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qwuilty · 27 days ago

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what are some of your newer headcanons for p1 dude? i really love your take on him!!

AAAAA thank you so much, i would love to talk about them! Admittedly its more so going over past ones ive had and reconsidering, also im still waking up so apologies for any awkwardness but! some details but some ive had are:

- Kind of considering that his mother could have been somewhat mormon or at least a more intense denomination, Arizona is right below Utah and though the general location of Paradise is further down (i generally think of it as being near the actual original town of Paradise or Tucson and Bisbee), i still think he could have been raised there or nearby.

He had little connection to it, more so feeling a moral obligation and being physically forced there by his mother, but that sort of guilt and shame focused teaching i think could have had a strong impact on how he talks about God in modern day. As an all seeing force that knows when you do wrong and will keep tallies unless you repent over and over.

- I think his parents would look similar to the couple near the coffin in Redux, the red hair was a reccessive gene down his mothers family tree, making him stand out like a sore thumb between the two of them.

- I also shifted my personal backstory headcanon for him, more so that he had more military experience than i thought before. He had a fairly good work ethic in school and got good enough grades, hense the "His classmates voted him most likely to succeed" line from the advertising. However, as his parents could not afford to send him to college and he struggled in the workforce after school to try and raise money for it, he had fallen to military recruitment as an opportunity to help pay for his education that he thought was going to change his life.

Enlisted in his 20s, unfortunately for him at the cusp of 1990, around the time of the Gulf War.

He had survived, by technicality. Besides wounds and some aches, he made it out alive, but the person he was had died out there. I lean more towards this because of how ingrained military terms are in his journal, specifically near the end, and his mindset that he has to be humanity's soldier in a way. It's all he was ever good for out there.

- By the time he got back, he had no more drive to persue his education and the government had paid him a grand total of Jack and Shit in benefits, hense his living conditions in general. He had very little to survive off of, more so surviving paycheck to paycheck, and could hardly even imagine getting into a better situation. In the end, it was practically all for nothing.

- He doesnt talk very much, im really terrible with voice headcanons but i think he could sound something like Shaky from Red Dead Redemption 2 (im sorry but youre gonna have to take southern drawl P1 out of my cold dead hands-). Not as intense of a stutter, but i think he still struggles with speaking, even before deployment.

He has to mentally rehearse before he speaks to people since he was, frankly, completely shafted socially growing up by both his peers and family. I think he's able to get his speaking voice out better in writing, he has time to think about his words and adjust them, but the ones on paper and the ones he says tend to not match.

Has trouble with finding a good volume when speaking (either mumbling or accidentally speaking too loud when in a quiet place), almost running out of breath at the end of conversations, getting caught up on his words, and speaking very bluntly. (For a more joking idea of what i mean, basically the clip from Legends of Avantris of Torbek finding out what he sounds like, except P1 is painfully aware of that disconnect!)

- Champ is a rescue, more so a mangy runaway that P1 had found and had felt an obligation to care for until he found his owner, but no one stepped up. In the end he had become P1's dog and though he was another head to take care of in the house, taking care of him kept him more grounded with purpose, desire to make sure Champ was safe. He made the dog house outside in the Home level, clumsily so, but Champ still likes it.

- I think he would smell mostly like dust, mothballs, sweat, and light hints of gunpowder residue. The house he has is incredily old and shoddily made so he has no proper working washing machine and has to take trips out to the laundromat when he can clean his clothes, usually at the dead of night to avoid the people there.

- In terms of physical headcanons, i like to think he has hazel green eyes like the other dudes, more so sunken in with heavy eyebags, light freckling over the face mixed with acne scars. His hair tends to get greasy pretty easily and hes not great at taking care of it, so it gets messy and even tangled often. Personal hygyine is just kind of, yknow, a lesser priority to him than surviving day in and day out. As ive probably made painfully clear i heavily lean towards the base concept art for how i see him, so longer face with a bulky body and big ol forehead.

- Disenfranchisement with the government started arguably at a young age as a lower income american but especially after his return from deployment. He hadnt started full guns blazing conspiracy of course, but it had more so bubbled up from the pot. How they treated people like him, the Waco incident, rising tension in the news (of which he was very caught up on, unfortunately), it wasnt hard for him to build on the idea that the world was going insane when it was beginning to decay around him.

- The people of paradise were mostly ambivalent to P1 before he went postal, some thought he was alright if a little weird, he had some acquaintances from work who said he was nice enough, about the only thing they could think about him. When his behavior turned sour and closed off as the stress of in and out employment in a dead end town and forclosing made him rougher to handle, most elected to step back and avoid him. Ultimately, it had become kind of a unintentional push futher for him, how people averted their gazes and got nervous talking to him. That something in the air was changing.

- People back where he grew up tend to have nicer opinions of him, that he was a fairly sweet boy if a little shy. The people there have some small if shallow memories of him being someone willing to help, nice enough when you could talk to him, a bit weird but seeming like he had a good enough head on his shoulders since they had a more surface level understanding of him. To Paradise it was almost an uncomfortable but inevitable tragedy but people back home were truly shocked, those being most of the testimonies in the ads.

- Definetly internalized a bootstraps mentality, more so for himself far more than anyone else. The idea that these dips down just meant he had to push past and become "better" again, but it felt like every time he got himself back up, he lost his grip and fell deeper and deeper. He had a lot of resilience and drive from it, but at the dire cost of his own self preservation, self esteem, and sense of when to quit.

- I think he would have liked reading when he was younger, its just that later on he fell out of the habit and struggled to find time to with juggling work and homelife with empending doom. I could see him being into stuff like historical nonfiction and fiction, mystery thrillers, classics from the past. He prefered things that got him to get the mind working but he'd take doctor seuss if it got it to shut up when it was overrun.

- I kind of lean towards, for lack of better words, Boomer ass fashion for him with the usual jeans and boots with a tshirt and maybe a nice buckle, but i think he has a sense of envy for the goth look people usually associate with him. The idea of accepting that feeling of disconnect, revelling in being seen as weird and uncomfortable, even if it was "satantic" to his peers. But he could never commit to it, too many eyes on him, how they would have laughed. He always said he would have when he got older, more confident, but we know how that ended.

- Slightly indulgent but i think he would enjoy some classic rock and folk, the older idea of "dad rock" with that 70s and 80s focus. Cassette and vcr warrior, mostly bootlegged off of public broadcasts and radio stations since the official releases for this kind of stuff was pricy. It was easier for him to record things, even if it was awkward to do so, to save a little.

- Touch adverse is a fairly common one i agree with, he cant gauge people's intentions well and is fearful of at best light mischief at his expense and straight up attacks at worst. This means he tends to tense up or flinch at sudden touch, "overreacting" to it because it comes without him being able to recognize its even happening. In the case he is willing and comfortable enough (good luck with that </3), it shows more in subtle things like putting a hand on people, standing closer, unclenching a little, even gently resting his chin on someones head since hes pretty tall. It feels very light for others but its a larger step for him.

- Overall i just generally lean more towards a more stoic interpetation since i felt some of my past ideas of him leaned too soft for what feels like a very tough external shell, but i think inside he's still very vunerable. Easily moved by the world around him even if he can stand firm against the current. And all of that just kind of cummilated until it exploded over and we got the events of postal, a resistance to change, growing distrust in the world and fear of the horrors outside his door, immense finanical and emotional stress, the feeling he was sinking deeper and deeper as the world got crueler, and the eventual forceful removal from his only place of true solice.

#postal 1 #postal 1997 #postal headcanons #postal dude #again hopefully this makes sense i tried to keep it cohesive #also hoping im not treading too much on old ground its been a little bit i forget how much i shared gkdhfkdh

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fletchingbrilliant · 3 months ago

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Crossroads - REDUX

This is a partial rewrite of my original short fic, an origin story for Alastor. It's extensive enough that it warranted its own new entry rather than an edit to the original. (And the original has its fans, so its still there for folks to read if they want.) This essentially expands on the second half, the part that focuses on Alastor's deal. There are updates and edits to the beginning as well, and the ending has been reworked to reflect the new information. As before, heads up for historical references to racially charged violence and cruelty. The intensity on the gore has also gone up by a not-inisignificant margin. I'm really pleased with it and hope you enjoy it.

Thanks again to my husband @zaebeecee who provided most of Bael's dialogue, along with some additional narration. <3

Read on AO3 here

This backstory is the one Zae is using for Alastor in Loveless Bond! Read that amazing fic on Tumblr or AO3!

CW: References to historical bigotry, references to SA, canon-typical violence, graphic torture

---

It was always said that the boy had been born wrong.

On a long and sweltering night in early August, deep in the swamplands of Louisiana, Ezora Castrie was lying in her broken down shack at the edge of the village screaming with the pains of labor. Well over two hours passed before her help came in the form of Miss Eugénie and two other ladies whom she enlisted to assist her as midwives. They had made frequent stops to check on Ezora over the course of her condition in the early months, but this kindness lessened as the days grew hotter and thicker, even though her belly was growing bigger and bigger. As the resident medicine woman, young as she was, it was usually Ezora who handled the responsibilities of the midwife, and she had intended for it always to be that way. This was never meant to happen. But happen it did, and there was no choice but to find a way to make do.

It was a difficult pregnancy, and everyone agreed that it was because of the ill nature of its conception. Even Ezora conceded the ugly truth, and though she would not give many words to the matter, she knew it was wrong in some way beyond the transgression of that white vagabond, the man nameless and unknown even to the other white folks who dwelt outside the swamplands. Whatever signs and portents she had gleaned through her conjuring, she was keeping them all to herself. Her secrecy would have caused the village to lose much of their trust in Ezora, but they never trusted the girl to begin with. She was known to be skilled, and a hoodoo practitioner was a valuable asset and usually much loved in her community. But Ezora was not like others who worked hoodoo. She had strange ways about her, and she was not friendly. Even when she first came to them as a child of nine only five years ago, she was strange, bearing abilities far beyond her years. Most folks believed that she had dabbled with forbidden things, things that turned her into a madwoman. They could not have guessed how mad she would become after she brought those things into the mundane world.

Miss Eugénie and her helpers attended Ezora as she wailed, bleeding on the floor, writhing in an agony even the other mothers could not understand. Beads of sweat were as pearls along her brow, glistening in firelight before coalescing, falling, then forming again. Orange, brown, and black waves were cast over the walls, flickering in and out over an ocean of red. The midwives thought for sure that the child had been lost, but Ezora screamed that it was still squirming inside of her. When they pulled him out he was silent, and they had to unplug his mouth of primordial slime before he would breathe. But he wouldn't cry. They smacked the child's backside. Still he did not cry. Then the baby's unsettling demeanor was quickly overshadowed by the sudden bloating of Ezora’s stomach, and her cries that it was not over. Miss Eugénie had to face a terrifying realization.

There was a twin.

It took two of them to ease its passage while the third held the first infant, and Eugénie wondered if maybe there were two more of them, maybe even three, and their flesh was fused up together. She'd heard of that sort of horrific thing occurring with some folks. It was abnormal, but so was that man that they never did find. The white man with the cold face and foul tongue who forced his seed into their medicine woman, then vanished with no trace save for the results of his foul crime.

The strength left the mother, and she hollered with one final cry, “That's not my child! I have one child, one child!!” Then her head rolled back and she slept the empty sleep that came when the body could handle no more pain. Her skin stretched and tore, and the thing fell out of her and into the arms of the terrified midwives. When the horrid lumps of pink and yellow flesh squirmed and gurgled in some attempt to live against every law of nature, the first baby, the real baby, finally made a sound. And the midwives all said that his sound was like the most horrible, beautiful music they had ever heard.

Ever since that night, Miss Eugénie and the others swore that what Ezora brought into the world that night was not of this or any other place they knew. Both the boy and the thing were foul and strange, and they said that only bad things could come of them being around. Not that they ever did anything about these beliefs, content merely to gossip and wonder and spread even stranger stories as the years went by. Most of the village didn't believe them about the thing. Eugénie said that they threw it away into the creek behind the house and hoped it would just drown. If it was alive – and they swore it was alive – it had to have a mouth. And it had no proper limbs to save itself, so it was surely the best thing to do. It must have died in the creek, they said. To the baby, they could do no such thing. It was a baby after all, by all appearances, and Ezora came back around too quickly for them to trespass further than mere contemplation. She agreed that the thing was better left for dead, but was furious when they told her they left it so close by to her home. All the same, by sun up the thing was gone. And no one but the four women who were there that night ever saw it, or even truly believed that it existed at all. And only Ezora believed that the thing was still out there somewhere, still clinging to the facsimile of life that it wore like a cloak of viscera and blood. Ezora called the boy Alastor, and even though his skin was lighter than hers and would remain a constant reminder of the monster he came from, she determined that she loved him and that she always would. What became of the thing that was his twin – because of course it didn't really die – Ezora never lived long enough to see.

•

The Horror made its way through the village some fifteen years later, emerging from the bayou much larger than it had been, but unseen by any eye that attempted to observe it. Houses were destroyed, families vanished, and then it seemed to leave. It was only when a white family was wiped from existence and their house caved in like a broken eggshell that things got so much worse. They had heard of no Horror, they refused to believe that unknowable things could and did exist in the world and in the space between worlds, and chose to blame the entire village instead. One excuse to fuel their cruel actions was as good as any other. And they came with weapons and with fire and with hatred in their hearts. Alastor saw it all happen. He saw the creeping Horror when no one else could, bigger than a house, bubbling and oozing and with a form that defied any attempt at description. He saw his people – distrusting though they were – being rounded up and beaten. And his mother… he heard the shouts that Ezora was chased into the swamp. He had been outside of the village when it all began, gathering materials for his mother’s work.

He was too late to save her.

And he was too late to catch the ones who did it.

But the Horror, the thing that was Alastor's twin, did not survive. It brought death and destruction to the village, it skulked about the marshlands in an incomplete agony, and when Alastor caught up to it eager to take out his rage on the thing, he heard it cry out a name that shook him and crawled into his blood. He didn't know to whom the name belonged, only that it would live in his blood forever. The thing then died, and Alastor was left alone.

The strange boy called Alastor held onto every wicked thing he ever saw, and each wicked thing he gathered was stored in a different place within his mind. Some wickedness brought fulfillment, whether through vindication or the pursuit of knowledge. Some wickedness was pointless; cruelty for its own sake was not always satisfying. Those who could not defend themselves were never to be targeted (save for very particular circumstances), and often it felt good to defend them. As for who qualified as a defenseless victim… Alastor observed that those parameters were often subject to change. His aim, however, never changed. His mother had spent his childhood teaching him everything she knew, from the ways of root conjure to cooking proper creole meals. The people of the village called him a monster, and his mother did too. But even though he was a monster, his mother still loved him. And he knew that if anything he had ever felt was love, it was what he felt for his mother.

With the feeling that was like love and the wickedness he calculated, Alastor developed a plan. It could be said that once his mother was murdered, there was nothing left in this world to keep the boy tethered to it save for the music of his voice, which he kept alive ever since the song he sang on the day he was born. So he went to the crossroads, carrying his journal which possessed all the notes he scribed from the books he'd gotten his hands on, candles and charcoal and matches and water in a flask. Other things too were in his pack, all for putting together his strange ritual.

There were many ideas as to how to summon a spirit at the crossroads, and many ideas as to what the spirit might do. Some things were constants. A crossroad was a place in between places, that much was agreed upon. And as an in between place, it was one where spirits walked more easily, especially those that still meddled with life on this earth. Then there was a book Alastor had acquired in his quest for knowledge and his hunger for things no one else could grasp. It talked of different spirits – demons, they were called – who granted different boons to those who called on them. He found the one who could grant him what he desired, the first in its number, and he drew its sigil in the ground. It even looked a little like a crossroad, or perhaps like the cosmogram. He lit the appropriate candles, burned the appropriate herbs, then rose and slowly crossed his arms in front of himself. He crossed his legs, one before the other, then began to twist his body and writhe to music only he could hear. It was a strange dance, one that drew energy from inside himself and spread it out into the world around him. After only moments he was sweating, but he did not stop until the wordless song in his mind had ceased. Panting, he raised his knife and sliced his arm open over the seal, his blood glittering under a full moon. Already a piece of him was laid out as a sacrifice to the endless abyss, But he would not be drawn from his course. He looked to the moon, and called out for the demon with the words he had read and committed to his memory. For some reason Alastor himself could not discern, the words came out in a haunting melody he had never heard. But he let it flow out of him, singing into a bright night with his desires flowing freely from his heart.

The night air, so warm and balmy, suddenly grew chill as it swept past where Alastor stood, teasing his hair and rustling his clothes. Underneath that chill was a smell, something odd and unnatural; it was so faint as to be difficult to discern, but it was distinctly unpleasant in the moments before it seemed to vanish, never staying long enough to identify.

A voice whispered something to him, but they weren’t words he knew. It may have simply been the wind.

Yog ot ah'ehyeagl ng ph'nglui n'ghftog

With a flutter of wings, a black bird lit onto the old wooden signpost that stood in the grass just off the crossroads. It was the size of a largish crow, strange in a way he couldn't explain, its upper beak broken into a jagged point and its plumage ratty around its neck and tail. It stared at Alastor with an eye that somehow bore a shimmer of brilliant green—a green so bright that he could only say he had seen it from a distance in the finest dyed silks—in the moonlight overhead. It opened its mouth and released a sound that Alastor had never heard before; it was the sound of a bird, surely, but no bird that the boy could identify. The sound echoed in the still air like many voices, and to Alastor’s ears, it sounded like a question.

Excitement took hold more than fear or uncertainty, though it would have been a lie to discount any one of the three. He steeled himself and addressed the bird.

“I call upon Bael, head of the infernal powers. He who possesses knowledge, love, compelling voice, who moves unseen and understands ambition and growth. I demand he speak with me upon these crossroads, a meeting point between worlds.”

The bird let out another cry, and this one seemed to double over itself, and then again, growing and doubling and growing, until the sound echoed all around him. As the noise bled into itself and began to lose meaning, it changed: laughter, somehow both subdued in nature and rich in tone, from an unseen man. It was joined by more laughter, other voices turning to a chorus of sound that cut off with an abrupt snap so visceral Alastor nearly lost his balance.

“And what might a mortal child, not yet possessed of his own manhood, desire from the embryonic birthplace of spirit? What demands might a boy presume to make of the immured voices?”

The voice did not come from the bird, for the bird was no longer there. The voice didn’t seem to come from anywhere. But Alastor could feel something stalking around him, unheard and unseen but so very cold and so very present.

He kept his hands firmly at his sides but could not keep his body from shivering, his jaw clenched against the unpleasant feeling, cold and hot all at once. Even beholding the Horror had not gripped his heart so. But no matter what, he could not falter. No matter what, he had to remain true to his goal. “I call on you, Bael, to demand your gifts. The gifts you bestow on those who show the will to take them.”

“To demand?” the voice asked, as amusement immediately flooded the tone. “What a daring mortal, to so brazenly command the Goetia. And what, child, do you expect me to give you?”

”I demand… I need…” Alastor turned where he stood as the voice flowed around him, seeking desperately for a source. “...I need power. I need knowledge. I know there is something special dwelling inside of me, I know I am not like my fellow humans. I need the ability to reach my true potential.”

The amusement bubbled into laughter, something hysterical and grating and terrifying as it echoed in the air all around Alastor. A black liquid began seeping up from the ground, forming a small pool that shone like dark glass or polished stone. From the center of that liquid, Alastor watched as a head began to emerge, long black hair obscuring the face. A pale hand rose up from the pool and slammed into the ground, followed by a second, and the entity began to push itself up out of the strange liquid.

As Alastor stared, the form began to change, paper-white hands gaining an undefinable gray color and the body surging in height until it towered over him. The creature leaned down, a split in the black hair revealing a single acid green eye and a wide, wide smile full of far too many sharp teeth.

“So… is it knowledge you seek?” The strange, layered voice was gone, replaced with a singular deep baritone that resonated all the way into Alastor’s bones. The eye didn’t blink, and the smile didn’t fade. “Knowledge I have, knowledge that even the King of Hell could not comprehend. And you…” Bael inhaled deeply through his nose, his smile somehow widening. “You truly are not like other humans, are you, boy?”

Something thick was obstructing his throat, pressing against his mortal flesh, but it was mundane in origin, impossible to blame on some otherworldly bewitchment. It was simply fear, albeit a fear unlike anything Alastor had felt in his short life. The boy was rarely frightened, so he was perhaps even more ill-prepared for the experience of perceiving this great evil than another human might be.

“I am not,” Alastor said, his voice forcing out through his tensed muscles, emerging far weaker than he intended. He wanted to look away from that horrible staring eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. But all the same it might help him, he reasoned, by granting him the facade of resilience. “I was born by cursed seed, under a cursed sign. I faced the Horror that was called my twin and watched it die.”

“Your twin…” The pupil in that bright green eye dilated, holding Alastor’s gaze unflinchingly and unblinkingly. “And for what, child, do you desire knowledge? What… potential… is it you seek to unlock within?”

“I want… I want to know how to make others kneel,” he said, the flame of his desires starting to build, making his confidence grow, even in the face of this foul demon. “I want the ability to discover all things hidden, to remake my world in the shape I want it… to destroy those who have wronged me. No. I want to do more than just destroy them. I want them to suffer, to be trapped in blinding, ceaseless agony that only I can end.” Bubbling up from his tormented heart came the image of his mother, the last image of her that he possessed or would ever possess, mutilated beyond recognition.

Bael’s smile seemed to stretch at that, and he slowly tilted his head to the side until it was laying parallel to the ground. He then abruptly straightened, throwing his head back and laughing in that same unhinged cackle that made the hairs along Alastor’s arm stand up like the fur on a frightened animal.

The demon remained at his full height, towering over Alastor by at least three feet, and smiled down at him with those glowing eyes. “I think I like you,” he purred. “You have a unique quality, one I so rarely see in mortals. Too many humans would feel guilt, spilling the blood of another… but not you.”

“Not me,” Alastor agreed, finally able to smile, his confidence rising back to where it belonged. “I am worthy of your gifts, Bael. I was told it was nearly impossible to call on you, the first of the Goetia. Few mortals can handle the force of your presence, fewer still can even reach you in the strange shadows where you dwell. Isn't that so?”

“Oh, it is so, ahnah ehye. In fact, I believe you could be of great assistance to me.” Bael leaned down again, tilting his head at a neck-breaking angle. “Should you agree, I will give you access to my knowledge. Seals, magic, torture, madness, the Space-Between-Spaces, Heaven and Hell… all of it shall be at your disposal.”

Every hair on Alastor's body prickled in a slow wave over his skin, an answer to his bottomless hunger that was finally going to be fed. And his precious mother… she would be avenged.

Don't go dealing with things you can't understand, my little curse. Don't go calling on them, but if you see them, don't you trust a word they say.

I'm sorry, Mamán.

I've got to.

“And what is this assistance you want from me, then? What can I give you that is worth the exchange?” He tried not to sound too desperate, too eager. Bael couldn't know that Alastor was willing to pay any price. Any price at all.

“Nothing you’ll take umbrage with, I’m certain,” Bael said. “I want you to kill. I want you to take life. And I will give you every tool you could possibly imagine to spill blood, provided that you give me one thing.” Bael raised his hand and prodded Alastor in the center of his chest, his claw sharp and his hand cold. “Your soul.”

The shudder that went through the boy’s body was not of this world. That cold, it was a cold that shouldn't have been allowed to exist.

This was the moment, the moment that would define every other moment throughout the rest of Alastor's existence. It was a moment that would affect the future in ways the boy could not anticipate, let alone imagine.

Not even his own precious mother could sway him away from this course. His fate was his own. And this was how he was going to seize it.

He nodded, looking into Bael’s eyes without falter.

“I agree.”

The words had barely left his lips before pain seared into Alastor’s throat, a nauseatingly green light beginning to glow from somewhere beneath him. It felt like rusted metal, wrapping around his neck and hauling him back onto the ground. Before he could speak, something pierced into his neck, like hooks on the inside of a metal collar digging into his skin and ripping him open.

He tried to scream, but all that came out was the thick gurgle of a throat unable to swallow. His hands reached at the point of violence, trying to grasp the wicked tool. He could feel the edge of a heavy iron shackle, but it was fastened so tightly to him that he couldn’t get his fingers between the metal and his flesh. As he grappled with it, his fingers caught the open wounds he could feel forming above the metal rim, blood pouring hot and wet across his hand.

In the very next moment, it was gone. Or, at least, he could no longer feel it with his hands. He could breathe, he could move… but he could still feel the ghost of that collar binding his throat. The echo of pain continued to ring.

With a gasp he sat up, running his hands over his skin in a panicked rush. He looked up then, eyes wide and manic. “That's it?”

Bael’s eyebrow quirked; from where Alastor sat, it made him look as though one of his eyes was quite a bit larger than the other. “Do you mean the shackle I have placed on your soul that signifies that I own you, will always allow me to know where you are and what you’re doing, will permit me to monitor whomever you interact with, and will grant me a not insignificant amount of control over both your body and mind? Yes, I suppose that’s it, as far as obtaining your soul is concerned.”

Alastor's gut bottomed out inside him. His hand hovered over his throat. “You're going to control me…? You never said–”

“I said I was going to take one thing from you,” Bael interrupted, holding up his index finger; Alastor could see blood on his nail, blood from where the demon had touched his chest. “And you agreed to give me your soul. What is it, ahnah eyhe? Did you believe your soul was unimportant? Did you possibly think it fictional, that I would give you so much power in exchange for a triviality?”

He shook his head, the disbelief stunning him. “But… but you will give me the knowledge and power you promised. I will crush the ones who wronged me.”

“Of course I will,” Bael said, sweeping down until he was on one knee, looming over Alastor’s nearly-supine form. “You will become the most feared human soul on whatever ground you tread. And, to show I am no monster, I will make a deal with you.” Bael raised his left hand, his mouth spreading into that supernaturally wide smile again. “I will return your soul to you when there is no more you can learn from me.”

It felt like a trap. Or if not that, then some wicked irony that the beast would continually hold over him until the end of time. But it didn't change what Alastor was receiving, and it was far too clear that Bael had all of the control here anyway.

“And if that happens? What will happen to all you've already given me?”

Bael chuckled. “Oh, what I give you is yours to keep, Alastor. Even while I own your soul, you are free to do whatever you wish with the gifts I pass to you.��

Alastor sneered in spite of his own defeat. “Unless you see fit to take control.”

That smile widened to the point that Alastor was certain Bael could bite his head off. “Keep me fed and you’ll have no fear of me, Alastor,” he said. “Try to defy me and I may just consume anyone you’re foolish enough to grow close to.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide with barely restrained terror, yet his lips hitched up in a manic grin. “Threatening my hypothetical loved ones? You’ll… you’ll have to try harder than that to frighten me, demon.”

“You say that as though you have not been frightened ever since you first called my name, little one. But, very well; you have expectations for what a demon is like. I would be remiss to leave you wanting.”

Bael raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The shadows swirled beneath Alastor’s feet, then slowly began creeping up his legs. It was bitterly cold, yet completely insubstantial, something that felt so real but couldn’t be touched. He pulled one leg, trying to step away, but he was held fast, an almost wet feeling seeping through his clothes. Like a second skin it grafted itself to him, winding up and around his hips, coursing over his stomach. It looked like fingers sprouting veins. In a growing panic Alastor tried to swat the blackness off himself as it made its way up his chest. This did nothing of course, only causing his hands to be caught up and Bael to start laughing again. He watched the demon, gritting his teeth, wondering if the beast was able to betray him after all and had simply decided to kill him.

Then he started to sink.

Shadows wrapped around his throat, crept up his face, and Alastor screamed. The darkness was pulling him down steadily into the earth, and no matter how he struggled, he was being steadily devoured. The sound of his screams abruptly cut off, and he tasted the nothingness of the living shadow pouring over his tongue and invading his throat. Still he sank, his vision obscuring, his spectacles torn from his face and cold shadow covering his eyes. The last thing he saw before he was subsumed completely was that terrible, unblinking green eye.

Alastor was floating in nothingness. He felt both weightless and crushingly heavy, still covered in shadow, yet completely exposed. Taking stock, he registered that his eyes were open, and in fact there was something about the black void that surrounded him that made it appear as though it were shifting. Different blacks were somehow flowing in and out of each other like an abysmal wake on a cursed shore. Half imagined images were swirling past his sight, and if he tried to focus on what they looked like, another piece of his sound mind was chipped away. When he looked down, he could see his own body as well. He had been stripped completely, fully exposed to the nightmare Bael cast him into. The light that allowed him to see had no source he could locate, and it was that awful bright green that nature didn’t allow.

He didn’t see the demon anywhere, and when he tried to speak he couldn’t hear his own voice. The boy trembled, and it was now that, finally, he could no longer pretend to be brave. He was terrified. He was lost. He wanted his mother.

Trying to move proved difficult, Alastor moving one foot forward, placing it on the black nothingness. While it appeared to make some sort of contact with something, when he brought the other foot in line with the first, he was struck by the distinct impression that he had not moved at all. A new panic hit him, and he ran. He ran, and he kept running, swirling endless blackness whipping past him, the void ever expanding and never ending. Still he continued, on and on, unable to stop. How long was he running? It might have been only moments when he felt like he had been running for hours. Hysteria took hold, and he started laughing while he ran. He laughed and laughed and laughed, his throat aching but the sound not ceasing. A strange, high-pitched cackle, one that was not him, cracked out of his throat. One foot caught on the other, and he flew forward, tumbling onto the false ground, rolling onto his head, his shoulder, his ass, skidding to a halt.

Since there was no ground he could perceive, he reasoned that it must have been his own expectation that caused the perception of one to rise up beneath him. If it was the only way he could perceive anything in a space that wasn’t real in the sense of mundane comprehension, it did stand to reason. How he was lucid enough to even come to this conclusion, he didn’t know, and it only served to frighten him further. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. That laugh… it wasn’t him. He knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He knew his own voice, he knew his own body!

Shoving himself onto his knees, he screamed into the void. “Alright, beast! You’ve made your point! Let’s end this little game, shall we?”

All that answered him back was laughter. And for the next backwards eternity that would be the only real answer he would receive. The things he felt, the things he saw, were so difficult to quantify that he would spend the rest of his life revisiting them in his dreams, night after night.

First, there was the pain in his neck. He pulled and recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning. That horrid collar had returned to his throat, and there were hooks digging into his flesh. Hooks so long and deeply curved that when his fingers curled around the engraved metal collar and he started to tug, skin and sinew only stretched and tore, warm liquid pouring over his palms. The blood pooled and pooled, pouring over his body and disappearing into the nothingness.

Devastation of the flesh is the most sublime form of suffering.

He felt the voice more than he heard it. It was Bael, cutting through the panic in Alastor’s mind like it took precedence over all of his senses.

To injure the heart and to injure the mind are both sweet, to be certain, but a wound to the flesh can scar the body as well as the mind and the heart. It is a tool to harm, to humiliate, to humble. You can kill, of course, but more than that… you can cripple. You can mutilate. You can disfigure.

Bael was behind Alastor; he felt him even if he did not see him. He only had a moment to think before he felt the demon’s heel slam down into his Achilles tendon. His chest hit the ground that wasn’t ground, his chin following. Dully he thought his teeth were cracking, but it was pointless to wonder in the face of the agony this creature was putting him through.

Something impossibly sharp stabbed into Alastor’s back, followed by a second something, and then a third, and then a fourth. Fingers twisted into Alastor’s hair from behind and began to drag him upwards, forcing his body to slide further onto whatever it was stabbed through his torso and into the ground. For some unfathomable reason, in spite of the crippling pain, Alastor’s mind was clear. Even as blood pooled at the back of his throat and began to flood his mouth, even as it continued to stain his bare flesh, his consciousness did not even begin to falter. It was for that reason, and that reason only, that he could see the things stabbing through his body and into swirling black: they were black, like obsidian, and they looked like they were… moving.

His cracked and gritted teeth pulled into a grimace that Alastor mentally commanded to become a grin. Even as his eyes widened and his mind shattered, those things moving inside of him, those things not of this world… they were not of any world he might have fathomed.

“Wh–” he managed to gurgle out, the sound pairing with a thick glob of blood that oozed out of his mouth like sludge. “What… are… y-you…”

The question, malformed, had no clear meaning, but if he could speak properly, he would probably still have no idea what he was really asking.

Bael was in front of him. He knew it was Bael, it could be no one else. But it didn’t look the way he looked at the crossroads. It – was ‘it’ not the only thing he could call it? – had a form Alastor couldn’t define. There were colors yet not, shapes yet not, and it was terrifying. Only one thing seemed to make sense, and that was the awareness that Bael’s eyes had grown in size, and so did his grin, and all of it was green. The thing that was Bael leaned down enough to look up into Alastor’s eyes. He held one tenebrous hand up between them.

Opening your mind to infinite possibility.

The creature flexed his hand, and sharp, black claws jutted out of his fingertips. He then seized Alastor’s shoulders and dragged his hands down the boy’s arms.

Finally he screamed. For some moments it didn't seem to come from anywhere near him, let alone from his own lungs. And then, from somewhere beyond this space, as though sounding from the copse of trees that he knew sat by the road where he had performed his dreadful summoning, he heard his own scream echo back and then grow. It grew into the sound of a great gathering of whippoorwills singing, turning into a frenzied cacophony. It drowned out his own screams, yet somehow Alastor could still hear the splattering of his own blood hitting, waterfalls cascading from the deep lines Bael drew upon his arms.

Ahaha… the song of the whippoorwills

Bael’s laughter echoed with the cries of the birds.

Ygnaiih… ygnaiih… thflthkh’ngha…

The words were strange yet somehow familiar, a sharp reminder of the recent horror that had rampaged through Alastor’s village.

He didn’t have the breath to ask. And those words in that strange tongue were the only words he would hear from that point forward into more time he could not measure.

The form without form that was Bael continued to appear and vanish as the torment continued. A chain, a horrible chain blacker than black, only truly visible by the violent green glow that outlined its entire length, extended from his neck, inescapably present. This length went on forever, with no visible source. Then it was held by a dark hand, wrapped around it many times, dragging the boy’s helpless body wherever it pleased, always with more laughter. Breath on his neck suggested the demon was right there, but when he managed to turn his head, he saw nothing. It would trail up the length of his naked body, burning his skin while feeling impossibly cold. He knew now, far too well, about how sharp those teeth were, how long and wet that tongue was, leaving him bleeding even more, and dripping with more than just his own blood. Many hands grabbed him, pulled him against a form he couldn’t define. There was sick humor, amusement, at Alastor’s desperate frenzy, his sheer terror. Claws kept dragging, pulling along his hips, his ribs, his shoulders, always to bring him closer and closer to the thing that held him there.

At its very worst, Alastor was certain that he was being pulled into an enormous mouth. The cavernous maw had a high arch above him, the long teeth like prison bars. The tongue was massive, wrapping about his entire body. Sometimes he would be chewed, his body mutilated beyond recognition. And yet other times he was simply swallowed whole, pulled into the endless tunnel of a tight and undulating esophagus. He was devoured and digested, still conscious, still terrified, still aware of every terrible moment.

While Bael gorged himself again and again on Alastor’s very spirit, the boy was hungry. With every nameless moment his body grew more ravenous. His thirst was unbearable. His only hope to feel sated was to consume what was around him. But the slimy tentacles only burned his gut. The same was true of the chunks of Bael’s tongue he tore out in retribution for his own consumption. It was when he then turned to his own flesh – as long as it appeared to still exist – that he felt any sense of satisfaction. Miserably he would rip into his arm, his leg, with his own teeth, screaming while he tore flesh from bone, crying while he chewed, then laughing as he swallowed.

Alastor often found joy in the strangest things. He would laugh at things that made others scream or faint in terror. In this special torment that Bael crafted only for him, laughter became his greatest defense. He assured himself it was just his defense, and not a sign that his mind was truly snapping far, far beyond the point of no return. Soon enough, he could do nothing but laugh at his torture, and his smile never left his face. Not matter how he ached, he smiled on.

It suits you, ahnah eyhe. It suits you so… very… well…

All he could do was stand there, bleeding without blood, in agony without physical pain, as long fingers pulled a wickedly sharp needle in and out of the flesh of Alastor’s cheek, his lips. The green string glowed, only lightly tinged by his blood, moving up and down with the deft movement of a practiced tailor. His wicked crafting danced across the boy’s face, until the work was done. Stitched in place, Alastor’s grin would last. In spite of anything, in the face of any horror, any sleight… any heartbreak… he would always wear his smile.

Whether he liked it or not.

Kill those who wronged you, ahnah eyhe. Make them bleed. Make them suffer. If you believe a living soul deserves death, then serve it to them, for that is how you will reach your true potential.

He felt Bael’s clawed fingers one last time, at Alastor’s abdomen just below his navel. He only had a moment to contemplate the meaning of that touch before they carved into him, slicing him open all the way up to his sternum. And one last time, he felt his insides spill out, splattering wetly around him. And the laughter, high-pitched and frenetic, deep and resonant, rang out through his skull, imprinting forever upon his shattered mind.

Then, with a sharp snap, the black tendrils holding him coiled and slipped from his flesh, dropping him hard onto the cold, bloody ground.

The ground. It was the real ground.

He could hardly believe it, could hardly even recognize it after so much time – not that it was really time, now was it? – in that Space Between Spaces. Alastor remained face down in the chillingly cold dirt, fingertips braced, hyper aware of the individual grains slipping beneath his nails. They shifted against each other like two particles preparing a reaction of a size far outclassing their insignificant nature. He didn’t dare look up, his senses overwhelmed already by the nightmares that were forced into him, so he didn’t see the demon depart. He only knew that it had. And once more he felt Bael’s words more than he heard them, though it was strange now, surrounded by the chirping of frogs and the rustling of dead leaves on the old oak tree.

Do not disappoint me, child, or you will regret the day your own reflection makes you scream.

For hours he lay there, aware that it was the same night it had been when first he summoned the fell beast. With a turn of his head, he could see that the candles were still lit, not yet melted down to the dirt. The book he’d stolen, possessing the seals and incantations to summon the demons of the Ars Goetia, was laying open, its pages fluttering in the faint breeze. When he forced himself to roll onto his back, he saw the stars, the full moon, all in the same position where he left them. He was clothed, he was whole, and he was not bleeding. But when he inspected himself, he saw scars. They were faint, only visible upon the closest inspection, but they were there all the same. They covered nearly his whole body, grim souvenirs from his journey beyond existence. Save for one. Long and mottled, it was where he cut his arm to perform his grim summoning. It was raised and inflamed, and appeared infected. But it remained closed thanks to rough black cording that had been used to suture it. He found the skein the cord had come from paired with a long sharp needle, set beside his ritual book, and he took them home with him. And of his smile, it was no longer plastered across his face. He only felt it as Bael had secured it. But when he laughed up at the moon, he knew it would always be there for him. All he needed was to find the strength to call on it.

•

The boy had been born wrong. Everyone said it was so.

And now the boy, the monster who was loved by his mother and feared by all others, had taken hold of what was wrong, and was turning it into power.

For the rest of Alastor's living days he felt Bael’s presence. He was with him when he slaughtered the families of the men who butchered his mother. Bael was with him when he finally ended their lives as well and he laughed at their agony. It was so for every life Alastor stole. And for every life Alastor stole, another of his faint scars darkened on his own body, reflecting the brutality he suffered at the hands of the one who now owned his soul. The demon was there in all of the moments in between, distant yet present, tearing away little by little at what sense of sanity Alastor still possessed. Merely by looking upon him, Bael had known what he was. And now, so did everyone else. They looked at his face and they seemed to know everything. A glance at a single one of his cursed scars, and they truly knew.

There was nowhere to hide.

There would never again be any place he could hide his true face.

Not from everyone. Not from Bael.

Not from himself.

In the dingy old mirror, his eyes looked back at him. They looked through him. It became true to Alastor as he watched and was watched that he had given up a piece of himself that left him forever changed. An emptiness ate away at him now, and he was certain he would never feel whole again without it. He could see what he was, the monster he had been born as, and the monster he had become. And it was a horror unlike any he had seen before.

The cord was rough in his hands, and pulling it made his fingers bleed. It was in this way that Alastor stuck the needle into his own face, piercing and pulling, dragging twine through flesh in the same strokes as when it was first crafted, black glowing green. Over his lips, from cheek to cheek, pulling over his own screams. Because he was screaming.

On the day his own reflection made him scream, Alastor crafted his perfect mask, one he would never remove, even after his death.

You will regret the day your own reflection makes you scream

Even as his chains grew tighter, and the reality of his decision became clear, Alastor never stopped reaching for greater power…

…and he never stopped smiling.

#my art #my writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor's mother #origin story #origin fic

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missdsantiart · 2 months ago

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On Patrol (Redux)

Another picture from 2023, this one being already a remake of another piece that I had made earlier that year, but this time I was finally successful in making it look like it's during the afternoon instead of morning (which had been my original intention all along). It was about time that I formally introduce my Courier's father, Orson, a Patrol Ranger that served in the New California Republic for 30 years, before he went AWOL due to a particular event in my story (if you want to know his backstory, you can read more under the cut):

TW: Mentions of slavery

Unlike most other people who joined the NCR Rangers, Orson was actually a Raider himself, as he was a member of one of the most fearful Raider families in Northern California - the Red Wasps. After he was sold to slavery by his own father when he was 17, the Rangers rescued him a couple of years later, despite knowing his family history and the crimes he committed against the NCR. As a result, Orson felt extremely grateful for their actions and decided to make it up to them by joining their services, thus becoming one of their best Rangers and contributing to a safer Wasteland.

Orson is a very special character for me, because like most people in the Fallout world, he's a very conflicting man with a lot of blood on his hands. Despite this fact, he has a very strong moral compass, and always did his best to make sure that his wife and kids had everything they needed. As a victim of slavery himself, Orson hates the Legion with a burning passion and never missed an opportunity to kill Legionaries whenever he could, further cementing Caesar's desire to have his head on a pike. His wish never came true lol

#artists on tumblr #fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #new california republic #ncr #ncr ranger #fallout oc #fnv oc #oc: orson redd #my art

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10moonymhrivertam · 7 days ago

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You’ve caught my attention! Tell me more about the Jaskier-is-Renfri’s-son fic, pretty please 👀👀

(Or link it if you have it posted)

!!! ^_^

Once upon a time, I spotted a post about the general tendency of royals to marry each other, kinda just chuckling to itself about the probability that Jaskier and Renfri were probably related somehow. I credited it to @westmoor but haven't been able to find it again since 😔. [Apparently the post also mentioned immortality?? I forgot that, explains some of what's going off the rails about the gods besides my attachment to happy endings] I was apparently into looking at the timeline a bunch at the time, cuz I noticed that Jaskier and Renfri were only born nine years apart. I was like '...y'know, bump that apart a couple years and you can even make her his Mom. It would be deliciously conflict-y'.

The Princess' Son (Ba, Ba) was the result and is turning into a first draft -- I've been working on a redux recently. The plan is to not front-load it so hard with the backstory, fix some timeline weirdness, and throw some Yennskier in there, especially considering this line I have in Princess' Son as it stands:

[H]e was the type of person who wanted to kiss pretty people when he disagreed or argued with them (rhetoric was going to be the death of him, how were all his classmates so attractive?); if there was anything that could make him forgive Valdo Marx for being the one who inadvertently told him about his mother, it wasn’t time, and it wasn’t hungry, angry snogging in the hall (Valdo got top marks in rhetoric, and didn’t even hold Jaskier’s ill manners against him, fuck that man).

#the witcher #jaskier #renfri #fanfic #writing #mentioned yennskier #friends!!#fanby-fckry

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bonefall · 2 years ago

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do you have a quick link to information about Brokenstar, Runningnose, and Skypelt? I'm curious about the story behind Runny's acorn necklace and I want to read about Brokenstar becoming SkyClan's guardian, and how he was able to follow Firestar/help him restore SkyClan. i've been having a hard time finding it

I need to finish (or at least *reasonably complete*) the SE where Fire and Broken go to resurrect SkyClan. That is called Firestar's Quietus. Brokenstar's origin, which completely replaces Yellowfang's Secret, is called Brokenstar's Cataclysm and that's another one I need to complete.

The exact story has undergone a lot of revision SO I'm gonna take a quick break to try and compile some Best Hits of BB!Runningnose's and BB!Brokenstar's dynamic to get you up to speed, and make a definitive list of what's currently canon to Better Bones

And, because this is DEFINITELY the change that raises the most eyebrows and it's a good opportunity to make an intro,

"Elder Bones, what's all this I hear about your Not-Totally-Evil Brokenstar?"

He's still evil lmao, but he's not BORN evil in BB. NO ONE is.

BB is a story about culture. It's about a lot of things, family, anti-authoritarianism, xenophobia... but at its core, Better Bones is about how people impact culture, and how it acts on people.

Something I realized early in this process is that Canon Brokenstar, who is a born-evil punishment for SkyClan's exile (this is CANON, go re-read Yellowfang's Secret if you don't remember!), only made worse by abuse and enabling, does not effectively tell a story about culture.

Depending on your reading, Canon!Brokenstar is either a cosmic horror story or one about abuse. Could Yellowfang have saved him (and ShadowClan) with love? The book implies no, it was his destiny, just the medcat den was hers.

But looking at Canon!Lizardfang who let him get bullied*, and Canon!Raggedpelt who enabled him every step of the way as Sagewhisker held Yellowfang back, you could also read it as someone who was treated so horribly that he did horrible things to others. That he wanted respect and this is how he got it

So, okay, you could read that it's the fault of this bad woman, bullying, and this overly permissive dad that he became a baby killer. Problem solved?

HOWEVER... the Erins also refuse to actually write about people who unironically love his philosophy, because they don't want Brokenstar to be systemic. Blackfoot, the posterboy for a Broken-supporter, gets to reckon with how sad his childhood was and how he was only ever a mislead kitty who Truly Loved His Clan, as opposed to Brokenstar, who was Born Evil And Did Not Truly Love His Clan.

Blackstar's greatest flaw wasn't xenophobia, or hatred. He wasn't groomed by a society that glorifies violence and pushes a might-makes-right mentality. He just followed The Bad Person. With the death of The Bad People, society is fine :)

This is a recurring dichotomy. Leopardstar was good all along, Tigerstar was bad all along, Needletail was good all along, Darktail was bad all along. The Erins are not telling a story about how Clan Culture produces villains, or how it makes good people do terrible things, they tell stories about treacherous Evil People who always had a seed of badness inside of them.

-Onestar's Confession, Page 704

This is their guiding philosophy, and it's what Better Bones sets out to reject.

So, Brokenstar.

I realized while drawing him this one time that I was making him look too much like Tigerstar. Charismatic and puffed up, ready to twist the code to fit his own ends. Then it hit me-- why am I telling the same story twice?

BB!Tigerstar is the inheritor of Thistle Law, apprentice of Thistleclaw, with a backstory where he was a lonely, abused child and seeks respect to fill that hole. He's getting all sorts of reduxes to explore him, and the way that violent ideologies recruit (and prey on) angry and lonely people. Why should I just... have two Tigerstars, but one of them is explored less?

AND, I would waste the fascinating idea that Brokenstar is a manifested curse. Why remove something so cool, when instead, I could lean into that...? Then I started to realize...

Why didn't they ever connect Brokenstar to the resurrection of SkyClan, if he is this manifested curse?

So, enough preamble. Come below the cut and I'll tell you about the story in Better Bones so far...

BB!Brokenstar is not born evil. He is born angry.

He was ALWAYS going to happen. His birth, his ambition, and his fury were inevitable.

This is a curse that was laid generations ago, at the end of Ripplestar's Rot.

The last-ditch attempt to save SkyClan was literally crushed by StarClan itself, blasting the base of the blighted 5th Tree of Fivetrees and sending it toppling down to smite Ripplestar.

That tree was the symbol of SkyClan and their place in the forest. All the love, comfort, and memories that they had ever put into that oak had a power of their own-- and they took form on that night.

Brokenstar is not the only "entity" of this type. Star Flower, eons ago, was another. BB contains many new types of entities beyond, and even adjacent to StarClan. Gods, curses, guardians, other religions of equal standing...

But he needed to be born to someone. In return for Dawnstar's kindness, taking in Cloudstar's young children (Re: Ripplestar's Rot), ShadowClan would be the eye of the storm.

And it would be a Cleric who bore him, just like Larkstripe, who had been cruelly separated from her only kitten.

Yellowfang, Shroompelt at the time, this was before her Dishonor Title, saw when he was born that he was furious. She'd never seen a newborn look so angry.

In Brokenstar's Cataclysm, she only gets the opening chapter. It's enough to establish how Sagewhisker pressured her into the role, the lengths she went to in order to keep this secret, the reason for his name despite it not matching his tail.

NOTE: Brokentail's name, Kanochswash, means Broken-in-half-tail. He has two breaks in his tail, making three segments. It matches the way the oak was broken, once at the base, again against the rock, but it is actually obvious in Clanmew that his name does not refer to his tail.

Or, it's obvious to Lizardstripe at least... who is VERY different in BB. Old followers will know, she is a very loyal friend of Bluestar herself, and a member of her inter-Clan friendgroup, the Forget-Me-Nots.

She really doesn't want to be in this situation, doesn't LIKE being a mother, and Mudfoot is unhelpful... but she's the most perceptive of the Forget-Me-Nots. She hears that name, sees Shroompelt's distant eyes, and it clicks. She sometimes looks for things to complain about so Shroompelt has an excuse to stay in the den for a while.

But Lizardstripe is not raising Brokenkit. Raggedstar is. Raggedstar is Brokenkit's Mi, and Raggedstar alone. He's pointedly adamant about that, and as soon as Brokenkit doesn't need round-the-clock suckling, he started sleeping in the Leader's Den with dad.

Unfortunately, being the golden child of the leader did not pair nicely with Brokenkit's short fuse.

And he made a little friend.

What first drew Runningkit to Brokenkit was that he was very large. Runningkit LOVED pissing off one of his siblings, and then hiding behind his bestie who was younger than them but already as big as a stump.

When Lizardstripe tried to do anything about this, Raggedstar would get pissed off at her, insisting that his son needed to be with his friends.

Together, the two of them learned they could do whatever they wanted, as long as they stuck together. With Runny's brain and Broken's brawn, they weren't even a year old and already unstoppable.

And their idea of "unstoppable" was... mostly getting seconds when they'd already eaten and pushing against the horrors of bedtime. Sneaking out and collecting acorns. Being allowed to practice with the warriors.

Even better, since being the leader's kitten meant everyone tended to be extra nice to Broken to butter up to Ragged.

If they got what they wanted, they were sweet to adults. But from watching her son, and from being friends with Lizardstripe, Shroompelt knew that they could be vicious when they wanted to be.

And from a young age, Brokenkit knew that he needed to become Brokenstar... and Runningkit promised he'd get him there.

You might be noticing something.

Brokenstar was always loved, very, very much.

Spoiled? Absolutely. A little bully? You bet.

Not yet more than the sort of things angry, spoiled kids get up to.

The point I'm meticulously building here is that BB!Brokenstar WAS LOVED, and he loved in turn.

It won't stop what is about to happen.

Brokenkit was only a few months old when his father became leader, after Cedarstar was killed in the war with WindClan. Heatherstar wanted the Mothermouth Moorland; a floodplain just beyond the Carrionplace, which grows flax and many other medicinal flowers.

It was something the two clans had fought over before, that IS the code's Right of Challenge, but Heatherstar wanted all of it. She'd even killed the practice of tunneling to dedicate all of her forces to take it.

If you are not strong enough to keep something, you do not deserve to have it. This is what the Code says.

And strength is what Brokenkit quickly learned.

Taking extra bowls of food means nothing in the fall when the prey grows fat, but ShadowClan's marsh freezes fast.

You can't whine up a second bowl when not everyone even got a first.

Do you defend your territory? Or focus on survival? When the challenges are frequent, you have to go without eating to defend them.

And yes, you're hungry, but it's for a reason.

Brokenkit wasn't out of kithood when he saw his first death, because people were already dying before he was born.

In skirmishes, in hunting accidents, to infection because they didn't have enough herbs. Starvation in winter.

From a very young age, he was taught this is the way of Clans, and this is because of WindClan.

And his ambition to become deputy only became stronger. Runningpaw hatched a plan to get into the Cleric den, against Shroompelt's will.

Brokenpaw got into fights at Gatherings over ShadowClan's honor, enthusiastically bowled into battle against WindClan raids, became Raggedstar's best little rat hunter.

And he saw clanmates he loved dying.

Over many years, through his warriorhood, into his deputyship.

Cloudpelt, Foxheart, Toadskip, Nutwhisker. Lizardstripe was killed during an event called Heatherstar's Last Stand, her neck snapped by the WindClan warrior Flytail.

Heatherstar died, and her much more reasonable and peaceful deputy, Tallstar... continued to keep the Moorland she won.

ShadowClan went through that last winter, again trying to win their land back, but beaten so hard they couldn't mount a resistance. More cats collapsed in the snow, Mudfoot was one of them.

WindClan won. The land was theirs now. Out of his magnanimity, Tallstar reached out to Raggedstar and made him an unprecedented offer. He would give him a tax of rabbits, for peace. ShadowClan would stop attacking, and formally acknowledge that WindClan was the victor of the war.

A peace deal, a surrender.

Tallstar didn't have to do that. If his Clan won, it was his land in the eyes of StarClan. He had no obligation to reach out in this way, and Raggedstar acknowledged that.

But it made Brokentail SICK.

He couldn't believe that Raggedstar was going to buy this, let WindClan keep THEIR LAND and just send them back some of their own rabbits. What happens next?? What if WindClan decides to come further south, what then? What will Tallstar ask for next? What price will his warriors pay for the blood they spilled?

And this is the moment that Brokentail kills his father. On his last life, frail and weak after an entire life of fighting, he decided that the last kindness he could give him was a quick death, preventing him from taking that deal.

Runningnose sprang into action as soon as he'd been told about it; helping him to cover up the murder.

And together, they turned to TOTAL war.

Once, as an apprentice, Brokenstar recalled the words of a warrior at a Gathering. A parable of thistles-- how they don't care what attacks them. They don't hold back. How they will choke out the whole field who they can thrive.

Is that not the conclusion of Might Makes Right? If you can, you must, before they do it to you.

An apprentice becomes a warrior-- stop that from happening.

Don't let your enemies escape to fight again-- kill them when you have the chance.

Their herb stores are just as limited as yours-- dwindle them with infection and poison.

WindClan Must Pay, every single one of them. All the Clans are tomorrow's rivals, they have to go too.

Everything is for ShadowClan, and he was LOVED for it.

well.... by many.

This is about Brokenstar and Runningnose, but I must mention that there's also a lot of people who oppose him. Who realize this as evil. Nightpelt, Cinderfur, Deerfoot, Dawncloud and Stumptail are some of them.

And, importantly, Shroompelt was one of them. Whenever she learned of some code-breaking thing they'd done, she would make waves about it.

The word of a Cleric has an immense amount of weight, and it prevented Brokenstar from ending this war once and for all.

So Runningnose, as always, constructed a plan. Brokenstar decided it was a sacrifice that must be made.

Marigoldkit and Mintkit (kits of Rowanberry and Clawface) were in the Cleric's den for an infection.

Marigoldkit was a blind girl, and very fussy about taking her medicine.

Shroompelt would serve it to her in a berry capsule, either knout or rasp, a naturally red berry one.

Runningnose simply swapped her medicine with yew, and made sure that Mintkit was able to witness his sister being fed red berries over many days.

When Marigoldkit died, Mintkit was a distraught child who could only communicate that Shroompelt fed her "Red Berries," like the ones he'd been taught to stay away from.

Shroompelt IMMEDIATELY turned on Runningnose, accusing him of killing a blind kitten.

And he turned it on her. She'd fallen right into his trap. "You did this! You've been wanting us to stop fighting WindClan, and now you've stooped so low that you're trying to get rid of StarClan's only other messenger! You've killed your own nespring!"

Many cats of ShadowClan had completely lost patience with her before this, and were now shocked to see that she'd do such a thing. While some suspected the truth, in the end, Brokenstar's word is law.

And his law was that he would show mercy on an ex-Clanmate. But from here on, her name was Yellowfang, so that the world may be forewarned that StarClan rotted her teeth from so many lies as she walked in exile.

Brokenstar's Cataclysm ends on the WindClan Massacre. A bloody event where well over a dozen cats are slaughtered, and Brokenstar resurrects an ancient practice at the bellowing request of his warriors-- Kitten Stealing.

(The only time BB!Brokenstar uses a child soldier is during this battle, apprenticing Badgerpaw early so that he can participate in the all-out assault.)

With WindClan gone, he turned his sight on the other two. The Clans were cursed to die as they lived-- overpowered by a stronger, more bloodthirsty tyrant, violently driven out just as SkyClan had once been.

From there, the rest is very close to canon. Brokenstar is deposed by a coup, one that NEVER would have succeeded if it wasn't for Bluestar and her apprentice, Firepaw. The Curse is thwarted by change. Cats of different Clans working together in the name of righteousness.

Bluestar could have gone, grabbed the kits, and come back, but she knew that WindClan would never be able to return if Brokenstar was still in power.

This time around, ShadowClan's plague was intentional. Runningnose infected Nightstar on purpose.

He wanted to eliminate a weak leader... and a treacherous rogue who had defied his own.

Collateral damage was acceptable, if it eliminated as many of Nightstar's supporters as possible.

And yet, his brother Deerfoot survived. Sentimentality? Just luck? Who knows.

If Runningnose has any regrets for anything he's done, it's only this. That he cleared out ShadowClan for Tigerstar's rule.

He approved of him at first, interpreted signs to benefit him, even killed for this old ally of Brokenstar...

but Tigerstar's goal was to abolish ShadowClan, and make a TigerClan of his own. Brokenstar never wanted this, and neither did Runningnose.

What Runny really wants, more than anything, is what Brokenstar wants. Destroying WindClan is a bonus, eliminating all of their enemies is anger that they were able to obstruct him. Runningnose thinks he loves power, but what he REALLY loves is his ability to get Brokenstar what he wants.

Everything he's ever done has been in pursuit of that goal. He doesn't care that he'll be going to the Dark Forest in the end, that's where Brokenstar is going to be. Hell is wherever he isn't.

In life, neither one of them knew anything about the curse, or destiny. Brokenstar reconnects with memories in his death.

And he started having dreams of SkyClan, which he communicated to Runningnose through channeling.

I'm working on the full outline of Firestar's Quietus right now so I'm going to be a bit more brief;

Runningnose got Firestar involved on this quest because he's a little goody two shoes. Of COURSE he would agree to help... that's who Firestar is.

He brings him to the moonstone, where a scene similar to canon plays out where StarClan tries to encourage him to go back to his Clan and ignore what he now knows.

And, of course, he tells them to shove it.

Firestar's Quietus is a book about righting wrongs. Brokenstar as a curse means that what he needs, in the end, is peace.

The peace he needs is the knowledge that SkyClan will be saved, and that it will survive.

Runningnose is willing to let him go, in order to get what he needs. He passes off an acorn necklace to Firestar, so that he can channel him with ease on his journey

In this gesture, it becomes real that he will go to an afterlife without him. After all he'd ever done and been through.

So, he hesitates before handing it off, but makes Firestar promise to take good care of it.

On this journey, Brokenstar and Firestar do a lot of bickering about how SkyClan should come back. The sort of values they should have, who should lead it...

But in the end, Brokenstar realizes, they will be something new. They'll choose their own path in life, because that's what it means to be alive.

And his final action is to face The Rats, now supernatural creatures of their own, finally dispelling the threat that faced SkyClan.

Having done his job as a Guardian, he can finally rest. His necklace is buried overlooking the Gorge, returning SkyClan's guardian to them.

Eventually he falls during AVoS, in Darktail's attack, killing several of the kin and their rebels and allowing Leafstar and co a chance to escape.

For more on Skypelt, see this little guide I made on the afterlife locations. Hopefully one day I can clean this up into its own entry.

More stuff to check out (that I found while searching for other posts but are cool and I'm re-sharing);

Jaggedtooth isn't a villain anymore

"What's your favorite ShadowClan-adjacent change?"

First post I made on Tigerstar's Paws

Brokenstar's two honor-kits, Littlecloud and Rowanclaw

On curses and anger

"What does Runningnose think of the other TPB Clerics?" Hates em!

A rundown on all ShadowClan leaders post-Ripplestar

Cedarstar sketch

First post on StarClan Technicality Brokenstar lmao

IN-DEPTH QUESTIONS ABOUT SKYPELT

Some specifics on the religion/entity/magic mechanics in BB

#better bones au #Brokenstar's Cataclysm #BB!Brokenstar #BB!Runningnose #Firestar's Quietus

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bfdiredux · 1 month ago

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LOVING your rendition of cake actually omga,,,,,

wondering what you would do with golfball? i've always been interested about her backstory (that scene in idfb has never left my mind) and why she is the way she is (i have my own personal headcanons but i'd love to hear someone else's interpretation)

GOLF BALL!!!!!

I LOVE canon Golf Ball. I'll make sure Redux Golf Ball does her justice.

BUT! You can't have Golf Ball without Tennis Ball. Two in one.

GB and TB are FOILS. They are together from BFDI to TPOT. They're BEST FRIENDS!! They're on the same team every time, they're rooting for each other, and they're hanging out beyond challenges too.

So, I'm going to play into that.

Them no longer sharing a team in TPOT? I want that to be jarring. Like, hey! Status quo change!!

Golf Ball's proposal first--

GB is REALLY intelligent, a perfectionist, and leaderly. However, in wanting to be leader, she doesn't take account of what others think. As far as Golf Ball is aware, her plans are always the right ones and she can't fathom it being any other way. That's where the Bossy Bot nickname comes from! (She's grown quite endeared to it--- Not that she'd tell you!)

She's vocal with a sharp tongue. Honest to a T. Also a stickler for the rules.

There's times where TB has to relay the ideas from his team to GB-- and only then will she listen.

As much as she demands it... Golf Ball doesn't receive a lot of respect from others and it makes her SO upset. Tennis Ball has so much for her and that's part of why Golf Ball appreciates her. He's also, like, SUPER into science and an incredible inventor!!

GB isn't a fan of physical affection or interaction. She doesn't tolerate it from friends or strangers and rarely for those she's closest with.

GB was born in a small town in Yoyleland and moved to Yoyle City after highschool to pursue a college degree. Something! Happened that resulted in Yoyle City being abandoned.

Whatever caused it to happen, GB is one of the few who stay behind... It was SERIOUSLY traumatic. Perhaps she lost friends in a way that they couldn't be recovered or was the victim of an attack. Open to ideas on this!

Golf Ball initially HAAATES 8-Ball. He completely took over A Better Name Than That in BFB-- how awful! Also, she KNOWS he's petty, making the team do the opposite of what she says. Come on.

By TPOT, she finds that her feelings about him have calmed down. She hasn't seen him in years, so like... Who knows what he's up to now?

From late BFB to TPOT I want Golf Ball to learn to be more emotionally available-- hopefully change her social standing with others and understand proper teamwork. Donut may come in handy for that one!

Golf Ball starts to get a better reputation in TPOT. She gets along well with most of CLOUD YAY.

She clashes with Pencil a LOT. Not only do both want to take charge but Pencil's demand for control is... Much more forceful. She's used to people doing as they're told and Golf Ball is notorious for NOT listening to others.

Donut helps GB become a lot more there emotionally. GB thinks he's cool-- also a lot nicer than he was in BFDIA.

Tennis Ball--

The girl to ever. ��️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

TB is innovative, polite, and kind-- but don't mistake her for a pushover. If he has to be assertive and set his boundaries, he will.

She is easily stressed. That's where GB comes in and offers him support.

Golf Ball got Tennis Ball into Yoyle studies.

He's happy to be with her! He finds it fun to listen to GB's long rants. She could go on for hours and he'll stay invested.

These two are attached at the hip wherever they go. But, as close as they are, things are messy.

Shs has separation anxiety. High chance TB was pretty lonely growing up and also craves social interaction.

When she gets desperate, TB finds himself doing things he wouldn't have otherwise. This is shown best in BFDIA when he uses the WTFers to fill up her box-- as suggested by Leafy.

I want to do more with TB. I do. But as I looked into his canon I just? Don't know really. Hopefully it'll come to me as I rewrite BFDIA considering how far he goes in it.

I was originally considering QPR Tengolf because I keep getting flashbanged by this:

Tennis Ball is gay!!

But then, I remembered I am in control of the rewrite and thought... Yuri.. trans woman on trans woman love. She/her GB and he/she TB. Doomed Yuri. They try and it doesn't work out.

There's a kiss in the hotel in TPOT and both of them stare at each other after. Honestly, either could've initiated it but at the end of the day?

They speak at the same time. From Tennis Ball: "Did that just happen?"

From Golf Ball: "Uh."

"Are we actually...?"

"I don't... know.." Golf Ball looks away, biting her lip. This is stupid. What are they doing??

Golf Ball is the one to leave. She doesn't know how to feel, there's a butterfly in her stomach and it's making her sick and uncomfortable. Something tells her TB is feeling similarly too.

The next day is awkward. Golf Ball isn't sure how to talk to Tennis Ball about it and their separation does not help. Things keep getting in the way.

They've been friends for YEARS. Could they be more? SHOULD they be more? It doesn't feel right and neither are certain. Golf Ball wants to ask, "What are we?"

...but that's for another time, it seems. They both have a new team that they have to get along with now.

And when they may have the chance to talk about it again, Seasonal Shift happens and Two goes dormant. Another time comes and Fanny needs help from Tennis Ball with notes on... Well, GB doesn't know what. A THIRD time when Pencil REALLY starts grinding GB's gears. She'll have to sort things out with TB later.

Nothing can be easy for anyone ever!!

I dont know how satisfied I am with this :[ I brainstormed for two days and I'll literally take any ideas to flavor both characters more atp. They both have huge presences with GB being such a strong character and TB making it so far in BFDIA. TB probably feels stronger about it than GB?? Maybe for the official rewrites of them I'll make it one-sided.

#bfdi #redux!golf ball #golfball bfdi #bfdi golfball #Bfdi golf ball #Golf Ball bfdi #Osc #object shows #misiahasahardname #Ask #redux!Tennis Ball #Tennis Ball bfdi #bfdi tennis ball #I spun in circles trying to figure out what to do with them #I just can't see them together for long #Some people are just meant to stay friends

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the-cosmic-blogger · 1 year ago

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WOOOO!!! FINALLY!!! CHAPTER ELEVEN OF REDUX: THE TALE OF WILLIAM NOLIS IS HERE!!!

Enjoy!! and here's Ch1 as a refresher!!

#cosmitalk #gravity falls #bill cipher #backstory redux #ats #a triangle in the stars series #alternate universe #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls au #flatland ideas #the tale of william nolis

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Blog Event: Two Ravens (?) at the Writing Desk

Introductory story here! “My, I see you’re diligently writing away once again! Today’s story must be a fascinating one. What is it about, I wonder?”

“Don’t be so nosy, Uncle… This isn’t for you to read.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I would never partake in such an unscrupulous activity!! As your guardian and esteemed headmaster of Night Raven College, I am volunteering my proofreading services to better my students’ writing abilities!

"Oh, how very gracious of me!"

This will run very similarly to the Jade blog takeover, Raven Redux, and the Rollo at the Writing Desk events, if you’re familiar with any of those!

For the next three days, the inbox will be accepting interactions for our dear NRC headmaster, Dire Crowley! Tell him to do his job, ask for an update on his search to send you home, request time off or extra monthly allowance, etc.

You can send in asks for Crowley as yourself (a reader)/as Yuu. Just try to avoid bringing up a ton of unique information (such as detailed backstories) which may interfere with generalizing your Yuu to most/all other Yuus!

You can also send in asks as any canon TWST character.

I know we all love bullying Crowley every now and again, but let's take care to not let it get out of hand! No physical violence or insults, please. Let's try to make him feel welcome and not detested!

I understand that a certain... theory... regarding Crowley is very popular right now. Please know that I can only respond to so many of these interactions and it's possible I may not do them all.

Writing requests outside of those for Crowley interactions are not being accepted at this time.

All other blog rules are still relevant. That means no OCs, no NSFW, avoidance of certain triggering topics, etc.

This event will run concurrent with another upcoming blog event—more news on that soon.

#Two Ravens at the Writing Desk #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #blog event #Dire Crowley #notes from the writing raven #announcement #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #twst writing requests #twisted wonderland writing requests

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pushing500 · 1 year ago

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✨Gracie's Rimworld Modlist✨

(For the Mechanitor's Message run)

Here are all my current mods in order. Once again it’s all hand-typed because I am a bit rubbish at computer stuff and don’t know how to export modlists. Enjoy!! xoxo

Prepatcher (required for one or more of the other mods to work)

Harmony (I think this is just for performance)

Vanilla Backgrounds Expanded (this is just cool for loading screens etc.)

[CAT] Show Hair With Hats or Hide All Hats (so my colonists can show off their beautiful hair)

HugsLib (I think this is just for performance)

Camera + (better for taking screenshots)

Character Editor (so I can start with customised colonists)

Vanilla Expanded Framework (so all the Vanilla Expanded mods work)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Props and Decor (adds fancy props and decor)

Geological Landforms (for fun map generation)

Pathfinding Framework (a framework for pathfinding)

ANDH - Animal Nuzzling Detects Horrors (animals can detect metalhorrors when they nuzzle your colonists)

[GMT] Trading Spot (those darn traders always track dirt on my floors)

[KV] Impassable Map Maker (in case I feel like settling on an impassable tile)

[NL] Facial Animation - WIP (they look so cute with their lil’ faces!!)

[SBV] Recreational Drum Use (drum go bang boom, brain get happy)

[T] Moor Floors 1.4 (more floors)

[XND] Proper Shotguns (Continued) (makes shotguns work better so Security Chief Ratchet and Deputy Rocket the militors can be extra kickass)

Llama's Proper Shotgun Patches (some patches for the previous mod)

Adjustable Archonexus Quest Continued (no way Mechi is losing all his research!)

A Dog Said… Animal Prosthetics (animal bionics wooo)

Dubs Bad Hygiene (bathrooms cool)

Allow Tool (makes life so much easier)

[ATW] House Decor (more decorations for the house)

Biomes! Core (framework for Biomes! mods)

Biomes! Fossils (dinosaur museum go brrrr)

Biomes! Islands (tropical paradise, here we come!)

Allies are Helpful (so that our friends, few as they may be, will actually be useful)

Alpha Biomes (adds cool new biomes)

Alpha Memes (new ideology memes)

Alpha Mythology (adds cool new mythological animals)

Alpha Prefabs (cool prefabricated buildings)

Alpha Props - Parks and Gardens (adds props for parks and gardens)

Anima Animals Combined (Continued) (cool anima animals)

Animal Controls (animals can have food restrictions, etc.)

Better Mods Mismatch Window (to see which of my mods is fucked up THIS time 🙄)

Ebbbs (cute black blobby creatures)

Horse Breeds - Skin Variations (in case we feel the need to become cowboys with a varied herd of horses)

Biome Transitions (so your biomes transition)

Childhood Backstories (so your children can have backstories)

Clocks (every house needs a grandfather clock)

Colors (personally I prefer “colours”, but we can’t all be right)

Det’s Xenotypes - Avaloi (colourful drunk coral-people!!)

Det’s Xenotypes - Bogleg (alien mafia)

Doors Expanded (expands on the doors)

Dormitories (Not Barracks) (they shouldn’t be that upset about sharing a room)

Dress Patients (Continued) (put clothes on the patients)

Enhanced Beliefs (expands on the ideology system a bit)

Erin’s Baldur’s Gate 3 Hairs (need more hair)

Erin’s Cottage Collection (cutesy furniture)

Erin’s Decorations (cute decorations)

Erin’s Hairstyles - Redux (mmmmmore hair!!)

Extra Alerts (handy-dandy extra popups)

Floordrawings (those kids are so artistic)

GloomyFurniture (cutsey furniture)

Gloomy Furniture Fix (fixes something idk)

Gradient Hair (gradient hair)

Hard Times: Hair and Beards (more hair and beard styles)

Haul to Stack (you think they could figure that out themselves, but no. They need a mod)

Hospitality (warcrime-themed hotel chain let’s goooo)

Human Butchery 2.0 (just in case)

Human Leather Floor (👀)

Interaction Bubbles (to see what dey sayin’)

Kinky Bodystrap (I will not elaborate)

Lights Out (conserve electricity, save the planet)

Megafauna (biiiig pets)

Minify Everything (if I wanna carry a whole wall I damn well will)

More Descriptive Words and Names (exactly what it says on the tin)

More Faction Interaction (Continued) (more faction interaction)

More Persona Traits (to make Persona Weapons more interesting)

More Religious Origins (adds some more religious origins for ideology)

More Thrumbos (Continued) (mmmmore thrumbos)

More Thrumbos (Retextured) (just makes them look a bit better)

More Vanilla Biomes (more vanilla biomes)

negative traits (they can’t all be good)

Non-Binary Gender (adds a non-binary option)

Offworlders - The Biliog (swamp people)

Optimization: Meats - C# Edition (all meat is raw meat)

Pawn Name Variety (variety in pawn names)

Pick Up and Haul (pick it up and haul it)

Prisoners Don’t Have Keys (why would they??)

Random Research (it looked amusing)

Reel’s Facial Animation Textures (face stuff)

Replace Stuff (to build walls on top of other walls etc.)

RimPy Mod Manager Database (just for insurance)

Rimsenal - Hair pack (hair)

Rimsenal Hair Retextured (more hair stuff)

RimTraits - General Traits (more traits)

River’s Tribal Shoes (tribal shoes)

Romance on the Rim (awww, so romantic <3)

Roo’s HD Dreadlock Hairstyles (dreads)

Roo’s HD Glasses Hairstyles (glasses)

Roo’s HD Hairstyles (hairy)

Roo’s HD Royalty Hairstyles (fancy hair)

RPG Style Inventory Revamped (inventory is easier to use)

RT Fuse (I don’t like zzzt events)

Sand Castles (for funsies)

Simple sidearms (always be prepared!)

Smutty Fanfiction (👀)

Snap Out! (for mental breaks)

Standalone Hot Spring (why have geothermal power when you can have a nice hot bath instead?)

Stylized Slave Collars and Headgear (to fit the theme)

The Vanity Project - Beards (more beards)

The Vanity Project - Female Hair (for the gals)

The Vanity Project - Male Hair (for the guys)

Trait and Backstory Icons (icons for traits and backstories)

Toddlers (smol bean people)

Upscaled - Won hair_men (hair)

Upscaled - Won hair_women (hair)

Vanilla Achievements Expanded (makes me feel successful)

Vanilla Animals Expanded (adds fun new animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Endangered (adds endangered animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Royal Animals (adds fancy animals)

Vanilla Animals Expanded - Waste Animals (edgy dystopian animals)

Vanilla Apparel Expanded (new clothes)

Vanilla Apparel Expanded - Accessories (new accessories)

Vanilla Armour Expanded (more armour)

Vanilla Backstories Expanded (more backstories)

Vanilla Brewing Expanded (alcohol woooo)

Vanilla Base Generation Expanded (generates cool bases)

Vanilla Brewing Expanded - Coffee and Tea (to feed our caffeine addiction)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded (fun food)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded - Stews (everybody loves a good stew)

Vanilla Fishing Expanded (such a relaxing pastime)

Vanilla Fishing Expanded - Fishing Treasures AddOn (you can fish up cool stuff, like wood)

Vanilla Cooking Expanded - Sushi (we have to do something with all those fish)

Vanilla Events Expanded (can never have too many events)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Ancients (scary ancient people)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Empire (makes the empire more interesting)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Mechanoids (we couldn’t have a mechanitor run without them)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Settlers (yeehaw)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Tribal (I like having tribal friends)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded (more furniture)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Architect Module (new structure stuff)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Art Module (fancy art and decorations to make)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Farming (we love growing food)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Medical Module (to make the most kickass hospital)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Power (mechanitor has to power their mechs somehow)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Production (cool manufacturing stuff)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Security (you can never be too careful)

Vanilla Furniture Expanded - Spacer Module (a mechanitor’s dream)

Vanilla Hair Expanded (always need more hair)

Vanilla Hair Retextured (make it look snazzy)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Dryads (for sprucing up gauranlen tree stuff)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Hats and Rags (to dress properly)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Icons and Symbols (to customise ideologies as much as possible)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Relics and Artifacts (cube…?)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Sophian Style (fancy~)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Splits and Schisms (reminds me of Wookshys)

Vanilla Nutrient Paste Expanded (hell yeah nutrient paste)

Vanilla Outposts Expanded (we can form outposts if we like)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Android (it would be cool to have androids hanging out with our mechanitor…)

ReGrowth: Core (I like the retextures)

ReGrowth: Tropical (more fun stuff)

ReGrowth: Aspen (new biomes)

ReGrowth: Boiling (new biomes again)

Vanilla Plants Expanded (yummy foodstuffs)

Tilled Soil (heehoo farm)

Vanilla Persona Weapons Expanded (make the persona weapons more personable)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - More Plants (even MORE farm)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - Mushrooms (I should do a dirtmole colony someday)

Vanilla Plants Expanded - Succulents (they’re cute)

Vanilla Psycasts Expanded (I love ‘em)

Alpha Animals (one of my favourite mods)

Vanilla Genetics Expanded (genetics stuff)

Vanilla Genetics Expanded - More Lab Stuff (more lab stuff)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Memes and Structures (more customisation)

Alpha Genes (Makes for fun people to draw)

Alpha Mechs (Mechs for the Mechanitor!! Skulls for the- oh, wait, no)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Archon (basically githyanki)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Custom Icons (to make your own xenotypes that much more distinct)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Fungoid (zombies go brrrr)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Genie (how many wishes do I get?)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Highmate (the perfect partner!)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Hussar (nobody will ever be as good as Henry…)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Lycanthrope (do we need a werewolf boyfriend?🍍)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Phytokin (tree people my beloved)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Pigskin (is there a teacup pig variant?)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Sanguophage (vampires go brrrr)

Vanilla Races Expanded - Saurid (lizard people to control the government)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Waster (pollution people)

Facial Animations Xenotype Compatibility (to help smooth out the face stuff)

Vanilla Skills Expanded (makes learning more interesting)

Vanilla Skin Tone Genes (inheritable skin tones)

Vanilla Social Interactions Expanded (more interactions to draw)

Vanilla Textures Expanded (expands the vanilla textures)

Vanilla Textures Expanded - [NL] Facial Animation (makes the facial animation more vanilla and less anime)

Vanilla Textures Expanded - Variations (so things don’t look too same-y)

Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Anima Theme (for funsies)

Vanilla Trading Expanded (expands the trading)

Vanilla Traits Expanded (more traits!)

[DN] Bundle of Traits (one of my favourite trait mods <3)

Vehicle Framework (a framework for vehicles)

Vanilla Vehicles Expanded (more vehicles)

Vanilla Vehicles Expanded - Tier 3 (even MORE vehicles)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded (to spice up the combat)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Coilguns (adds coilguns)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Grenades (expands on grenades)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Heavy Weapons (more heavy weapons)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Laser (laser weapons)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Makeshift (for when you gotta make do)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Non-Lethal (for interrogations and organ harvesting)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Quickdraw (to draw quickly)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Frontier (yeehaw)

Vanilla Weapons Expanded - Tribal (they deserve some variety too)

Vanilla Factions Expanded - Pirates (arrr me hearties!)

VPG Garden Resources (if I wanna grow uranium I will)

Vanilla Psycasts Expanded - Puppeteer (mind control, oooh!)

VVE - Deconstructable Vehicle Junk (so we can make old cars new!)

War Crimes Expanded 2 Core (Updated) (just in case)

What's That Mod (so I know what the mod is)

While You’re Up (PUAH) (more hauling revamps)

Won Hair Men Retextured (hairy hairy)

Won Hair Women Retextured (more hairy hairy)

Xeva’s Rimhair (hair)

Xeva’s Rimhair Retextured (hair)

Yet Another Hair Mod (I don't have too many, shhhh!)

ATH ‘s Retexture Female Apparel (looks like fun to draw!)

ATH’s Style Female Dresses (fun to draw)

HousekeeperAssistanceCat (the best mod)

Facial Animations Xenotype Compatibility (to make the cute faces more compatible with different xenotypes)

[FSF] Complex Jobs (Legacy Version) (makes job prioritizing easier)

Nice Short Female Hairs (okay maybe I have a problem with hair mods 😅)

Pointless Surgeries (it looked funny)

Rational Romance 2 (Continued) (I don't think Mechi is the romantic type but just in case)

Rim of Madness - Bones (it seems to fit the void-studying aspect)

ReGrowth: Retextures (fixes ReGrowth textures or something idk)

Urn Retexture and Variation (we needed different urns in case)

[LYN] HD Corporate and Hedonist Apparel (makes some of the Vanilla Expanded clothes HD)

Alpha Vehicles - Early Cars (Mechi should have cool vintage cars)

Det's Xenotypes - Venators (if I can't have T'au I'll have a different ranged xenotype)

Det's Xenotypes - Stoneborn (dwarf go brrrrr)

ReGrowth: Wastelands (biomes~)

ReGrowth: Tundra (bioomes~)

ReGrowth: Swamp (biooomes~)

ReGrowth: Temperate (bioooomes~)

ReGrowth: Boreal (biooooomes~)

Do Recreation When Idle (makes pawns do recreational activities when they're not doing anything else)

Ponpeco Furnitures : Kids' Room (cute furniture in case we, I don't know, acquire a little girl along the way)

Roo's HD Accessory Hairstyles (I JUST NEED MORE HAIR TO DRAW)

Roo's Minotaur Xenotype (we have pig people and dog people and lizard people and I WANT COW PEOPLE DAMMIT)

Roo's Minotaur Xenotype Expanded (just a lil' extra somethin'-somethin' for flavour)

Roo's Birthmarks and Blemishes (fun 👏 to 👏 draw 👏)

Roo's Faun Xenotype (I can live out my Narnia dreams...)

Roo's Satyr Xenotype (need more xenotypes)

Roo's Satyr and Faun Xenotypes Expanded (just a lil' extra somethin'-somethin' for flavour)

Roo's Tattoos - Starter Pack (mmmmmore tattoos!!!)

Use Resurrector Mech Serum On Rotten or Skeleton People (on the off chance we have a sibling who's been buried for too long to be resurrected with a serum otherwise 👀)

Share Rooms [LWM] (on the off chance we have royal twins who don't want to share a room, but I want them to share a room. A mod explicitly written for this run, and I could not be more delighted ❤️❤️❤️)

#rimworld #gracie plays #rim #rimworld mods #gracie's #gracie's rimworld modlist #A Mechanitor's Message #Feel free to ask any questions!!#I'm always happy to tell you what mod stuff is from <3 #have an awesome day!!

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too-many-lavellans · 8 months ago

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Ooohoohoo~ Thank you @damallarky for taking an interest in the likkle chess set we're assembling! (*/ω＼*)

We'd be more than happy to share the rough outlines of what we're hoping to make with all of them.

Listed from (our ideas of) oldest to youngest;

El'hari:

Tentative Age: early-mid 40s

Faction: Veil Jumper

Class/Specialization: Orb & Dagger Mage (Spellblade)

Romance: Davrin

Juls' will finally be getting an old dalish boy of their very own! We do want him to be a lil younger than Andros, though not by much. Think this will pair nicely with some of the information we've seen through the Veil Jumper background. We're unlikely to get it through the game-proper, but we LOVE the idea of Darvin n him calling eachother "Hahren" & "Dalen" respectively, teasingly. X3c Rather even-tempered and something of a cool customer otherwise, and someone who puts his people first. Be it his clan, the Dalish/elves at large or any given group he's charged with. Another fun and possible tension point with regards to another piece of faction based backstory. This will depend on how long the Veil Jumpers have been active, but maybe he thought he could do more for his people with the Veil Jumpers than by taking up the mantle as Keeper to his Clan. Essentially named "Eclipse", deriving from the elven words "Elgara" (Sun) and "Harillen" (Opposition).

Isska:

Tentative Age: mid-late 30s

Faction: Grey Warden

Class/Specialization: Two handed heavy weapon Warrior (Slayer)

Romance: Lace Harding

We'll essentially be attempting a Beta Von, Male Qunari redemption arc with him. He has a mind for more delicate interests but was pigeon-holed into being a heavy front-liner by the Tamassrans. His name is derived from the qunari words "Iss" ( which denotes an item to be of Veteran/Experienced level) and "Katari" (One who brings death) Making him a Tal' Vashoth, that left the Qun proper. Haven't figured out the specifics on how he joined the wardens yet.

Segwin:

Tentative Age: mid 30s

Faction: Mourn Watcher

Class/Specialization: Staff-wielding Mage (Death Caller)

Romance: Taash

Rather formal in both the way he speaks as well as the up-keeping of his person. Bit of an eccentric when it comes to discussions surrounding his field of interest; various biological and anatomical study via dissection and the like. An Excitable Mortician is what I mean to say and Big fan of Professor Volkarin (sat in on some of his lectures and what have you).

Ath'ema:

Tentative Age: mid-late 20s

Faction: Lord of Fortune

Class/Specialization: Bow & Arrow Rogue (Saboteur)

Romance: Lucanis Dellamorte

Fuckboy 1. Heavy on the teasing. Injured and loss use of this right eye during a mishap with one of his inventions/traps early in his career/journey as a saboteur. Ath'ema's name is derived from the elven words "Athim" (Humility) and "Emma" (to become). Be humble, it's ironic.

Sulehn:

Tentative Age: mid-late 20s

Faction: Lord of Fortune

Class/Specialization: Dual Blade Rogue (Duelist)

Romance: Bellara Lutare

Fuckyboy 2. Absolute Chad jock type. Myre's doing a "Shep n Von Redux" with these actual twin brothers of him n Ath'ema. Sulehn's name is derived from the elven word "Sulahn'nehn" (to sing, or rejoice) Both Sulehn and Ath'ema are absolutely decked out in tattoos and various piercings.

Iero:

Tentative Age: early-mid 20s

Faction: Antivan Crow

Class/Specialization: Sword & Shield Warrior (Reaper)

Romance: Neve Gallus

Short and a rather Hothead butch. A very "Ready, Fire, Aim" type character. Juls will be attempting a sort of Beta Venui Revival with this one (aka an aggressive tiny elf warrior with perhaps a dash of snark ).

Kellum:

Tentative Age: early 20s

Faction: Shadow Dragon

Class/Specialization: Orb & Dagger Mage (Evoker)

Romance: Emmrich Volkarin

Well meaning, in that he doesn't really think things through… or rather as far as he should be. Gonna make him a bit of a "problem-child" in that regard for Von (who we're gonna say is his personal overseer within the Shadow Dragon faction). A sensitive lad otherwise.

And that's what we got so far, again relatively rough and broad stuff that will be honed in and fined tuned when we dive into the game ourselves through the expected multiple playthroughs we'll need to get through all these romances (and then some).>:3c

Happy they've caught your interest all the same, and hope you'll enjoy them some more when we've gotten em locked down!

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lurksunderthebed · 2 years ago

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Ghoap Analysis/Meta (2.5)

The Evolution of GhostSoap Redux

Finally finishing Codmwii (22), via discussion of "Ghost Team" and "Countdown".

Discussing Ghost's face reveal and what it means to his character motivations/backstory.

Part (2.5/?) out of a series.

Brief mentions of MWIII. Practically spoiler free.

Please read the Alt text.

As I said more or less in my previous post, "Ghost Team" and "Countdown" doesn't have as many GhostSoap interactions by virtue of having the whole gang altogether again.

But what we do have however is the final evolution of Ghost as Trusting Teammate Ghost and a teasing look at our favourite masked character's face.

In this post, there'll be less analysis based on dialogue and more speculation/assumptions so take that as you may.

So let's look at "Ghost Team".

Ghost Team

Price: Alright, listen - We are taking back your HQ. We are getting our prisoner. We are killing Commander Graves.

Rodolfo: When?

Ghost: Now.

Price: This is a fight against our own... We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this. We're a team...

Ghost empties a bag full of skull masks onto the table.

Price: ...Ghost Team.

Ghost removes his mask in front of everyone, although the camera shows only the back of his head. Price nods and smiles at Ghost.

Price: Good to see you again, Simon.

Price removes his boonie hat.

Price: If you're in, take a mask... If you're not... Don't.

Everyone around the table takes a skull mask. The camera circles around Rodolfo, Gaz, Soap, Alejandro, Price, and finally Ghost as they put on their masks.

"Ghost Team" is bluntly named after Ghost finally deciding, hey these are all trustworthy guys and I'll show you the proof of my trust, by extending trust via face reveal. It's an extension of his previous statement in "Prison Break" that, "We're a team... all of us". It's like a switch with Ghost; once he decides to trust someone, to really consider them as Team, he proves it with his actions.

I know many out there were disappointed by Ghost showing his face to everyone, in fact I was too. In some ways it does feel a bit like whiplash to have Ghost struggle so hard to trust Soap and then in a span of 16 traumatic hours, he takes off his mask in front of all everyone. Remember this isn't just Rudy/Ale and 141, this is also a bunch of random soldiers from Los Vaqueros who were imprisoned seeing his face.

So why does he do that? And more importantly, does Ghost actually trust all of Los Vaqueros and Gaz as much as he now comes to trust Soap and Price?

To answer that we have to look at why Ghost might have decided to take off his mask, his thought process on doing so and the events leading up to this.

Let's go back to the cutscene before the whole reveal:

These are two separate frames that we are shown while Price is talking to Shepherd. We have Soap, Gaz, Alejandro and Ghost listening in.

Now this is again all interpretation and assumptions, but if you look closely, Ghost is noticeably a fair distance away from the rest of the gang.

For a guy who is extending a lot of trust by showing his face in the next scene, it's interesting that he's still framed as a man somewhat separate from the bunch. I know the framing was partially because showing all 4 men distinctly would mean placing them neatly like that.

But putting that aside, they could've placed Ghost closer to Soap. He could've taken Alejandro's spot on the opposite side of the table. It would make sense to group all of 141 closer together. Ghost has worked with Gaz since 2020 in Verdansk. They've known each other for 2 years already while Ghost has only known Alejandro (and los Vaqueros) for a whopping 5 days.

Again, they didn't. Personally, given how much the game relies on framing to indirectly inform players of character relationships, I'm going to read into this probably deeper than it's supposed to be.

One way to look at it, is that Ghost still isn't completely trusting of the rest. He still holds himself apart from the rest. Physical positioning actually does matter when we look at Ghost because 9 out of 10 times it isn't what Ghost is saying that matters insofar as what the man is actually DOING that determines his motivations.

It says a lot that the game decided to frame Soap and Gaz together and yet Ghost isn't placed closer to Price nor Soap—the two men we know he is the closest to.

Potentially, we can infer that Ghost taking off his mask in the next scene was a bigger leap of faith than thought before.

Ghost has decided to trust men (random Los Vaqueros) that he maybe hasn't personally talked to before. It's quite the jump, especially since we know that he STILL holds himself apart from everyone (even Price&Soap).

There's a couple ways we can look at why Ghost decided to do the face reveal.

Maybe Ghost showing his face happens more than we think and that's why it was so easy for him to reveal his face? Perhaps Ghost freely takes off his mask on his downtime and only truly cares about it being on or off while he's working.

It's possible. There's no way to determine Ghost's actions outside of him on duty. But even that doesn't fit right with the fact that we see him all masked up and bundled in layers in the bar scene at the end of this game and at the end of MWIII. Both times he could've gone with something more casual looking and less anon if he truly was someone a bit different than how he presents himself on the job.

Granted, the times we do see him in a more casual context, he's with his co-workers so it's not quite the fairest assumption to make. Perhaps he separates who he is with people who know him as Ghost with who he is when people don't.

But given what we have and what we already know of the man, I think it's fair to assume that how Ghost is in-game is probably how he acts when he's off duty.

After all, the one person (Price) who knows Ghost as both, the LT still isn't that close to. There's respect and trust but the casual joking friendship you see between Price and Laswell isn't there. That might be more on the fact that Price is still Ghost's superior so maybe the man just likes to keep their relationship on a strictly hierarchical basis. (Yes, I know Ghost jokes at Price in MWIII, but that was arguably more for Soap and also at Price's expense).

We know that showing his face isn't something Ghost does habitually. Soap hasn't seen it before and they've worked together for 3 years already, 2 of which they were in the SAME taskforce. They had to have seen each other a fair bit considering that Soap, Ghost and Gaz are apparently the only 141 operatives.

If there were more 141 operatives, I would expect them to come out in MWIII especially with the whole Makarov/brink of war thing, so unless any new info comes out I'm assuming that 141 is just Price, Ghost, Soap and Gaz with random loaned soldiers to pad their ranks when needed on missions.

So why does Ghost decide to take off his mask if him showing his face isn't a casual thing when he's off duty, nor does he fully trust PEOPLE as a whole?

Honestly, I see this as a massive leap of faith/hope and Ghost wanting to see things done right this time around.

As I said previously where I somewhat go into Ghost's backstory, there's an implication with Mace's inclusion that there was/is a unit of 'Ghost' styled operatives who might have all worn the ghost mask. Added with the fact that the reboot likes to take a lot of character depth from the older popular games in the franchise, it's not a stretch to assume Mace and Ghost being teammates are a nod to Ghost squad in cod: ghosts.

We know there was a betrayal of sorts, potentially one that might have involved those fellow ghosts. Mace left the unit and there's an ominous, "things are very different now" statement by the dev about Ghost and Mace's time as teammates.

Perhaps the title "Ghost Team" wasn't so much named after the man, Simon "Ghost" Riley, but rather after the 'Ghost' unit that Ghost and Mace were on.

Maybe Price calling them all "Ghost Team" was actually referencing that unit.

This is based on assumptions but hear me out.

We know Price obviously knows what Ghost looks like. The captain references the LT by name a couple times before: when talking about him to Laswell in the ending scene in 2019, in Verdansk (via comms) in 2020 and now here after Ghost takes off his mask. There's a relationship in between the lines that suggests that Price knew him before Simon Riley ever became Ghost.

Therefore we can also assume that Price also knows what happened to Ghost and potentially the details of that unnamed unit as his current direct superior. With Price's connections and his casual disregard for rules, I'd be surprised if he wasn't familiar with that hypothetical Ghost squad.

I think the biggest nod to this, is Price having on hand a bunch of skull balaclavas. He could've gone with plain balaclavas if just being anonymous was the concern, but didn't; the choice of a skull pattern was deliberate. This was potentially planned out prior to Price's rescue of the group in "Prison Break".

Unless Ghost just randomly keeps 6+ extra skully balaclavas on his body at all times, it's most likely Price that brought the balaclavas with him.

There probably wasn't enough time for Ghost to communicate to Price of Shepherd's betrayal and thus their need to hide their faces to fight the general. In "Alone", the LT even mentions it to Soap that they have to rely on themselves and not Price or Laswell. Heck at that point, Ghost didn't even trust Laswell. Only Price, Soap and everyone that got betrayed was deemed 'safe'.

I suppose Ghost could have sent a message to Price that they were going to break Alejandro out at the safehouse, but I'm not entirely sure there was enough time for that between everything that happened and Soap's injury. Plus Ghost and Soap were surprised to hear Price on comms. If Ghost was sure Price was going to show up, I doubt he would hide it from Rudy. And even if he knew the captain would come, it's likely he would change their plan to factor in Price's arrival. Therefore we can say that this was most likely all Price's initial plan. Not Ghost's.

Price clearly knew that to defeat Graves and Shepherd, they would have to 'go dark' so to speak. Obviously showing their faces would make the group war criminals. Naturally that meant they would have to emulate a unit that was probably well known to do missions completely anonymously without any country, rules of engagement, or signifier outside the skull mask. An international unit that carried out presumably the blackest of ops would be a perfect fit.

And to make it even more authentic, they have a member who was/is a part of that special group. Now the title of a game serves two purposes. Referencing Ghost's change from lone wolf to teammate as well as a call back to cod: ghosts.

So again, if this was Price's idea why does Ghost go along with it?

Well harking back to what I said earlier, it's assumed that Ghost has been betrayed by potentially his own ghostly teammates.

Ghost coming up to this point had no idea anyone other than Price, Soap and Los Vaqueros were trustworthy.

But then the events of "Alone" and "Prison Break" happen and Ghost sees Laswell being, "still solid as a rock". He gets rescued by Price unexpectedly. Soap shows that outsiders can be trusted by proving Ghost wrong about all his initial suppositions. Everything Ghost said to caution Soap— them not being able to rely on Price, them not trusting Laswell, Soap surviving, all of them were proven false.

And from seeing that, perhaps the man decides he wants to overturn his past experiences with betrayal to something better. Because now Ghost has hope. What else could he be proven wrong about?

This hodgepodge ghost squad might be a catharsis for Ghost in the sense that this time, he can get some revenge for being betrayed. He can have solid 'ghost team' members who have his back (unlike previously). He can let himself have a team again, with all the vulnerable trust that is implied with letting himself be a part of a team.

So Ghost taking off the mask makes more sense when we look at it as him trying to redo his own past as well. He is asking the rest of them to trust him by extending trust back (by showing his face).

But again that's just a theory. A video game theory.😎

I could be very wrong with everything here. It could just as well be as simple as Ghost after finding love trust from Soap, is so moved by the power of love trust that he felt compelled to take the next step in teamhoodness. Again, by asking the bunch to trust him by showing his identity.

The masks and the naming could just be based on Ghost and his apparently infamous legend. The guy has a bit of an ego about his skills. Maybe this plan was hatched by Ghost and Price together, and the LT wanted his ego stroked by having everyone dress up as him.

I also wouldn't put it past the man to randomly have 6 spare balaclavas on him at all times. He wears SKELETON GLOVES for god's sake. The guy is truly committed to the bit. Maybe he really is that eccentric/well prepared.

Who knows.

What we do have however, is the fact that Ghost taking off his mask was an action of trust and vulnerability. An action that wouldn't have happened without Soap being there and being his snarky lovable self.

Without Soap proving himself and working together with Ghost it's doubtful whether the LT would've opened up enough to show his face.

But enough of that. Lets talk GhostSoap interactions. It's sparse but boy do they stare at each other like no tomorrow.

It does feel a bit like grasping at straws to go, 'THEY'RE STARING AT EACH OTHER YOUR HONOUR. THAT MEANS ITS DEFFO LOVE!!! LOOK AT THEM SPARKS FLY!!!!'

But we've already established that stares are a form of wordless communication between the two. The game did it forcibly, by framing shots in each other's perspectives CONSTANTLY. This isn't the only time they've been long gazing into each other's eyes for an amount of time that would normally be uncomfortable for anyone else.

Soap is placed directly across from Ghost. The game wanted us to see Soap's expression when it pans teasingly behind Ghost's back and you're only left seeing Gaz, Soap, Alejandro and Price. This was all deliberate.

From start to finish, Soap barely takes his eyes off of Ghost. Even when Price is explaining things, Soap is very obviously looking Ghost's way. And Ghost is quite obviously staring back at Soap.

What could they be communicating between them here?

Well from Soap's expression on the third picture, it kind of looks like the sergeant is grinning. No doubt thinking back on his words where he flirts tells Ghost to show his face. Maybe Soap is stuck on the truth of Ghost's boasting. That Ghost really isn't an ugly guy at all. Quite the opposite indeed.

Really, it could be a multitude of things. One thing for certain is that we can see that they're both caught on each other from the very start of the conversation.

The funniest thing is that this isn't the first and last time we see Ghost and Soap seemingly ignore everything around them but each other. It happens in the cutscene in "Alone", here in "Ghost Team" and later in MWIII multiple times.

We can sort of excuse it here because this is the very first time Soap gets a look at Ghost's face in 3 years of working with each other. Anyone would be staring like the other would disappear in that circumstance.

Every other time though? Yeah... It suggests something very non-platonic in nature about their relationship. Let's not forget that they only really do this with each other. Not Gaz nor Price elucidates this sort of behaviour from either man. Both of them have a staring habit but it only seems to activate when the other is there.

Unfortunately, this whole cutscene was pretty much it for notable Ghost and Soap interactions in this mission. As I said earlier, "Ghost Team" doesn't have a lot of meaningful GhostSoap interactions. That can be said of "Countdown" as well, but we do get a few choice bits.

Let's look at "Countdown":

Countdown

Rodolfo closes the vehicle door as he and Alejandro turn to Soap.

Alejandro: Go... You have work to do.

Soap shakes hands with Alejandro and Rodolfo.

Soap: Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.

Alejandro: To the bitter end, my brother.

Rodolfo: Good luck, amigos.

Soap turns to go on the transport plane and taps Ghost on the shoulder to motion him to go as well.

Alejandro: Ghost...

Ghost turns around to face Alejandro.

Alejandro: No te pierdas, carnal. (Don't get lost, brother.)

Ghost: A huevo. (Of course.)

Alejandro and Rodolfo smile and laugh as Ghost boards the plane. The doors to the ramp close shut.

Now this scene is interesting when we contrast the Ghost of "Kill or Capture" to the Ghost now. The Ghost at the beginning of the game visibly hated being fistbumped. The Ghost now, doesn't seem to bat an eye at it. For a man that seems to treasure his personal space, this is a big moment. Soap is now solidly in the rarified group of (2!) members that are allowed to touch Ghost (without getting glared/intense side eyed back). The other being Price of course.

Let me reiterate that this whole process only took 7 days.

This is also compounded with Ghost actually engaging in friendly conversation with Alejandro and Rudy. If at the beginning of "Cartel Protection" where we see Ghost more or less stonewall any sort of friendly jokes/banter, here we see Ghost actually respond positively. He even raises a fist in a total bro gesture. 🥹 Antisocial Ghost who's him?

This is further reinforced when we look at the usage of Spanish by non native speakers. Notably Soap, Ghost and Graves.

Soap's Spanish usage is used to denote affection/care from Soap to Alejandro/Rudy. We know that Soap cares about Rudy and Alejandro because he makes an effort to ask personal questions about them AND tries to learn/use their language.

Graves by contrast uses it too. But none of that is meant affectionately. When we do see it, he's mocking Los Vaqueros and taunting them over the loss of their base.

And reflective of Ghost, the LT doesn't even mutter a word of Spanish at all to Rudy or Alejandro. His non usage is used to imply how he intentionally distances himself from everyone.

In "Cartel Protection", they asked Soap and Ghost whether they knew any Spanish. Throughout the game we see Soap learning and using Spanish to the delight of Alejandro and Rudy. Ghost did not join in to that cultural/language learning at any point up until this key moment here.

Perhaps Ghost was actively learning Spanish as well, paying more attention/care than anyone would've thought. Or maybe Ghost being the secretive troll he is, might have already known the language to some degree and refused to reveal it to Ale/Rudy. Which ever reason behind it, this scene was the perfect moment to show how far Ghost has come since 7 days ago.

From arrival via transport plane and instantly stonewalling Soap from making any jokes, to now leaving via the same transport plane and revealing something about himself—it's like deja vu except Ghost is the only thing different. The lightning is even the same. Ghost has been changed by the past events. His motivations now are evolving and expanding into something a little more friend shaped.

But sadly, that's the last time we see Ghost and Soap physically together since we see Ghost has been put on overwatch for the millionth time in Chicago.

We do however get some delightful exchanges at the end of the mission:

Soap: It's detonated.

Laswell: Copy that. Air Force will confirm. Thank you, Sergeant.

Soap: Yeah... Pleasure doin' business with ya, Laswell.

Laswell: Where's Hassan?

Soap: Not alone- he's got AQ guards with him. I'm gonna kill every one of 'em... and then I'm going for him. Out here.

Soap moves throughout the construction floor evading Al-Qatala guards.

Soap: Steamin' bloody fuckin'...

Ghost: Nicely done, Johnny. Now for the hard part.

Soap: That was the fucking hard part, L.T...

Ghost: Let's find out. You need to stay alive, take out the guards, and kill Hassan.

Soap: I just need a weapon.

Ghost: Make one.

Soap: Aye. Like old times, huh, L.T.?

Ghost: Seems like yesterday...

Soap: It was yesterday...

Ghost and Soap fall back into snarking at each other during critical moments. What's interesting is that because Ghost is on overwatch and we see Soap work with Price and Gaz, we now have a chance to compare [Ghost and Soap], [Price and Soap] and [Laswell and Soap].

There's an odd thought rattling around that Soap could just be a very flirty person by nature. He likes to buck authority. Maybe Soap snarks back to all his superiors.

But we find that might not be true at all, because Soap doesn't snark at Price ever. Not here in mwii(22), not in "Flashpoint" in 2019 and not at any time in mwiii(23).

Gaz actually jokes more with Price than Soap ever does with the captain. And that's wild because according to the official bio, Price has known Soap since the sergeant was 18! Soap and Price's relationship go wayyy back. To our knowledge it's the longest official relationship we know between any of the characters. Maybe Soap's relationship to Price is more respectful/devoid of any back talk?

Regardless, Soap doesn't pull any of that towards Price. He actually snarks more to Laswell and their relationship started around 2019/20 when the taskforce was formed.

We see this here with Soap in an echo of what was to come in mwiii(23):

Laswell: Copy that. Air Force will confirm. Thank you, Sergeant.

Soap: Yeah... Pleasure doin' business with ya, Laswell.

Laswell: Where's Hassan?

Laswell thanks Soap. To which Soap snarks back happily. Laswell shuts down any jokes and moves the convo back to more pressing matters.

Contrast this convo with Ghost congratulating Soap and then starting the snark up first cause he can't help himself:

Ghost: Nicely done, Johnny. Now for the hard part.

Soap: That was the fucking hard part, L.T...

I honestly think the snark came out of Ghost from all the sheer worry the LT had. Remember that Ghost jokes to distract himself and Soap. This is another extension of that.

When we look at this as a whole, we can read it as further framing of Ghost and Soap's relationship as something unique, something special to only them. Out of all the superiors Soap has ever been directly under, it's only Ghost that seems to snark back. They egg each other on and we see this with each successive line in the dialogue bit:

Soap: I just need a weapon.

Ghost: Make one.

Soap: Aye. Like old times, huh, L.T.?

Ghost: Seems like yesterday...

Soap: It was yesterday...

Soap doesn't really joke back to Price (though we don't see them interact outside of extremely critical time sensitive missions so it's a little debatable). Laswell sort of tolerates it, but forcibly moves the subject.

It's Ghost who previously ignored Soap, that entertains and even encourages him to snark.

Soap isn't like this with Alejandro, Rudy or Gaz. We see (1) instance of Soap being pouty about Gaz being right (for once) in MWIII and that's all we really see of Gaz and Soap's relationship to be frank.

We also don't see Soap snarking at Alejandro or Rudy. The one time we saw Soap quip back at anyone, it was at Graves specifically during the tank scene. And that snark was meant murderously of course.

On the other hand, It feels like Ghost and Soap could go on forever trading banter at each other for hours.

And they somewhat do when the mission suddenly becomes a crafting survival game at the end. It becomes a little segment similar to "Alone" where you have Ghost encouraging Soap to murder better via helpful tips about how to do so.

There's a call and response thing going on with the two of them. Every time Soap says something, there's an automatic response from Ghost. And we see this especially so, at the very end of the game:

Soap: Ghost...

Ghost: Soap...

Soap: Watch the window...

The window blows apart and Hassan walks up to Soap.

Hassan: We are not attacking...

Hassan hauls Soap up to his feet and brings him to his face.

Hassan: We are invading...

The scene shifts to Ghost on the rooftop of his building as he deploys his MCPR-300 sniper rifle and aims at the floor where Soap and Hassan are located. He sees Hassan hauling Soap over to the window preparing to drop him to his death. At this point, the player must shoot Hassan before Hassan can push Soap out of the building.

Ghost fires a shot that hits Hassan in the head. Hassan collapses to the ground, dead. Soap drops to his knees and looks at Hassan before looking back to Ghost's position.

Soap: Perfect shot, L.T.

Ghost: You called it, Sergeant. All stations- Hassan's down. Enemy KIA.

Like "Alone", which literally was just yesterday for them, all Soap and Ghost have to say is their names and one of them will respond similarly. It's like they're a perfect pair meant to always be framed together. We are introduced to these characters together and we see the depth of who they are as characters in contrast to one another. (I'm not counting warzone because Ghost/Soap being there was equivalent to a fun Easter egg tbh)

And finally we get to the circular ending of mwii(22). It ends like how it starts. The game itself starts in Ghost's perspective with a missile strike to kill general Ghorbrani. We are in Ghost's perspective looking through a scope to confirm the target.

Here at the end, we are in Ghost's perspective after looking down another scope to kill Hassan.

Except this time Ghost isn't solo.

SoapAndGhost worked together for everything to end happily. It's in the text explicitly. Soap praises Ghost on his perfect shot. Ghost is like, noo, you called it. It's a regular ole praise hot potato here.

From beginning Ghost (who works alone) to end Ghost (who works with Soap): the heart and soul of this game is centred on these two. The big emotional breakthrough is Ghost's evolution from lone wolf to devoted teammate.

Whatever people might think about the nature of their relationship, it's unmistakable how important these two are to each other in-universe, but also just when we look at how the game was written. These two are the crux of MWII.

If MW19 was emotionally centred on Farah's backstory and her growth as a character in which we see her literally grow from child to freedom fighter, MWII was emotionally centred on Ghost learning how to trust (outsiders) and be a part of a team again.

It's really no wonder people like to ship Ghost and Soap when the game is focused on their particular relationship. From the framing to the dialogue, this was all deliberate. The shots had to be created/animated, the dialogue had to be written (no ad lib from what it sounds). There was a reason to have all these borderline non-platonic cutscenes/lines. And again I'll thank everyone there who had a hand in those choices.

They took what could have been a very dudebro game into something that appealed to a larger (feminine) audience by making choices that went against the grain of what a typical fps game does. Especially one so painfully mainstream.

Thanks game devs for creating such compelling characters/relationships. You really did us a solid by making it.

Now the next thing to look at is this: How has Ghost and Soap's relationship changed between mwii(22) to mwiii(23)?

That's a tough question. There are differences though those are best talked about in comparison to how we see Ghost and Soap in 2019, 2022 and then to 2023. There's sadly nothing truly explicit and all we have to look at is context, stares and little touches. Which still is enough to sink our teeth into in my humble shipper opinion.

But if anything, given how little time mwiii(23) had to bake, I'm glad that there was an effort to at least sub textually in the dialogue try to communicate Ghost and Soap's relationship.

We could have had zero relationship growth in mwiii(23) guys. I'll forever be glad we got the tidbits we do have over literally nothing.

Does this mean I think mwiii(23) was a good game that did Ghost and Soap's relationship justice?

No.

But I actually don't think it was completely the worst. And looking back at certain dialogue choices after going through mwii(22), there was some reasoning behind it. Which somewhat makes the ending better, though I'm still bitter about the whole nonsensical plot.

Anyway. Thanks for reading my stupidly long post, anyone who's still tuned into the whole thing, you have my endless gratitude. 💕💕💕🥺

And thanks to all the gifers out there to make my life easier for these posts. You guys are the real troopers. 🫡

Part 3 will prob take a good time that might not happen anytime soon because I keep on getting side tracked with writing/plot bunnies. Sorry guys 😔

Also sidenote, I have my own thoughts on why the game chose to not have Ghost join in the killing of Graves and instead have Soap and Rudy do it. My ghost squad theory is admittedly weaker when we see the game deliberately choose them (not Ghost) to get revenge. But honestly, it was always going to be the player character insert (Soap) and one of Los Vaqueros. Not Soap and Ghost. After all, it's Los Vaqueros that had their base taken over. It makes narrative sense for one of them to help end it as well.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #soap mactavish #ghost cod #ghost squad #meta

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