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armagnac-army · 1 month

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HOW TO NOT BE AN ASSHOLE IN ROLEPLAY BLOGS: A KINDA IN-CHARACTER GUIDE BY TWO FICTIONALISED DEAD FRENCHMEN AND THEIR ROLEPLAYER

Ahem!

This is an official communiqué from the Marshal Dukes of Montebello and Dalmatia!

We have the greatest faith in the conduct of those marching in our Grande Armeé and those that we associate with BUT this bulletin has been written wit hthe express objective of instructing you fine folk on PROPER ETIQUETTE in the context of "internet roleplaying!"

We welcome any corrections, comments or suggestions in either of our respective inboxes, or in the inbox of our roleplayer, @cadmusfly. We also do not intend for this curricular to be construed as blaming anyone, while it is written in reaction to certain events and conversations that have occurred. We understand that some recent conscripts and recruits do not have the context and understanding of "roleplaying" that others may have, and we do not wish to cast judgement on people who do not know.

This is an instructional guide on certain concepts that are useful to be aware of when roleplaying, as well as an imperative on the golden rule: Do Not Be A Fucking Asshole!

Contents of this Proclamation:

On The Matter of Basic Courtesy (Mature and Intense Topics, Real Life Comes First, Different Roleplaying Styles)

On The Difference Between In Character And Out of Character

On the Subject of Emotional “Character Bleed”

On “Metagaming” or the Subject of Abusing OOC Knowledge

On “Godmodding” or the Subject of Writing Other People’s Characters For Them

On “Powerplaying” or the Subject of Winning All The Time

On Joining Existing Ongoing Conversations And Interactions

On Interacting With Non-Roleplayers

On The Matter of Basic Courtesy

First of all, while this is a mature roleplay scene that addresses topics such as violence, sexuality and so forth, we are asking you to PLEASE observe common courtesy!

Certain topics should not be approached lightly, especially as an anonymous ask or message! These include but are not limited to: non-humourous insults and harassment, suicide baiting/suicide encouragement, heavily sexual and/or non-con content, non-exaggerated detailed threats of violence and other things that, if sent to a non-roleplaying blog, would be considered to be abusive and rude!

By default, assume that most people do not want to receive those things! Those blogs that are okay with answering such asks should tag posts that clearly fall under one of those topics under an easily blacklisted tag such as “harassment” or “tw harassment” and the specific topic, so that others who don’t want to see that can filter that out.

If a roleplay involves such topics or involves topics such as detailed sexual content, be considerate and put that under a cut!

This is also a reminder that you are not required to answer every ask or message that you receive! You are not required to have your inbox open or to have it open to anonymous messages and you may close or open your inbox as you wish! You may delete messages at your will. -

Second, we will advise you to keep in mind the maxim that Real Life Comes First. We are not expecting you to dedicate all your time and energy to this roleplay and roleplay interactions. While it is pleasant to receive swift timely responses, we recognise that this is not often feasible. We therefore ask that you attend to your own needs before dedicating time to fiction.

This is an activity for entertainment, and it should remain entertaining.

However, it is polite that if you are engaged in an ongoing involved roleplay activity or interaction that is dependent on your interactions, that you update the other people involved in this activity if you foresee that you are unable to respond for an abnormally long period of time. An example of an ongoing involved roleplay that is dependent on common updates is the current incident with Murat and Bessieres nicknamed “Phantoms of the Opera”.

If you are also involved in such a thing and find yourself not responding for weeks or months, it is better to apologise and communicate rather than to expect yourself to one day pick it up again. This may sound ridiculous, but our roleplayer was involved in a Tumblr roleplay scene dedicated to lengthy third person prose roleplays, where the common length of response was a few hundred words per response. The roleplayer was committed to multiple of these roleplays at once, which proved to be a far too involved activity that had unfortunate repercussions.

Our particular roleplaying world is far more casual and far less involved than that, and not even “Phantoms of the Opera” is as involved or as time-consuming as those threads. But we bring up that past history to illustrate that communication is important, and roleplay should never feel like an obligation. -

Third, we are well aware that there are different roleplaying styles, different levels of proficiency with language, different levels of knowledge on the historical subject and different viewpoints. We are grateful to see that nobody has been rude about this. But! We think it is worth asking people to be understanding about this matter! Be gracious and do not be an asshole, or we will have words!

In fact, if you and someone else's roleplaying styles clash or you're not having fun, you're allowed to not interact with them but be a goddamn adult about it!

Now, let us move on to some roleplaying concepts that it is prudent and useful to know.

On The Difference Between In Character And Out of Character

That being said, we will emphasize a few things such as In Character and Out of Character separation! In Character means actions and words that are taken by the character, while Out of Character means anything else that is not in the context of the roleplay!

(( For example, Out of Character stuff during a roleplay is usually denoted by two parenthesis, like this! This is me, Cadmus, speaking out of character - I've indented this to make this stand out from Lannes. Other OOC stuff includes, well, anything I say on my main blog or discord or whatever. OOC communication that relates to a roleplay often involves talking about things like planning plots, chatting about characters, etc! ))

It has surely not escaped your attention that this communique is written In Character, as an imagined collaboration between heavily fictionalised parodic depictions of Marshals Soult and Lannes. However, this bulletin is curious in that it depicts us as being aware of meta elements such as this roleplay. This is not intended to be part of either of the assumed narratives that is present on our "blogs", and is thus why this is labelled as "kinda in-character".

We are also aware that some people are playing themselves or fictionalised versions of themselves. There is nothing wrong with that, and it is gratifying to see that there is more acceptance for this than there historically was. But if you are roleplaying a fictionalised version of yourself, do be mindful of keeping IC and OOC separate.

Yes! It is important to make sure that In Character and Out of Character actions and emotions are separated! Two characters may have an argument that escalates into violence, but the roleplayers behind the characters should not feel ill will towards each other. That said!

On the Subject of Emotional “Character Bleed”

Emotions can run high, we know, and we are not saying that you cannot be affected by roleplay! There is a concept called Character Bleed where a roleplayer and a character can be influenced by each other’s actions; a character who is very angry at someone making their roleplayer feeling a bit irritated at the other character. Bleed is not inherently positive or negative - getting a sense of catharsis from good roleplay is considered to be bleed!

This is an informative article on the idea of Character Bleed in the context of Live Action Roleplaying. We personally advise you to be aware of the concept of bleed and to be mindful of how you’re feeling. In the case that the roleplay is feeling far too intense or upsetting, we recommend talking to your roleplay partners about what is going on and/or stepping away from the roleplay and computer.

On “Metagaming” or the Subject of Abusing OOC Knowledge

We also will advise that it can be awkward if Out of Character knowledge is used to make In Character decisions in a way that confers undue benefits to the character! For example, if two characters are having a private conversation about one of them having an allergy to bread, and then another character later weaponises bread because they magically know about that weakness, that is rude of the roleplayer to have their character magically know what is private information!

(( This is known as "metagaming", when out of character knowledge is used to make in character decisions. A lot of people don't like metagaming! However, I'm actually of a slightly different opinion: metagaming can be fun if used correctly - that is, to complicate your characters' lives or create opportunities - but it has to be believable. For example, Soult showing up on Lannes' blog for coincidentally funny interactions is arguably a form of metagaming. I also enjoy having my characters make stupid decisions based on in-character reasoning, while I know or suspect that those decisions will lead to entertaining results based on my OOC knowledge! ))

We recognise that due to the fast and casual nature of this roleplay, ideas of what is private and what is not may not be understood in the same way by all people! When the Duke of Montebello is answering “asks” on a “blog”, sometimes it’s implied to be via a computer somehow set up in the afterlife, sometimes it’s implied to be via handwritten letters in some kind of bulletin, and sometimes it’s an in-person communication, or maybe it’s somehow all of those at once. This is a rather confusing state of affairs!

But generally, if two characters are sending private letters to each other or have marked something as private, that information is private.

Arguably, matters of historical fact may or may not be metagaming here. We do not wish to come to an actual judgement on this, though we are leaning towards no as l’Art de Google (as invented by Jomini) is accessible to everyone for the most part. Our roleplayer prefers to play his characters as being ill-informed on matters past their deaths, but others do choose to play their characters differently in this regard!

On “Godmodding” or the Subject of Writing Other People’s Characters For Them

There is another concept called "godmodding" which is when one roleplayer narrates or specifies another roleplayer's character's actions or reactions. This is usually seen as rude, but is sometimes hard to work around with certain interactions such as fighting.

This is where communicating with the other roleplayer about intentions and getting permission to narrate what the other character is doing is a polite thing to do, or else deciding together on what the end result of the interaction is in advance. Otherwise, you can describe your character making an attempt at an action that impacts another character, but leaves the other character free to react.

Example! I punch Soult in his face! But I'm not going to be rude and say that my fist automatically connects with his face!

And I will reel back most ungracefully, my hand grasping at my face. It is also a little impolite to always dodge attacks and to always have the upper hand, so we do suggest occasionally letting your characters face some failures. To interact with someone who never loses is rather irritating.

If it makes sense for your character to know something about the other player’s character based on magical and supernatural abilities, we highly advise contacting the other player and asking if your character can have that information. If they say no, respect that answer!

On “Powerplaying” or the Subject of Winning All The Time

Related to the above two subjects is the topic of “Powerplaying”, also colloquially described as the “Ass-Pull”. Simply, this is when a character happens to have always have an “overpowered” advantage for any situation that is not established or grounded in previous facts established about the character.

For example, we can consider an example where a group of intrepid adventurers have been captured and locked up, and then one of them says that they secretly learned since they were age five how to explode locks with their minds! If this character was established as having a predilection for lock exploding or psychic powers, this would be more excusable, but it frankly comes across as ridiculous and as a game of one-manupship if done repeatedly.

In this casual humorous roleplay world set in an ill defined afterlife, we do have a certain amount of leeway in having interesting characteristics! Certainly, the phenomenon of “Magic Anons” where magical effects are unleashed upon people is a source of entertaining and interesting consequences, and we do not begrudge playing around and exploring this and other interesting ideas!

We merely ask that you do not view the goal of a roleplaying interaction as “winning”. There are multiple ways to “win”, and ultimately the goal here should be thought of as entertainment!

All things in moderation.

On Joining Existing Ongoing Conversations And Interactions

Again, we will reiterate that some conversations may be private or in between a few people only. For example, again, the ongoing “Phantoms of the Opera” is/was open for additional participants, but they were advised to ask the GM (Game Master) - your-dandy-king’s roleplayer - or our roleplayer first.

As a general rule, if you are considering joining in an existing interaction, first we will advise that you judge the tone of the interaction. Most of the interactions are lighthearted and humorous, and such lighthearted humorous interactions are generally assumed to be open for anyone to comment on. However, a serious and heartfelt conversation is most likely not conducive to additional humorous banter.

Secondly, we’ll say that communication is really useful! So if you really want to join in something and you’re unsure, just ask!

We’ll point out that roleplays that were open to all to join were marked as “Open” roleplays, while roleplays that only involved preset participants were marked as “Closed”. This terminology has not been used in this particular roleplay scene, but it’s a suggestion if you want to be very certain about stating that a particular ongoing interaction is open or not!

On Interacting With Non-Roleplayers

(( This is something that I’m personally not as certain about, because maybe the consensus has changed.. Basically, when I first used to do Tumblr RP in 2013 or 2014, it used to be considered rude for non-roleplayers and roleplayers to interact. It was like the two had their own different worlds. There were posts telling non-roleplayers not to reblog roleplayer threads. Nowadays, I don’t care and you are all free to reblog my roleplay threads onto your non-roleplay blogs if you want, but maybe someone might not want their roleplay threads reblogged and it might be nice to respect that. There was also a consensus about not reblogging non-roleplay posts with roleplay commentary. I’ve seen this happen a few times here and I’ve talked to a few people about it, and I don’t know how I feel about it! I do reblog things in-character occasionally - sheep for Lannes, nice art for Soult, occasionally info about both for both - but I try to make the tags fairly generic. I guess I’m a little paranoid about the idea that someone might be weirded out by historical RPF or roleplay happening on their posts. I won’t be telling people off for this, now that I’m writing this post, and it’s probably okay if the original poster of that post follows you, but be mindful of this. And probably keep it to a comment or two if you do! Don’t do long roleplay threads on non-roleplayers’ posts!))

We thank you for reading this instructional bulletin on roleplay etiquette and thank you for your participation. Now get out there and be polite fucking soldiers!

THIS PROCLAMATION IS THUS SIGNED AND AUTHORISED BY–

Le Duc de Montebello

Le Duc de Dalmatie ~

I better not get any talkback abot my spelling here!!! im not going to be unprofessional and distribute official announcements with a shitton of spelling mistakes!

You are welcome for the proofreading, Montebello.

#napoleonic roleplay scene #napoleonic rpf #historical rpf #dispatches from the marshal

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1-ker0sene-1 · 3 months

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"trigger warnings are not required of a writer🙄"

Yeah, sure, I get that. It's baseline true. But after writing over hundreds to thousands of words, is it REALLY THAT hard to add- "Tw:" ? Just a couple words, a couple warnings, could help the people you say need to "just scroll" actually just scroll and move on without reading.

"but in real published books-"

Your fanfic isn't a published book, most fics aren't well known enough to look up and check for triggers before going in to read.

People complain all the time about how we should be kinder on the Internet, yet don't want to take the simple steps of courtesy for others. 😮‍💨

#tagging your fics isn't hard #you want the fandom to be welcoming? BE welcoming #maybe I'm new and just don't get it but tagging has helped so many people

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helloanthy · 8 months

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it is incredibly fucked up of you not to clarify ANYWHERE in the doxxing post that it's a joke, not even a subtle "#unreality" or "#not real" within the tags. to only hint at it by leaving a link to the definition of "joke" in a SEPARATE POST is ridiculously petty. and to double down and insist it's real when asked is just plain cruel. you are an adult, as far as i know, and acting this immature should embarrass you. i hope you know your post caused anxiety and paranoia. i hope you're aware of the effect your dumb joke over how much you hate a random kids' cartoon that isn't even airing anymore caused. fuck you.

i was going to reply with the meme "calm down time" but the point of the joke was to give actual cybersafety advice, so for you anon and anyone else who would find these useful, here is a different, straightforward advice on how to prevent doxxing in addition to my own internet safety slide & what to do if you are ever happen to be doxxed i would also recommend emailing the web archive to remove your pages from their history before you delete them (because they require proof it is your page, so you will need to make a post of some sort indicating such) to make sure there are no ghosts of it to pull information from & if you are afraid of being doxxed through tumblr, this might help i happen to find sending anonymous hate mail also quite immature. i know you cant ever tell who to trust on the internet, but if you had DM'd me verbatim this message i would not have posted it and kept it private i believe in giving warnings as courtesy though, so i hope these links help you ease your anxiety. but it is my day off and im quite bored, so if you show up belligerently in my inbox again there are still ways to find someone around a private icloud relay ^^ please utilize the block function i hope you have a better day !

#✉️#do not send me anons to be rude to this person #i will not answer them - thank u !

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sparkiekong · 2 months

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Today's story set features a couple triggers to be wary of. Your safety on the internet is your responsibility. I and my co-creator @helenofsimblr merely provide the trigger warnings as a courtesy and respect to you, the reader, so that you can protect yourself accordingly. If you are under the age of 18 physically or mentally or if you find these things unacceptable, please do yourself a favor and stop following along because these things will not go away until we feel like the characters who are doing them have grown physically or mentally past them. There is a reason for everything we do and the story at this time requires these unsavory things. Nothing in our story is done without purpose or reason. So with that in mind, not only will the appropriate tumblr filters be used, but the following tags below will be used.

Triggers to block below:

Drug Use

Smoking

Underage Smoking

Marijuana

Marijuana Use

Underage Marijuana use

#ksu #tac #crossover #helenofsimblr #the axiom conclusion #ts4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #sims 4 #upcoming triggers #tales from the district s2

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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Hell Within Reach: Bloodlines (i).

"Though you have the strength of a queen, you reduce yourself to the movement of a pawn.”

Chrollo x F!Reader.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, body horror, Shalnark talking about stocks. Word count: 5.6k.

This is a sequel to the story Hell Within Reach, that you can check out here.

next chapter

index / ao3 / survosia / your nen

The Phantom Troupe.

A notorious crime syndicate whose members have all earned Class A bounties from their exploits. They’re known synonymously as the Troupe, or the Spider in some circles. The worst of the worst, while simultaneously being the very best at what they do, which is robbing people blind. The structure is straightforward. There's a boss who calls the shots — the head of the Spider. He decides he wants something, then you and the other members, the legs of the Spider, scutter to go and get it. Sometimes not a drop of blood is shed. On other occasions, those being stolen from are not so fortunate. The ocean of blood left behind is enough to drown whoever may have survived the initial onslaught.

While the Troupe has amassed quite the gruesome reputation throughout the years, a well-deserved one at that, the way you're seeing them now is how they typically bumble through life in between heists. And how is that, many late night reporters and internet sleuths staring at their screens until their eyes burn might ask? The answer to that is simple, if not a tad unexpected:

Loud, chatty, and drunk as hell.

“So, whatcha think about our hometown, [First]?”

Throughout your life, many difficult questions have been posed to you.

There was the question of what to make your weapon of choice upon discovering you were a Conjurer, if you should abandon everything you’ve ever known due to your staunch patriarch's schemes, where your Spider tattoo was to be placed upon joining the Troupe… these splits in the road often required meditation and careful consideration. You’d think about them for days, weighing the pros and cons on an internal scale.

That won’t do here. Basic courtesy bars you from leaving this table, sleeping on the question, then returning to give a satisfactory answer after lengthy rumination. Neither would it bode well to continue staring unblinkingly at your smiling companion, Shalnark, who is awaiting a response.

“It’s…” you trail off to signify you’ve acknowledged the question and have no intent to ignore him, “Hm…”

Next is scrutinizing every inch of your surroundings. There’s no shortage to look at, that’s for sure. The corner your little group occupies allows for an unobscured vantage point. Sitting to your right is your boss, Chrollo, who is similarly awaiting your assessment. Across from you at the booth is Shalnark, and beside him, Phinks, chugging down another glass of fermented yeast that you’re hesitant to call beer. Over at the crowded bar rests Nobunaga, passed out and snoring on the peeling wooden countertop boasting more suspicious stains than you can count.

By far the most conspicuous element is a drunk Uvogin. It’s a miracle he managed to squeeze into the low-ceiling building, but he found a way to make it work. By the door barely hanging onto its squeaking hinges is a karaoke machine with the tendency to stutter and give out at random intervals, as it’s starting to do presently.

The grating music slows down to a halt, much to Uvogin’s chagrin, who was apparently enjoying the opportunity to serenade everyone present. He releases his hold on a trembling man half his size that he caroused into joining him. That man takes a crucifix necklace from beneath his shirt and crosses in the Catholic tradition, thinking himself saved from the misery he’s endured thus far.

Unfortunately for him, Uvogin knows just the right spot to hit the old machine, and within a matter of seconds, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer makes its triumphant return. The man blanches as Uvogin shoves the microphone back into his face. A kernel of pity too weak to act on makes itself known inside you. For whatever reason, that man had seen fit to approach you and start up a conversation. Chrollo whispered something to Uvogin, who based on the latter’s beaming, took kindly to whatever suggestion was made. The guy has been held hostage since.

His vibrato isn’t bad, you think. Or is that just his voice shaking…?

“Charming,” is the word you arrive at. You then nod, hoping to further emphasize your lack of judgment. “Yes… it has a distinct character.”

Shalnark laughs in response, making you wonder if he asked from genuine curiosity or to find entertainment in your struggle to remain polite. Had you known you were going to run into him, you would’ve mentally prepared yourself for the experience. You weren’t due to see the other Spiders until the Troupe’s next big job — hitting the Bellagio in Last Vegas. That wasn’t due for another month or so.

“Well, that’s a way of putting it. Can’t say I’ve ever heard someone call Meteor City ‘charming’ before.”

You clear your throat to stave off embarrassment. “I apologize. It isn’t my intention to sound pretentious.”

“Nah, you don’t, it’s fine,” Phinks speaks up. He wipes his lips with his wrist and continues, “This place is shit and we all know it. Still, home’s home. Hard not to have a soft spot for it.”

You can’t say you relate but keep that opinion to yourself.

“I never expected to run into you here of all places, though. Much less with the boss. Is something up? We’re all free now, since our last job was a bust,” Shalnark sighs and shakes his head, his cheery tone not matching his disappointed words. “Thanks to a certain someone.”

In unison, both Phinks and Shal avert their attention to Nobunaga, who remains blissfully ignorant in the depths of slumber. So much so that he doesn’t notice some kids sneaking out from the back and rummaging through his wallet. They end up bickering amongst themselves, unsure of what to go for, then decide to just take it all; wallet included.

“Should we…?” You trail off, uncertain if stopping them would go against some kind of cultural norm you’re oblivious to.

“Leave ‘em be, it takes guts to steal from a well-known person around these parts like Nobunaga. Besides, he’d have more in that wallet to take if he didn’t get the time the boats were coming to the docks wrong,” Phinks asserts with a huff.

You’d only caught bits and pieces of what went down on their failed venture. In retrospect, you should’ve known there’d be a good chance to run into your fellow Troupe members here. Meteor City is their stomping ground. Shalnark made it a point to invite both you and Chrollo to tag along, after waving you down on the street. Had he been curious about why you were traveling with your notoriously solitary boss, he didn’t mention it.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in finding out using a more organic method, hence his next inquiry.

“So? Need an extra pair of hands? None of us have anything better to do until our gig in Last Vegas.”

Chrollo, who has remained thoughtfully quiet unless directly spoken to this evening, relays his thoughts. “That won’t be necessary. We’re trying to maintain a low profile.”

“Huh. That can’t be real easy,” Shalnark replies.

You’re about to ask what he means by that when an apathetic teenager approaches, a tray of drinks in hand. There’s no nametag to denote the status of waiter but by how he’s been bussing tables all night, you assume that’s what he is. He sets the tray down and unloads a litany of bubbling drinks in front of your person, five in total. You stare at the homebrewed amalgamation, eyebrows furrowing.

Without an explanation, he starts to take off, rightfully guessing that lingering near such dangerous individuals isn’t the best idea. Smart. However, you interrupt him by speaking up, putting a pause to his getaway.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe I ordered this.”

“The first two are from the guy by the window and the remaining three from that group over there,” he explains, jutting his thumb in the direction of said group, who give you a drunken wave. You’re about to wave back for propriety’s sake when Chrollo gently grabs your wrist and shakes his head.

“What fuckin’ roaches,” Phinks’ eye twitches and he places his hand on his shoulder, likely ready to wind it up. “Boss, let me take care of ‘em. I’ll do it outside and everything.”

“Low profile, Phinks,” Chrollo reminds. You notice he’s yet to let go of your wrist, though from this angle, no one but you would be able to tell. “Let them be. It’s not common knowledge that [First] is a Spider around here, or they’d surely know better.”

Phinks clicks his tongue, mutters something under his breath, and takes another swig of his drink.

Shalnark cups his hands around his mouth and yells in Uvogin’s general direction, “Hey, Uvo, we got more free drinks for you to down!”

More? So there were some that you weren’t privy to? Perhaps you really are as oblivious as Chrollo claims. Uvogin ambles over, hitting his head on a ceiling fan that just barely manages to hold on from a fraying wire while he does so. It’s common knowledge that you abstain from alcohol whenever possible, though some members still pester you about it to get their kicks. Shalnark must sense he has no chance of succeeding when this is the quality of the beer and hands it over to a jovial Uvogin.

In the meantime, Uvogin’s begrudging singing partner sees his shot at freedom and makes a break for it. It appears Uvogin will have to go through Frosty the Snowman on his lonesome.

“I guess you won’t be here much longer anyway,” Shalnark stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “What with that whole vote about what to do with Winthros, now that the Colevine’s are rotting away somewhere. Fei should send in an anonymous tip and claim the reward money.”

“I hadn’t realized you kept up with my country’s geopolitics,” your surprise is genuine. Out of all the places to be reminded about that impending affair, you didn’t expect it in a dilapidated Meteor City bar. Much less by Shalnark.

“Colevine, Colevine… that name sounds familiar,” Phinks narrows his eyes, deep in thought. “Definitely brings back some irritation for whatever reason.”

“Harden Colevine was the man who hosted an event we stole from last year, though we didn’t find that out until we were in the actual job,” Chrollo explains.

Phinks nods. “Ah, now I remember. His screaming gave me a headache right when I ran outta painkillers. So his wife kicked the bucket too, huh? Guess that makes things easier on us. Less loose ends and all that.”

If only the same could be said for me, you sense a headache of your own coming on from the memories this topic dredges forth.

“I’ve been looking forward to the vote for months. I bought up stock in companies owned by the Linaries, and have been encouraging others to do the same online,” Shalnark reveals. He checks something on his phone and smiles. “Yep, it's still steadily rising! It should be up 120% by the time the negotiations are concluded. They’re projected to surpass the net value of your family at this rate, [First].”

“So it’s you who’s behind that? Why are you telling people to hold their stock on the day of the negotiations? That’s when it should peak, after the Linaries acquire Winthros,” you point out, not thinking much of the lighthearted jab. None of that meant anything to you. Estella had recently been complaining that a rival family was seeing a prolific surge in investment due to some anonymous organizers taking the internet by storm. Staring at the supposed leader of the movement in the face now, you can’t help but feel somewhat underwhelmed.

“Oh, I intend to sell, I just thought it’d be funny if I whipped everyone into a frenzy about holding so they miss out on the chance to make money.”

You decide that it’s a very Shalnark-like thing to do.

“Why are you holding a vote if it’s already decided who’ll get the land anyway? Seems like a waste of time,” Phinks chimes in.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s more for show than anything,” Chrollo responds on your behalf, much to your internal relief. “The six… excuse me, five now I suppose, families are showing their ‘goodwill’ by allowing the Linaries to have land that they were historically at odds with.”

“I swear, rich people have rocks for brains. Uh, no offense though,” Phinks corrects after giving you a nervous glance.

“None taken. Truth be told, I’m not looking forward to it myself.”

A particularly loud snore from Nobunaga redirects everyone’s attention. He manages to rouse himself from his alcohol-induced slumber, clambering over to your booth with an awkward gait. You’ve never seen the poor man so disheveled. He doesn’t pay you or Chrollo any mind, instead focusing entirely on Shalnark, resting his weight against the blonde who loses his smile for the first time that night.

“Oi, get off of me, you’re heavy,” Shalnark whines to no avail. Nobunaga gives an incomprehensible murmur in response. Phinks bursts out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter and helps himself to snapping pictures of the scene. Uvogin’s aria of Frosty the Snowman comes to a timely conclusion, allowing him the chance to join in on the rowdy fun originating from Shal’s seat. He scoops up both Nobunaga and a vehemently protesting Shalnark. The bear hug that ensues has you the slightest bit concerned over the state of Shal’s ribs should he ever be released.

Phinks whistles. “Wow, I’ve never seen Shal’s skin turn a color like that.”

“Boss,” you whisper in Chrollo’s ear, who hums. “I believe Shalnark might be experiencing the first steps of asphyxiation.”

He merely smiles. “I’m sure he’ll live.”

Chrollo’s prediction turns out to be true, though it takes a great deal of coaxing from Shalnark’s behalf for him to touch solid ground once again. Uvogin gave him a ruffle of his hair for good measure. Somehow or another, Nobunaga remains in his reverie-like state, occasionally reaching for the sword on his hip when anyone gets too close. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about what you’re witnessing. When Chrollo first introduced you to his Phantom Troupe, you thought it was an elaborate setup for a joke. Turns out there was no punchline aside from your expectations.

The chasm you felt between the other members at first was tangible. They thought you were an uppity princess who wanted to try their profession like you would any other snob hobby, while you found their behavior to be unprofessional, if not borderline questionable.

As for now, well…

“Hey, so if I like, hic, stick my arm in here,” Nobunaga motions to the dark opening of your Nen, the slice in reality that separates your armory from this physical plane, “Then you… closed it… would I lose my arm?”

You knew you shouldn’t have opened it at his behest. He keeps sticking his arm into the opening, watching it disappear, then pulling it back out again.

“I’d advise against us trying that.”

“Can we use it as a basketball hoop?” Shalnark wonders, crunching up a napkin into a spherical form. “That’d really be a way to burn through the time when we’re waiting around in those dusty hideouts the boss picks.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Phinks agrees. “I’ll give you 10,000 Jenny if you make it in.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Nobunaga stumbles back into some chairs to make room for Shalnark’s basketball tryout. Shal sticks his tongue out, squints, calculates his projection, then throws it in the air. By all accounts, it looks like it’ll sink into the otherworldly opening. That is, until you move it a few inches to the right at the very last second.

Phinks hands you a wad of cash beneath the table, that you innocently accept while sipping on your water.

“Hey, no fair! Let me try again!”

… Well, as for now, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say you’re on good terms with the ragtag bunch.

Not long after Shalnark’s unfortunate series of events, Chrollo excuses you both. Phinks gives one last try and tries to worm his way into having something productive to do, but Chrollo redirects him with enough grace to rival a politician being asked an uncomfortable question at a debate. You don’t think the poor guy even realized he was just rejected until you started walking for the exit.

Nightfall’s tendrils envelop Meteor City.

In the days you’ve spent here, the noisome nature of the air stills comes as an assault to your senses. Trash burning beneath the relentless sun, rotting corpses from humans and animals alike, bodily fluids left behind from every orifice… it coalesced into a distinct odor. The miasma greets you the second you go outside. You settle the black mask back over your nose that Chrollo suggested you bring — it doesn’t do much but it’s better than nothing. Having grown up here, Chrollo seems to have developed an immunity to the hazardous air quality, not so much as flinching when you first approached the city. He laughed at how you visibly recoiled and said you’d get used to it.

“Do you want to keep trying, or should we call it a day?” Chrollo queries.

You lift up your sleeve to glance at your watch. The time reads ten minutes past two in the morning, not that you both can’t handle staying awake for extensive periods.

“I intend to continue searching,” you decide. “I understand if you have other business to attend to. Please don’t force yourself on account of me.”

Chrollo shakes his head. “I don’t mind in the slightest, dear.”

He takes a right at the next fork in the street and you follow suit. Upon hearing your intention to conduct an investigation in Meteor City, he offered to serve as your guide, an offer you gratefully accepted. You’d need any help you could get with how little you had to go off of. He expertly led you through the labyrinth-like city, avoiding areas that he knew to be more trouble than they were worth.

On the side of the street is a group of men and women crowding around a waning fire. They don’t pay you any mind while you approach, and Chrollo stands off to the side with his hands in his pockets.

“Excuse me,” you speak up, earning a few turned heads in your direction, “Does this woman look familiar to you?”

You procure a picture from your double-breasted coat. Some of the group decide to look at it, while others don’t bother, too transfixed on the fire. The most you get for your trouble is a few grumbles expressing they’ve never seen her before. You neatly tuck the photo back into its proper place and bow your head.

“I see. Thank you for your time.”

The second you turn on your heel to rejoin Chrollo, the girl closest to you lurches forward. In the blink of an eye, you catch her by the wrist, applying pressure so she’d drop the switchblade in her grasp. The tiniest application of your strength is enough to do just that. Her face contorts with pain, while the rest of her group stumbles back, sensing this is an altercation they’d better not get involved with. Feeling how brittle her bones are from atrophy, you release her without further consequence. She cradles the bruising skin against her chest and glares up at you, the resentment burning in her eyes stronger than the fire keeping her alive.

You don’t spare her a second glance and walk back to Chrollo.

Some time passes in thick silence before he speaks up again, having obviously been ruminating on something.

“That blade was poisoned,” he muses, stepping over a pile of broken glass strewn about the road.

“I know.”

“I would’ve broken her wrist for that, at the very least.”

“... I did consider it. I decided there was no reason to go further.”

A group of children wearing tattered rags run in front of you, laughing and trying to catch the kid up front holding a model airplane. They dodge the debris on the ground without so much as looking at it. Growing up under such extreme circumstances lends itself to heightened abilities, whether they’re cognizant of it or not. That must be why their skin has a ruddy shade, unlike the frail children you encountered earlier, who lacked the strength to even lift their heads when you passed them by.

“It’s how they learn to choose their targets better,” Chrollo explains. “If they can’t figure out that much, their chances of survival are next to zero. That’s how it works around here.”

You wonder how much trial and error Chrollo had to endure to become the person he is today. Did he learn that firsthand? Watch in terror as his allies were brutalized for their mistakes? Or was his intuition always sharp enough to steer him away from the shadows where danger lurked?

The child lagging furthest behind the group comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street, a few paces in front of you. He is a bizarre collection of features that look like they don’t belong together. From his height, you can assume he’s no older than ten, but he doesn’t have the same glow of youth that his friends radiate. His skin doesn’t cling to his bones and yet it’s still sallow, though his gait doesn’t indicate he’s sickly. He had no trouble keeping up with the others. After further examination, you decide it’s the eyes that you find most off-putting. There’s a haze covering his eyes that isn't the usual milky shade you’d see in a person with glaucoma or cataracts. It’s almost pitch black, with a light ring around it, similar to when the moon eclipses the sun.

He raises an arm and points it at you. Irregular aura leaks from him in waves.

“[First] Avalor, secondborn of Victor and Dinara Avalor,” he speaks, his voice deep enough to rival an adult’s fully developed vocal cords, “The Sculptor extends its most humble invitation. It has heard of your plight and seeks to hold an audience with you. It knows many things about the one in the photograph… whom you call Xue Ya.”

It’s strange to hear that name spoken aloud after everyone’s been so hush-hush about it. Up until this point, digging into Xue Ya’s past has been a fruitless endeavor. She wasn’t registered as an official citizen in Survosia, or anywhere else for that matter; a complete ghost in the databases you commissioned others to search. The workers for the Avalor estate back home weren’t helpful either. From what you could corroborate, Xue Ya moved in as your mother’s personal attendant upon her marriage to your father thirty years ago. She always kept to herself and was fiercely loyal to Dinara. Nothing else could be attested to her, nothing that could be confirmed, anyway.

The woman Xue Ya exchanged letters with — Biscuit Krueger, a Hunter of decent renown — was impossible to track down. The intricate knot you found in her quarters that Phinks recognized was all you had to go off of. Chrollo surmised the specific area where that style of knot was most popular, aiding in narrowing the search somewhat.

He also explained gathering information works differently in Meteor City than it does elsewhere. Since there’s no official minted currency, information is considered a good to be bartered for, meaning that there’s no centralized network for finding things out. You have to painstakingly comb through numerous factions and prominent individuals to get a chance of learning what you want. Having the leader of the Phantom Troupe vouch for you has helped weed out groups that’d con you, but the radio silence just meant no one knew anything worth telling.

You exchange a look with Chrollo, who appears deep in thought, a hand on his chin.

“How intriguing. If it is indeed The Sculptor, this might be a lead worth following.”

You tilt your head. “What is The Sculptor?”

“Ah, apologies, it slipped my mind that only denizens of Meteor City would be familiar with the name. I suppose the title ‘urban legend’ describes it best. It’s known as a being who seeks to immortalize others by turning them into statues. Rather than clay or marble, it works with flesh and bone. If you agree to become a disciple of The Sculptor, it slowly drains your life force, but gives you and your group food as recompense. Or so the rumor goes. Kids growing up often jokingly suggest giving over the weakest in the group to The Sculptor if they don’t start carrying their weight.”

“A local bogeyman, huh?”

Chrollo nods. “In essence. Whatever it actually is, I’d assume it’s a Manipulator. A very old one at that. It’s been a local legend for decades.”

That must be why Chrollo claimed this to be a lead worth potentially following. The life expectancy in Meteor City is one of the worst in the world — many die young and those who manage to survive often leave, as the founding members of the Troupe did. Those who made it to their later years and decided to stay boast a great treasure trove of knowledge about this city’s secrets.

“Descendant of god killers, do you accept The Sculptor’s invitation? Should you choose to do so, it requires a small favor in return.”

There’s always a catch to these sorts of exchanges.

“What does this ‘small favor’ entail?”

He produces a small vial from his pocket. “A drop of your blood, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Where most would find this to be a creepy request, you think little of it; the blood that flows through your circulatory system is prized for its enhancing capabilities. You remove the leather glove from your hand and conjure your sword, Set A. After taking the vial from him, you prick your finger, allowing your blood to fall inside. Set A dematerializes and you return it.

“The Sculptor will see you now. Follow me,” the child urges. “The Spider head may join us as well, if it pleases you.”

Chrollo’s smile is immediate, if not teasing. “Would it please you, descendant of god killers?”

You get the unfortunate sense that this embarrassing nickname will stick around for a while…

“Oh, definitely. I couldn’t bear to part with you for even a second.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The boy beckons you to follow. The aura emanating from him leaves a different impression than the toys Shalnark uses — it started off nonexistent then gradually built in concentration. If it’s true that this Sculptor character is a Manipulator, you assume he must put those under his thrall into a sleeper agent-like trance. Controlling multiple people over the entire diameter of Meteor City would be an impossible feat otherwise. There must be some rough order for them to go by, such as ‘send my message when you see this individual’ or so on and so forth. That’d explain why the boy blended in with his companions until he caught sight of you. It’s undoubtedly an impressive ability that Chrollo would love to get his hands on, should the opportunity present itself.

You’d like to thank Chrollo for going out of his way to help you. You’re certain there are more exciting things for him to do than walking around a city of towering trash, while you ask various strangers if they’ve ever seen a woman in a picture.

As if sensing your thoughts, he shoots you a wink.

The boy maneuvers expertly through his environment. It reminds you of a fish in water, migrating to some preprogrammed destination that their brain was born with. From the thinning out of roughly assembled shelters, you assume you’re nearing the edge of the city. Few populate the furthest perimeter since most of the garbage dumped there has been picked through thoroughly. Trash was dumped in an erratic period throughout. Chrollo told you that those with the best chance to survive knew the best drop areas, and that turf wars were often fought over these hotspots.

“In the earliest days of the Troupe, I’d plan these raids for days,” Chrollo had mused, his fond tone tinged with nostalgia that hardly felt fitting. “Maybe that’s why the others were under the impression I’d suit the role of ‘leader’ well. It was basic stuff, really. I was fortunate enough to stumble upon some battle strategy books in my youth. They were a great asset, even if some of the pages were missing...”

After a trek lasting half an hour, you arrive at a unique amalgamation of parts.

The roof is a collection of everything ranging from cardboard to steel sheets, slanted in such a way that they directly support each other. There are no windows to speak of, only holes in the exterior, some patched with wooden planks or plastic bags and others left to remain gaping. Hanging from the entrance is an elaborate collection of beads, mismatched in shape and color. What you think are chimes at first glance twirl in the wind, the resulting blur white as can be. The sound it releases is more of a dissonant clacking than a gentle ring. Upon further inspection, you recognize the hanging structure to be preserved radius’ and ulnas. Lots of them at that. From the smaller size, they must’ve belonged to children in life.

The interior design is far from quaint or practical.

Chrollo, gentleman that he is, enters first and lifts the beads for you to follow. You sense no one other than the three of you in the surrounding vicinity. The Sculptor itself must be playing it safe by lingering elsewhere.

The scene inside is similarly chaotic. Formaldehyde proliferates the air, somehow managing to overpower the stench outside. Since there’s no electricity, moonlight is the sole source of illumination in the crowded room. Jars filled with murky liquid seem to be the only organized element present. Dates along with other various factors have been dutifully recorded in barely legible handwriting.

Female Mandible - 2004 Carotid Artery — 2000 Male Thoracic — 2003

Flies buzz in excitement around a jar with an askew lid, the liquid too bloody for you to discern what’s inside. You think you make out the words Scarlet Eyes upon the label.

“This is its place of worship,” the boy explains, having noticed your staring. That’s enough to break you from your reverie.

“What does it worship?” Chrollo inquires.

The boy has to stand on his tiptoes to reach a curtain far in the back. He responds after steadying himself, then pulls it back. “Humanity.”

This must be The Sculptor’s life's work — its personal gallery.

Wooden shelves line the back wall, the contents ranging from perfectly lifelike to uncanny. People of all ages, ethnicities, and gender stare back at you, some from the bust upward and others going no further than the skull. A sickening sensation churns your stomach in a way you thought you were long numb to. There are dozens on display. What they all have in common is that they are staring back at you.

“These are its most favored idols,” the boy announces. “God cannot peer into this place, so The Sculptor has set up its golden calves.”

“May I ask what this has to do with Xue Ya?” You shift your weight from foot to foot. The atmosphere here is heavy and tinged with despair. Every second spent here promised nothing good.

“She is present. You need only look closer.”

You almost wish you didn’t.

On the bottom left corner is a crude imitation of your belated teacher. A scalp with tangled, matted black hair has been sewn onto a skull, the needlework visible on the forehead. From there downward patches of skin have been assembled, forming patchlike adhesives against the crumbling bone. There are no lips or ears, and the nose that has been attached hangs down from the weight of gravity. Bloodshot eyes bulge out from the sockets, the iris both different shades of blue, the one on the right lighter than the other. The optic nerves do their best to keep the eyes from falling out entirely.

“Hm,” Chrollo appraises the abomination with a neutral countenance. “It’s very avant-garde.”

“The Sculptor says its thanks to Xue Ya every night. She was a bad disciple yet lovely muse. Yes… she managed to break free from us. The Sculptor does not hold it against her. Had she not done so, then it would’ve never learned the joy in improvising its craft.”

“The Sculptor controlled Xue Ya before?” You question, narrowing your eyes. It’s possible that The Sculptor saw Xue Ya from afar and used her likeness without ever coming into direct contact. At the same time, you sense no clear deceit. The uncertainty is a thorn in your side.

“Many years ago. She stood right where you stand… cold, hungry, no place to call home. It gave her a home. Fed her and fed off of her in return. It was foolish in those days and gave too much food. Little Xue Ya regained her strength, and with time, left behind her discipleship. The Sculptor was heartbroken at first. It is no longer. It now thinks she would’ve always found a way, for she had a new reason to fight.”

“And what reason would that be?”

The boy struggles to close the curtains that tower over his height but manages after a few tries. He never looks back at you again, staring at the covered-up horrors, tears leaking through his eyes from how little he blinks.

“You know surprisingly little, Lady [First],” the boy croaks in a coarse mockery of a laugh. “Though you have the strength of a queen, you reduce yourself to the movement of a pawn.”

Another round of laughs, this time ending in a dry fit of coughs.

“What is it that gives women that little extra push? Why, when they’re with child, of course.”

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #phantom troupe x reader #reader insert #hell within reach #hell within reach: bloodlines #my stuff

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ideas-on-paper · 1 year

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An analysis of the voice lines from D.C. Douglas's Legion audition

[Potential spoilers for ME2]

So, the other day, I was browsing the internet for any interviews, commentaries, or anecdotes from D.C. Douglas in regards to his role as Legion in Mass Effect 2 (mainly out of curiosity, but also because his voice is prime ASMR material and I would never pass up an opportunity to listen to his relaxing timbre). While doing so, I stumbled upon an old video from 2015, containing some voice lines of D.C.'s original audition for Legion - well, strictly speaking, it wasn't the first one, but the call back he recorded after his initial audition. According to D.C., the first thing he submitted was a monologue, although the exact contents are unfortunately lost to us. However, since we have the fully voiced lines of the call back available (courtesy of Eric from Studiopolis), we have the opportunity to analyze the contents of these voice lines - which, as it turns out, happen to be quite interesting.

As a matter of fact, 99 % of these voice lines are completely unique and don't appear in the final game in any way, shape, or form. Although all we have is the isolated lines, we can deduce some of the context from the wording and the order of the recorded lines. Assuming that these lines were written by the ME2 staff previous to being sent to D.C. for test takes, it would mean that they were originally intended to be used in-game - and if this is the case, it would give new support to the theory that there is a huge amount of content, specifically related to Legion, that was cut from the final version.

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The first thing to note is that in the audition file, Legion isn't even know as Legion yet - the recording is simply titled "D.C. Douglas - Geth", consequentially meaning that Legion's self-designation would be "Geth" as well (which, all things considered, is what they asked to be called in the first place). What follows next are some lines which seem to have been taken from a rather casual conversation with Shepard:

Most organics define themselves as social species, but insist on "personal space".

Six - six walls, including above and below. Humans do not think in three-dimensional terms.

We have noted your species is still poorly adapted to zero-gravity existence. Even aboard Normandy, you waste power creating gravity to comfort you.

My suspicion is that these are taken from a dialogue branch were Shepard inquires if they are comfortably settled in the AI core, asking if they are alright with being assigned such a tiny room (considering Legion's nature, this isn't really a concern, but it still would've been nice for Shepard to express the thought). Even though it should be clear that the term "personal space" holds no meaning to the Geth due to their nature as a Gestalt intelligence alone, the second line gives us an interesting insight into how they perceive the world around them. (It's worth noting that Legion also has combat lines where they announce the position of incoming enemies based on x-, y-, and z-coordinates, confirming their three-dimensional perception.) As for the third line, we actually know from astronauts what kind of effects continued absence of gravity has on the human body: myatrophy, blood circulation issues, and bone loss to only name a few. Although most of these issues can be reversed a short time after returning to Earth, it's still unknown whether humans would be able to adapt permanently to zero-gravity. However, if they did, we can assume they would have a hard time switching between life on a spaceship and going back to the surface of a planet, as this would require constant readaptation. (Though there's also the possibility that Legion was referring to a lifestyle exclusively onboard spaceships and space stations, like the Geth do it; either way, it's hard to tell without the context.)

Next, things get a little more interesting when it's apparent that human genetic engineering is discussed:

Human genetic engineering is sufficiently advanced to overcome those inefficiencies. You choose not to self-adapt. Why?

That's built-in obsolescence. Why does this law exist?

If we assume these lines are a continuation of the conversation above, it's possible that Legion is referring to genetic alterations that would allow humans to better adapt to a zero-gravity environment. However, as we know from the Mass Effect Codex, there's the so-called Sudham-Wolcott Genetic Heritage Act, which allows for the enhancement of qualities naturally present in humans, but prohibits manipulating the genome to gain new abilities - probably including any adaptations to weightlessness, whatever those might be (there are actually research endeavors to better understand and perhaps even cure the effects of bone loss, which would also be beneficial for people suffering from osteoporosis). When Shepard mentions the law to Legion, they are obviously confused as to why humans would actively choose not to evolve themselves if given the opportunity, as self-improvement is literally the main goal of the Geth.

Now's where things get really intriguing, because what follows are three lines that not only imply a profound discussion about the nature of humanity, but also Shepard's own self-confidence:

Ambiguous semantics - "human" is not a hardware configuration. "Human" is a set of shared experiences and assumptions - software.

The Geth believe that the Commander would be the Commander, no matter what hardware it is installed in.

Faith is belief without evidence. The Commander's core programming remains intact despite extensive hardware refit. That is evidence, and our judgement is not faith.

Going by our trail of thought from above, it could be that the reason Shepard gives why humanity abstains from extensive genetic modifications is that they would no longer be "human" otherwise. Legion, however, states that the term "human" has nothing to do with outward appearance, but rather a set of values and beliefs that all humans share - which, all things considered, is actually quite wholesome. (I guess as a neurodiverse person, this would kind of make me a "subspecies" of humanity - not that I mind, though.)

What's even more interesting is that following this, Shepard themself seems to make a comment that they don't feel quite human, which, perhaps, could be related to their revival and the Cerberus implants. (I know of quite a few fanfictions which address this topic, and I always think it's interesting to consider Shepard themself is mostly cybernetic by this point.) Meanwhile, Legion tries to ease their worries by saying they are still the Commander, no matter "what hardware they're installed in". Shepard apparently thanks Legion for their faith, but Legion affirms that their statement is based on factual data rather than pure belief. (What a way to say "No matter how much of your body was replaced, you're still human - nothing can change that.")

And lo and behold, guys: the next line is the one and only from this audition to be used in the final game (near the end of Legion's loyalty mission, to be precise):

Alert: Heretic Geth runtimes downloading to mobile platforms.

After that, we get multiple lines that seem to be intended for combat. However, what stands out here is that they were apparently meant to be used during a battle onboard the Normandy:

Boarding attack imminent; Normandy must withdraw.

Armor hull bridged; multiple attempts to burn through pressure hull: three dorsal, one ventral, one bow, two aft.

Alert: ingress at port airlock.

Activating intrusion countermeasures; sealing bridge.

Airlock turrets hot*; burnout 2-3, burnout 2-7; 2-2 destroyed.

Alert: vehicle bay breach; crew withdraw to quarters deck.

Airlock turret 2-4 destroyed; burnout 2-5.

Cargo deck clear; locking crew lift; venting drive plasma.

Yes, cargo deck is clear.

Alert: Mobile platforms closing in on the CIC. Initialize combat routines.

System link interrupted; engaging target left at 10 meters - firing.

*UPDATE: Changed "Airlock turret taut" to "Airlock turrets hot"; thanks to @deskmisfit for the tip

To be honest, I always thought that all of the squadmates leaving (like, every single one) after the installation of the IFF for an unspecified "mission" right before the Collectors hit felt a little forced - and maybe, considering the above lines, it was planned for there to be a big battle to defend the Normandy. (There are even two alternative statement/response lines about clearing out the cargo deck with plasma.) Although it's possible that these lines are taken from a fight against Heretic Geth instead (which the term "mobile platforms" seems to hint at), perhaps that means boarding battles in general were supposed to be a feature in Mass Effect 2. (Which, if you ask me, sounds like a real good asset for the gameplay.)

What follows now are the last lines from the audition (and the last of the three "theme groups" of lines) - which, going by the context, are probably the most interesting of all. The conversation is about a character named "Tina" (potentially a human girl) who appears to be in conflict with the Quarians, while Legion tries to act as a mediator (my respect for that kind of self-confidence after your history with the Quarians, friend):

Let the Geth speak. We may convince the Quarian creators to pardon Tina's father.

We do not hate your kind. We simply do not need you anymore, though we are still fascinated by you.

We record your communications. Study the music and writing you upload to the extranet. We analyze the words you left behind, the homes and structures you built for yourself. The collective mind does not understand why we do this, but I have come to a conclusion: We fill a void. An integral component of our systems is missing. You are still our creators, and we... feel your absence.

The Geth know what it is to lose creators. We have no wish to see this void in Tina.

If there's one thing I always found intriguing about the Geth, it's their attitude towards their creators - despite their history being defined by the Quarians trying to destroy them, the Geth never held any grudge against them as an organic species would. Instead, Legion repeatedly states in the game that they do not hate them (as they do in the second line above), and they even keep the old structures of Rannoch intact in memory of the Quarians. However, this is the first time that the reason behind these actions is classified as "fascination". In ME2, Legion simply says that they do research on organics because they strive to understand their creators better, but the term "fascination" carries with it something far more visceral - dare I say, even emotional - than one would normally expect from logical creatures like the Geth. Somewhat ironically, the Consensus seems to be at odds with itself regarding their relationship to the Quarians: On one hand, they claim that they no longer need them since they have evolved into their own independent species, but at the same time, they never seem to be able to truly let go of them, studying and analyzing the Quarians' writing, architecture, and music. To make things even more extraordinary, Legion - and Legion specifically - has come to their own conclusion regarding the matter. Note the "I" pronoun I marked in the third line; this indicates that this opinion, unlike everything else, is not the standpoint of the Geth collective as a whole, but Legion's own (or rather, the opinion of the amalgamation of programs that make up Legion). Moreover, Legion specifically uses the verb "feel" when describing that the Quarians' absence has caused a sense of "incompleteness", even "emptiness" among the Geth - another completely unprecedented expression of their inner thoughts. (My theory would be that since the Geth are machines built with a specific purpose in mind, this is their way to express that they feel like their existence lacks meaning without the Quarians; considering this, perhaps this is literally part of the reason why they want to build their megastructure to "create their own purpose".) To top it all off, this "feeling" of loss even seems to enable Legion to emphasize with Tina, comparing the potential death of her father to the void the Geth feel at their creators' absence.

Now, I'm generally very reluctant to humanize the Geth too much, since I feel it would be very disrespectful towards their nature. However, reading all of this, I can't help the notion that the Geth may have something like a "parent complex", for the lack of a better word. What I mean by this is on one hand, almost everyone loves and respects their parents, but on the other, you might feel kind of imprisoned by their presence once you grow up, and unless you want to live in their shadow forever, you have to break with them at some point. Still, some teenagers who were previously convinced "I can totally live without my parents!" might find themselves missing the guidance and stability they gave them. I know this probably sounds very cheesy, but I just think it's so funny how at times, the Geth seem a little like some lost kids who are just growing up and have to deal with abandonment by their parents. (Also, I think it's worth mentioning that Tali's character somewhat mirrors this: In my opinion, Tali is a character that's very prone to overestimating herself, especially during her Pilgrimage, but she regularly finds herself at the boundaries of her own abilities, so she has to rely on the help of others to achieve her goals. Furthermore, Tali also has a very ambivalent relationship with her estranged father; you can tell she respects him and does everything to gain his appreciation, but still wishes he would take more time to actually be there for her - which, ultimately, isn't meant to happen. If you were really daring, you could even deduce the conflict regarding a loveless/absent parental figure as a core theme of the Geth and the Quarians.)

Another interesting point is that in this conversation, it seems like Legion might be developing something like an own personality. Without a constant connection to the Consensus, it is possible that the programs inside Legion's chassis have formed new "synapses" among themselves, which has unwittingly led to the creation of a completely independent intellect. As Legion themself said, they have a sufficent number of programs to function on their own (a normal Geth platform simply doesn't possess enough programs to reach consciousness themselves), and the continued restriction to one single platform would also disable the possibility of personality reset like it might occur normally when transferring to a different body (as explained in the Codex entry about Geth culture). Anyway, despite the Geth's somewhat ambivalent attitude towards individuality, the discussion above might imply that Legion gradually developing their own personality was something that was planned in the early stages.

Last but not least, regarding the conversation itself, it's interesting that it actually presents a scenario where you're standing against the Quarians (which does not happen under any circumstances in the final game). In addition to this, I recently stumbled upon this compilation of Legion's voice lines from the Legendary Edition, which also appears to contain some that were unused, but are still present in the code - including the combat announcement "Creator offline" (around 1:30), which is undoubtedly referring to taking out a Quarian.* From this, there can only be one conclusion: We were originally supposed to fight Quarians at some point during Mass Effect 2. (Again, this is my opinion, but I actually think it would have put the races on more of an "even ground" - I mean, we have been fighting Turians, Asari, and Salarians the entire time. It would only be fair to assume that not all Quarians in the galaxy are kind and peace-loving.)

*EDIT: I only realized now that "creator offline" is actually referring to Tali; when Mordin dies, Legion may say "Salarian offline", when Samara dies, it's "Asari offline", and so on. "Creator" is simply what Legion uses for Tali.

Conclusion + my thoughts

If one thing is for certain, it's that Legion's character underwent a lot of changes throughout the development process. Judging by the lines from the beginning, it seems the Geth were meant to be a little more "critical" of organics at first, not really comprehending their irrational actions and openly pointing out their inefficiency. Meanwhile, in the game, they still seem quite confused by organics, but they never voice their opinion in a way that could be described as "judgmental". (Take the case of their little experiment with the star constellation, for example: In the respective conversation, Legion simply recounts what happened, but doesn't make a comment that the Salarians' premature reaction was silly or something.) All in all, the Geth act very tolerant of organics, accepting that their way of thinking is different from their own, but not deeming it invalid because of this - and aside from the few occasions where they point out the contradictions in organics' moral values (e.g. when comparing EDI's restrictions to slavery on Illium and remarking on the inconsistent treatment of animals in organic societies on Tuchanka), Legion never expresses criticism of the organic perspective in itself. As for myself, a huge part of the reason why I became attached to Legion in the first place was precisely this acceptance - a quality I wish I had experienced from more people in my own life (back when Legion came out with the quote "organics fear that which is different", I had to fight really hard not to break down into tears). The Geth are confident about their own existence, and yet, they never act aggressive towards the differing views of organics, despite not fully understanding them themselves - and since this is basically the essence of my own life principle, I must say that I like the finalized version of Legion's character more.

On the other hand, I absolutely adore the idea of an interaction between Shepard and Legion about Shepard's Cerberus implants, since I think how they're mentally dealing with their revival is just such an interesting topic to explore. In quite a few fanfics I've read, I've seen Shepard feeling alienated about their cybernetics, wondering if they're even truly "alive" at this point. Judging by the respective dialogue above, this seems to be exactly the dilemma they're going through here, and Legion joining the team would certainly add a very interesting layer to that. Maybe they could have done something similar to the conversation above, with Legion basically cheering Shepard up and helping them accept who they are - and who knows, perhaps Shepard's technological enhancements could have even led to a deeper connection between them. (This is not just me wishing I could have had something like a platonic relationship with Legion, I swear. xD)

On a similar note, I think it would have been quite interesting to see which road the writers would have taken regarding Legion's individuality. From the lines above, it's clear they're developing something like an own personality, and I wonder what Legion's reaction would be once they realize that this process is actually taking place. After all, this completely uncharted territory for the Geth, and I could imagine that while Legion goes through something like a phase of denial at first, they become very insecure - perhaps even "panicked" if you want to call it that - once they figure out that they are, in fact, developing an individual personality. Going by my train of thought from above, it might be Shepard's turn to help them through this, which may even result in some kind of mutual emotional support. (Guys, if anyone ever writes a fanfic like that, notify me immediately - I WANT TO SEE IT!)

Finally, I would have given all my money for a more detailed exploration of how the Geth actually stand towards the Quarians. They may harbor no hatred towards them, but I can imagine the Geth encountering Quarians - and, to a certain degree, other organic species - with cautious mistrust. (As a case in point, just look at how long it took Legion to finally tell Shepard that the Geth are working on a megastructure to upload their minds; they most likely judged that most organics' would react unfavorably to this information, potentially even resulting in aggression that would endanger their endeavor, so they withheld it until they were absolutely sure that Shepard's reaction would not be negative. Thus, it can be seen as a sign of immense trust from Legion to make this reveal.) Even if they don't have some sort of parent complex as I described above, I would suspect they would at least have some kind of "logical" equivalent to it, e.g. that the opinion of each program is defined by their individual experiences (some Geth might still adhere to their original function, while for others, the harm the Quarians did to them outweighs their core programming). Still, with artificial intelligence being outlawed in the whole galaxy and the Quarians attacking them 100 % of the time when they thought they could win (as stated by Legion during Tali's loyalty mission), their Gestalt intellect basically has no positive example to work with. Consequently, all the Geth would have to base their standpoint on are their own convictions, as strange as that may sound. Viewed from this perspective, the Geth schism almost seems like a battle of faith, with some of them still hoping that they might one day be able to live in peace, while others have completely given up the prospect of any coexistence with organics. (Somewhat amusingly, I actually had to think of Tron while pondering over this; in Tron, there are also those programs who have abandoned the faith in the users, while others still continue to believe in them, despite having no decisive proof that they will help them.) Maybe this dissent is what caused the Geth to split into two factions in the first place, and maybe this is why they chose such a strangely religious term as "Heretics" to denote those who turned away from the old beliefs.

Anyway, judging from the unused voice lines above, we can conclude that there formerly seems to have been a lot more content relating to the Geth in general and Legion specifically in ME2, which ultimately got cut in the final game. As for the reasons, we can only guess, but there have been rumors going around for a long time that Legion's presence in the game was supposed to be way more extensive - at the very least, it looks like you would have been able to take them on a lot of earlier missions, since Legion has recorded dialogue for those which still plays properly if they're added to the party via modding. Who knows, perhaps the Geth themselves were meant to play a much more central role in the story.

Still, you should probably take all this information with a grain of salt, as everything I'm doing here is educated speculation at best - nevertheless, I find it very interesting to explore what BioWare's original plans for Legion possibly were, as well as imagining what could have been.

#mass effect #legion #mass effect legion #geth #D.C. Douglas #bioware #analysis #mass effect theories #me: *sees any new info about Legion* my brain: KOWALSKI ANALYSIS #Youtube

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gentil-minou · 7 months

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Xiantober Day 10 - Fanartist!Xian

WlW Wangxian Week Day 2 - Queen for a Day @wlwangxianweek

NSFW (masturbation, body worship, thirsting over your own art)

The email sat in her inbox untouched for days, heavy and daunting, the sender's address highlighted and glaring at her. It arrested her breath every time her cursor hovered over the unopened message.

Wei Ying has been creating fanart for years, and recently her clay sculptures have achieved widespread recognition for their level of detail and stunning paintwork. It's not uncommon for her to get emails asking to commission her.

But not all of those emails are sent from famed cosplayer Hanguang-jun's official email address, titled "Commission Request" in bold unassuming font that might as well be plastered on a neon sign for the way Wei Ying can't look away at all.

Hanguang-jun wants to commission Wei Ying for a tabletop sculpture to scale of her latest elven cosplay. She's willing to pay generously for Wei Ying's time and labor, well above her usual rates. She has a small list of specifications and offers to meet one on one for measurements.

How can Wei Ying explaing to HGJ, the queen of cosplay herself, that she doesn't actually need her measurements because she's spent the last few years memorizing her body by sight in all the the thousands of elegant cosplay photos HGJ posts on a weekly basis.

What would HGJ think if she knew the entire reason Wei Ying is lauded as one of the premier up and coming sculptors of her generation is because she's spent years honing her craft for the express purpose of being able to perfectly capture the essence of HGJ in inanimate form?

How did HGJ find her anyway?

Okay, actually, that's a dumb question. When Wei Ying started sculpting a year ago one of her first videos was a time lapse on tiktok with a clay model of a HGJ cosplay of a xianxia character.

And admittedly, Wei Ying did spend the entire video thirsting over HGJ while in her small studio surrounded by her fanart of HGJ and okay yeah so that video has several million views and quite a few cheeky comments tagging the queen herself…

So okay, it makes sense how HGJ found her, but it still doesn't explain WHY she chose to commission Wei Ying directly.

Like, here's the thing. Wei Ying knows she's good. She's super good. She didn't get to quit her boring day job for no reason, and she's spent practically all her life getting this good, she's not gonna pretend to be humble.

But HGJ never commissions people. She doesn't even reshare fanart or even respond to fan's comments. Her photos and videos are cinematic and expertly shot, but she doesn't do lives or anything like that where she talks to fans. Wei Ying has never been to a convention to see her personally, but with her expert internet sleuthing skills she knows that when HGJ does meet and greets, only ever for charity or some good cause, she doesn't do more than nod politely before posing with them.

So why would she all of a sudden reach out to Wei Ying and go against all of that?

But it doesn't matter why…because Wei Ying just responded to her email and took up the offer to meet Hanguang-jun to talk about her commission.

She's going to meet HGJ…in the flesh…outside of costume.

Wei Ying looks arond at her walls, plastered in artwork and photos of HGJ in all her glory. She stares at the smattering of sculptures she has displayed in a place of honor. At the life-sized cardboard cutout she got of HGJ cosplaying as Shego a couple years back, glaring menacingly in a way that makes her spine tingle...

Wei Ying is going to have to clean up her studio before she meets with HGJ…

What is she getting herself into?

Wei Ying likes to make prototypes before she meets with any client. It's not really a courtesy so much as a necessary requirement. A sculpture is way more taxing on her resources after all. She needs to make sure her client likes it before she gets started on the real deal.

She might be…spending more time on the prototype for Hanguang-jun than she has for anyone else…especially considering she's sculpted her enough she knows its good but, well…

She almost can't help it. Whenever she makes art of HGJ, it's like she's under a spell and can't resist. It's mesmerizing, watching the block of clay taking form and shape, transforming into a temptress that leaves Wei Ying glued to her desk until she finishing the final touches and sits back to admire her work.

Wei Ying used to exclusively make fanart of fictional characters. She mostly liked donghua and manhua, and rarely ever caared for things that were live-action or realistic. It took away the fun, she'd always thought. She lives in the real world so why would she care about something like that in her work?

Then, she saw Hanguang-jun cosplay her favorite character from her favorite novel. It was all over from there.

It wasn't even one of HGJ's more scandalous cosplays that showed off her ample cleavage or milky white thighs. She was completely covered up, wearing an intricate set of robes that must have been embroidered by hand with long black hair too silken to be a wig styled up in a top knot.

The costume was stunning, but it was HGJ's expression that ensnared Wei Ying. Fiercely intense, and a gravity that made the character come alive.

For a moment, Wei Ying forgot she was looking at a fanmade cosplay. For a moment, it was like the character she'd admired so much had come to life right on her computer screen, all elegant lines and secret curves. Her hand had reached into her shorts of its own accord…bewitched.

And so followed a mad scramble to get as much content about HGJ as she possible could, imbibing every last ounce until Wei Ying felt like she knew everything she could about HGJ.

Despite being notortiously private about her personal life. HGJ regularly shares bts about her costume work and and what goes into creating cosplay. There was a panel she'd done for a con where she explained how she'd sewn every costume painstakingly by hand, and how long each costume took.

That more than anything, pulled Wei Ying deep into HGJ's orbit.

She'll never forget listening to that video, the soft cadence of HGJ's delicate voice, so seldom heard when she plays so many silent and serious characters, as HGJ spoke about her love for her craft. Wei Ying was lost to the moment, to the wonderful sensation of someone knowing exactly why one would spend hours and days on creating something. The pure love for her craft, shining in the golden contacts HGJ wore, the stage lights giving them a twinkle that seemed to come from within.

That's when Wei Ying realized her crush on HGJ was more than that.

But until this moment, she didn't have to worry about it. Wei Ying was perfectly content making artwork from a afar, ever getting any closer. A fan and her muse, the simplest pairing there was.

Except now Hanguang-jun is coming to her studio. For a private meeting. Today.

Needless to say, Wei Ying is feeling woefully unprepared. She'd at least had the wherewithal to hide her more salacious fanart away. HGJ does not need to know how often Wei Ying has imagined and tried to paint her breasts…that would be a bit too far.

Her studio as ready as it is ever going to be, all she needs now is to finish the prototype.

It's a crude model, really. Meant mostly to test the pose HGJ requested. It's not even painted, though Wei Ying did spend more time on it than she has for anyone else.

The clay is still wet to the touch, as the model sits on her workbench and she trails a careful finger down the side of HGJ's face. Her eyes are still hollow and blank, but the shape is correct, the lines meeting at the corners to taper off underneath arched brows she's etched in.

HGJ's high cheekbones were carved at an angle over a mouth with a tiny smile, barely there. The reference photo Wei Ying had used for HGJ's expression wasn't from the official photo shoot, but a bts video on HGJ's brother's feed (also public, and filled with so much delicious content). HGJ wasn't even looking at the camera. She'd been holding her pet bunny in her lap, smiling so sweetly down at it, the corners of her mouth just barely lifting up and the softness of her eyes breathtaking. Wei Ying had felt like she'd been suspended in midair with the force of that little smile.

She'd fully intended to use one of the more serious expressions from the photoshoot, but when the time came it's like her hands had a mind of their own. It was instinct and the image of that sweet smile that guided her as she etched in the lines of the model's face.

Once it was done, there was no way she could smudge it away. And so the small smile stays. Wei Ying's hand trails over to the slope of HGJ's nose, and she giggles as she gives the figure a gentle boop. The clay sculpture is pretty large, about the size of her torso (also not the standard. usually these reference models are smaller than the sized asked for. But well...if Wei Ying has to give the final sculpture to HGJ maybe she can keep this prototype for her collection...) but that doesn't mean she's willing to risk damaging it when it's still so fragile. She'd be devastated if something happened to HGJ, in whatever form she's in.

Her finger slides down over plump lips that Wei Ying has spent many lines drawing over and over again, sketches of that mouth in every expression, closed and pursed into a frown, even open and waiting… She has the lines of HGJ's lips practically memorized. Can imagine how they'd feel when she traces over her own.

She does that now, the fingers of her right hand tracing over her own lips as the pad of her left index finger trails back and forth over the model's lips. Chapped against glossed. Plush pink. How would HGJ's look free of lipstick, smudged and wiped away at the edges onto someone else. Lips bitten red.

Wei Ying's breath hitches and she pulls her lips into her mouth to bite down on. Her right hand falls into her lap.

She lets the tip of her finger trail to HGJ's pointed chin, then curves it down as if Wei Ying is lifting it up to draw her towards her. That would be ludicrous, to kiss a statue…except….

Wei Ying had taken care to carve HGJ's elegant veins that jut out from her neck, and follows them down her slender throat and over her collarbone, to where the shape of HGJ's breast sit, exposed to the frigid way that would surely harden her nipples into soft rosebuds if they were real.

Wei Ying has spent many nights staring at the ceiling of her room, idly tracing figure 8s around and around her small chest as she ruminates on HGJ's full breasts, the way they effortlessly lift and nearly slip out of her costumes, though the never actually do.

How they must be twice the size of Wei Ying's own, leaving her to lift her own and wonder how heavy HGJ's must be. Imagine the weight of them in her palms, how they'd look when she squeezes. The sounds HGJ would make, her quiet gasps echoing in the silence of the room. The way those honey brown eyes, her real ones, not the fake contacts she uses for her cosplay, would be fixed on Wei Ying's, long lashes fluttering as she leans forward to give Wei Ying a better angle.

The heat inside Wei Ying flares up, and she lets her hands pull her shorts away so she can lip her hand inside, trialing over coarse curls until she reaches the place that's hottest within her. Not for the first time, she wonders what it would feel like to touch HGJ in this place. Would it feel the same as it does when Wei Ying touches herself? Would it feel like something else entirely?

She draws circles around her lower lips with the fingers of her right hand as her left index finger trails down the center of HGJ's chest, over the valley between her breasts.

Perhaps she should have sculpted the mounds of her breasts closer together so they'd create the cleavage HGJ is known for. But like earlier, when she'd felt out of control with the need to carve her smile, Wei Ying had wanted to let HGJ voluptuous breasts hang free and apart, natural the way she always imagines her.

Besides, it would fit with HGJ's request to create a sculpture of her recent cosplay of Galadriel.

Wei Ying had just about lost her mind when she'd seen the gauzy fabric of HGJ's dress, how it left only the most intimate parts of her to the imagination as the sheer dress draped over the curves of her body. How she could so clearly see the outline of her full breasts, with no bra restraining them only a simple fabric to tastefully cover her nipples. Beneath her chest, the dip in her slender waist flared out into wide hips. The curve of her thighs, with a wide slit in the dress that revealed the tiniest tantalizing peek of pale skin…

The pale blue, nearly see through fabric had been both too little and too much. Wei Ying had felt like she needed to look away. She'd also felt like she never wanted to stare at anything else ever again.

Remaking the exact gauzy lines in a clay sculpture will be a fun challenge. She can already see the way she can carve the lines so the creases of HGJ's dress show it's there while the rest of the fabric clings to her shape and form, a glimpse of something that shouldn't be seen. That Wei Ying sculpts herself, a shrine to a goddess.

The thought makes Wei Ying gasp, as she dips one finger inside her, slipping through her drenched folds with ease.

The heat is jarring, almost burning where it stokes a fire deep within her core, spreading outward, consuming everything in its wake.

In contrast, HGJ's clay figure is nearly ice cold against her heated skin. But as her finger rest against the figure, it turns warm, as if a heart truly beats beneath that clay chest.

Would it be the same if she was trailing her fingers across the real HGJ's chest? With a frozen exterior melt into warmth? Would a pink stretch across her torso, matching the lips she bites down? Would her heart beat just as fast as Wei Ying's?

Wei Ying rocks against her finger, but one just isn't enough. She adds another, strokes herself with intent even as her eyes flutter closed as her other hand slides down to the contours of HGJ's flat stomach, then to the v that points towards a place Wei Ying can only imagine in her wildest dreams.

If she doesn't pay attention, she can almost imagine her left hand is touching something else, something alive and real.

She whimpers, feeling the fire burn bright and hot and all encompassing. She wants to throw her head back, let her gasps echo off the ceiling. She wants to recline in her chair, give herself completely over to her pleasure. But how can she, when that would mean she can no longer touch HGJ, even this mere imitation of her?

At the thought, she opens her eyes again, gasping as she struggles to keep them from shutting, as she shudders from her approaching climax, curling those fingers and rubbing at her clit, faster and faster.

HGJ's model is haloed in a yellow spotlight from her desklight, drawing the eye and entrapping it.

It's not the real deal, but if Wei Ying squints her eyes she can pretend the burnished red figure is Hanguang-jun, blurry but real. Here, in front of her, panting breaths a match to hers.

She can almost see it, hear the intake of breath as HGJ watches her. What would HGJ think id she saw her? What would she do if Wei Ying called out for her? If she begged for her aid?

Would she hang back and watch? Would she be mortified? Intrigued?

Would she…would she dare approach? Would she stand over Wei Ying as she lies back in her chair? Would she draw her hand down the side of Wei Ying's face, past her chin and her neck, following the path Wei Ying traveled along her clay figure? Would she let her hand pass through the valley between Wei Ying's smaller breasts, fingers feather light, down, down over her stomach to join where Wei Ying's fingers slide in and out, pumping rhythmically as she chases her release.

Would she slip inside as well, bending over her, only touching that one most intimate place, Would she watch Wei Ying, those honey-brown filled with a new sort of intensity, something she's never worn for any of her cosplays. A vision just for Wei Ying.

Would she smile at her?

Wei Ying's orgasm crests and flares over her, all at once, rocking through her as the fire burns and burns and burns. She cries HGJ's name into the ceiling, caught in a wanton moan that goes on forever, obscenely so, until all that's left are Wei Ying's panting breaths.

When she returns to her body, feeling lightheaded, she registers the sticky wet sensation of her right hand as she pulls it out of her pants, feeling hollow inside. The tiny studio smells of sex as sweat beads down her back,

At some point during her climax she must have knocked over HGJ's figurine to where lies forlornly on its side.

"Shit," she whispers, checking over it with her clean hand and setting it down securely in its base. Thankfully it is undamaged, and she moves on to look for something to clean herself with.

It's not the first time she's done this here. She really should be more prepared for this sort of thing.

She cleans her hand as best as she can with her water bottle and hand sanitizer, wiping the rest away on her shorts. There's no mirror in this room but she's got enough time she can probably go to the bathroom and fix herself up, maybe air out the room before Hanguang-jun arrives—

There's a knock, quiet and polite, unintrusive, on the door to her studio, and Wei Ying jerks her head up in shock.

It's too early, she's supposed to have another ten minutes at least… it can't be.

The knock goes off again, this time louder and more firm. Wei Ying yelps, before covering her mouth with her hands. But it's too late.

Someone calls from the other side, "Is this the Yiling Matriarch's studio?"

It is. Fuck. Wei Ying is shaking, but she can't put this off any longer.

She opens the door.

TBC

(threadfic here)

#this is my first time writing wlw smut dsjkfhdskj please be nice #also i swear i've written more than masterbation scenes in smut djkfghdkhjgd #this is definitely going to become a one/twoshot. i think the second part will be from lwj's pov but i probably won't write it for a while #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #mdzs fanfiction #wangxian #wlw wangxian #wlwangxianweek #genderbend #cisswap wangxian #genderbent wangxian #wei wuxian #xiantober #lan wangji #mdzs musings #bushy writing

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