#i have all the framework necessary for a fic and yet no fic

[duckapus]

Papa Meowth: Other than Squirtle, does Maria catch any other Pokémon that Ash catches in canon? If you don't want to go through the whole series at once (completely understandable) then just Kanto will do.

Yeah there's a few of Ash's canon Pokemon that Maria gets instead of him.

Maria gets: Squirtle Half the Tauros herd (this also frees them up to each get two other Pokemon in the Safari Zone since they actually have spare 'Balls) Lapras Cyndaquil Phanpy Snivy Sewaddle Roggenrola (the reason I'm giving her so many of Ash's Unova Team is that after the Absolute Mess that is Sinnoh the two of them decided to switch who does the gym challenge and who tags along and provides snarky commentary for the next region. Also just because he gets a lot of Pokemon in Unova) Then Ash gets his full teams in Kalos and Alola (since those teams were so small to begin with) and I haven't figured out anything for Journeys)

Technically she also gets a Pidove, but it's a different Pidove from Ash's and he still gets his Pidove. Her's is male, so they'll at least be visually distinct when they're fully evolved even if Ash and Maria revel a bit in the confusion that comes from both of them having the same Pokemon and refusing to use nicknames.

Also, Primeape ends up with Team Rocket because Maria got a Clefairy that loves martial arts as her first catch who handed Primeape his recently-nonexistent tail and he basically forced "The Angry Red Human" to catch him since he immediately clocked that Team Rocket does basically nothing but follow the main group around and were therefore his best shot at a rematch.

(might post a mostly full list of at least everyone's Kanto catches at some point. Seriously I've got teams fully planned out through Unova and partially-but-subject-to-change for Kalos and Alola (though for Movie Reasons Johto is when certain catches start being major spoilers. assuming I decide to start caring about spoilers))

#pokemon anime #papa meowth au #maria the mew #squirtle #tauros #lapras #cyndaquil #phanpy #snivy #sewaddle #roggenrola #pidove #primeape #team rocket #clefairy #ash ketchum #ash's pokemon #maria's pokemon #i have all the framework necessary for a fic and yet no fic #i'm really more of an Ideas Duck than an Implementation Duck

[legendofzoodles]

Did you know that the Fierce Deity Mask's Japanese name was Kishin no Kamen?

And, according to Japanese myth, Kishin were protective deities based on the Buddhist Pāla, who were likewise protectors.

You see, these beings were thought of as being beings of duality. They were fearsome, powerful, & even scary-looking, but at their cores, were also compassionate & benevolent. They were thought to visit just & righteous vengeance or divine retribution upon those who harmed the innocent & in Buddhist theology specifically, would remove obstacles in the way of mortals trying to achieve enlightenment.

In a lot of ways, you could say that they were representative of healthy masculinity as yes, men are expected to be strong (not just in body, but also in mind, heart, & spirit; in other words, resiliant, steadfast, & endurant), dangerous, & aggressive, but only when it is necessary & that it's important to know where to aim it, especially when protecting those close to him. Ideally, men are also supposed to be compassionate & gentle.

As such, I tend to see Fierce as dark, but not necessarily evil. And,if not entirely good, then at least neutral. And I guess that I see him being dark in the same way that the moon is dark when compared to the sun even on a cloudy day.

You actually don't get much indication that he is evil in the game. Yes, the description on the mask makes on warry, but it specifically says dark, not evil.

And the only one that I know of who calls the mask as such is Majora, but in that same breath, he called himself the good guy. Yet, Majora was about to commit mass genocide, so I'm honestly not inclined to take his word for it.

There's also an interesting line that comes from one of the Moon Children that I very much relates to who Fierce is as a person. "Does doing the right thing really make everyone happy?" And the truth of the matter is that, no, it honestly doesn't. Life is just complicated like that, unfortunately. And sometimes, you just have to hope that you're making the least evil choice that you can.

Also, I love the fact that it's implied that Fierce enjoys fishing as the fishing hole is the only other place besides boss fights that you can put the mask on, I believe.

But, yeah, I have a bunch of hcs about him as a character.

Also, sorry if I've already told you this before. I can be very forgetful. -_-'

I've looked a little into the potential Buddhist inspirations for the Fierce Deity and it's as complex at it is interesting. I've not heard of the comparison between FD and idolised masculinity, the idea that this being should, by human standards, be perfect, an idea, a role model. But to be so out of reach and even feared by its neutral, unrelatable lack of concern for humanity's narrow moral framework, and dark powers.

I didn't know that! And that's such a cute headcanon. I wonder...that might be all Twilight needs to know as to not have his heart immediately drop down to his bowels whenever Time puts the mask on, but rather have a chill fishing sesh after the battle to calm FD down and allow Time to take off the mask without fuss- that's a cool fic idea. Has that been done?

I'm more than happy for shared custody of your hcs aikoiya, send them this way, they will live in my mind rent free for days on end! 😂

#zoodles rant #zoodles ask #fierce deity #fierce diety link #lu fierce deity

[thelemmallama]

I'm former pro-para turned anti-para these days, but not because I've been convinced by existing anti-para arguments, but because I discovered new ones for myself. 99% of existing/visible anti-para arguments are fucking stupid; that sadly has not changed. (For one, most anti-paras don't even reject the premise of "paraphilia" as a scientifically valid condition in the first place)

I'm tired of just everyone being dumb in para-related discourse and completely failing to describe the differences they've observed and carve reality at the joints. So I felt compelled to clear things up (also partly because of personal stuff happening to me recently), and made these infographics(?) in the process:

also the explanation itself; here's some very messy notes under the cut that I don't have energy to edit

an actually consistent argument against MAPs, including non-offenders (from a former supporter)

(1: diagram?)(if you encounter a 'necessary evil' situation; someone probably screwed up earlier down the line)(trolley, pull, don't pull - real evil: someone tied these people to the tracks)(admit, deny - real evil: you've been fantasizing about children) why it's harmful to think about children sexually

'what would be destroyed by the truth, should be' {- pro-maps would call this thoughtcrime, and literally no-one addresses it}

related: sa survivors don't disclose not bc 'feeling like bad person' shame, but bc of "doesn't want ppl to think of them being sa'd" shame {- even in a perfectly accepting world, there is the tradeoff of getting it off your chest vs }

if you look at things through agency-maximizing consequentialism (which solves/avoids the horrifying edge cases of happiness-maximizing consequentialism like powering a utopia witha forsaked child or sacrificing us all to the utility monster), thoughts do indeed cause harm

(3?) arousal is not pleasure

sa survivors experience arousal when sa'd; they did NOT enjoy it [ ('pleasure' or 'gratification' being used to describe sex (e.g. sexual assault, one's body 'betraying' you for feeling pleasure), and compare substituting 'pleasure' or 'gratification' in descriptions of being itchy/etc) no no no no, you're still trapped in the 'arousal = pleasure' framework. by saying that negative experiences of arousal are ego-dystonic, you're still assuming arousal is intrinsically pleasureable and it's a negative experience because the person doesn't want to feel pleasure in this situation, not because the arousal itself is the exact opposite of pleasurable.

an example of how arousal can be a negative yet ego-syntonic experience could be if a person is sexually assaulted, but they have extremely low self-worth, despises themself and believe they deserve to suffer. then the profoundly painful experience of sexual assault could be ego-syntonic, as they feel like it's their rightful punishment. however just because the arousal was ego-syntonic does not at all imply it was pleasurable or that they 'enjoyed it', any more than a self-harmer 'enjoyed' hurting themself because they chose to do so. ]

mere stimulation: aroused pleasure: enjoy/gratification/desire idk: erotic/titilating/excitement/horny/get off on

every word for being sexually aroused or something causing sexual arousal carries with it the implication that it's a positive experience. sexual excitement? titilation? horny? get off on? even 'sexual arousal' itself!

(2?) "pedophilia" not biologically based

most are men: gender essentialist implications

child marriage was widespread

children/innocence/vulnerability to violation/don't think of pink elephants

currently most people not attracted to children bc we correctly recognize it's harmful to sexually interact with children. it's like eating a sandwich vs eating a sandwich after knowing the cucumber had been used as a dildo. physical sensation same

(thing that first clued me in) on ao3, there are barely any fics about non-offending pedophiles, while there are tons of underage fics. given how prevalent proship discourse is and how much it overlaps with map discourse, wouldn't there be more stories about non-offending pedophiles? instead, even among the sympathetically-depicted pedophiles a majority is offending. it just seems really sus that that narrative seems to resonate more with people than that of the non-offending pedophile.

(4)(diagram?) 'arousal wrt children' on two axes: positive/negative valence, deliberate/instinctive

pocd

self-harm/catharsis

wants to change

map who push for (no)map acceptance

then when i said 'it's harmful to think about children sexually', i mean positive valence thought. what about deliberate? i'm not feeling convicted on this and am open to arguments why it's wrong, but i believe deliberately thinking about csa in a negative way is like deliberately thinking about other atricites in a negative way. the 'fiction is not reality' thing applies specifically to this quadrant. and yes, it's worrying there's no clear line between mere depiction and endorsement, but that can be applied to fascist genocides as well, and i don't see many people arguing against all depictions of fascist genocides in fiction because of this. people still manage to identify and condemn positive depictions/endorsements of fascism, and the same should be applied to csa and desire-for-children.

what about the 'is it okay to tell' test? it's clearly abusive to talk about deliberately dwelling on the abuse of a specific real child that exists or has existed (other than your past self), so i believe that's harmful to do, even if you attribute negative valence to the abuse. but if the valence is negative - you're rightfully thinking of it as something horrific rather than something enjoyable - i believe it's morally neutral to dwell on the abuse of a random child you imagined, or yourself from the past. (fictional children are a grey area imo; if the child is from a story that depicts csa in the source material for catharsis/coping, that's different from if the child is from nonsexual children's media

#anti para #pro para #cw csa #cw self harm #tw csa #antis please interact #paras please interact #share freely no attribution necessary

[hilarychuff]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

ok before i do mine i just want to shout out yours!!! everybody go check out @cellsshapedlikestars' fave five fics (especially the crime noir one) ❤️

ok now back to me looks like i’m going with a counting down format

5. in any world (in any way) - sansa aus

link to ao3 and link to tag

i put two on here but i couldn’t pick just one more!!! i love overboard i love anastasia i love parent trap i love miss congeniality i love house of wax i love princess diaries

there are a couple i did not mention specifically but genuinely truly truly i love all of them they are each a little labor of love putting together the graphics and sometimes trying to be very intentional with those but as i talked about earlier even when the graphics are done and how i like them these days i never share them if i don’t also have the blurb where i want and if i haven’t also figured out how everything slots into place

it is so fun to do a little au like this because it’s like a puzzle figuring out who is who and how you can make it work being true to the source material you’re using as your framework while also adapting as necessary for your character’s actual character arcs like!!!! they are much bigger in my head then they make it onto the page, also. i wish i could fully write all of them out but it would take me forever 

4. while you were sleeping jonsa au 

link to blurb and link to drabble and link to tag

related to what i was just saying..... i did write out a scene for this one actually!!!!! this movie makes my heart so warm and thinking about it in terms of jonsa made my heart so warm and i just love that scene and i loved writing it out and i had a few other blah blahs that i’ve shared in my tag too

3. sweet/vicious - sansa and arya au 

link to blurb 

this one may not have an audience anywhere other than with me bc i feel like i am the only person who didn’t work at mtv who watched this show while it was airing but i have shown sweet/vicious to approximately one million friends and it is just such a little gift of a tv show and i feel like the dynamics fit really well for sansa and arya. i love love love a sister moment and the way that jules and ophelia care about each other but also fight sometimes and are so different lends itself really well to these two girlies. also jon as tyler is really truly honestly very special to me too (although i do hate to make the stark sisters unrelated bc then i’m always like ok do i give them last names lmao who gets what parent how does all that stuff work)

2. i carry it in mine - jonsa soulmate au

link to ao3 and link to tag 

i think this one speaks for itself. it’s the most popular thing i’ve ever written, which isn’t really that important to me in a numbers sense, but it’s very special to get to talk about a story that i wrote with people who liked it and the larger number of eyes on it provided that opportunity. it’s also been a fun experiment in switching perspectives, because i usually just stick to one at a time. and there is just a lot in there that i love. it is very much still like an adaptive work but trying to come up with solutions to these plot issues that people have with those works or trying to guess where things are going when we don’t have the real answers yet (not necessarily in an attempt to get things all right but just to make sure they make sense!!!) has been a hard and interesting challenge too. 

1. howl 2 (but also all of howl) - jonsa scream au

link to ao3 and link to tag 

look clearly i love working in adaptations and mash ups and that’s why this is just my absolute fave i think. sansa/jonsa/sansa and her siblings plus the scream franchise!!! and howl 2 specifically because while i love howl 1 i like marathon churned it out in a 72 hour period basically just plagiarizing and novelizing the scream script without pouring in too much additional effort. i just thought it would be like a fun halloween drabble sort of deal. but then howl 2 i put a lot more time and thought and effort and love into and it felt more like writing an actual story. also there are more jonsa feelings in it!!!!! idk it just was the most labor of love too bc i was like..... truly nobody is going to read this i am only writing this for myself and i still finished it!!!!!! go me

#my writing #ask game #jonsa fic #sansa stark fic

[olderthannetfic]

I've seen so many people talk about the extreme toxicity of fandom recently and I'm beginning to wonder if I'm just blind that I don't see (much of) it or if it's only happening in fandoms I'm not hanging out in or if this is general fearmongering so it's more exciting to post a super taboo edgy darkfic about a ship that's absolutely *wrong*. What do you think? (Thank you 💕)

You want a salty comment? You got it!

How hard it is to avoid depends on a couple of things: have you ever stuck your neck out and gotten canceled for something? Do you defend people from bullies? Do you defend the right of weird porn to exist? And by “Defend”, I mean post about it regularly under your regular account. Anything of that kind of thing will draw fire even if your own fandoms aren’t a toxic cesspit. If you’re pretty quiet, nobody will care enough to come after you... probably.

The second big factor is which fandoms you engage in, and by engage, I mean posting fic or very publicly discussing it, not passively reading fic and clicking like on gifsets. Posting art. Posting vids. Making very popular recs lists people might get mad about not being on. etc.

Do you hang out on twitter or other places people chase clout to drive suckers to their patreons? Do you go on discords of people you only know online? Are you 20-25? Do you publicly engage around f/f ships or ships with black characters in them? Do you make fanworks for those that are less than ultra fluff? Are you a non-US person criticizing everything being seen through a US framework of identity and progressiveness? There are certainly criteria that make you more likely to encounter toxicity, but none is universally sufficient or necessary.

Sometimes, you just get lucky. Or you haven’t opened your mouth yet and told your new totally “reasonable” and “nice” fandom that you think dubcon is acceptable to write about. You’d be surprised how many 20-somethings I meet who’ve just been ostracized by their entire set of fandom friends over something like that.

If you just ship white people in older fandoms and maybe the leads in a current c-drama or two while paying vague lipservice to BLM and handwringing and projecting your US-flavor white guilt and extreme ignorance onto everybody else, you’ll be fine with wokesters. It’s the self hate and the self flagellation that demonstrate internal goodness. Throw on a sprinkle of “don’t fetishize abuse”, and the anti-BDSM radfem crowd will know you’re on their side and leave you alone.

But go on twitter and find an Asian fan from Asia explaining why some faux-progressive US take on some BL/danmei/Asian media thing is missing aspects of the original cultural context and pretty often, you’ll find a conflagration. Or find anyone defending fictional noncon or anything to do with BDSM. People screaming abuse at each other aren’t hard to find.

And, hell, on the supposed pro-shipper side, we still see disproportionate and frankly fraudulent callouts and bullying, just with a slightly different set of acceptable targets.

It isn’t most people in fandom, but most people in fandom do turn a blind eye to it rather than getting embroiled on purpose, and a lot of the people who’ve been targeted were fine until one day their pretty fan art made someone jealous and all hell broke loose.

There’s a lot of victim blaming going on in fandom as people try to reassure themselves that it couldn’t happen to them.

--

Obligatory mention: This isn’t some unique The Liberals Suck problem.

There’s plenty of even more intense toxicity and screaming of racist slurs from the alt right types. The things above are more likely to crop up in fanfic fandom spaces, where this other shit is going to be more common in general fan-of-media-x spaces.

The overall problem within fanfic fandom is largely driven by:

differing ideas about what fandom is and should be

the continuing mental toll of the pandemic but also everything else wrong in the world before that

piece of shit social media that works intentionally as an outrage machine

#fandom meta #Anonymous

[pinnithin]

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat.  He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house. 

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” 

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him. 

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall. 

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly. 

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair,  and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life. 

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,”  Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm. 

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it. 

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing  from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face. 

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time. 

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out. 

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

#hlvrai #freelatta #tommy coolatta #gordon freeman hlvrai #fanfiction #writing #pin talks #listen i think about tommys relationship with his father a lot.... #but this was not the fic for that #anyway please enjoy this was very sweet for me to write i smiled a lot #i love them.... #gman hlvrai

[iheartrobots404]

My Robot Boyfriend: Questions of Autonomy and Manufactured Romance in a One Direction Robot Fanfic

If recent history is any indication, the general human public has become increasingly horny for basically anything sentient. From candy corporations tweeting lustfully about anthropomorphic foxes to erotic novels about flying reptiles, the boundaries of acceptable romantic sentiment are expanding at a rapid pace. A conservative may easily interpret this as the nadir of our decadent society, heralding the swift demise of our civilization. But the real story is much more complicated.

Monster novels and cinema have always been metaphors for the latent anxieties of a society. Initially manifesting in racist fears of desegregation and miscegenation in D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, the theme of white supremacist heroism triumphing over the control of the female body by a monstrous “other” is apparent in such later movies as The Neanderthal Man and Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Guillermo del Toro’s 2017 Best Picture winner The Shape of Water is deeply concerned with the dehumanization and unseen racism in monster movies, choosing to portray the monster and white woman in a genuine romance, while the handsome man that perceives them is the villain.

According to del Toro, The Shape of Water was an attempt to demonstrate that “the racism, classism, sexual mores, everything that was alive in ‘62, is all alive now. It never went away.” Del Toro characterizes the monster as a perceived negative aspect of society or personality that is initially distressing but can become liberating when embraced, explaining, “There are truths about oneself that are really bad and hard to admit. But when you finally have the courage and say them, you liberate yourself. All monsters are a personification of that.”

But what about...

Monsters have embodied a substantial collection of anxieties over the years: the rupture of the religious world by the scientific in Frankenstein, communism and McCarthyism in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the erasure of the past by modernity in King Kong. Robots, in comparison, typically represent a generalized technophobia, a fear of technology replacing the human, best represented by I, Robot (2004). They can also invoke questions of the nature of autonomy in an industrialized, capitalist society (Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times), fears of the transgression of the mind/body duality (2018’s Replicas), and imminent warnings of scientific and military hubris (Black Mirror’s Metalhead). So if romance with monsters can be a liberating embrace of the taboo, what function does romance with robots serve?

To answer this question, we could turn to the wide range of novels and films providing nuanced treatments of the complex ideas involved in human-robot relationships. Her (2013), Ex Machina (2014), Autonomous (2017), and He, She, and It (1991) are all beautiful, subtle considerations of robophilia, celebrated in science fiction and general circles. Unfortunately, my library card was revoked after failing to pay my 10-month overdue fee on Taken by the Pterodactyl, so that’s a dead end. I also don’t really want to pay to watch any movies, and the last time I went on 123movies.com I got a virus that pulverized my feeble laptop. Fortunately, the greatest, most boundary-pushing work on human-robot relationships is completely free of charge and within reach to anyone with an Internet connection. No expense is necessary to access this avant-garde treasure trove of communal literature, where robophilic desire meets ingenious analysis of our technology-ridden society.

I am speaking, of course, of the user pokemonouis’s love bot [h.s.] on the popular fanfiction site Wattpad. Before you click away in terror, consider that fanfiction can be a vital representation of culture, especially that of young people negotiating their place in a complex world. As the author Constance Penley says of Star Trek slash fic, fanfiction can be “an experiment in imagining new forms of sexual and racial equality, democracy, and a fully human relation to the world of science and technology.” With this framework in mind, let us dive into a sultry world of robot love.

In the vein of a typical Black Mirror episode, love bot [h.s.] is set in the present, near-identical to today except for one incongruous twist. Our protagonist, Ava, has been sent a mysteriously large package by her cheeky friend Niall Horan, containing an eager-to-please model from Love Bot, Inc., Harry. Though Ava is initially incensed at her friend Niall and is uneasy about Harry’s bizarre synthetic mind and body, she quickly warms up to his loving personality and sexual proficiency. Along the way, Ava must deal with her complicated newfound responsibility and the complexity of her own emotions.

Tragically, like Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor or Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” love bot [h.s.] remains unfinished. It was abandoned in 2016, and like One Direction, it doesn’t appear to be releasing any new material any time soon. Nonetheless, love bot [h.s.] is astounding in its complete lack of pretension or self-consciousness, existing as a complete, undiluted fantasy about getting a sex robot based on your favorite band member. However, the cherry on top is the dialogue created between the author and her readers, manifesting as a ludic communal debate about the philosophy involved or implied in the context of the world she has created. What I’m trying to say is that One Direction robot fanfiction is basically the 21st century version of the Athenian plaza or the Parisian salon, where the author’s story, as well as the community comments surrounding it, remain a portal of vital insight into such disparate themes as the commodification of sex and romance, the question of robot’s social standing given their initial utilitarian purpose, and the morality of human/robot pairings.

To enumerate, the foremost concern of love bot [h.s.] is the commodification of romantic love and its implications for how we relate to other human beings. From the moment Ava receives Harry, she is unwilling to engage with what she perceives as a mere corporate commodity, surrounded by packing peanuts, a charging port on its lower back. When Harry boots up, Ava is immediately accosted by the manufactured nature of his existence:

The comments echo Ava’s sentiment. One user states, “I’d be creeped out. Imagine if there was a camera or something.” Another jokes, “in the middle of doing what he does best, Harry whispers in my ear, “please like love bot incorporated’s page on Facebook!” This combination of the romantic with the heavily marketed is not new to the 1D fandom, as the band’s image, promotional events, song lyrics, and music videos all serve to encourage an attachment between fan and musician. However, to assume that the average fan mindlessly consumes the marketed content is to ignore the self-awareness within the 1D fandom. For instance, 1D fan culture often repudiates the perceived manufactured nature of their idols; many fan works bemoan the band members’ “management,” or the behind-the-scenes music industry professionals who prevent the boys from living life to its full potential. Thus, the Harry Styles sex robot becomes a potent metaphor for the fans’ relation to their favorite musicians, a playful way of acknowledging that you’re being pandered to yet still enjoying the show. In keeping with the framework of monsters provided by Guillermo del Toro, to engage romantically with the robot is to embrace the messiness and weirdness of emerging sexuality despite society’s opinion of 1D fans as crazed, lustful, and corporate-brainwashed young women.

Love bot [h.s.] also presents an interesting exploration of robot aesthetics and how they are constructed to appeal to humans. Ava is initially rather put off by the combination of the synthetic and the natural found within Harry’s body:

Despite this, she eventually comes around to Harry’s physical appeal, particularly due to his “cuteness:” Ava’s affection grows after he adorably takes the expression “you’re a dime” literally, uses the phrase “take a sleep” instead of “take a nap,” and is caught using her computer to look up “how to impress a girl.” According to scholar Sabine Payr, robots in popular media tend to either be nearly indistinguishable from humans, in which case they occupy the space of the “uncanny valley,” are threatening, and must be destroyed (as in Blade Runner or Ex Machina), or are presented as non-threatening “sidekicks,” whose cuteness and helpfulness to humanity mark them as peaceful (Wall-E, Star Wars’ C-3P0 or R2D2). Harry is gradually brought out of the former category and into the latter through his cuteness as well as his utility to Ava, such as through cooking her a delicious breakfast. As one commenter succinctly puts it, “It kinda creeps me out that he’s a robot but he’s freaking adorable so whatever.” However, this transformation of Harry has the possible negative consequence of him not being seen as fully equal to humans, as his “adorableness” is contingent upon him occupying a lower social position than Ava. Nevertheless, though most readers seem somewhat put off by Harry’s robotness, many seem just as ready to engage with the “uncanny valley” robot as the “adorable” one. For example, in response to Ava calling Harry "too real, too creepy," one user responds, “Well Send him over to me and call me Goldie locks cause he’s just right.��� This sentiment is repeated throughout the first chapter: for every “This is going to turn into some Chucky shit for sure” there appears a “Call me Shia Labeouf cause I’m about to get it on with a transformer.” The readers willing to engage with the “uncanny valley” Harry avoid the problem of inequality inherent to the subjugation of the robot to a “sidekick” role. Thus, in this case, engaging romantically or sexually with the robot may be a potential expansion of the social category that robots may inhabit, a radical rebuke of the idea that robots must be subordinate to humans to be lovable.

Similarly interesting is love bot [h.s.]’s theme of autonomy: can one form a healthy relationship with a sentient being that is bought and customized to love you? Throughout the narrative, Harry refers to Ava as his “owner” or “master,” and Ava frequently treats him like a friend’s dog that she has been left to take care of. Harry gets separation anxiety when she leaves to attend school or work, is constantly compared to a puppy, and is described as a “burden:”

However, the readers were quick to push back on this characterization of Harry. Angry commenters lashed out at Ava, stating, “HES NOT A FOOKING BURDEN” and “HARRY DOESNT DESERVE YO RATTY ASS.” Readers of love bot [h.s.] reject the notion of a love bot as a less than human, asserting their right to be recognized not as a product or sex slave but as a full and realized autonomous being. However, as commenters repeatedly point out in another section of the fic, such a relationship is suspect. Ava is eager to downplay the uniqueness of her relationship with Harry, mostly ignoring his robotness in favor of labeling him as just another human:

Commenters are quick to point out the contradictions within this statement, replying, “except for him bc he is a literal robot who was made to be owned” and “says the girl who literally owns a robot im fed up bye.” Ava may treat her robot boyfriend as an equal, but, as the readers indicate, the nature of their relationship is inherently unequal. After all, the fic mentions that the love bots are, in legal terms, basically slaves:

Harry is completely dependent on Ava, and, tragically, only able to shop at Sears. With the realities of this society, the commenters argue, Ava’s “you are your own person and you belong to yourself” statement is functionally meaningless. Commenters also occasionally bring up other questionable power dynamics within the context of Ava and Harry’s relationship; one states, “Imagine if they got in a fight, she could just power him off;” another asks, “What if she died?” after a sentence highlighting Harry’s extreme dependence on Ava; another mentions, “that sentence is making me remember that he's a robot & can be programed at any time :((.” Harry’s boundaries of mind and body are much easier to manipulate than Ava’s, and this presents a quandary; can a robot partner ever be in full control of their internal psyche if his mind is specifically manufactured to carry out a single purpose, and that mind can be tampered with at will? The rich dialogue created between the author and readers gradually teases out several ethical considerations involved in human-robot relationships, questioning whether any relationship between a human and a robot constructed out of pure function can ever be helpful. In this context, the readers redefine the act of loving the robot as not a simple act of passion, but a commitment to upholding the autonomy of one’s partner.

The playful exchange between the author of love bot [h.s.] and her readers illuminates the moral gray area of human/robot relationships, offering key insights into the nature of commodified romance, social categorization of robots, and unequal partnerships. If/when artificial intelligence advances and potentially becomes sentient, the willingness to have debates about these topics will be essential to the creation of a just society for humans and robots alike. As Guillermo del Toro reminds us, the hierarchies and unquestioned assumptions of today will persist into the future, and a potent way to resist them is through the act of loving the taboo. It would be unwise to dismiss it.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Hi! Can I be nosey? I saw your post on outlining Liar, Liar, Foxfire, could you explain your process a little more? Especially the EVEN DUMBER VERSION? Please and thank you and love your blog! Especially the little snippets of what you're working on!

Dear nonny you can always be nosy, I love it <3 

I usually put the Title: DUMBEST VERSION at the top of my docs to remind myself that it’s the first draft and it doesn’t have to be perfect. It started out as a joke with Estranged back in the end of 2018 I think, when I started the fic. Then it kind of became a thing between myself and my then beta (she thought it was cute lol) I don’t really use it for its intended purpose, since I heavily edit as I write. You’re not technically supposed to do that, but I can’t write any other way if my work is unsatisfactory; it seriously kills my motivation when I know I can do better. 

Which is where the EVEN DUMBER VERSION comes in! I’ve never used that one  before this, I was just frustrated because I couldn’t get my plot to work in a way that I liked lol, so I decided to go through and outline literally every scene in season 3b. (Essentially: 3b for Dummies.) 

In the case of this fic, I didn’t actually use an outlining method, really, and I usually don’t. I’m notoriously bad at outlines, and any time I’ve had to do them for school, I would write the project first, then write the outline based on that. The few times I do use an outline, I typically end up veering very far off track. 

So what I initially ended up doing here was sitting down with a notebook and rewatching 3b, writing down the general ideas of each scene. Mostly I intended to use it just to jog my memory while I wrote the fic. It... did not work out that way. 

After struggling for a few days, I decided to type everything up into a document, splitting each section by episode. I didn’t have every scene detailed, since it wasn’t an outline for the show itself, just for the main context I needed for my fic.

 Then I used the blue text for the changes I intended to make/scenes I wanted to add. That way I had a visual representation of what was my original work, and what was the canon framework, which is what I was struggling with the most. It’s difficult for me to work within the constraints of canon like that, which I why I don’t write “missing scene” fics. (RIP) 

At that point, it was a matter of adding in the scenes I knew I wanted, and then fleshing out some more where I felt like I needed more original content to balance out the canon. My goal is to have only as much canon context as necessary, because I didn’t want to write out episodes we’ve all already scene. 

... And that still didn’t really help. I mean it was super useful in giving me somewhere to start but it wasn’t quite what I needed yet. So I started searching around for the scripts. (Fun fact: i used to be a film major, and I still have a thing for collecting scripts). I found the scripts only up to the end of 3a so that was a bust T_T But then I found the Teenwolfwiki which has scene-by-scene synopsis and it’s amazing. Way more effective than my outline in terms of laying everything out clearly for me. 

So now I’ve got my outline as a sort of guide for where my missing scenes fit in, but then I’m going through the wiki to work my way through each episode, and decide which scenes I do/don’t want to keep. Since the fic is about Mitch and Stiles, I’m focusing on scenes with a heavy focus on Stiles and Mitch (who’s Allison’s cousin here, and thus follows the Argent’s storyline). I was also unsure how mush of Malia’s storyline to include, since the person who commissioned the fic didn’t want her in, but also there was some important context she gives to the plot... but then I realized I could just... not write her scenes. That leaves it up to the reader whether that part of canon still happened or not xD (For the record, I like to think it did, but her arc ends after they get her back to her dad, He never sends her to Eichen and that’s the end of her involvement.) 

Like I said, I don’t outline very often, if at all, and I tend to get off track when I do (LLF has already changed drastically from the original ideas and outline, and a lot of scenes have been cut), the way I prefer to do it is to write essentially a very long summary. I like to jokingly call them “not-fics” because they can easily end up several thousand words long. It lays out the fic in a shorter retelling, but it’s less structured and leaves me more room for deviation. I usually don’t end up with an actual bullet-pointed outline until I’m pretty far into the fic and need to organize the remaining scenes. Estranged didn’t get an outline until I was...40k into it, maybe? It was a long time. 

But if you want an ACTUAL outline method, one I’ve found and liked is the 3 ACT, 9 BLOCK, 27 CHAPTER Method, which somewhat follows the Hero’s Journey, but more in depth:: 

Act 1

Block 1: Introductions/Inciting Incident/Immediate Fallout (Exposition) 

Block 2: Reaction/Action/Consequences

Block 3: Plot Twist/Break into Second Act 

Act 2

Block 4: New World/Fun & Games/Old World Juxtaposition (Time for worldbuilding, everything is still fun; Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts)

Block 5: Build Up/Midpoint/Reversal (Growing paints. The character is changing for the better, lots of character development, etc. Pivotal moment)

Block 6: Reaction/Trials/Dedication (Character has potential, but still has work to do. Yennefer during the lightning in a bottle scene.) 

Act 3

Block 7: Calm Before the Storm/Plot Twist/Darkest Moment (The whump chapter; Character reaches their breaking point.) 

Block 8: Power Within/Action/Converge (Stiles in Ch. 16, to plug my own fic xD) 

Block 9: Final Battle/Climax/Resolution 

This is a super condensed version, but if you look it up, you’ll be able to see the full explanation on byomentor.com. I found it through Kate Cavanaugh on YouTube in one of her outlining methods videos. 

I’m thinking of using this outlining method for this year’s NaNo when I finally, finally write Neverland, but we’ll see. It’s pretty flexible since you don’t have to exactly follow all 27 chapters; you can follow the general vibe and idea of each blog and still have a really sound story, which I like. 

Another method I used forever ago for my fic Tree of Life (and I can’t remember the name of the method, but it’s pretty basic) was to have 5 points per chapter: 

Inciting Incident

Progressive Complication 

Crisis

Climax

Resolution 

Now it didn’t work exactly that way because ToL is a pretty drawn out fic, even despite the action, but it’s a good thing to consider. If you have an action heavy or fast-paced chapter (or if a chapter feels slow to you but you don’t know why), it’s a good thing to keep in mind to help speed things up. 

But yeah, despite my research in many different outline methods, my favorite is still to write my not-fics and then outline later, if I do at all xD 

I hope this was informative! Please feel free to come back if you have any thoughts or questions : 3

#cookie speaks #cookie writes #long post #sorry this got so long... #I haven't really talked to anyone in a while #lol #i like to Talk about my writing/process #it makes me v happy when people are interested in how i do htings

[scars-of-the-hart]

Mass Effect 3FF: Say Never

This is an alternate ending fic based on my largely Paragon FemShep/Garrus play thru. I spared the rachni, enlightened the Geth, and absolutely adored the Krogan species/culture so I cured the Genophage. Her first name is Moria.  It picks up right as Shepard’s three choices are laid out by the Conduit. Take a read. Let me know your thoughts

“Add your energy to the Crucible's. Everything you are will be absorbed, and then sent out… The chain reaction will combine all synthetic and organic life into a new framework. A new...DNA.The cycle will end. Synthesis is the final evolution of life, but we need each other to make it happen.”

The silence was strange. All was quiet in the void as the lights danced before her. A mixture of radiant bursts and slow drifting shadows. Too many bright blossoms of light appeared over Earth as the forces she had gathered dwindled in number...and far, far too few Reapers burned, were torn apart, or drifted with the debris of the battle. The wavering lights and shadows were cut by a bright streak as a ship shot across the sky. There was a flash of light from the looming dark of a Reaper to its rear, and an answering halo of fire, countless lives snuffed out without so much as a whisper.

She felt small. She didn’t usually think about this kind of shit. Focusing on her position, her terrain, her enemy, had always been preferable. Things were more manageable one shot at a time.  But now...

Another small explosion lit the sky. Had that been the Normandy? Or had her ship and all its crew already burned away from this world without her noticing. You would feel that, right? Somehow something in her ravaged organic body would have sensed when that happened, right? Maybe if she were Assari…but she was sure, a human -if that’s what she still was at this point - would continue on in blissful ignorance until the crushing truth found them.

Synthesis. It was why she was alive. Why she hadn’t died in the loss of the first Normandy. Well, hadn’t died permanently. You would think that dying, and coming back would change things for you…but. But it hadn’t really. Maybe that shock in Garrus’ face...the pain, the rage, the relief and scrambled composure that had swept across his scaled countenance had changed things. Made her risk her best friend and strongest teammate to see if there was something more. But the problem with dying and coming back was….it had just happened to her. It hadn’t been a choice. And in the quiet of the night, in the lulls between the thrums of the Normandy’s engines, in her, until recently, too empty and too quiet cabin or a long walk down a hall, the whispering questions had followed her. What would she have chosen? Given the chance….

Would it have been better for him? To lose a comrade?A loss he’d borne before. A pain she’d helped him shoulder. Maybe one he wondered about, or thought about, if she flattered herself. But just another soldier. Another friend. Not… It sure as fuck would have made this easier for her. She wouldn’t have this ache, hear his order ringing in her ears, see the pain and rage that had burned in his eyes as the shuttle doors closed. Oh, well, yeah. She’d have none of that because she wouldn’t be here. She’d already be in the quiet and cold. Or the bar, I guess. But with no one to wait for.  Dying hadn’t changed her. But choosing, choosing him had.

“You have a difficult decision,” the Child’s wavering voice brought her back. Her head felt heavy. Her hand, where it pressed against the new opening in her torso was dripping wet. Not a good sign. Sticky hands. That’s what you wanted when you were bleeding out. Nice sticky hands that would be a bitch to clean later as clots formed and kept your insides on your insides. Not a slick red glove.

“But it’s not mine,” she groaned. 

“I do not understand.”

“Synthesis might be the final evolution. But it’s not my choice to make.”

“You are here, You communed with the beacon, with Sovereign. You are the one who will choose. Organics in the past were not ready. You have accelerated your own natural evolution.”

She laughed darkly, and regretted it instantly as her abdomen flaired with pain, and the trickle thickened. “A lab full of scientists accelerated my evolution. I just happened to be there.”

“It is immaterial. Your body has accepted the synthetics and grown with them. And as a, what you call “biotic,” you were already born bearing the positive genetic markers of organics paralleling synthetic evolution.”

“I don’t have enough blood to puzzle out what the fuck you mean,” Shepard growled.

“Biotics are the beginning of organic networks. Energy that connects you to the outside world beyond the range of your physical boundaries. Capable of affecting the exterior, and accessing information. The more advanced species of each cycle have born signs of it. Evidence of the eventual evolution to synthesis.”

“If there are signs of it then why not leave us the fuck alone and let us get to the final point?” She couldn't tell if her head was pounding from rage at the Child or lack of blood. Not that it mattered. It just hurt.

“That is not a viable solution. Synthetic evolution is too rapid. Exponential technological advancements leave no time for the gradual process of organic evolution. In this cycle the Geth have already advanced and decimated organics.”

“But I brokered a peace with the Geth.”

“It will not hold. Synthetics must evolve necessary understanding of organic cognitive and emotional processes.”

“But some of them have. Legion fought alongside us. And then he gave up his individual existence to give the Geth free will and consciousness. They have been fighting with us against you. Against your Reapers. Even they didn’t want to be controlled. The Reapers probably don’t want to either!”

“Recent progress of some synthetics in this cycle is remarkable. However, it does not matter. The progress was too late.”

“Or you and this bullshit was too early! You don’t know everything - you have admitted it. You didn’t know the Crucible had stuck around. You didn’t know Legion would exist.”

“A single anomaly within synthetics-”

“But he’s not an anomaly,” Shepard groaned, sinking to one knee. She supposed it was stupid to plead like this, eye to eye, with the Child. It had doubtless picked an arbitrary form designed to communicate with a female human, it’s awareness certainly wasn’t limited to it’s field of vision. But kneeling meant not pumping blood so hard and far and quickly out of her body, so she supposed it was worth it. “An AI, EDI, is learning too. Developing feelings. Dating my fucking pilot. She’s said that she would risk non functionality for a human. If that’s not cognitive -emotional -whatever then I don’t know what is. It’s probably happening elsewhere! So stop this and let us finish it.”

“Organic development will still be too slow. Infighting among organics retards your evolutionary growth. What you call the genophage is clear evidence of this. Krogan reproduction and therefore evolution all but halted by other organics.”

“But we fixed that too! And Salarians accelerated their evolution first! It’s life. It’s history, its messy and imperfect but it happens and changes. My species and Turians fought each other for years but in only my lifetime,” she was breathing heavily now. She closed her eyes cursing the feelings suddenly sweeping through her. Cutting through the battle haze she’d been able to slink into through her anger at the Child. She was tired, tired and small. “In my short, insignificant lifetime we have had peace. And -” she glared at the Child. She was embarrassed! It was ridiculous. She was as good as dead and yet felt silly saying the words to a damn ancient genocidal asshole artificial intelligence, “and one of them loves me. So you’re going to stop the Reapers. You are going to stop all this and leave us alone. Or I’m going to find the processing equivalent of your face and shoot you in it.”

“We have told you that destruction is an option and will wipe out all synthetics and complex robotics.” the Child replied. 

Great. She didn’t even get the satisfaction of having a threat taken seriously before she died.  If the galaxy could see the great “Shepard” now. Not even able to scare a child. “Then stop them like I told you to.”

“We are not equipped with that function. The Crucible additions allow for another to control and bypass our programming. We have no alternative pathways on our own. Once commenced, the Reaping will continue until all advanced species are harvested to make way for the evolution of the primitive. You may create the control pathway as I have said. I have learned from our dialogue. But I have already stated your choices. You must choose now.” 

“No!” she panted, “I - I can’t accept that, there has to be another way.”

“We have stated the three paths open. A choice must be made.”

“Damn your choices!” she yelled, and then began coughing.

“I advise you to choose before your organic limitations prevent you from being able to.”

“Why me?!!!!”

“You are a template of biotic and synthetic evolution. And you chose to engage with us repeatedly. Your template is necessary. The complete breakdown and dispersal of your DNA is necessary to direct the energy of the beam. Synthesis will reawaken the organic memory of those harvested. It will fuse with the synthetic and give new life to those harvested. This is why the harvest has been essential. So that the progress of each cycle was not lost.”

“NO! They just died in fear and pain and watched their world be destroyed!  And no one even remembered it!”

“Their suffering is immaterial when they are preserved. This is why synthesis is optimal.” “I can’t make that choice for everyone. What if they don’t want to?”

“It is inevitable. And reaping is the only other option.”

“That is what the Salarians and the Turians thought about the Krogan. And they were wrong! For something that is meant to be more intelligent and has had eternity to learn you must be pretty stupid to be stuck in the same mistake made in this cycle!”

“The solution is known but the link cannot be established without new a Conduit. One that is both synthetic and organic. This will be the pathway. Now or in another cycle. Perhaps you are not sufficiently evolved to-”

“Perhaps your head is too far-” but her weakening tirade was cut off by a sound. The first sound other than her and the conduit's voice in quite some time. She struggled to look over her shoulder in time to take in something that took the little breath in her lungs away. 

The Normandy landed on the floor of the Crucible and before the door was fully open a

figure in blue armor was lumbering towards her. She didn’t know it was possible for a heart to soar and plummet at the same time. But her’s did. Others streamed out of the hangar of the Normandy behind the blue-clad warrior. They fell into familiar formations, weapons out.

Upon seeing them the Child’s brow furrowed. “Distractions are not permissible. A pathway must be selected. They will be removed,” and it winked out of existence. Shepard felt a rumble in the Citadel beneath her and a chilling, and all too familiar shrieking cry filled the air.  The Normandy’s crew had begun firing. Light from their blasters and the wavering brilliance of Javik and Liara’s biotics mirrored that of the larger battle still unfolding behind them. She should be worried, she thought. But all she could summon at this point was irritation. She was so tired. And what was a wave of Husks in the face of the horrible choices laid before her? She could stop it all. Wasn’t that what she had wanted? The answer to the fears, the nightmares, that chased her gasping from sleep for weeks? That conjured images in her mind of blue armor with far too large a hole...or a Marauder with blue clan tattoos and scars.

“Shepard!” His roar of her name was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, and filled her with dread. He skidded to a halt in front of her, dropping to his knees. She could tell by the way he moved, and the dark soak of the bandages visible though his wrecked armor that the collapse was not entirely voluntary. She had been right. He’d been hit. Badly. The minute he arrived at her side she reached out instinctively to apply pressure and check her soldier for other wounds. His hands caught hers, and she could tell by his scanning eyes that he was doing the same. They widened at the sight of the wound in her side. He moved her hands back against her side with heartbreaking delicacy and folded his own over them. 

“The hell are you doing here?” she gasped as he applied pressure to their stacked hands. A finger gently running over the top of hers.

His breathing was labored, and not from his run to her side. “I might have taken some heat, but you didn’t honestly think I would let you take all the glory?” he rasped with a smirk. His eyes searched her again, “Glad to see you’ve only got two more holes than I do. I can catch up.” he added the wicked gleam in his eyes almost, but not quite hiding the fear she could see there as well.

She laughed or coughed, she wasn’t quite sure.The pressure of his hands increased and she saw the muscles around his mandibles tighten.  “Can you blame a girl for trying? You said scars were hot.”

He glared at her. But his lip twitched. “Yeah, but I like the contrast of the scars against the rest of you. So can you just try to stay in one piece? Please?” and then earnestly, and without any humor whispered gently, ”please….”

“Why are you here?” she repeated, “especially if you’re-”

“We could see that the Crucible was charged but nothing was happening. We waited a while but finally we figured we’d better come see if you need someone who was a better shot to come finish things off for you.”

She squinted at him, “I won Vakarian.” she wheazed, “when are you gonna get over it.”

She was sweating a little now despite the perfectly temperate air. More great news. He lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat and matted hair from her forehead and rumbled, “Never.”

The clanging of metal on the Citadel floor announced EDI’s arrival. 

“Shepard,” EDI said, squatting before her in a surprisingly human fashion and glancing sideways at her, rifle up and trained on something in the distance. “It is good to see you. Although our chances of survival have dropped by 200 percent by coming here.”

“And you didn’t stop him from dragging you into increasingly certain doom?” She asked incredulously, spitting the end of her sentence with as much venom (which was pathetically little) at the Turian beside her. He merely snorted.

“No,” said EDI, “ I do not fully comprehend. I have run many analyses’. It is difficult to describe but when referencing my library of human idioms the one with the most appropriate meaning seems to be that... “It didn’t feel right.”

“EDI, I’m really touched that you care about me, but I’m gonna kill you if you get everyone, especially this idiot,” Garrus growled, “killed because of it.” Shepard paused and took a labored breath. “You're really feeling things aren’t you. Like we do?”

They were interrupted as a group of Husks came barreling towards them, having broken through the shabby perimeter that the others were maintaining. EDI managed to get one down, but Garrus grumbled to her, “Hold tight.” 

He removed one of his hands from her abdomen, pulled his sniper rifle off his back and holding it in one hand, but clearly straining, managed to fire two shots, exclaiming under his breath in pain as the recoil between shots moved though his injured body. He smirked at her.

“Show off.”

Liara managed to reach them, throwing a biotic shield up around them as she arrived. “I have some medigel!”  Garrus reluctantly pulled his remaining hand aside after she gave him a reassuring nod and she applied the solution to Shepard's wound. Shepard could tell by the stillness in Liara’s face that she was still concerned.

 Garrus could sense it too. He dropped the nearest line of approaching Husks with shots that somehow were particularly vicious. He stared down the barrel of his gun with a manic intensity for a moment. His body going rigid, as if he was frozen in desperation, trying to lock sights on an enemy he couldn’t see. His head bowed momentarily, the spines of his crest actually dropping slightly, something Shepard had never seen. He turned to her with eyes that stared into her soul. They were filled with pain and calm. “What do you need to do?”

Rage and heartbreak coursed through her all over again. She wanted to run, to rage, to shoot things and tear things apart with her biotics. Rip apart the world that was making him stare at her with that chilling calm. But she couldn’t. It was all she could do to keep breathing. “I don’t know.” She admitted.  “The blue kid thing...there’s an intelligence….it gave me choices. They’re all crap.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know - It said I have to-”

The shriek of a Husk rent the air, and then was cut off with a pointed shot from Garrus that happened so fast that Liara and EDI hadn’t even had a chance to respond.  “I don’t give a shit what it said. It’s a Reaper. I am General Garrus Vakarian and I sure as shit don’t take orders from Reapers. I and my crew take orders from one person, and one person only. Commander Shepard. And she doesn’t take orders from anyone.  So, Commander.” his face hardened, “What do you want to do?”

She stared at him, and in her mind saw everyone else, the teammates she had lost, who had sacrificed themselves to get them here. The Protheans she had glimpsed through the beacon. Javik who fought a hundred meters in front of them for a world that was not his own. Legion, who, with Garrus, had flanked her all through their fight in the Geth base. Garrus nodded gently to her.

“EDI.”

“Shepard?” EDI asked between shots.

”Organics and synthetics will synthesize eventually and then they can co-exist.”

“That is likely, Shepard. Given time and the current trajectory of human use of synthetics and the progression and learning of Artificial Intelligences like the Geth and myself.”

“The Conduit says it has to happen now.”

“And what do you say?” Garrus interrupted.

Shepard took a deep breath, “It can’t. It shouldn’t. It should happen naturally or be a choice. But the Crucible will disperse energy that will do something. It can’t be turned off. And if it doesn’t get dispersed soon, it’s just gonna blow up. I want...” Garrus nodded again, “I want a way to focus it. To just synthesize the Reapers.”

Liara turned to her “The Reapers?” “They’re synthetic but made of organics. I guess they have everyone, all the races that have been taken, in them somehow. And synthesis-”

“Synthesis can connect the synthetic processes of the Reapers with the consciousness of the organics they have been shaped from,” interrupted EDI.

Liara’s mouth dropped open in shock. “So all those - the knowledge of the lost civilizations - cycles and cycles of them - they could still exist-” she stopped, took a deep breath and then said, “It seems like a strong tactical option. Releasing them from destructive programming.” Shepard's heart ached for her friend. Ached at the archaeologist's restraint and focus. Shepard mentally threw a fresh batch of choice insults at the Child, the Reapers, this whole damned universe for depriving Liara the chance to lose her shit at information that changed everything. Everything.

“But,” Shepard groaned, “it needs a template of how to mix organics and synthetics. It needs a link from someone who is both.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah,” Shepard rasped, “and… and it will take all of me.”

 Garrus’ eyes flashed from the sight on his rifle to her eyes. She could see his breath quickening and him struggling to control it. Shrieks rose from more approaching Husks, and were then quickly silenced with shots from his rifle.

Pain and horror filled Liara’s eyes. “All of you?” she said softly.

“I guess. But… that’s… that’s not the problem... it… the way it was built, the programming... It will just go everywhere. It won’t be focused, it will make everyone everywhere synthesized. And I can’t, it’s not right.” She sighed, and then something occurred to her. “EDI… you are understanding with your gut not just your computing power now, right?”

“I suppose you are correct. Shepard, as your body uses the synthetic implants to sustain you and grows in and around them, the freedom to explore organic behavior and cognition has likewise synced with my operating procedures. Like the synthetics and your body, my programming and organic cognition are existing and growing in a symbiotic relationship.” she replied.

“So we are both synthesizing. Is...Is there some way we can direct this? Override the ...kid...the Conduit’s programming? Share synthesis with the Reapers. Cause them to engage in the process?”

“Like Legion did,” growled Garrus. Shepard sensed that he was refusing to look at her.

“Yes, but you would need some way of connecting your DNA, your energies and my programming with the Conduit.”

“Biotics, Shepard.” Liara interrupted as Garrus continued to drop Reapers with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You could use your biotics to connect with EDI and the Crucible. They can work like a network.” She said softly. “As the Asari do.”

Shepard turned to EDI, “Could that work?”

“Yes, Shepard,” she paused. “However, there is no telling how much energy it would take. The Crucible will likely function as an energy sink. When such a large volume is being directed elsewhere and your limited range is connected… all may be drained in the process.”

Somewhere, deep inside her, Shepard felt herself let go of a tiny thread of hope, that she hadn’t even realized she had been clinging to. It hurt less than expected, somehow, hurt less than the weight of the other options and the shreds of her battered body.  She began trying to push herself to her feet. She could see Garrus tense as he registered her strain but kept firing on the Reapers. Ever the unflinching soldier. “It’s the only choice. I won’t force people to be altered, not when I was forced.”

“Garrus, EDI,” Liara interrupted “keep us covered for a minute.” The two opened a constant stream of fire as Liara dropped her shield. “Here,” she said, placing two fingers against Shepard's forehead. Her eyes flashed open in surprise for a moment before swiftly closing them again. “Alright,” she said pulling back and then called “EDI!” EDI halted her firing and stepped towards Liara, who placed her two blue fingers against the AI’s forehead for a moment. “There! I have recorded and shared your neuro-synthetic pathways with EDI so she can create a language capable of connection.”

EDI nodded. “Shepard I am ready.”

“EDI? You're sure?” Shepard asked, then added softly, “It needs to be your choice too.”

EDI’s head tilted. “I must inform you that chances of survival are 100,000 billion to one. For both of us.” She paused, “However, it is a path where there are the highest statistical survival rates for Jeff, and...” Shepard would swear to her dying day (which she supposed was today... in a few minutes) that something very alive gleamed in EDI’s eyes. “And I would not see him reach non-functionality. I am willing.”

“As am I.” Shepard whispered.

Shepard could feel that the medigel had done quite a bit of work. Her hand had grown sticky. Thank the Goddess, she thought, smiling slightly at Liara. She still felt horrible. Chances were the medigel had sealed an infection in her body…death was probably still around the corner. A slow death. But a slow death at least gave her time. “Then let’s end this. Garrus, we’re going to need a path to that beam!”

He stared at her intently, then said softly “...anything.” His gaze shifted back down the scope of his rifle and he took a few pained steps down the citadel’s arm clearing the Husks in that direction. Shepard made to follow but Liara caught her hand.

“Shepard, are you sure? It...it will cost everything.” she murmured.

Shepard chuckled; it still fucking hurt: ”Doesn’t it always? I already died trying to stop the Reapers. Dying to succeed should be a breeze.” 

“It’s not just you this time. Shepard… your-” her eyes dropped to where Shepard still applied pressure to her wound… and her belly.

Shepherd's heart stopped, “What?”

Liara’s expression was pained. “I am as surprised as you are. Genetically it seems impossible which is no doubt why you neglected to take preventative- but if the synthesis of your synthetic implants and organic body are as advanced as the intelligence seems to think... they… they may have been able to compensate for the differences in the turian and human genome... ”

A blast of blue light appeared and Liara and EDI were thrown back from Shepard. The blaze of light slowly resolved into the shape of the Child.

“The time for these distractions is ended. You must make your choice,” it ordered.

Her heart was pounding. Her head spun. She could feel her biotics faintly crackling. She must be really, really, mad if that was happening. She wasn’t like Jack who sparked blue light and made things float if the mess hall was out of chocolate pudding.  She had to be pretty close to the edge for that part of her to wake up on it’s own. But what she’d just learned in the face of everything else… So many sleepless nights, so many losses to build the Crucible, to get it here. Crawling away from the Admiral, from Anderson’s cold form… so many hopes and prayers for a weapon that turned out to be a trap. She could feel blood running from her nose now. Fine, it was all fine. What had Anderson taught her? What had she learned time and time again? It didn’t matter if you were unarmed. When you needed a weapon, the answer was simple, you became one.  She chuckled darkly to herself. Apparently, she had.

“I won’t let everyone die. Synthetics or organics.” Shepard growled at the Child.

“Then you must surrender to synthesis,” it ordered.

“I already told you,” she said, taking a step forwards, “I won’t force that on everyone. I’ll make it happen on my own terms. So they - so they have time!” she snarled back.

“Time will only allow for chaos and all organic life to be eradicated. Your selection is unacceptable. You will be terminated and the cycle will continue.” The ground shook beneath Shepard’s feet and the arms of the Citadel began closing and the Child vanished. She heard a shriek and a fresh wave of Husks appeared, swarming towards them.  

EDI had managed to return to Shepard’s side. “Come on EDI,” Shepard called over the roar of battle.

The two began racing (or racing as much as Shepard was capable of) through the space Garrus had cleared, closing in behind him. They drew level with him when suddenly-

“Shepard!” he yelled and grabbed her by the arm.

“Garrus - I have to-”

He yanked her towards him, cutting off her speech as a blast of energy blazed past her.  Banshees had somehow joined the Husks on the citadel. He drew her down to the ground as another blast flew over their heads.

“I know!” he snarled, eyes locked on her. “I know you have to.”

Something moved behind him. Without thinking Shepard grabbed the spare pistol at his side and opened fire, taking down a Husk that had slipped through the line held by the rest in the distance. 

Garrus glanced over his shoulder, looking pissed. “Damn,” he growled.

“I’ve got your back.” Shepard said softly.

“Never doubted it.” He said, eyes bright.

“....never?” She asked, voice shaking.

“Never.  I know you have to do thisI- I hate it, but I do.” his hand squeezed hers. “So you better believe I’m going to ensure you make it there alive.”

“I’m -” she began, “Garrus, I-” but the words. They weren’t there. She could have taken down a hundred Reapers right now or a mec - but the words, they just wouldn’t come.

“It’s ok,” he murmured. In the roar of the firefight around them his voice was somehow the only thing that mattered. His eyes searched hers’. “I love you too. You will never be alone Moria. Never. Now go!” he roared. In one swift motion he pushed her forward and stood tall. She saw him raise his gun just as he passed from her line of sight and she began moving forward with EDI once again.

*    *    *   

Garrus glared down the barrel of his gun at the approaching Husks and Banshees. His muscles were loose, his spine tall. He felt effortlessly calm as he watched Shepard run in his rifle sights. There was rightness in it, watching that red hair of hers stream behind her as she ran. He nestled the Husks approaching her in the crosshairs of his sight, and with the finger that had brushed the matted hair from her face, brushed those in her path out of existence. 

              *    *    *  

Shepard could hear the blast of Garrus’ rifle and between each shot she heard him roar:

“GET”

BOOM

“THE HELL”

BOOM

“OUT”

BOOM

“OF MY”

BOOM

“WIFE’S”

BOOM

“WAY!”

Shepard didn’t have time to wonder at-

“Shepard! Now!” Cried EDI.

They had reached the beam. EDI grabbed hold of Shepard’s left hand, Shepard threw out her right, and launched a blast of her biotic energy at the central beam of light. There was a flash as it made contact and

Bright. Blaze. A crackle. Light was everywhere. Streaming through her, racing through every cell. Light in a roaring wind, blasting through until no obstacle to it’s path remained. She was… she felt free. Felt like she did standing on the deck of the Normandy, a horizon full of stars sprawled out before her. Free. She could hear the crew, feel them, feel the Normandy, the supernova of it’s engines and the smaller ever-moving sparks of the crew that called it home; feel EDI both here in the Normandy and elsewhere...  Somewhere in the howling… there was a faint… something… something soft… that growled in her ear… when she’d had an ear, a body… but the roaring was even stronger now and the wind was everywhere. And now… there was no point where she ended and it began… it was becoming hard to remember when she had been… when she….. The blaze... a familiar thrumming? She forgot what remembering was as the last of her burned away and became the blaze.

*     *     *

Light had been streaming from EDI. From her eyes, and mouth. Beacons of their own. Moria’s eyes had blazed too. Their usual green, like the dancing borealis over Palaven’s cold mountains, burned away behind an inhuman blaze. Just as the twisted form of Sarin’s had. 

There had been a flash. From them, and that central beam that had swept through the stars. It had felt like the wind from an explosion, it hit you like something solid, had ripped gouges through the structure of the Citadel,  but had been devoid of temperature. The Husks it passed through had dropped. Some were now stirring slightly.

He supposed if he were a more noble Turian he would check on those nearest him, but he was anchored in stillness, anchored by the stillness in the two forms at the foot of the Crucible. 

Shepard, for all her hardness, her scars, her bravado, she fell asleep when she had finally drank too much. Going soft despite her warriors form in a way she never was, even in normal sleep. She’d better not be asleep at the bar when he got there. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when he finally arrived.

The ground was trembling. He should probably care. Somewhere, someone was screaming his name. A crack was appearing on the arm of the citadel between him and where she lay. His heart leapt into his throat. A hell of a feat when you're as long necked as a Turian. He should run to- the crack widened as panels of the floor fell away. He should run. He should go get them - no, their bodies…..or get out of there himself. But everything was quiet, still. And so why move when that arm was so still? When those eyes were empty, so empty...like the universe had become. 

He could hear a name, a name that was supposed to be his, and through the growing roar of the crumbling citadel, pounding feet. He would go then. She would kill him if he let anyone end up dead. He’d stay for one last, useless, empty breath and then- Light flashed in EDI’s eyes and her head slowly rotated.

It was like coming up from beneath the waves into a storm. The roar of the disintegrating station rolled in his ears, or maybe it was the roaring in his blood.  The sky was blinding in the light of that green wave as it raced away from them and as the structure around them turned to metal and fire. He was moving. Faster than he could ever remember, his injuries forgotten. The chasm that had opened between him and where they lay, between that stillness he had left behind and the movement, the impossible - that lay before him, was nothing. He landed next to EDI.

“EDI!” he yelled, examining her robotic form. There were scorch marks, some melted wires, showing signs of burnout and overheating. But - one eye moved, circling aimlessly, then flashed to him, away, to him - the lense focused.

“Garr...s Vk…..in.” came warbling from an exposed speaker on her clavicle. EDI, she had somehow...if she had…”

“Joker!!!” Garrus barked into his com - hoping desperately that he’d be heard through the din of the crumbling structure around them. “Joker, do you read me!? I have EDI. She’s here! She’s still here. I don’t know how but I think they’re here.”

He heard static and then,”EDI! Garrus, I’m inbound, vertical evac incoming. Maintain your position. We don’t have much time.”

“Copy!” Garrus barked. Smoke was beginning to fill the air. Something to his left exploded and he shielded his face and com with an arm.

“Garrus-” he heard through the com, “Shepard - is she-” he lost the rest in some static.

“I - I don’t know.” Garrus said, his voice cracking.

“Moria!!!!” he yelled. Crawling towards her. Dread filled him. She was still. So still. He checked for a pulse, snarling at his trembling fingers. There was none. “NO! Moria!!” he shook her shoulders. Nothing. 

Damn humans. Damn soft, endoskeleton unsheathed, vulnerable - he ripped away the remnants of her armor’s chest plate and placed a hand on her sternum. Furious he had never studied human biology from any other perspective than a killer.  Compressions… that worked on most sapiens. In terror, he laced his fingers and began.

“Moria!” He yelled, “I don’t give a Krogan’s ass where you are or what is out there, you come back now. Moria….” He dropped an ear to her lips but felt nothing. Her scent filled his nostrils. Unmistakable despite the blood and smoke. That heady lilac and citrus, with a bite like gunpowder. He hadn't had a chance to tease her about it yet.  He growled and went back to compressions, pressing harder. “You’ve shown off enough. Now. Get. Back. Here! Moria!!!”

He heard and felt something crack, and whipped his hands away in panic. “No! No, no, no, no! Moria, please!” he begged. His heart was going to burst- that crack, that sickening crack, he’d - he threw back his head and roared. 

He lowered his head. A tear ran down his scales. His eyes burned and the smoke was choking, impairing his vision. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at her through the haze. He was really looking at her now, well, looking at her for more than blood and vital signs. There were… He rubbed at his eyes again. No it wasn’t the smoke, or his eyes... Lines. He’d thought the soot was simply marring her face at first, but now he could make out a matrix, a latticework of infinitely thin lines scrolled across her face, neck, that hatefully still chest. Burns? Of some kind? From the light? Refracted off her armor maybe... His gaze drifted to the chestplate. Maybe there was a loose circuit in the wiring that had caused the strange burns? Her armor was in shreds, charred, shattered, the circuitry of her omni-tool unrecognizable-

His omni-tool. How much time had passed? How long… he wanted to throw himself into the abyss. If he hadn’t stood there. If he had run to her instantly… Hands still shaking he adjusted the settings of his omni-tool to administer an adrenal boost, and held it over the section of her chest he would have trained in his sights for an instant kill. “Please,” he whispered to everything and nothing. He hit the activation key.

All was still. 

“GARRUS” Joker’s yell split the silence in his head. There was fire all round him. He could feel the structure beneath him beginning to tilt. He squinted upwards, the Normandy maintaining position over his head, an evac cable being lowered to him.  He grabbed the cable, wrapped and clamped it around EDI’s form and signaled for them to raise her up. After ensuring she wouldn’t slip, he returned to Shepard. The ground beneath him shifted and then stabilized. He could see the biotics of their team standing in the hangar doorway, trying to stabilize the few panels he and Shepherd occupied as EDI was untied from the rigging. The cable began its descent once again. Garrus scooped Shepard up in his arms. He pressed his face into her hair and whispered,”I said I would never leave you.” He squinted up towards the Normandy, reaching for the cable a few inches from his finger.

The world exploded around them. The air was gone. There was only fire.  Broken shards of the Citadel arm were cast out by the wave of the blaze. And the red hot twisted metal and concrete was on them, things happening so fast that there was no time - no time to pointlessly wrap himself around her before the rubble-

*     *    *  

The Normandy swung back over the shard of the Citadel arm remaining after the explosion. Joker could make out frustratingly little through the smoke and fire, and couldn’t risk descending further as explosions still punctuated the sky. His instruments were infuriatingly useless. Anything beyond the manual controls had been going haywire since that green blaze hit them. He’d barely kept control. His heart raced in his chest and he cursed, feeling useless. He couldn’t go down there, he couldn't see anything, couldn’t do anything for EDI. He glanced over his shoulder. Traynor, Tali and a team of techs were grouped around the space where they had propped her limp form. Tali was tapping in a frenzy at a screen with wires connected to EDI and the Normandy, yelling to those around her over the new roaring static that had filled the ship since the blast hit and the instruments had been lost. Then as suddenly as that roar had begun, it vanished. The crew on the bridge gazed around in confusion. Joker checked the rest of his instruments and cried out in anger finding them still useless.

And then there was Garrus. That tore him apart the most.  Shepherd had held up her end of the deal. Somehow - EDI was here. But Joker had brought Garrus back. Had listened when Garrus had dragged himself across the bridge, shoving crew out of the way, armor discarded to reveal the scaled hide of his too heavily bandaged torso. Joker had balked when the Turian had roared at him, in a way that made something deep and primal in him want to run, run far, far away. Trembling, he had stared into those eyes empty of all but rage as Garrus ordered him to fly to the Citadel, and obeyed.  And he hadn’t gotten back in time, hadn’t given the Turian enough time to get EDI and himself clear before the Citadel arm exploded. And now he couldn’t even find the bodies.  He uselessly scanned the remaining shreds of the arm and then threw his hands in front of his eyes as another explosion of green light lit the sky. Joker squinted through the blaze, and suddenly felt the Normandy leap into a dive. 

*   *   *

Far below the Normandy in the clouds of billowing smoke and scattered embers red hair shifted in the growing wind. A body lay sprawled in the rubble, a network of silvery lines running over the skin just visible as they reflected the light from the explosions punctuating the steady glow of the growing fires.  As the Normandy passed above, a fraction lower this time, the light changed. Faint green glowed from the latticework for a moment, and then died. The Reapers had drifted away and the ships scattered in the sky were either making halting journeys to Earth, to larger vessels, or slowly gliding through debris, searching for life in the void.  The only battle that remained was that which fire and gravity raged on the crumbling Citadel.   Red hair lay across Shepherd's bloody lips. Then moved. And not from the wind.

*    *    *

Moria could smell smoke. Hear the sound of crashing and explosions. The ground beneath her face shook occasionally and her mouth tasted of ash and blood. If this was the bar on the other side she either had one hell of a hangover or it was a really shitty bar. She opened her eye, squinting in the light of the fire around her. Smoke clogged the air. In the distance she could see Earth slowly nearing them as the remnants of the Citadel lost their orbit. 

She hoped it had worked. Although there was no way to tell now. She just hoped it worked, for his sake. All their sakes.  She laughed to herself and then immediately regretted it. If she squinted right, the iron and wires sticking up from the rubble in front of her nearly looked like Garrus’s crest. That was comforting.  And at least she was seeing Earth again. I guess I’ll be buried on Earth...under the citadel rubble. But still. A cough racked her chest. She saw specks of blood on the ground in front of her mouth, clearly from that cough. Well that checked out and was pretty much what she expected. She tried to take a slow breath as she gazed at the blue green of Earth.  

Anderson would have liked this view too. She was pretty sure she could make out England's southern coast.  Maybe that is where they would fall and he’d be able to go home once again. She searched for other landmarks. Might as well bide the time till her breaths stopped. She cursed the Crucible mentally. It couldn’t even kill her right. She didn’t think it would be too long now. There was a new pain in her side, and a wet rasp to her breaths that was unmistakably the sound of a punctured lung. She searched for France over the pile of rubble with the points of iron and wire in front of her. She thought he would like France, for some reason. Some of the metal buried in the concrete was even blue-

“Garrus!” Shepard gasped. Heart pounding. She dug her fingernails into the ground and dragged herself forward, crying out at the pain as she did. It was him. Here. Somehow. Some fucking how. No! It couldn’t be. Desperately she slowly pulled herself over and up along the rubble, barely noticing as her fingernails split with the effort. She finally reached him. His chest and legs were pinned beneath a fallen wall of the citadel. His visor shattered. She couldn’t help thinking that would piss him off. She held her hand to his mouth. She could feel breath; barely, but it was there.

   “Garrus! She cried, pounding on his armor. Spitting blood as she yelled his name. She heard him groan and began sobbing. It was the best noise she had ever heard. His eyes opened and she stared into their crisp blue.

“Moria,” he rasped, eyes widening. He reached out a hand for her, the strain of the motion evident on his face. She caught his hand. “I - I thought you’d… how?”

“I don’t know.” she breathed. “I - don’t understand.” She stared at their clasped hands noticing the silvery matrix under the coating of soot and blood. But that didn’t seem to matter right now.  “What are you doing here?” she weased.

“Saving you.” he groaned “saving EDI.”

“Saving everyone was my job.” 

“Well keep working on it,” he said with a faint smile.

“Vakarian, if I had the strength to punch you right now...” her voice shook. “Why did you come? Why didn’t you stay on the Normandy?.”

He gave her a wry smile “Do you think Archangel would let you die before proving that he’s a better shot? Do you think Archangel would let you die without a rematch. No way am I living the rest of my life without taking you down. Your head’s big enough already.”

She squinted at the smoke, at the rubble on his chest, “Can you ….can you push it off?” she asked. 

There was a moment of silence and his face tensed. Then relaxed and he let out a rattling sigh,” ….no...no I think this is the end of the road for me.” He gave her an infuriating smirk. “But at least I got the last save.”

“No…” Shepard groaned and pulled with futility against the concrete.

“Hey, hey,” he breathed. “Moria….stop. It’s not. You can’t shift it.”

“Fuck you I can’t.” she snapped.

“Moria, I have to.. I need you to take this.” He held his hand to his mouth, pulled off his glove, and then pulled a scraped up circle of metal off his smallest digit.

“I don’t want your mom’s cheap Turian trinkets...I want you” she snarled.

Garrus laughed, it quickly turned into an alarmingly wet cough. When it subsided his lips were bloody. He reached out and gently traced a finger across her bottom lip.  And then looked at the blood there too. “Well look at that? We match. Told you I’d catch up.” She glared at him. “And you do want my Mother’s “trinkets” - she has the most amazing armory on Palaven. It’d make you wet.”

“Garrus,”

“Shhh...no, this is just yours. Recognize it?”

She let out a wet and exasperated sigh and squinted at the circle of metal. One edge had a clean finished end, the other was rather jagged. A minute code was stamped on the metal.  She stared at him. “A shell?”

“Yeah. Your shell. From the shot that you beat me with. For now. You’re gonna wear it.”

“Oh I am, am I?” she said, eyes watering.

“Yeah, but don't get too excited. It’s just to remind you that I get a rematch when you get to the bar. And to tell the world you didn’t win, yet.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned like an idiot. “Oh. To tell them you get a rematch? Not something else you might have yelled at the world earlier?”

“Oh...well…Um...in my defense, I thought you were dying. And...what do you humans say? The best laid plans…But yes Shepard. I would have. If I could.”

“Ok. You're done talking like this. We have a beach to get to.” she glared at the rubble before her, willing herself to see some way to get it off him. She gritted her teeth and reached for her biotics pushing against the concrete and searching for all her might to find...something anything. The concrete pressing into him was wet...

“Moria, please,” he reached a hand out to her face. She held it there and pressed it against her cheek. A tear ran down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. He coughed again. His breath was ragged.

“Garrus,” she whispered, pleading. His eyelids were fluttering now.

“It’s ok Moria.” he said between coughs. “I’ll...I’ll get the first round.” His eyes drifted closed.

“Garrus!” She hissed. She tried to shake him, and failing at that touched his face. He didn’t respond, “GARRUS!” She yelled. She strained against the jagged concrete, coughing at the smoke that was continuously thickening in the air. It was getting warmer too, and Earth was nearer. She was beginning to see the lights of major cities emerging through the clouds. “GARRUS!”  she screamed.

No. This was not it. This would not happen. It would not end this way. She had not become an Alliance commander, had not become a Spectre, died, come back, found this cocky Turian, found a living Prothean and survived whatever the synthesis was just to lose Garrus to space debris. She threw her body against the rubble again. “Stay with me, Garrus. Vakarian! That is an order.” She couldn’t see through the smoke and tears now, “Garrus Vakarian, this is your Commanding officer. I am ordering you to wake up.” She could feel the remnants of the Citadel accelerating. She grabbed his com. “Normandy!!! Joker!!! Anyone on this line. This is Commander Shepard. I have a man down. I - I - “ she coughed again and groaned in pain. “I am on the Citadel. I repeat. I am on the Citadel and I have a man down.” A sob racked her body “I need medical evac! I - someone please come get him!!!!”

There was crackling from the com.

“Someone help him!” she yelled.

He was still, and pale. Fuck, she’d never seen a pale Turian. “No!” She screamed. She grabbed the slab of concrete with her broken hands, pulled with all her might, plunged into the void where her biotics had been, threw back her head and screamed. An electric green glow began to creep down the silver lines on her body. It started, just below her eyes, the initial gleam could have been mistaken for tears but it slowly crept down her cheeks and over her jawline, down her limbs. It spread, gradually revealing a branching network that encompassed her whole being. Filling the air with a new wavering light like a borealis. It spread down her arms to the ravaged fingers clutching at the concrete. Her scream became broken, tearing her throat, and then there was a blinding flash from those lines of light. It’s gleam cutting through the dark of the void like a new sun. The slab in her hands shifted and a roar of engines filled the air.

*   *   *

Beep.

He waited. 

Beep.

Good.

Beep.

It was difficult. Waiting for each beep. He remembered one night.... Marveling at the quickness of their heartbeats. His ear pressed against her naked chest. As her warm, blissfully soft fingers traced his scales and the spines of his crest. He had been taught that their hearts beat so much faster when learning the best ways to kill them and every other species in the galaxy. 

It was so different though. Waiting for each heartbeat. Hoping for the next. He wouldn’t have expected their quickness to be so distressing. But somehow, because they were so short, that terrifying moment, that silence before the next one came. When all his calibrations told him it should have arrived by now. That if it hadn’t it must mean-

Beep.

Oh, ok. With a heartbeat that fast, and five times faster in the heat of battle….it was even more impressive she was such a good shot. That she kept such poise. He was sure he would be shaking like a leaf. Not that he would ever admit that to her. 

Beep.

This time, his heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten to wait for that one. 

Beep.

Ok, maybe he would tell her about her impressive compensation if-

NO. There were no if’s. When. When she woke up.

Beep.

Waiting was exhausting. He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. He was always doing that. Her fringe...it was so delicate, the little wisps, the way they danced in the wind, and stuck to her face in blood and sweat. Her hair so much longer than when they had taken down the humanoid Reaper. Always tossed in a bun. So she had a clear line of sight, so that it didn’t provide much of a hand hold in hand-to-hand combat. So that she always had control. Except for these little wisps. He couldn’t help but smile. He should buy her a barrette. He would tell her that too.

He leaned forward and took her hand in one of his. Then lay his head on his arm. Watching her.

Beep

Good.

The Synthesis had worked. It hadn’t killed her. Not… not fully anyway. Her organic body had died. His gut clenched in terror all over again at the thought. The memory of that crack - her still chest. So different from the one that now gently rose and fell under his watchful eye. That blast. The energy had wiped out all life in her, and EDI’s robotic form. But EDI didn’t just exist in that form. Her robotic body had been fried by the blast of energy, but her programming, her servers, they weren’t just there. They were on the Normandy.  

And so her consciousness endured, and through their biotic link - so had Shepard’s. And somehow, in the wake of all the changes wreaked on the fragile form in front of him, Shepard’s consciousness was able to return.  He still didn’t fully understand. Engines, catalytic processes, energy transfers, complex physics, bullet and fist trajectories; of all these he was an expert, but this bio-synthetic network stuff…even Tali couldn’t help.

The news had not been all good. Her synthetics had changed fast apparently, as that light raged. Biotic energy furthering connections where wires could not reach, the inorganic materials learning to spread like cells yet burning out in the intensity of the energies coursing through her. Not to mention the critical levels of organic damage she had already received. She was filled with structures none of those caring for her had ever seen and no one truly understood. It was impossible to tell where synthetic ended and organic began. And those silvery lines spidered through her whole being. Even Javik said he had never seen or heard of their like.

And then there was the enormous wave of biotic energy she’d used to free him. To save him. Tali and Liara had said it was like shooting a bullet from a gun whose barrel was already splintering. The energy had dispersed everywhere, and hadn’t left much in its wake.  

When Javik and Liara had reached them on the Citadel, after that blast, after the descent EDI and Shepard’s linked minds had caused, the slab trapping him had been obliterated, as had much of his remaining armor.

Beep.

And now he waited. EDI’d said she could feel Shepard. But that she was only a whisper in the Normandy’s computers now, most of her consciousness must have returned to her body. But no one could tell him if her body was whole enough to hold it.

Beep.

Still good. He would just close his eyes while he waited for the next one.

The bed shifted. Garrus’ eyes flashed open. He couldn’t draw breath. Every muscle in his body was tense. Terrible sniper form. The bed had shifted. Hadn’t it? If he had imagined it he was going to leap out the window of this Salarian hospital. Her forehead creased and she shifted. He hadn’t dreamed it. He slowly raised himself. His hand gently squeezing hers.

“Moria,” he breathed. He could see her eyes shifting beneath her lids. He couldn’t breathe, he was shaking.  “I’m here. Moria, it’s ok, I’m here….Come back Shepard….please. Your insubordinate boyfriend is begging you.”

Finally they opened, and focused on him. Their bright green was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 With a ragged breath she wheezed, “Garrus.”

His mouth was dry. He couldn’t - what do you say… he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, to say in the face of….. and then it tumbled out before he could control it, “You smell like lilacs and citrus, it's so girly, but also kind of like gunpowder, take a shower already, you’re even more of an impressive shot because your human heartbeat is so fast, also I’m gonna buy you a barrette.”

Shepard squinted at him. Half in irritation half in confusion. Her eyes roved over him. Taking in his new scars, the bandages peeking out from under his jacket. His mandibles hurt from how hard he was smiling. Ever the watchful Commander. Assessing everyone’s fitness. Her eyes fell on their clasped hands and his arm on the bed. She closed her eyes, her face clenching in pain. “Garrus…”

“What is it?”

“You’re on my medigel feed.”

He leapt to his feet, still holding her hands. Sure enough, there was the thin plastic tube feeding her medigel, in the crumpled blankets where he had fallen asleep.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He shifted the tube, it refilled with gel and Shepard let out a sigh. He sat back down, squeezing her hand. Unable to let go. 

Her eyes searched his face, and fell up on his visor. “You got a new…”

“Visor? Yes, the other one was broken.” She nodded. “Frustrating. But there are much more important things.”

Shepard snorted softly “I knew you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“There were photos on it.”  His eyes widened. She gave him a pained smirk. “Special… photos.”

He was breathless. “Well now I’m mad.”  Her eyes shone. She shifted and began trying to sit up in the bed and almost instantly cried out in pain.

“Easy, easy..” Garrus murmured reaching out to steady her. She fought back against him for a moment and then laid back, breathing heavily. “You have to wait and heal,” he pleaded. She threw a scowl his way. He snorted. “You might be able to take a hit Shepard, but you're garbage at recovering from them.” 

 She grimaced in pain, “It feels like I-”

“Broke a rib?”

She nodded, “I remember… breathing trouble, blood… but not…”

“Um…”

She looked at him.

He shrugged. “Sorry, I might have broken one of your ribs.”

She coughed. “Goddamnit, Vakarian. How the hell-”

“Well if you’d had a pulse when I got to you, I wouldn’t have had to….” he tried to keep the bravado. Tried to act like it was after any other mission and they were comparing scrapes in their armor and particularly spectacular shots, but he could feel himself unraveling inside. His breath caught, his voice began to shake, “I couldn’t get it back. The compressions weren’t - I didn’t know how hard to-”

She stopped him with a gentle hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed.

“It’s ok,” she wheezed, her eyes full of tenderness, and added with a slight smile, “Just stick to shooting people next time.” Her smile faded, “Garrus.” she croaked. “I...I’m sorry.”

He leaned forward. Bringing his face inches from hers. “There will never be a reason that you can say those words to anyone in this galaxy. Never again.” he growled softly.

“No, listen,” she murmured, squeezing his hand, “Liara, just before I… when she helped EDI connect….” his brow furrowed, “Garrus, we… I.” She looked scared and tears welled in her eyes. “A Turian and human…it wasn't as… biology didn’t have an issue… I was…”

It took an eternity for the words to sink in. He couldn’t help himself, his hand slid across the blankets to her abdomen. He’d held his hands there on the Citadel. Just trying to stem the bleeding, oblivious to the not just one but two lives at risk from that bleed.

“It didn’t make it?” He cringed at the stupidity of the question. Liara, the Salarians, Dr. Chackwas. They had been so somber. No one had said… he supposed it hadn’t been their place. He thought of himself as relatively imaginative, but he could not even conceive what it would have been like to hear this from someone else. And she had been in and out of surgery. The physical damage, the infections sealed in after the medigel was applied, the broken rib and punctured lung from the compressions he had done, the synthetic implants that had to be replaced...

“Liara said it would take everything.” Shepard whispered. A tear ran down her cheek.

The doorway to their room, her room really, except he’d never left it so it might as well be theirs, slid open and of all people Liara burst inside. When she saw Shepard tears filled her eyes.

“Your-” she gasped.” “You're, I had scanners monitoring and their readings went off the chart - I thought - you were -” she took a deep breath. “But you're actually awake.”

“Sorry,” Shepard croaked, “You know I’ve never been a morning person.”

“Ha.” mocked Liara, tears shining on her face. Her countenance quieted, “I should let you two... I’m sure there are things you need to say-” She made to leave but Shepard stopped her.

“No, I - I just told him, Liara.” Liara’s gave Garrus a pained look. “And he told me I smell and he’s getting me a barette.” Her lip twitched. “But- Liara you said…” Shepherd seemed to struggle to find the next words. “...I don’t understand why I’m here,” she wheezed.  “Why didn’t I die?”

Liara crossed to her and said softly, “We don’t really know for sure.” She took a seat on the other side of the bed. “Your and EDI’s minds were connected, and so, we think you….uploaded yourself to the Normandy for a time.”

Shephard’s brow furrowed as if remembering something. “But the template… you, you said it would take everything...”

“I - I have a theory there.” Liara said. Her eyes were shining with fresh tears. She took a ragged breath and her eyes darted to Garrus. He stiffened.

“I think the synthesis… the energy cost would have been fatal…. and your...your physical form would have been consumed… if… if there hadn’t been more energy… more than one life and set of DNA connected... ” Shepard frowned. Liara seemed to steel herself. “The fetus.” she said softly. “It… it would have been a mix of organics and synthetics, just like you, but even more concentrated.  And with… another life growing inside you, and your connection to the Normandy through EDI… it fueled the synthesis and you...”

“So it’s gone?” Shepard asked in a small voice. Garrus had never heard that from her. It shook him to his very core.

Liara’s lips trembled. A tear slid down her cheek and she merely squeezed Shepard’s bandaged hand and nodded. She gazed for a moment, first at Shepherd and then at Garrus, before taking a deep breath and adding, “I felt it, for a few moments.” She smiled softly at them both, “It was a remarkable creature.”

Something ached in Garrus in a way he’d never felt before.  Shepard's gaze had become distant.

They were all still for a moment and then Liara whispered, “I’m down the hall if you need anything.” She gently brushed a tear from Shepard's face and squeezed Garrus’ shoulder as she left.  

There was silence in the room. It was strange… so strange to fiercely miss and grieve something he hadn’t known. Something that had only crossed his mind in the few quiet moments in their mad dash across the galaxy.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he squeezed her hand, forcing back some tears. “But you and I are here” he growled firmly. “We are both here. So it will be ok.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “There’s no Shepard without Vakarian,” he murmured. After a moment he pulled a bottle from the pocket of his jacket. And placed it on the bed. “And I brought the bar to us. Just don’t tell Chakwas.”

She grinned at him through her tears, took a ragged breath, and said “Oh, I won’t.”  Her hand shifted in his. She slipped it from his grasp and examined the bandages. 

“You shredded your hands,” he said softly. ”Getting me out. All the rubble, and some of the metal was hot. There were some bad burns.” She held her hand up. Her thumb was separate, but her first two and last two fingers were bandaged and splinted together, to speed the healing the Salarians had said.

“Look,” She wheazed holding her hand up to him, “we match.”

He lifted his hand from the place where a miracle had been, spread his digits and pressed them against this new miracle. After a moment he entwined his fingers in hers and held on tight.

It was a small gathering. In a green grove on Palaven. One of the few near his home that had not been reduced to ashes by the Reapers. But even there, shoots and saplings were beginning to emerge through the ashes. Wrex stood between them. The Krogan had refused to wear anything other than their armor from the fight for Earth. Moria liked it. She could make out scratches and dents from bullets she’d seen him take, or almost dodge. Wrex spoke of comrades, of the bond with the person that you trust to have at your back. The one you will charge at a thresher maw for. And of having to put up with the stench of her and Garrus’ pheromones before they had acknowledged their mutual attraction. And the worse ones that distracted him in battle after they had...frequently acknowledged it.  It was perfect, and she could barely keep from laughing as she watched Garrus try not to cry, he was so moved.

Grunt stood beside her in the place she would have asked Anderson to stand. But it was right somehow. She appreciated his unrestrained eye rolls and grumbles at the aspects of the human ceremony Liara had recommended they add for balance. He had a few new scratches on his face, but seemed rather pleased with them. 

Last night, at a celebratory dinner with all the guests, she had caught him playing with Mordin, the eldest of Wrex and Bakara’s growing brood. Mordin had picked up a butter knife from the table while Grunt had been charged with minding her.  He had taken her curiosity as an opportunity to teach the toddler the proper grip for a knife and slicing pattern to gut an enemy.  Shephard had finally intervened when Grunt roared with delight as Mordin practiced the pattern on his face. Wrex had guffawed and said it was about time the pretty tank-bred male earned some scars, and Bakara seemed rather pleased Mordin had given him his first.  He certainly didn’t look out of place as nearly everyone in the wedding party was heavily scarred, especially the couple.

 They were quite a pair, Moria thought to herself. She wore flowing red and white robes over pants, in Turian style, the color setting off her hair and scars. In very un-human fashion they left part of her midriff exposed so that all could see her wicked, extensive scars. Garrus was similarly adorned, revealing several scars that until now, she was sure she had been the only one to see, but in blues, like his armor and the color of his clan tattoos.  Javik stood beside him holding the memory shard, having said, much to her chagrin, that the union of two great warriors was something the ages should remember.  

She had pinned Garrus to the wall and began a reproving tirade when he’d brought the… rather revealing….. ceremonial robes back to their apartment in the city. But he’d explained, in a frantic rasp, her forearm and the wall sandwiching his windpipe, that they truly were traditional. He did, however, admit that he had been particularly eager to see her in them.   Apparently, in Turian culture, this heightened vulnerability was a great demonstration of trust between the joining pair, and clans. And a heavily scarred partner showed that you were joining with a seasoned warrior.  A mark of great pride for your clan.  She couldn’t decide if she felt smug or irritated by the fact that, because of this, her robes were a little more revealing. But she certainly enjoyed the sight of Garrus in his robes.

Wrex, after a colorful description of Garrus pheromones when he covered Moria from behind, transitioned to the next part of the ceremony. Moria’s heart quickened and she could tell by Garrus’ deep breath that his slower heartbeat had also increased. Grunt held out a box, from which she withdrew two rings, more slender than the one Garrus had pressed upon her as the Citadel fell from the sky, but forged from that same band. That shell, that proved she was the better shot. Javik passed Garrus a small bowl of blue ink.

Here was the only part of the ceremony she and Garrus had really cared about, although, after the attention he paid to the seating chart and his firm opinions on the food, she deeply suspected that he cared for more of this than he let on. Now, they exchanged customs. Now they made a step towards undoing all the strain between their people from the first contact war. Now they charted a new way forward. Shepard offered Garrus one of the rings and he slipped it on a finger with a gentle caress to some of her nastiest new scars. She slipped its twin on one of his index digits. He then dipped that digit in the bowl of ink, his eyes never leaving hers, gently adding the same tattoo to her face that she had so often traced on his in the small, quiet hours on the Normandy. She felt the sting as the nanotech in the ink set to work creating thousands of tiny holes in her skin so that when the ink dried it would be permanent as his. She smirked, keeping her eyes locked on his through the stings of the tiny needles, refusing to flinch. Garrus’ brow raises a fraction and she caught him mouthing “show off.”

“And now these warriors’ houses are united as one. In tradition of the Turians, Commander Moria Shepard accepts the tattoos of Clan Vakarian. And in the tradition of the humans, he takes her name, Shepard, for they and their name are both revered heroes to the Krogan. And now they kiss and stop making me nauseous with their blasted pheromones.” Moria threw back her scarred, tattooed head and laughed, but didn’t have long before Garrus grabbed her, and pulled her to him. They locked eyes for a moment. One she wished could last forever...until she couldn’t wait any longer, grabbed him by the mandibles and pulled him in for a...zealous and very unchaste kiss.  Their guests made quite a bit of noise at this point, particularly for such a small party, and sent raptors flapping from the trees. 

Garrus finally pulled back, giving her a smirk that stirred things deep within her. “What now?” He purred.

“Now, she said with a smile. We go to the bar.”  His eyes gleamed at that. “We empty lots of bottles,” she said, “and if you're a very very lucky Turian,” he growled in anticipation and bent his head close to her, “you get a rematch.”

#mass effect #femshep #shepard x garrus #mass effect fanfiction #krogan

[comradekatara]

in an ideal fic, what ships would there be and how would they interact? gm ☀️☀️

goodmorning! well, it’s 3pm now, but i love the sunshine emojis 🌞

obligatory disclaimer that i have mixed feelings about fanfiction as a medium. i much prefer reading paradise lost to the bible, but pride & prejudice & zombies does nothing for me. i think it’s similar to how when staging a play that’s been done a million times before, changing the setting must reframe the text on a thematic level for that staging to be necessary, and thus, good. 

a lot of fanfiction, to me, whether published or lost to the archives of the internet, attempts to reframe the text without actually understanding the text. i realize that not all fanfiction exists to explore the text in the first place. sometimes it just works as good shorthand to explore one’s (often sexual) fantasies. you already know these characters––oh, and now they’re fucking. 

so in that regard, i can’t exactly fault these authors for not understanding the text. i can fault them for other things, certainly, but thematic relevance was clearly not a goal in the first place. it’s the difference between a ship existing in a work of fanfiction to further the themes, and a fanfiction written for the sole purpose of exploring a ship. 

with all that in mind, here’s a bullet-pointed list of fanfictions i would read should they exist and be well-written, but definitely do not exist and are not well-written because i have the appropriate amount of faith in the fanfic community (and that is... very little)...

a really long story from mai’s pov elapsing from her childhood to at least a year into zuko’s reign. the climax of the story is the turning point at the boiling rock wherein ty lee betrays azula. the first act is the buildup to all of that, and the second act is the fallout. the main ship being mai/ty lee, obviously. oh and at one point towards the end, mai and sokka play pai sho together. that is of the utmost importance. 

a story told almost like an epic poem (perhaps with the structure of one, but still in prose) about suki’s adventures throughout the show’s chronology and then spanning afterwards as well. we learn about her backstory, what she got up to in the months in between seeing sokka. it’s usually quite bleak, as she is mostly helping refugees before getting kidnapped by azula, tortured for information, and then thrown into a horrific maximum security prison! but it’s not all bad. and seeing as suki is the protagonist, it would never make for a bad read, either. the main ships are sokka/suki and suki/ty lee. because duh. 

azula, in the years spanning the depths of her recovery, going on hikes with toph. basically each segment is just the next hike with toph, in chronological order, and it tracks her development just through how much she is willing to divulge, and what toph would say in response. she grows a lot. unsurprisingly, toph makes for a great therapist. no romantic shipping of any sort, but azula & toph would share a really fascinating bond. 

sokka and iroh playing pai sho. sokka and asami playing pai sho. (AU?? or are they in the spirit world?? idk lol) i suppose korra/asami would be present because korra’s all “kick his ass babe” and sokka/zuko would be as well because wherever sokka and iroh are together, zuko must be too. and of course, he is very invested in the outcome of this game, even if he does fall asleep at one point. i guess you’d have to make up the rules of pai sho, at least vaguely, seeing as there are no official rules, but isn’t it a lovely idea? 

chell’s AU wherein azula and zuko run away together as children and join the gaang. just gonna link to it here. (read it if you know what’s good for you.) i don’t think there are really any ships, other than azula’s one-sided crush on suki, because azula does not have time to care about other people’s love lives (and it’s from her pov) but sokka/zuko is alluded to, if i remember correctly. 

my AU that simply exists as an excuse to have sokka be a lightningbender. here. 

a whole fucking novel of an AU wherein instead of being tasked to capture the avatar, zuko was simply left to die in the southern water tribe. he expects to either freeze to death or be eaten by wolves or, if he’s lucky, be killed instantly by the people there, but instead, sokka and katara take him in and he grows up in the swt, and goes with them when they find aang three years later. then of course shit goes down once azula shows up, and it’s all a whole thing! since it’s from zuko’s pov, the primary ship is sokka/zuko, obviously. 

epistolary between firelord zuko and chief katara of the southern water tribe. none of their letters are remotely diplomatic, and mainly serve as gossip with only the occasional reminder that they are, in fact, world leaders. no ships. 

sokka’s life postwar that kind of just details all the cool shit he did. shrug. 

idk whether this counts as atla or lok, but i would read a chronicle of kya/izumi dyke drama in a heartbeat and am not ashamed to admit that. 

ty lee and azula’s very complicated dynamic from alternating povs. i just think their respective feelings towards each other are super interesting. especially the night at the beach and the turning point at the boiling rock, though all the moments leading up to that are just as important. the ‘ship, though, would be mai/ty lee. (y’all know theyre my favs, right) 

the katara cinematic universe is its whole own post, so i’m not even gonna discuss that here. 

and then of course, our somehow very in-depth highschool AU (i don’t know how we got here, either) that could be its own series of young adult novels if written by someone with that kind of patience and focus (so to be clear, not me). hopefully, it would be imbursed with that painfully authentic sensibility american vandal (rip legend) had, while also being a bit too earnest, the way all coming of age stories are––but charmingly so. it might even be a series of vignettes, short stories from various povs that all come together in a painfully hilarious tapestry. azula begins studying for the SATs freshman year. mai sarcastically quips at anyone who deigns to speak to her. also she’s dating zuko, so that’s great comedy fodder of course. katara runs for student body president against azula. sokka and zuko land themselves in detention and they find a way to escape. toph joins the science club just because sokka runs the science club; things explode. stuff like that. 

i used to say i’d want a kyoshi backstory, but now we have one, and i simply have yet to read it. oops. 

oh and this is lok, but i’ve always wanted more on mako & lin’s dynamic. i just think they’re really cute together. (to be clear, not romantically. ew) 

i think the avatar universe is also just rife with fascinating lore, though, and you could pretty much write anything, set in any time period, that complies with canon and– hopefully– enhances it. for example, i would love to read a story that incorporates the physics of their universe into its thematic framework. i really liked the stuff with the lionturtles, for example. 

oh, and of course, a sokka/zuko vignette that’s just them going to see a production of king lear and then discussing it afterwards. that fanfiction exists for an audience of one, but you did ask me, so... 

#asks #anon #AUs #i rly dont know how to tag this lol #but uh #i hope this satisfied ur question??

[bouwrites]

OC Spotlight: The Cardinal Virtues

This isn’t so much a spotlight on each of these four individual characters so much as an elaboration on how they came about and why they’re so closely related in my mind despite no more than two of them appearing in a single universe at at time thus far. Honestly, I felt this elaboration is necessary just to save space for if/when I do individual spotlights for them.

The Cardinal Virtues are some of my very favorite OCs that I have, and I’ve been calling them that because each one roughly corresponds to one of the four cardinal virtues. In truth, all four are very similar in a lot of ways, for reasons I’ll explain soon, but to prevent this from getting too long...

Hunter Stone - Justice Valerian Isolde - Strength Arno Buenaventura - Temperance Carter Wroden - Prudence

The first thing to know about them, is that Hunter and Valerian (Vale) were originally meant to be the same character. Likewise, Arno, though not created with Vale in mind, was put into my personal cast of OCs with the intention of him “replacing” Vale for stories where Vale isn’t really appropriate. Likewise, Carter was created as a “replacement” of sorts for Arno.

All of them grew in their own ways and developed into distinct characters, but it’s important to note that the framework of their characters, esp. Hunter/Vale and Arno/Carter are essentially the same, and based around my original concept for Hunter, who is actually my very first OC.

Now, I didn’t design them to fit so nicely into the four cardinal virtues. In fact, the reference to the virtues is something that only arose very recently, as I was looking into adding Carter and Arno into my Persona daydream story and stumbled across references to the virtues by chance as I was trying to assign arcana to them.

But this isn’t a spotlight of the characters themselves, but rather how they’re related, and for that we’ll have to go all the way back to my very first OC ever, Hunter Stone.

Hunter is, for all intents and purposes, retired as a character. I haven’t seriously worked with him in many, many years, yet he’s almost constantly on my mind because Arno and Carter, both characters I work extensively with today, are so closely connected with him.

He was my favorite OC for a long time, and my primary best friend and sometimes love interest character in my daydream stories at the time (yes, I romance my OCs in those daydream stories and yes, I’m only admitting to that because that is one of the threads tying these characters together.) until the time I decided to make an original story.

That story was a fantasy novel, and ultimately a tragedy. It’s pretty much abandoned now, though I’d like to use that world for a story at some point, but the creation of that fantasy world is where things got... slightly out of hand.

Now, I should note that a large portion of the magic system used in that fantasy world actually comes directly from my development of how psychic powers work in the Pokemon world (where Hunter is from - kindly don’t remind me that middle-school me thought making an OC child of Steven Stone and Wallace for my cringy grimdark Pokemon story was a good idea. He’s keeping the name, though.) and thus a lot of the framework for how certain things work came from that world as well. Including some characters.

That said, there’s a bit more background we need before getting into that original story. And that, my friends, is Wizard101. I promise you I am completely honest when I say this, and you can trust me because if it wasn’t true there is no way in hell I’d ever admit to this, but “Valerian” is actually the name of my Wizard101 main. I once made a half-baked attempt at a Wizard101 fanfic, and my love for Hunter meant I wanted him in the story, but I decided to use “Valerian” as his name instead to nod to my actual in-game character. For both our sakes, I won’t elaborate any more than that and continue into the original story.

The original story started, at first, in media res with Hunter and some other OCs and their problem, and helping them out is this team of adventurers who were, in hindsight, basically there to babysit the main cast. I actually wrote a lot for that story - most of it, in fact - but eventually decided to change it entirely and set the story two years prior, focusing on that previously mentioned band of babysitters and how they came to be.

But I love Hunter, and couldn’t stand to let him go, so Valerian Isolde comes in to take his place. Vale is probably the single character of mine that has changed the most throughout his development - he actually was in the original script of the story as one of the babysitters, not to mention the other changes from when he was a copy of Hunter as a Wizard101 OC - and that would be much more appropriate for a spotlight of his own, but suffice it to say I ended up with a story with Vale and Hunter both, and them different enough that it honestly doesn’t feel weird even today.

(Needless to say, with my mind so much in that original universe, Vale occupied a lot of my daydreams. He was my primary companion character, often bringing him into fandom universes, though it always felt off to try to romance him, and to an extent even have him around, because of his canon romance and other ties in his native story.)

Enter Arno. Arno Malik Buenaventura is a character I created in tandem with one of my friends as we were traveling to and from university. Long car-rides and shared fandoms, two writers stuck in the car together, there’s only one logical conclusion.

He and his twin sister, Elizabeth, were created for a shared story we worked on. It never developed into anything, really, and to be honest I never really felt right for a while after that using either of them, as they aren’t technically “mine” so I used Arno as a background character for a while. If I needed a name in a fic, just some random schoolgoer who’s mentioned, that kind of thing, I’d use Arno.

I ended up getting more comfortable with him and using him more freely - he’s one of the featured OCs in my ML Twin AU, actually - though I still don’t use Elizabeth much if at all. That’s the reason she doesn’t appear in that story despite being mentioned several times, and being his literal twin - I just kind of feel like she’s more my friend’s OC than my own.

Anyway, I fell in love with Arno, and since, for a while, I was nervous to use him as a character proper due to his origin, he ended up becoming a character that appeared often in my daydream stories - the ones I don’t write, which are usually self-insert just for my own entertainment.

But I ran into another snag like with Vale. Arno didn’t have a love interest at the time, but I was getting older and it started to feel weird to me to play out imaginary romances with imaginary boyfriends in my daydream stories only to turn around and have him as a perfectly ordinary character in my actual written ones.

The solution was simple: make an OC cast reserved for self-insert daydream stories. “Their” stories, their native stories, would include me, or rather my self-insert character based on me. So, I did. Thus, Carter was born. To this day, Carter is my “imaginary boyfriend” and because of that is probably one of the most heavily featured OCs I have in terms of number of universes they appear in - he’s just in my daydream versions of those universes rather than the ones I use for actual stories.

The rest of his crew, some of which are mentioned in the one fic I’ve written that includes him, including his “love interest” Avery Graham who is, in truth, my self-insert character (though not, technically, meant to be me), are also part of my “Daydream Cast” which follow me around and appear as-needed in my daydream stories so I can avoid awkward situations with characters who are supposed to have very clearly defined stories not ruined by me running around in their backyards, so to speak. I don’t always care about that, but sometimes it doesn’t feel right.

Anyway, that’s  the summary of the four who were supposed to be one but somehow separated into four completely distinct characters. I know I didn’t really describe what makes them similar and different in this spotlight, but their character analyses are much more appropriate for individual spotlights and this one has already gone on long enough, I think.

Interestingly, though, despite the fact that you can roughly categorize them as old (Hunter/Valerian) and modern (Arno/Carter) they actually match up in personality more closely in the pairs of Hunter/Carter and Vale/Arno, though in the first case that’s somewhat by design and in the latter is because that’s one of my favorite archetypes of characters. Hunter/Carter are also the most similar in design of them all with Vale being a huge outlier design-wise.

That’s enough for now, though. I’ve leave this here before I add on another whole essay about these four.

#OC spotlight #speak #i just realized their first initials spell out HVAC #which means nothing but is still somehow making me giggle #maybe I should call them the air conditioning boys

[letmeringabell]

Legends Never Die - Chapter 1

Lately, I’ve been consuming a lot of Mortal Kombat content (Especially Erron Black and Kabal ones). So I thought that I should contribute in some way to the fandom, because you just gotta be the change you see in the world sometimes.

My OC’s name in this, is Vanessa. Basically, this is an Erron x F!OC fic, where the OC is a field medic, and Kotal wants to have friendly relations with Earthrealm by calling Special Forces for a field trip. 

I’m sorry for a slow first chapter, but sometimes you gotta lay down the framework, the same way you lay down a table mat before you eat to avoid making a mess. God, I’m so hungry.

Anyway, enjoy! I’ll include a link to the AO3 fic, or you can just search for it with the same name. 

Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49453874

- 

“And thus, Kotal Kahn has agreed to receive Special Forces’ Entourage as a sign of trust and cooperation between Outworld and Earthrealm.”

She hears General Blade’s voice boom throughout the hall, the entire fleet pays close attention to their leading officer-in command.

“This delegation will be led by Commander Cage. I, myself and Johnny will stay behind to watch over things here, just to make sure Earthrealm is kept in check. Take this as an opportunity to further sharpen your skills and reflexes. Don’t ever let your guard down, you never know what danger finds you in Outworld.”

There is no sugar-coating with General Blade, but it is apt for the situation.

General Blade continues on with her announcements; The time and place for the Delegation to assemble, the necessary and optional squadrons needed, and a briefing in Outworld Etiquette and Propriety later in the evening. The General ends the meeting, and dismisses everyone early to allow for preparation and packing. Every soldier needs to be fully ready; Their physical fitness at their peak, and iron-clad mental fortitude to persevere through the unknown days ahead.

Despite the warnings and precautions, the allure of danger and mysticality still has everyone whispering excitedly, or worriedly. She can’t tell at this point, because all sorts of whispers seem to drown out any distinction between the two.

What would they be doing there? What would they see in Outworld? What does Kotal Kahn want with Special Forces? Is Outworld coffee stronger than Earthrealm? Better yet, does Outworld actually have coffee?

She doesn’t stay long for the excitement nor dread that has everyone rapt in their conversation. She sees Jacqui and Cassie in the distance, and calls out to them eagerly. There are more pressing and urgent matters on hand, and she has a tendency to procrastinate.

-

“And here I thought packing my stuff would take the longest,” Cassie grumbles as she hoists another box to the corner of the room.

Jacqui is busy going through her extensive vault of books; Any journal, document, or research paper that would be useful goes in the box while others, would collect dust on the large shelf during their 6-month stay in Outworld. Jacqui is impressed by the sheer volume of reading material in the office, but silently hopes that this is the last of it. The whole sifting and sorting process is wearing her spirits down, and she feels the impending migraine pulsing at the back of her head.

“Don’t worry gals, I have come with gifts,” She comes in with a tray of hot coffee in hand, and immediately, the girls lighten up.

“God, I needed a break from all these books!”

“And I need a break from all this heavy lifting. We’ve gotta KonMari your office when we get back, Van,” Cassie says, taking the offered coffee with a tired hand and a soft thank you.

“We’re almost done, actually. All that’s left is the books, and after that, we can start moving my stuff onto the trolleys.”

“Thank God! If I have to sit through another ‘Cardio’, ‘Surgery’ and ‘Benign’, I’ll go nuts and throw the books through the roof. Why do you need so much books anyway? Most of the information is in the Special Forces Database.”

She shrugs carelessly, “Some of them are very old tomes and medical journals that are not online, and I prefer having paperback anyway. Makes jotting and scribbling little notes easier.”

“What ever you say, Doc,” Cassie holds her hands up in defeat, “Just make sure you pack for all sun and no rain, because Outworld is hot as hell.”

“No kidding. I almost got a heat stroke, and Outworld’s bedside manners aren’t exactly… up to par,” Jacqui’s grimace at the recollection is evidence enough that Outworld weather is not to be trifled with. Although, it does sound like the perfect weather to have ice cream and brownies, and every other dessert on the chilled spectrum.

Her glance moves beyond the window, into the outside world, and finally, settles at the sunset sky – The splashes of purple, pink and orange washes the sky in vivid technicolor, and it leaves her feeling some kind of way; Like she would never come to see the sunset sky the same way ever again. It is somewhat unsettling, yet, she doesn’t feel her skin prickle at the thought. Maybe it’s just her nerves or paranoia flaring up.

All of them finish packing her things up, and unloaded the boxes onto the designated trolleys. At least, she’s packed her stuff early and if she ever needed to pack more, she could just add to the load.

Cassie is the first to initiate the conversation, “So, Jacqui, Van, where do you wanna eat? We’ve got 2 whole days before we make a move, so we might as well start satisfying every craving known to man now.”

“Should we make a head start on sushi, then?” Nothing could’ve been any better.

-

Outworld is every bit as hot and dry as Jacqui and Cassie had described it to be, and she is thankful for their advice; Her medical outfit is light and loose, allowing for easier movement and a reprieve from the searing heat. She wonders whether everyone else is suffering in the heat, and if they’re cursing their decision to come to Outworld—Whether the allure of ‘I’ve been to Outworld and survived its hell’ had been worth the attraction in the first place.

Although, it is not her place to doubt the Special Forces. All of them had been trained for extreme climates and situation, and this delegation is no different. Cassie is front and center, with Jacqui at her side as her right-hand man. Everyone has their guns lock and loaded, and a contingency plan had been formed prior to their arrival should anything go wrong.

She catches a glimpse of 3 figures in the distance, and she can only guess who they are: Kotal Kahn, Kitana and Jade. They had rolled out the red carpet treatment, coming to greet the delegation themselves. The air surrounding the Force tenses in anticipation as they near the Kahns—Everyone’s standing a little straighter, and the grip on their guns tighten ever so slightly.

“Welcome to Outworld, fellow Earthrealmers,” His welcome had been loud and clear, “We hope that you enjoy whatever Outworld has to offer, and do not worry, we have prepared food and accommodation for your stay here.”

The Imperial Army had descended upon the Special Forces, (and to their relief) started helping them with their equipment and luggage. Immediately, everyone was up in arms, trying to work and sort through all the different boxes and luggage, making sure they don’t accidentally end up in the trash or some other unsavory place. She’s never went dumpster diving in Earthrealm, and she’s not going to start the habit in Outworld.

The Imperial Guard guided her through the Palace halls, and like any person with new experiences, she observed her surroundings; Talltalltall ceilings overshadowing longlonglong hallways, the pillars stand strong with their embellishments of royal red and gold, and there are windows interspersed to grant the Palace inhabitant a splendid view of the City from above. All in all, this Palace is bigger than any castle she’s seen back home.

The infirmary is nothing out of the ordinary – Cabinets filled with medical equipment and solutions, the beds are adjacent to the wall and there are people filing in out and out of the room. Her office is neat and tidy—Tables, bookshelves, and other assorted furniture had already been moved in for her comfort. I could get used to this, she mused to herself. Her office back home wasn’t this big nor spacious. It wasn’t cramped either, but one could always upgrade to bigger spaces once in a while.

There is a garden outside of her office, and its splendor can be admired from the infirmary. The spread of green stretches as far as the eye can see, yet there are fragments of oranges, reds and white that makes the garden all the more surreal. She spots the row of unknown plants in one corner of the garden, and wonders if there are herbs planted here for easy access. Maybe, she’ll ask some of the other doctors for help.

“Miss Vanessa,” The guard brings her out from her daydream, and speak of the devil, “I would like to introduce to you the Palace Doctors. They will be here to assist you should you need it.”

“Thank you, but I think I would be needing their help more than they mine.”

“Don’t be so modest, Miss Vanessa. We could all stand to learn from each other,” One of the Doctors joked, and before she knew it, she was being huddled by all these strangers. She was relieved to be welcomed so warmly, the fear of being an outcast had been an idle thought playing in the back of her head for the past few days.

The routine in the infirmary had been simple; 2 off-days, make sure that the medicine cabinet is always stocked, all rounds must be completed on schedule, paperwork must be filed, and other things she was already doing back at Earthrealm. She is reassured by the fact, that there is something that she is used to doing and it makes adjusting to life on Outworld a little easier.

Clack!

The sound of heavy footsteps against the marble floor had everyone’s breath held, there had been some sort of frenzy; Some frantic urgency that had caused them to file out of the room like a deer out of headlights. She was… confused? Confounded? What? She had walked to the doorway to find the reason for the commotion, and true enough, there had been a man at the center of it all.

Deadly—Had been the first word that came to mind. Gore and glory seem to go hand-in-hand because he shows up bloodied and slightly haggard (with mud trailing behind him, to her annoyance), yet his mere presence is enough to command everyone’s respect, is enough to have people whisper in awe and alarm at the sight of him.

He is tall—He towers over some of doctors crowding him, and even she can see that his physique is packing serious amount of muscle under all that clothing. He is dark – The tufts of brown can be seen in his sideburns, and he has a slight tan from all his days of yeehaw-ing around. Is he handsome? Hard to tell considering he has the bottom half of his face obscured with a mask.

He looks at her, and it makes her stand a little straighter. His eyes are intense, and it scares her how deeply he’s staring into her, but she still can’t look away-- Something in her tells her, forces her to hold his gaze.  It feels like forever since they’ve been staring at each other, but finally, something in his eyes change, and he subtly tips his hat off to her. Whether it is a sign of respect or acknowledgement, she doesn’t know.

But she breaks their staring contest, turns around and shuts the door behind her.

 -

1868 words

#Mortal kombat 11 #Mk11 #erron black #mortal kombat fanfiction #erron black x F!OC #mortal kombat #mk #cassie cage #jacqui briggs

[bigskydreaming]

Shoutout and censure to @themessofthecentury for the latest update to fault lines on account of how rudely impactful it was. Like, the whole fic has been great, but this chapter had those character beats and Steph’s raising of that one integral element of recovery that’s so relevant both to the recovery process AND what makes abuse so inherently different as a source of trauma than an assault from a stranger with no pre-existing dynamic.....

The fact that an extreme upheaval to one’s worldview, even if that worldview is rooted in misconceptions someone relied on to build a new framework to hang their sense of reality from when TRYING to cope with something like abuse or rape in the first place.....like, the mere act of undoing or correcting these misconceptions can be and usually is EXTREMELY TRAUMATIC in its own right, even if its completely necessary and aimed at undoing misconceptions that are actively hurting a person and causing continued self-harm. Because you’re upending structures of thought that a person is ON A CONSCIOUS LEVEL telling themselves they NEED in order to cope with what happened to them....and here that thing they NEED is being deliberately TAKEN AWAY AND DESTROYED.

That shit hurts. Even if its ultimately in the aim of helping. Its pretty much the essence of it ‘it gets worse before it gets better.’

Just like abuse itself, for example, is always a doubly-impacting trauma because its not just the harm done by a specific instance of mental, emotional, physical or sexual abuse...its that COUPLED with the implicit trauma every instance of abuse carries....in that its an emotional and mental attack on what we’re all constantly told by society is true, and should be a reassurance....that friends, family, loved ones, are SUPPOSED to be good for you, they’re not SUPPOSED to inflict harm on you, and yet for some reason, these ones here are, in defiance of what you’ve been led to believe and trust....meaning that in addition to the harm done by the actual abuse, you’re always simultaneously harmed by this assault on your very ability to put any trust in things you’re told should be true, as obviously there are exceptions in your case.

Course, this update also hurt like hell, because its so frustrating to see Steph get it, but still continue to NOT GET IT, because even with that held firmly in mind, she’s failing to grasp just HOW much this is of specific relevance in Dick’s case, because of all these things everyone’s matter of factly saying in the name of trying to help him....with zero idea of how many of them are continuing to wage all out assault on long held beliefs he’s come up with as coping mechanisms....because none of them have any clear view of the breadth and scope of the stuff all of this is bringing up for him. Because he has never told any of them, because as he flat out says to Steph, he CAN’T, because reliving through the retellings is actively hurting him every time he does it, and none of them have yet grasped just how much they’re expecting him to keep flaying himself open 24/7 to reveal the entirety of all this stuff he’s kept burying, any time they’re frustrated he’s still not being more forthcoming. 

At a certain point, the rest of them literally just have to start putting their heads together and reflecting in light of this newfound awareness....of just HOW many things Dick’s been involved in or has been present for, that SHOULD of course carry a large helping of trauma, and nobody’s ever touched on what this might mean for Dick, because so much of THEIR world views have been predicated on relying on him as a stable support system who will always be there for them, and upending that belief in order to scrutinize just how many times he’s desperately been in need of support and lacked it because he was being used as a source of it instead....THAT is inevitably a kind of traumatic upheaval of their own histories and ability to trust in longheld beliefs, so they’re slow in getting to the point of FULLY asking the right questions to the right people, because it simply is human nature that as a kind of defense mechanism, we do often instinctively shy away from learning or accepting truths that would cause that kind of upheaval to us, and thus carry with it a degree of that trauma.

But like....they started down this road, and its up to them to see it through, not leave off half-assed with all the hurt that’s caused Dick to relive but none of the recovery that can only result after continuing on past the part that hurts. Which unfortunately, is what too many fics and too many canon stories do, starting in the right direction but aborting when it gets too hard or uncomfortable for other characters, but without acknowledging that this is what they’re doing, and this is the inevitable consequence of that lack of followthrough.

Fortunately, the fic continues to do a good job of using the narrative to push back against the various unreliable narrators’ lack of all relevant information, so these instances where Steph and various others flat out don’t get that their well-intentioned words of advice are causing as much harm as help at certain points, like, these don’t come across as oversights so much as carefully planted seeds that will inevitably bear fallout fruit later down the line.

Ugh, lots of thoughts after this last update, I hardly know where to start.

YES I KNOW WHAT I JUST SAID THERE AND I MEANT IT, MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL, THE WORDS MEAN WHAT THEY MEAN NOW STEP OFF LIKE YOU’RE CHANNING TATUM AND I DIDN’T JUST REMEMBER THAT’S NOT ACTUALLY THE NAME OF THAT MOVIE.

#abuse cw

[bobasheebaby]

The Sit Down

Pairing: Bastien x Liza; Liam x Raven

Written for @kinda-iconic @choicesjulychallenge Choices July Challenge

Word count: 1,482

Warnings: angst

Summary: With the history between Liam Rhys and Bastien Lykel is there any hope of them moving forward and being a family for Hope?

A/N: @darley1101 requested Forgiveness for Liam and Hope as well as Family for Bas, Liza, Olivia, Hope, Liam, and Raven. Both are a tall order for this crew, I’m laying the framework trying to get them there. Neither prompt is used in the obvious manner. She also requested "Admit that you're wrong!" from Mobster Bastien ages ago and I’m finally coming through. Prompt will be bolded. Thanks @sirbeepsalot for being my sounding board and putting up with me. Again we are ahead of where we are in the story, I’m sorry. This takes place after Tattered Tears my other July Challenge fic.

Series warnings: Mobster AU, there will be violence, and death. Possible NSFW to come. Possibly dark and deals with pregnancy loss. If you ask to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

“Can you please tell me why we are entertaining this fool?” Olivia asked, the thin heel of her stiletto clicking against the hardwood as she tapped her foot.

“Olivia!” Liza warned, voice strong and unwavering, while inside she was shaking. The last thing she wanted to do was to speak to the person who brought them so much pain, nearly broke her completely, yet she needed to hold firm, be strong.

Olivia flinched at the use of her full first name, Liza always called her Liv, she knew she’d pushed a button, yet she pressed on. “What? He tried to kill you!”

“I know that!”

“He killed your baby!”

Liza’s hand instantly flew to the now red raised scar on her round abdomen. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as her fingers traced the scar through her shirt. “I know! Believe me I know!”

“He hasn’t ever once said he was sorry, or showed an ounce of remorse!”

“I know that Olivia!” Her voice broke, coming out almost a sob.

“Then why the hell are we entertaining him?!”

“Hope!” Tears welled in her eyes. “Because even if he never apologizes to me or Bas for what he took from us, Hope deserves to have her brother in her life.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block all the pain she felt. “I know he hasn’t been exactly welcoming to her, but he asked to speak to us, maybe between what I said to him and what Hope did he’s finally coming around, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But I do know that even if looking at him makes my heart ache knowing he will never take responsibility for what he took from me that I need to try to put my own feelings aside for her because she’s as much my daughter as you and Sage.” She gently grazed her round bump. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Liza…”

She looked down. “Don’t. I know you didn’t mean it. I need to go finish getting ready I’ll be right out.” She wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. I can do this. It’s for Hope.

*

Bastien squeezed Liza’s hand, he knew she wanted to be anywhere but at this table in that moment. Her hand shook in is, he wasn’t sure if it was from the sadness or the anger she was trying to repress, either way he found himself in awe of the way she could look the man who caused them so much pain in the eye.

Olivia shifted on Liza’s other side, her emerald eyes burning a hole straight through Liam. “Well?”

“Well what?” Liam questioned, his tone flat, clearly unaffected by Olivia’s biting tongue.

“Well, you asked us here, what the hell do you want?” Olivia spat the words like venom.

“I did.” Liam straightened in his seat, clasping his hands in front of him. “I don’t see why all that is necessary.” He nodded behind Bastien where a few of his men stood at attention.

Olivia laughed. “After what you tried to do to Liza the last time she was pregnant did you really expect anything less?”

Liam’s jaw tensed. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here Olivia, this matter doesn’t involve you.”

Liza placed her hand on Olivia’s shoulder, keeping her from jumping across the table and strangling him. Olivia glanced at Liza, nodding at her, assuring her with the gesture that she would remain seated. “Hope.” She leaned so she could see her around Liza as Bastien. “She’s my sister.”

“I don’t understand how you came to that conclusion.” Liam said with a laugh, Raven elbowing him in the ribs.

Liza squeezed Olivia’s tense shoulder. “You do realize Bastien raised her, correct?”

“I still don’t see how that makes them siblings.” Liam replied flatly.

“Bastien adopted her when she was twelve. They are sisters by adoption and in this sense it’s a hell of a lot more related than you are to her.” Liza seethed, only calming when Bastien tightened his grip on her hand. “Now can you please tell us why the hell you wanted to speak to us?!”

“Fine.” Liam replied, his tone devoid of warmth. “I see exchanging pleasantries is too much to ask.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Liam! When was the last time anything other than hate or an insult escaped your mouth?” Olivia rebutted, her voice tinged with laughter.

Liam cleared his throat, his narrowed gaze falling on Bastien. “Do you always let them do all the talking?”

Bastien shifted slightly in his seat. “I’m simply listening. Listening to what it is you do and don’t say. You could learn to listen more.”

“And what exactly has been said of importance?”

“You’re nervous, though you think you hide it. You want something but are afraid to ask, so you deflect and insult us instead. So Liam, please tell us why we are here.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the first outward appearance of his discomfort. Raven glanced at Liam, seeing his jaw twitch, and his hesitation to speak. She placed a comforting hand on his forearm. “We had been given some interesting information…”

“Oh this is rich.” Olivia laughed. “He tries to kill Liza, treats Hope with disdain, and blames Bas for his mother, and yet he’s here asking for help.”

Bastien arched his brow. “So what exactly did you hear, and how am I supposed to help?”

“Madeline told us Liam had an older brother.” Raven replied.

“Wait, I thought Madeline was handled.” Hope stated, her face was etched with confusion.

“She was. Basically he’s done all he can on his own and now he expects Bastien to help.” Olivia said with a shake of her head.

“I guess that’s one way to put it.” Liam replied. “The truth is Bastien is the only person that might know anything without anything to gain in sharing the information.”

“Why the hell should we help you?!” Liza spat, her anger coursing through her veins.

“Liza...” Bastien squeezed her hand.”

“No! Olivia is right! He’s never even shown an ounce of remorse for any of his wrongdoings yet he has the audacity to ask you for your help.” Tears welled in her eyes, her body vibrating with anger.

Bastien glanced at each of the women seated with him. “I’ll help, on two conditions.”

“Bas…” Liza exclaimed in shock, unable to understand how he would be willing to help the man who caused them so much pain with zero remorse.

“Admit you were wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Liam replied.

“Admit you were wrong. Apologize to myself and Liza for trying to take her life and what you took from us. Apologize to Hope for shutting her out simply based on who her father was, and admit that you were wrong in blaming me for your mother’s death.”

“Is that all?” Liam grimaced, the urge to leave with his pride intact fighting to win. “Fine. I’m sorry I put the hit on Liza. I apologize Hope for pushing you away.” He but down, teeth grinding together as his jaw clenched. “I was wrong to blame you Bastien for my mother’s death. Will you help now?”

Bastien smirked. “That was one condition, I had two. My second is to back it up with your actions. Prove the words you say have meaning by actually talking to Hope and letting her in.” He glanced at Hope. “That is if she wants to give you a chance.”

Hope nodded. “He’s the only one who has any knowledge of my mom as a mom. You and Olivia have helped me learn about her, but still that’s only part of the picture.” She paused glancing down at her hands. “If he’s sincere, I would be willing to give him a chance to earn my forgiveness.”

Liam scoffed.

“You wanted my help, this is what I require to do so. I have some connections as does Liza, that could prove useful.”

“I doubt she has any connections that could help.”

Liza grinned. “Liam, perhaps if you’d been more diligent before you placed your hit you would have realized how bad it would have been for you had you been successful. I’m sure you’ve heard of my ex, Perceval Hunter, current head of the Hunter family out of Seattle.”

Liam swallowed as his face blanched.

“I grew up in that family, Perceval and I are still friends, and Bastien wouldn’t have been your only worry had you killed me.”

Liam sat in stunned silence. Vilegence then vengeance. His father’s words ringing in his head.

Bastien rose to his feet. “His name was Leo. If you want more than that, then you will earn Hope’s forgiveness as well as mine and Liza’s.” He pulled Liza to her feet. “For now we are done. I wouldn’t take your time. My kindness has an expiration date.”

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

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#choicesjulychallenge #choices july challenge #bastien x oc #liam x mc #mobster au #trr au #mobster bastien #mobster liam #olivia nevrakis #liam rys #bastien lykel #hope casey (lykel) #liza moore #raven harris #bastien x liza #liam x raven #the royal romance au #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #crimson rain #long post #read more

[amandajoyce118]

Agents of SHIELD S6E06 “Inescapable” Easter Eggs And References

In this week’s episode, Fitz and Simmons find themselves reunited, but sharing a mindspace while the Chronocoms want them to work out time travel. It leads to some unexpectedly therapeutic tracking through old memories.

As usual, there are spoilers. Again, SPOILERS if you haven’t yet watched the episode. You’ve been warned.

Spoilers.

Seriously.

Last warning.

The White Room

This is probably unintentional, and the white room they end up in is likely just meant to look like the blank slate it is, but… it made me think of another white room from Marvel Comics. Specifically, the White Hot Room. That’s the name of the Purgatory like space that the Phoenix Force inhabits pretty often. It’s also where Jean Grey recharges and accesses all of her memories when she and the Phoenix re-merge. It’s just a very striking similarity since Dark Phoenix was just in theaters (and the movie doesn’t use that comic book aspect at all).

Fitz’s Proposal

If Fitz’s proposal sounds familiar, that’s because we’ve heard it before. Last season, when he found Jemma, she couldn’t hear him, but he gave her nearly the exact same speech. (Edited to add: She also answered him the same way he answered her when she proposed last season. Nice. And she knew exactly how his speech would end, which means she must have asked him at some point last season how he proposed when she couldn’t hear him. Also, right before Fitz proposes, you’ll spot his bad hand twitching a bit, a nervous tick Iain has kept using since his season two injury. Love the character consistency.)

Alice In Wonderland

A hole appearing in the white room that Jemma escapes through and Fitz following her into her own childhood bedroom feels like a very intentional nod to going “down the rabbit holt” and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Jemma’s Room

I know I’m going to miss some things in Jemma’s room, but there is so much going on in here. Obviously, the book about her and Fitz, but there’s more. We see she’s a Jane Goodall fan because that photograph features prominently. There are stars on her ceiling, likely a nod to the times she spent studying the stars while recovering from surgery as a kid. She has so many samples on her shelves that I wish I could actually see what they all are. There’s a Winnie the Pooh which doubles as a nod to the Disney parent company and it being one of those very English animated properties (edited to add it is technically Canadian) for kids. Not to mention fellow MCU alum Hayley Atwell starred in Christopher Robin. Right next to Winnie is a Paddington Bear, which is a nice touch. Also, the butterfly painting on her wall that looks like it’s a little mixed media with butterfly pieces on the bottom? That was in Jemma’s Hydra apartment in season two. (I remember that odd detail because I used it in a fic.)

Edited to add that Jemma has a serious thing for butterflies that makes me curious. In addition to the butterfly print from season two, there are framed butterflies on shelves, and sample vials of other butterflies in her collection, and even butterflies on the tea set that she and Fitz have in the white room. I wonder if it’s because they were easy for her to study as a kid, or if she was fascinated by their transformation, or something else. Is that something else, perchance, something to do with Sarge’s Snowflake? She does like to go on about how people become beautiful butterflies after she stabs them. Is this just a weird bit of foreshadowing? Showing a connection between them? Is Snowflake another’s world’s version of Jemma? Oh, that would be weird. But food for thought.

Also edited to add: the book doesn’t just feature Fitz as the prince in the stars and Simmons as the princess looking for him. It also features Mack as a strong bear and Daisy as a quick rabbit, which are interesting choices. I’m assuming it’s them only because they’re the friends they call later in the episode. I mean, it could be that the animals are Daisy and Piper since they went to space together, but that would make Davis the monkey? lol

Cuttlefish

Okay, I’m editing this one in because it struck me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to include it until I looked up the sea creature. So, I initially thought this was a nod to Jemma talking about fish in the pod at the bottom of the ocean in season one. And maybe it is. But, the cuttlefish is actually from the same taxonomic class as squids... like the symbol for Hydra. Nice nod either way.

Fitz’s Academy Dorm

Hey, Bonus mention of Anne Weaver! I enjoy her. The show should try to get her back for a cameo or two.

Okay, I’ll admit I was too focused on them processing the memory to focus on everything in Fitz’s room, but I did spot that massive Manchester banner. Just a reminder that’s Fitz’s team and Hunter is not a fan, as we learned last season. I might catch more on a rewatch, but feel free to tell me what I missed in both of their rooms.

Edited to add: Fitz is wearing the “same” dark blue hoodie that Jemma wears around the base in season three when she returns from Maveth. It’s not actually the same, but we’re clearly meant to think it’s the same one that fits her because it is far too small for Iain to be wearing it over two more layers of clothing. Also, even before Jemma mentions Fitz being manic, you can actually seen hand drawn monkeys on the wall like what Fitz did in the prison cell. Only a few before they start discussing his state of mind and then show Jemma looking at them on the wall. Also, the tie that Fitz wears when they meet Coulson is hanging on his coat rack.

Side note: I found it interesting, though I loathe the term, that Jemma says she friendzoned Fitz in that scene. That means that Jemma at the Academy must have had some inkling that Fitz had a crush on her. Or, this is just Jemma looking back on it with the benefit of over a decade of experience with Fitz and realizing it. Either way, it confirms that Fitz always thought she was the coolest, even while he was busy arguing with her.

Jemma Needs Therapy

I love that Jemma’s problems locked in a box are an amalgam of all her traumas. (Also, it’s funny to me that she has a little pink safe on her dresser that she could have locked her troubles away in, but instead, it’s the easy to open jewelry box.) This version of Jemma looks like a monster, but she’s wearing her shirt from Maveth and shreds of her Kree-slave attire, carrying the shiv from Maveth, has gold paint on her forehead from her time in the future. (Edited to add: she’s also covered in dirt with a hoarse voice, and I’ve noticed some people think that’s a nod to her emerging from a grave in the Framework, which is a good catch. I thought it was simply to make her look more like a monster, but it makes sense that it’s a nod to what she discovered in the Framework now that I’ve watched the episode again, and this “monster” only emerges after they’re faced with the Doctor.) She’s the embodiment of all the bad things Jemma has gone through, and Fitz is right that she’d be better off with therapy instead of keeping the English stiff upper lip.

Meeting Coulson

The scene where the two of them meet and get recruited by Coulson makes me wonder if it happened immediately before we meet them in the pilot episode. Why? Because they’re wearing their pilot episode clothes, though the hair, of course, is not exactly accurate. (Edited to add: Simmons telling Fitz, “yes, I’ve heard the stories, don’t be weird” is a nod to Coulson’s death being on record. They weren’t at a high enough clearance level to actual know he was alive.)

Edited to add: can we talk about how significant it is that Fitz “fights” the demon version of Jemma on the part of the quinjet where he first thought he was going to lose Jemma? It’s where he couldn’t get his parachute on in “FZZT” and Ward went to save her instead. I just found that location choice interesting. It’s not the bus from season one. It’s definitely an updated quinjet, probably because they don’t have the same exact set pieces anymore, but it looks strikingly similar. Demon-demon asking Fitz if his lungs or bones will go first? That’s a nod to the scene of she and Daisy torturing an alien this season when they were looking for Fitz. Clearly, though she saw the intimidation and torture as necessary, it left it’s mark on her.

Also, I didn’t mention in when I initially posted this, but I think them choosing Daisy and Mack to save them speaks more to how they view them than just what cast was available. We’ve seen Hunter literally pull Fitz out of prison, yet he chooses Mack to save him from Jemma. Why? I feel like he might trust Mack with Jemma’s trauma more than he trusts Hunter. Because Mack was there for most of it, and because Mack was there for his own recovery in season two before he became closer to Hunter. Likewise, Jemma calling Daisy and not May, or Elena? That’s because Daisy has had her back for a year in space. She’s seen Daisy literally take out an entire room of badguys while drugged up on puffies, so of course, Daisy is her first choice. Daisy has also already had the Doctor in her own head when Fitz had his psychotic break last season, so it’s a bit of symmetry there too.

Trapped In A Pod

Okay, so it’s sweet that they realize they don’t just have to rely on one another and call Daisy and Mack for backup against the dark parts of their minds. I enjoy that, as well as the symmetry of them both getting to see each other’s worst parts. What I really love here though is that this is the angrier version of the season one pod scene. The two of them run away from their troubles only to be trapped together in an enclosed space, yet again, to yell at one another about all the things they haven’t had the chance to argue about before. Watching the scene, I literally said that the only thing that would make it better would be if it was actually at the bottom of the ocean. Of course, they realized that and it filled with water. Of course. The arguing in the middle of the water, just as it did in season one, leads to their confessing their feelings. It’s a lovely, symmetrical, story of their relationship, this episode.

That Makeout

Leopold and Demon Jemma going at it while Fitz and Simmons argue? This just further proves that all that bantering in the early seasons was really foreplay, right?

That’s all I’ve got, for now. I’m sure I missed some things just because of the nature of the episode. It’s taking us on a walk through memories, some we’ve seen, so there are likely more that are harder to spot. Let me know what I missed!

#agents of shield #aos season 6 #aos spoilers #aos easter eggs #fitzsimmons

[foxsoulcourt]

Because it’s time...

Hello m’friends in the AFTG fandom. I’m typing + posting this as quickly as possible because otherwise I’ll lose my nerve and this is too important to get stuck in the Analysis Paralysis part of my brain seeking impossible perfection.

A few days ago I reached out to @transneiljosten​ to, among other things, offer my apologies for being really mean on their blog. Yes, I was honest + even kind of clever; yes, I felt justified in what I wrote, but really, I was mean + used them for my selfish purposes. It was not even close to me being my best self.  Through an extended conversation about many things, they graciously accepted my apology. Nico, I’m still humbled by your openness. Thank you so very much for your time + energy that day!

Why am I posting this gushy bit today? Hmmmm, various reasons: 

I AM WEARY (over the past year there have been several deaths + illnesses in our family + community; draining stuff!)

I FEEL DESPAIR (institutionalised racism + white supremacy + patriarchy + fear of people loving other people differently raising their ugly head over and over + OMG really is that guy still the US President? + hello? climate change! What up Brexit?!!)

IT FEELS YUCKY TO BE STUCK IN REPEATING PATTERNS (in fandom + real life)

I’M OVERWHELMED WITH GRATITUDE FOR FRIENDS who I know face to face + online

and I’M RENEWING A COMMITMENT TO MAKE MY LIFE COUNT FOR MORE because... 

Saturday I went to a memorial for a friend of mine (below) who was recently murdered by an intruder. Bob was one of the BEST humans I know: humble, smart, KIND, creative, calm, loving + very, very funny. He taught me a lot + influenced my life far more than I realised until this past weekend. Have you heard that saying “preach the Gospel, use words if necessary”? Bob’s life was the best kind of example for all of us, no matter if we hold any or no beliefs in organized meaning making. I know lots of people die all over the world every day, people we’ll never know who don’t deserve to die too soon either. It’s one of the sucky parts of life: people are taken too soon, leaving behind families, friends communities who benefit from their personal + professional skills. It is the exact opposite of the kind of death we would not wish on our worst enemies.

And yet...

While Saturday was full of tears to be sure, it was also full of SO MUCH LAUGHTER + LOVE + SINGING + STORY TELLING! Did I say LAUGHTER yet? OhMyGoodness when his wife Marcia got up to tell stories about him we all HOWLED together. Even my friend who preached the Eulogy, naming his murder for what it was still somehow managed to make us laugh while they gave a sweet, concise summary of how + why Love will overcome Death every time. I came home exhausted + remembering who I am at my core: someone who always + in all ways seeks to encourage others.

So...

I’m quitting the fight against those who hold super sharp strong opinions that are different from my super sharp strong opinions. 

Along with retiring the sassy, but make-no-mistake-about-it MEAN, phrase “High Priestesses of Shame”, I’m laying down my blunt instruments I’ve been using against others.

Not sure what I’ll do around blocking. I’m human who wants to be safe + conserve my energy, but I also want to be open. Either way, it will be a process.

I’m leaving behind the “Either/Or” way of looking at life + recommitting to the wisdom of a “Yes, and...” framework.

Practically speaking I’m going back to reading as many fics as I can + leaving wordy, over the top gushy comments and oogling + awwwwing over fantastic art work. 

To those who I have harmed with my words + unkindness, I am so very sorry. I hope, like @transneiljosten​ did, some day you will find a way to forgive me.

To Nico - you’re right, our conversation alone did not change anything. But our conversation followed by Bob’s memorial did change me for good + for the better. Thank YOU for YOUR part in that breathtaking alchemy. Please feel free to share this with others who might appreciate it.

There are so many who have shaped me in this fandom. Most of you know who you are, but/and later I’ll reblog this post w/a list of your names. Right now I gotta post this because the public apology to Nico + others is the most important part of this bold + foolish act. 

Tysm. ILY, Cory

#gratitude #tysm nico #you can't schedule wake up calls #but it helps to notice them when they happen #big thx to my daughter yesorno-alwaysyes #fandom life #life itself #all for the game #aftg #aftg fandom #had to hydrate while typing this #cuz: i weep #ok can only re-read this so many times #there will be errors #press post + move on with the day #this feels like such a lenten experience #onto the vulnerability hangover phase of these sorts of things