the somewhat disturbing purpose of her adoptive parents attempting to make her emulate their original lost human daughter -perfection, emulation, etc was VERY ingrained into her head when she was little, she has longlasting unhealthy complexes and issues regarding her identity and sense of worth to this day -over the course of her life she got very good at creating a fake human image for herself and was required by her parents to keep this appearance for extended periods -when she was younger this fake image was a lot more imperfect and uncanny, and sometimes disturbing to others, she finally achieved an "accurate" human image when she was around 12-13 -eventually she started realizing she would never be "good enough" for her parents no matter how hard she tried to basically become their dead daughter and she began to start rebelling and began modifying her default udinny and humansona's appearances to suit her own desires -she was isolated a lot in her younger years which was also not good for her -got sent to a military academy, met torchwick, follows the roman holiday plot a decent amount with some modifications to fit the sci fi setting lol, eventually results in the destruction of her parent's spacial estate and deaths -neo is VERY estranged from both humans and udinnies and is extremely individualistic in how she behaves, spends equal amounts of time in both her human and udinny forms but typically when she is in her human form it's because she's out somewhere, she considers herself both human and udinny equally while also claiming to be neither -neo is femme nonbinary, she rejects human binaries but dislikes the entirely genderless cultures of udinnies -neo cannot speak due to an underdeveloped "throat voice", her "mouth voice" is still functional  -neo when she first hatched/was born was extremely sickly and her udinny parent could not manage to care for her properly and gave her up -neo retains a myriad of health problems into her adulthood, a big one being a stomach issue, the strong stomach acids that udinnies are supposed to produce notably weaker in her system (still corrosive when compared to a human's but very much not on the level it should be at) which makes her sensitive to a lot of foods -at one point neo's arm was severed, it took a few months for it to grow back, she was on dietary and nutritional supplements like she was supposed to (which was mostly stolen by her and roman lol) and ended up with mostly minimal scarring, when she transforms into her humansona this scarring though is apparent as it retains the stark white, brown, and pink coloration of her default udinny form

#rwby sci fi au #rwby alien au #sci fi au #alien au #lie ren #ilia amitola #neopolitan #rwby

[quahogchowda-blog]

Update... Omgosh... My whole house smells so good right now... Once the rolls finished rising... I brushed with egg... Sprinkled with more cheese... Added a few extra slices of Jalapenos to each roll... Soooo soft and yummy... I would say this is a success... Not quite spicy enough for me though... Next time I'll use some Habanero's too. But still very good. I really love the crispy cheesy bottoms. I will type up the recipe and add it later... 😍

Recipe added....

1.75 cups warm water

6 T. Whipping cream powder

2 eggs

.5 cup sugar

8 cups white flour

1 cup wheat flour

3 teaspoons yeast

1 1/3 cup sourdough starter

2 teas salt

1 cup butter

Note: I do not pack my flour tight into the cup. Liquid measurements can vary depending upon the thickness of your starter and the actual weight of your flour. But then again this is what makes us rebels. Lol. No scale.

Also: I warm my flour up before use. 1.5 minutes in the microwave... stirring every 30 seconds. Trust me this helps a lot where proof time is concerned. Especially when your house is cold like mine.

Mix all ingredients except the salt and butter. I used KitchenAid. I used the low setting #1 just until most of the flour is incorporated and #2 for approx 8 minutes. Until mixed well and no longer sticking to sides of bowl. Please KNOW that this is a LOT of dough. Borderline toooo much for the KitchenAid. But I always make it work by stopping and pushing dough back down often.

Add salt then mix for another minute or 2.

Add butter and mix until completely incorporated.

Note: The dough will be VERY soft and tacky... but should not be too gooey and too sticky. It should hold its shape a bit when you dump it out of the bowl.

I dump the dough out onto oiled counter and cut in half.

Knead each half briefly just to form into nice balls. Place each into an oiled bowl. Cover and let rest 1 hour or until doubled.

Roll into logs and place in loaf pans. I used 1 extra large 1000 gram pan. But this would make 2 - 1000 gram loaves or 4 regular sized loaves without a problem. Allow to rise again until at least doubled. This took about 50 minutes.

Score top if you choose. I did one long slit down the center.

Preheat oven to 425°. Place loaf pan in oven. Immediately turn heat down to 375° I baked this one large loaf for 46 minutes. I am not quite sure how long it would take to cook a regular size loaf.

I baked until bread registered 206°.

Note: if you do not have whipping cream powder or powdered milk replace the water using whatever milk you have. Whether it's cow milk... goat milk etc... 😍

For the Jalapeno Cheese rolls...

I used 1/2 of this batch of dough... Patted it into a rough rectangle shape approximately a half an inch thick. Divided into 12 pieces... Sprinkled liberally with jalapeno chunks and shredded cheese. I used three large deseeded jalapenos... but I have no idea the amount of cheese. Formed into balls. Placed on parchment covered baking sheet equally spaced. Let rise for at least an hour. Was probably a bit longer because I had my loaf of bread baking and I had to wait for that to be done. Brushed with scrambled raw egg. Sprinkled with more cheese and added a few slices of Jalapenos on top. Baked at 350° for approx 35 minutes. Final temp of baked roll was 208°.

#Sandwich Bread #Jalapeno Cheese Rolls #Sourdough Hybrid Dough

[bladedalchemistreplica]

Valentine's Day is coming? Are there any plans for dates, romantic or platonic?

||●LONG LONG POST--

■Future valentines prompts ■Future refs

●Platonic Romelle&Regris

●Hinted N-7/Matt Holt

●beginning Keith/lance (this one's long)

●Alfor/Thace

"I'm planning on inviting Regris to one of those space malls! I've heard word of it from a few rebels and the paladins!" Romelle whispered excitedly as she cupped her mouth a bit.

It wasn't uncommon to hear of such luxturies the recently freed planets had to offer, and their newly gained independence allowed its citizens to take advantage of. So, and with the bit of lag of her responsibilities with the rebels, this was the chance of hers to take!

But of course-- the Blade of Marmora was ever so tough, and S T R I C T with its ways of life. So... how ever was she supposed to drag that blade with her? If he hadn't been so curious to the mall in the first place it may have been impossible. However, Regris was quite crafty in getting out of blade duties.

At least once in a while. As long as he'd be back in one piece and their other ranking members had enough numbers available, she was sure he'd be able to join her. And he was sure as well.

Matt shrugged. "I wanted to see if N-7 would like to go out and see some of the rumored meteor showers passing Olkraion. I think they'd enjoy that kind of view, they really haven't been out much, and Te-osh said they'd always wanted to see it."

The showers on earth were incredible, but so were the ones that happened on Kraydah on those clear nights, so beautiful and breathtaking. He always wondered how she never saw any, but then again, most of the attacks happened then; So now, with Voltron being back in action and with Kraydah being more secure, the possibility to see it with her was open.

Over time, he'd grown to enjoy spending time with her, not only for learning and sharing one another's knowledge on the systems and organization of files and charting systems in color code--

He really liked spending time with them.

"I never really did much on Valentines Day. The most I managed to do was catch a solar eclipse that one time when I was tweleve." Keith never saw much point to it, mostly since he never got much back from the holiday in question.

Beyond the force sharing of candy and toys for school and then the sharing of candy during hid time at the Garrison, and then that one time a girl got dared to ask him to that dance...

He felt bad for her. He really did. Even if it was a cruel prank, the more he reflected on it now, the more guilty he felt. He could have been nicer, but not many showed him much more than a casual wave or nod.

That was until he met Lance. Well, Shiro was the first to show him at least a surface level of kindness that wasn't forced or out of pity. But Lance was the second. The blue, Lover boy, paladin Lance. The one who was always in the middle of throwing compliments and smooth openings to anyone who caught his eye.

Almost everyone, but not him. He never saw anything directed at him or heard a single word directed at him.

Until he walked up to him and asked if he'd want to see a proformance on one of the days he'd be with the paladins once more. Lance seemed more, quiet and uncertain, less himself. Which just made him more suspicious to some prank being pulled by him or his fellow paladins.

But no, no Lance wasn't pulling some prank on him.

No, Lance was being truthful in his question and had been looking at him with a slowly turning frown of disappointment. He'd said yes almost soon after, maybe with a bit more excitement than he'd wanted to have be heard.

In the end, Lance walked off with some stupid stride and an even dumber looking smile.

"I have a little something planned for Al, if he doesn't mind a bit of traveling." Thace was proud of the plan for their night together. Plan everything out in a manner that ensured they'd be left alone and not disrupted for a good chunk of the night and possibly early morning.

Alfor never did seem to mind traveling around, even from the experiences told of his past endeavors the best had been ones where the paladins of old had traversed a planet to their next destination or discovery. One of which Alfor seemed determined to prove was either correct, or dangerous.

The ones he seemed to personally favor were those of which he was able to experience something of familiarity or to see some of nature's natural beauty. Thace had taken note of all of these.

And now was the perfect time for such an occasion. So, when Tavo was able to be watched over by his newly elected guardians, he would bring Alfor to that spot to watch a few of Olkairon's fauna make a great migration through the forest, and he could hope be unaware of their presence throughout it.

#//NON-THREAD RELATED 🚨 #//MUSINGS__ #//LAST LULLABY__Romelle #//MY TIME WITH THE REBELS__Matt #//ONE OF BOTH HALFS__Keith #//SARCED BLOODLINES__Alfor #//DUST TO GLITTER AND GOLD__Thace #((Cough cough--future...little gifts if my art aint done-keep eyes open! #[[im so rusty with fics and even more romance i swear to god *sobs* #klance in this house I do stand for #please for the love of all that is good--I need to stop givung myself art ideas #//ENGRAVED PAD__Drabble

[ithoughtbeethovendied]

watch your mouth

Prologue

Headache. Chunks like glass edges split my head and all I haze is the bright neon of last night, almost heaving my head. Phone buzzing like an alarm. I glance at the faint light peeping thru the curtains then at the digits on the watch by the bedside. 

10:00 am, Sunday 

Buzz

102 messages

“Fuck something happened”

I open the first dash 

“dude she’s crazy”

And it hits me like the red cup of beer from manicured long fingers.

~~~~~~~~~

“Do you really think that I care and cry about your new job, your new hair?” she’s yelling.

“I never said that” I didn’t. “You’re the one who got your new friends and your new guy”.

“You’re just jealous cuz you can’t keep a guy for more than two weeks”

“LEAH”

“WHAT!?” She slides the drink in her hand across the table and I watch it fall onto the ground creating a mess that the host of the party will have to clean up later, not like we’re already doing a great job keeping up the hype.

Leah snatches a cup of beer from a scared-looking freshman, downs it half down and throws it at me, the cup hitting me straight in the nose and pouring all over.

“OW” 

“Bitch you’ve been hurt worse” she scoffs.

“What the-“

Andrew

He’s in front of me, holding me back. 

“Oh look, the only guy that’s lasted and you won’t even fuck him.” Eye rolls followed.

“You-“

“Beth, don’t. You know how she’s like drunk.” Oh the hero, god he’s too good to be true.

“Leah you’re being a bitch” I counter unmovingly.

She throws a beer bottle on the ground, shattering it. Great, more shards. The crowd formed and moves back.

Andrew now his back facing me is hovering in front of me “Keep your distance, she’s unstable”

Black nails threatening to dig my eyes out “Watch your tone and watch your mouth”

~~~

And then I black out, pieces of me getting in And’s car and him leaving me at my place, that's all I remember.

10:00 am, Sunday 

“Dude she’s crazy”

I slide down the earlier comments. All I see are introverts talking shit. 

Someone posted a hazy bad quality video of the whereabouts of yesterday night on Instagram.

“This is bad, like BAD bad”

I slide up again and search for the likes - no.

Open my DMS and Leah’s account’s on the top. “Last online 10 hours ago”

Good, she’s not seen this. Yet.

I hurry and jump in the air forces left upturned on the carpet and see the mud stains leading to the gloss heels.

Well fuck.

I grab my keys and race down the flat, locking it in a frenzy.

Hop in my car and drive to Leah's apartment stopping at the local cafe to get two high-caffeine-level coffees. Sipping one I reach the third floor. 

The flats locked.

“Where the hell….?”

I slide open my phone and- yes there's a story on the private acc.

Records.

But she doesn’t keep records anymore.

Last year Leah fought with her parents and got an apartment in the legals out of it.

Her mother slapped her in the face and in a rebelling moment, Leah left all the records at her mother's place.

After 4 months they realised that Leah living away was actually a better thing and it worked for all of them. Better check your facts before you flip the page. The clan’s on good terms now but still rarely meets.

Leah’s at her mom's place.

“At least your Instagram is up to date”

Back in the car, driving east. Half an hour later, the city late morning breaks into town sunup. 

In the driveway flashes the blue Nissan.

Knew it.

Coffee precipitates all mossing the cup, I knock on the door. Brown cardigan wrapped around milky sheet-like skin.

“I didn’t mean it”

“So you saw it” I hand her the cup. 

“I didn’t mean it”, she repeats. “You know how I am after some in”

“You’re telling me? I'm the one who brought you the coffee.” I settle on the couch. Davy doesn’t seem to be home, no shit Leah came here.

“you’re never gonna be alone, ill always be there”

“I know Leah, I know” After 15 years of this, you get used to it. 

“Casy!!!” The beagle’s already scratching its back with my hand. “All you do is scratch and bite” I rub her belly. “I bet you never take the time to take her for a walk” I eye the owner.

“Well I’m never here” she makes a helpless face. “Doesn’t ease the fact of the adorableness” I scratch the dog's ears.

“Beth listen I’m not a waste of time ok,”

“Wha-“

“No listen, I’m sorry for all of it. I can never not care for you. You’re everything I have and I’m so so grateful. Please, I’m sorry. Throw all of it out. Take my love.”

It’s silent. That's all I hear after it. Pure. Bliss. Silence.

“So you really care?”

“I do”

And it never ever felt that good to have a cup dash into your face.

#writers on tumblr #watch your mouth #book #quotes #visualjournal #spoken word #spilled ink #excerpt from a book i'll never write #writeblr #writers #writeblr community #drabble #original writing #angst #young adult

[kipaparappa]

recently i have been reminded of the song 'time machine' by snsd. I remember singing this song with rora, while we were sheltering from rain. we would sing, only using our voice, to entertain ourselves, while watching the raindrops falling from the sky. It was around the end of our 11 grade, or did we already become a senior, i can't really remember. But I remember standing at the edge of a local convenience store, both of us being splashed by the rain bouncing on the ground. at that time i was at my lowest, I couldn't listen to happy music, my mind was constantly depressed and sad, and i felt very undeserving to put a little happiness in my life. I wanted to punish myself so bad, because I desperately wanted get big big reward in the future

or at least thats how i thought the right way to do it.

I used to be the girl who play guitar, and I loved it. its my way to rebel to the pretty girl cage everybody desired. or thats how i pictured it, as a 14 year-old girl.

Now I have completely cut my communication off from rora. It is truly something I have always been dying to accomplish, so bad. She did a lot of questionable things to me, and I just never had any heart nor courage to do so. At this age of 25, I worry more about dying alone. Even though I am quite used to being friendless, but I somehow believe my mental state will only bring stain to my family reputation. I desperately only want to separate myself from this house, from my family. So that they don't have to carry the burden of my inability to be as successful as people at my age, both financially and socially. Adding to healing myself from my own childhood trauma. I really want to find my own family of things.. good thing is my mom seems to already be healing a lot, to become more progressive and have been moving forward ever since. she seems to be a lot more happier.

But I am still stuck with my inner child wound, unfortunately..

Back to Rora, I truly don't have any thoughts to reconcile. not from my side. this is truly what I have always been wanting to do. to punish her, to break myself away from her, to escape, to finally leave... but somehow inside I yearn the days we spent together. the beautiful days, of course. not all days are worth to reminisce. I shared big chunk of my teenage years with her after all. me during teenagerhood was very frail, empty, transient, like i was about to be disappear and blown away in just one breath. the depression was very intense that sometime I missed the intensity. not necessarily the depression itself, but its really weird. I feel like i want to go back to myself back then and hug her crying and shaking body tight, saying 'I am happier now, thank you. Please stop hurting yourself...'