The Weight of the World
To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard
This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183.
Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten.
At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.
Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.
Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command
Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.
His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.
Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.
“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.
The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.
The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.
The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.
And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.
Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.
She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.
“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.
“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.
Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”
She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest.
“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise.
She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.
“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.
If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.
The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”
“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind. “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”
Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.
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Mike Flanagan character draft
Rules are simple: pick your top 6 characters from the Flanaverse. Series only! If a character appears at different ages, specify which one you want on your team. Can be characters you love, love to hate, whatever. Ready? GO!
1. Jamie (Amelia Eve, The Haunting of Bly Manor)
… and I’m in love with her.
2. Owen (Rahul Kohli, Thobm)
Puns for days, must be protected at all costs
3. Camille (Kate Siegel, The Fall of the House of Usher)
Stylish, efficient, awful in the best way
4. Dani (Victoria Pedretti, Thobm- obviously my fav)
Loving, kind and so, so brave
5. 1970s Madeline (Willa Fitzgerald, TFOTHOU)
Terrifying, glorious HBIC
6. Dr. Sarah (Annabeth Gish, Midnight Mass)
A woman of action AND science! What a combo.
ETA: Everyone feel tagged! Spread the good word of Flanagan 😅
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it's all so funny because two people can say they're into cottagecore. the first is someone who loves growing her own food, tries for sustainable habits, believes in anti-consumerism, and just enjoys connection to nature. the second buys aliexpress/wish fast fashion dresses because they look #aesthetic, posts about mushrooms and being feral but is essentially afraid of going outside, watches hours of internet content about cutesy cottagecore shopping hauls, and doesn't really subscribe to any anti-consumerist actions whatsoever. i don't really understand a "cottagecore aesthetic" that's all about getting new plastic junk shipped to your house because it's Cute and Totally Cottagecore.
to me, cottagecore was initially just a name for a deep-seated longing for nature, connection to the earth, sustainability, self-sufficiency and community building, fighting food insecurity, and pointing out how capitalism divorces us from nature and encourages us to be exclusively reliant on a giant chain full of exploitation and slavery. and there always WAS content like that among people interested in it, but the core of it (lol) ended up being high-strung impulse shoppers who deflect any criticisms of their lifestyles with "corporations though." they post about wanting a simple life, but the reality says grubhub, cheap amazon junk catered to the trends, and arguing against the people who try to post about making your life better. (literally the only time they espouse anything resembling collective politics/anti-individualism is when it can be used to deflect criticisms of their harmful habits; go figure, self-evaluation is rejected in favor of navel-gazing).
this is why i mostly stopped engaging with anything cottagecore-related, despite liking the aesthetics of old, 'rustic' things (things that i see as practical and environmentally friendly, at least). i mostly read about the simple living/voluntary simplicity movement, global movements for food justice, community/grassroots movements, and people working for the environment now instead, as well as whatever i can find about lesbian domesticity and women's land. i get a lot of the same aesthetics (and room for other people's lack of patience for aesthetics, which is also cool!) but with actual teeth and willingness to put in the hard work. let's be real, reblogging the random "omg i hate capitalism" post does nothing if you're just feeding back into the cycle in the name of validating your identity as a cottagecore girl or whatever. get outside, make your own food, stop buying everything you want in impulse, learn about the tedious politics behind your movement (no, i don't mean people on tumblr saying cottagecore is fascism lmao).
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