#Ordo fears it

[mamuzzy]

Ordo should have released that monster that's inside him at some point.

[equipeabutres]

Rascunhos e retratos oficiais de Agatha e Samuel em Enigma do Medo feitos por todoyamas no twitter!

[cienie-isengardu]

Jusik wiped his forehead with his palm and looked as breathless and battered as he ever had after performing the Dha Werda. Fi could have sworn he looked just as elated, too.    "Family of Garqian tourists with a Gran driver," the Jedi said. "Now let's try to explain this to you-know-who without getting our heads ripped off." He opened his comlink. "Returning with a prisoner, Kal ."    Sev grumbled in his throat. "Never use real names."    "Least of our worries now," Fi said.    So Jusik was scared of Skirata, too. It was supposed to be a quiet ohs job, as he'd put it, observation duty; it had turned into kidnapping and blowing up unidentified vessels. Scared wasn't the right word, though.    He'll be disappointed with us. We let him down.    Fi, like anyone who came into Skirata's circle, desperately wanted Kal'buir to be proud of him. It was more effective motivation than fear any day.

Republic Commando: Triple Zero

[bitcell]

the ordem paranormal universe masterpost

ordem paranormal is a ttrpg universe created by cellbit. it started in 2020. as of today, ordem paranormal has 4 seasons, 2 spin offs, and the first one-shot to be aired on september 23rd.

ordem paranormal takes place in a universe with two dimensions: the normal and the paranormal.

the normal dimension is where we live as human beings, while the paranormal dimension is a completely different place, where everything that seems like the impossible can become real, like spirits, demons, among other kinds of anomalies connected to the after-life. those two places are separated by a layer called the membrane, the membrane stops the normal and the paranormal from coming in contact. however, the membrane can be weakened by fear of the supernatural, making horrendous and dangerous monsters enter our reality. this phenomenon usually happens in specific locations, prone to the perception of fear, like abandoned hospitals, old houses and deactivated sanatoriums.

all across the world, different groups have formed, looking for ways to weaken the membrane, trying to destroy it and blend the two dimensions, with the objective of seeking their own wishes, or even, fulfilling a bigger purpose. the members of this groups are called occultists. to stop chaos from being stored, a secret global organization was created: ordo realitas. common people who live double lives to stop the acts done by occultists, which aim to increase the contact between normal people and the paranormal, increasing their fear, and consequently, weakening the membrane and allowing the paranormal to cross over.

official campaigns

-> the first campaign aired on february 29th, 2020, and it's called ordem paranormal: iniciação (initiation) it has 5 episodes that are around 4 hours each and all the episodes have been translated to english.

"this story begins in the early hours of february 29th, 2020, when the neighborhood of “nostradamus school” hears a terrifying scream coming from inside the building, the same place which hours before had been consumed by the flames of a fire. this leads ordo realitas to summon their rookie members to investigate the scene, where the presence of paranormal activity is suspected."

-> the second campaign aired on april 11th, 2020, and it's called ordem paranormal: o segredo na floresta (the secret in the forest) it has 16 episodes that are around 4 hours each and all the episodes have been translated to english.

"on april 11th, around ten o'clock in the morning, a team from ordo realitas has a meeting scheduled with the man known as senhor veríssimo. everyone goes to veríssimo's room and there he introduces them to team kelvin, a team of veteran agents who were sent to investigate a strange murder case involving a spiral symbol that ended up mysteriously disappearing without any prior notice."

-> the third campaign aired on october 31st, 2020, and it's called ordem paranormal: desconjuração (deconjuration) it has 20 episodes that are around 4 hours each and the episodes are currently being translated into english.

"the santo berço (holy cradle) was destroyed. the restructured ordo realitas now operates from an underground base. from there, the man known as senhor veríssimo commands a legion of agents who, with the help of more intense methods, seek to save the world from the growing threat of the occult. with a new formation, the team receives a mission of searching and rescuing one of the order's most important agents who disappeared while investigating a strange occult branch, known only as the order of deconjuration."

-> the fourth campaign aired on september 4th, 2021 and it's called ordem paranormal: calamidade (calamity) it has 13 episodes that are around 5 hours each. it has not been translated yet.

"with no sign of any interference with the balance, a new lead makes ordo realitas start to act again. an old case, reporting on an entity described as "o diabo" (the devil), brings together a new team of agents. together, they must further investigate the case as they continue their search for the power of the calamity relics."

the official campaign has been on a hiatus since calamity.

spin-offs

-> the first spin-off aired on june 25th, 2022 and it's called ordem paranormal: o segredo na ilha (the secret in the island) it has 8 episodes that are around 5 hours each. it has not been translated yet.

"on an isolated island, there is a huge mansion, built by a painter who mysteriously disappeared more than 20 years ago. an art appraiser is hired to spend a few days inside this mansion, looking for valuable paintings inside. to do this, he decides to take his family on the trip. after all, what could go wrong?"

(for the qsmp enjoyers, this is where montelyson/romero richas comes from)

-> the second spin-off aired on october 29th, 2022 and it's called ordem paranormal: sinais do outro lado (signs from the other side), it has 7 episodes that are around 4 hours each. it has not been translated yet.

"the paranormal doesn't come to our reality easily,, but things weren't always like that. the year is 1997, several cases of disappearances happen in the south of brazil. a group decides to investigate the disappearance of their mentor, a paranormal hunter who has extensive research into aliens, mysterious and dangerous creatures. however, something or someone, more powerful and unknown, may be behind all this."

you can watch the spin-offs without watching the official campaign, because although they happen in the same universe and some characters may show up on these stories, they are not connected to what happens on the main story, although the spin-offs may contain information about some things from the official campaigns.

one-shot

-> the first one-shot is going to be aired on september 23rd, 2023, and it's called ordem paranormal: quarentena (quarantine) and it will have 1 episode. this will be the first ordem paranormal session in english/spanish and it won't be connected to the main campaign, just in the same universe.

"at the offices of a multinational company called “panacea industries”, five people, looking for ways to make quick money, decide to carry out the scientific test of a new medicine. but perhaps the true intentions of this organization are not so clear when you look at it from the other side."

this is an update from EquipeT about the translations:

[lightwise]

Hidden Monsters

For some reason this has been a bear (dragon, Vrathean, pick your Star Wars creature) to write, but I realized after this last episode of TBB that there was more to the “monster of the week” trope that we all love to get tired of in Star Wars, and specifically for our beloved Batch members. I believe that some of the main “monsters” each member of the Batch has faced and could face represent inner turmoil and the storms/dark things within that each of them has had to wrestle with. The choices each of them have made to tame or calm or live with the creatures they have encountered, instead of automatically killing them or choosing violence against them, is a powerful metaphor. Something that looks like a monster on the outside may not necessarily be a monster on the inside, when cared for and acknowledged properly. 

Echo and the Rishi Eel

Echo’s very first mission on Rishi station involved a giant monster, a droid army invasion, watching his superior officer die in front of him, and losing most of his squad along with the entire outpost he had been assigned to help defend. After the Rishi station is overrun by battle droids, Echo, Fives, Hevy, and Cutup escape through an air vent only to land in the middle of what turns out to be the Rishi eel’s nest. Echo is second to last in line and has to watch as Cutup is snatched up by the eel right behind him and swallowed whole. Echo is the only one to look back and commemorate Cutup with his name and a sigh before they have to keep moving. He does the same at the end of the episode when they lose Hevy, thanking him for his self sacrifice. Echo’s mind—strategic, careful, hesitant, wanting to do the right thing—is always on his brothers and their safety, and his own fears and questioning give way to courage and determination as he watches his brothers do what needs to be done.  

This formative experience is literally emblazoned on Echo’s chest and becomes part of his identity when Rex shoots the eel in the eye, wipes some of its blood on his hand, and presses it against Echo’s armor as he encourages him to keep going. This combination of bravery, looking death in the eye, and holding compassion for each of his brothers as they fall continues to be a running theme throughout Echo’s character arc—from holding 99 in his arms as he dies, to hanging in the Techno Union chamber where his mind and body were used to hunt down the brothers he loved, to overcoming the changes and loss he’s experienced and finding a new family with the Batch and Omega, to coming full circle and joining Rex to help free his brothers from the Empire’s grip. He has had to watch as brother after brother is taken away from him, but he has learned how to keep going in the face of loss. These experiences bring out who he is—caring, loyal, brave, resolute, and a symbol of endurance—and trace back to the very first monster he had to face. 

Hunter, Omega, and the Ordo Moon Dragon

In season 1 the Batch is newly on the run from Kamino after Order 66, finding Omega, and losing Crosshair. They crash onto an uninhabited planet and while trying to repair their ship, an Ordo Moon Dragon makes off with their capacitor, leaving them stranded. Like the Zillo beast seen in season 2, it feeds on energy but is actually peaceful when not provoked. Hunter wants to track it down, by himself, but Omega insists on accompanying him. While tracking the creature, Omega brings up Crosshair’s absence, and Hunter is unwilling to even say Crosshair’s name, and he is very uncomfortable with the conversation. He is unwilling and unable to face his demons right now, and instead is wallowing in self-blame. Hunter won’t be able to fully face his inner turmoil until Crosshair returns and they encounter the Wyrm on Barton IV, another dragon-like creature which also burrows underground (although it is much, much larger, and more harmful than the Ordo Moon Dragon, signifying how much Hunter’s avoidance and resentment grows over time as it is not dealt with). It’s also interesting that this episode cuts back and forth to Crosshair fully under the influence of the chip and wiping out Saw Gurerra’s insurgents in a very violent manner. 

Hunter ends up being knocked out by the creature and Omega takes her flashlight and his blaster to complete the mission, going alone into the tunnels where the dragon lives. What Omega learns is that she doesn’t need the blaster to deal with the situation. As scary as it is, she doesn’t have to kill the dragon or use violence against it, as it’s simply hungry and looking for food. The terrifying creature becomes a thing of beauty, green electric shocks running over its rainbow colored body, illuminating the tunnel and Omega’s face as it feeds on the flashlight she throws to it in exchange for their capacitor. The visuals mimic the teal and green rippling over the Vrathean that Omega and Ventress encounter and have to calm down in season 3 (more on that further on). 

However, this wasn’t Omega’s mission. It was Hunter’s, but she ends up completing it for him. Omega learns a valuable lesson here, which fits in with her natural tendencies of drawing both people and animals to her caring, compassionate nature instead of judging them based on appearance, but I’m not sure that this was her ultimate trial in facing her own inner demons. (See my thoughts on why this is important at the end of this essay in the Ventress section.) This also was a failed attempt for Hunter, and he would end up facing his trial again in The Return in season 3. 

Wrecker and the Rancor (Muchi)

Wrecker was introduced as a character whose expertise is in explosives and making things blow up. He lives for making a ruckus and having a good time, but his strengths are engineered to be used for destruction. 

Much of Wrecker’s character arc in season 1 is learning how to become more of an adult/parental figure for Omega, and how to put his own desires and needs aside in order to help take care of hers (letting her eat first, making a room for her in the gunners nest, watching out for her). In Rampage, the Batch is charged with rescuing a “child,” who they eventually find out is a young, ornery, and decidedly huge Rancor. Wrecker is the only one of them strong enough to sedate the creature after a lengthy bout of essentially hand to hand “combat.” They needed to bring Muchi back alive and Wrecker ends up gaining mutual affection and respect with her. Muchi is now calm and tamed enough that Omega can ride on her back with no fear or worry of danger.

Rancors adhere to a strict social and familial hierarchy, and have to challenge the alpha for authority. Wrecker starts out brash and boastful, and even though he is always caring, he becomes much more aware of his surroundings and his standing in their family unit as he grows in his responsibilities toward Omega. Rampage is shortly before his chip goes off, where he almost kills his entire squad. While his brute strength is an asset when used in the right ways, it is lethal if used for the wrong ones, and through his family bonds (especially with Omega) Wrecker is ultimately able to overcome the worst, chipped version of who he had been made to be, and instead be a source of safety and strength for Omega and his family. 

Tech and the Zillo Beast

The Zillo beast is a marvel amongst Star Wars creatures. Its armor is impenetrable and highly valuable, and it feeds almost exclusively on energy, which allows it to become larger and morph into an even more powerful creature. When the Batch encounters it in season 2 in Metamorphasis, it tries to attack all of them, but Tech is the only one who is “fascinated” by the creature rather than scared of it. Similar to the Zillo beast feeding on energy, Tech’s mind was what he was known for, and he “fed” it by constantly consuming and integrating data about the world around him (which is transmitted by energy currents). During this episode Tech is confident in his own capabilities and extremely interested in learning more about the cloning technologies they were uncovering on this crashed ship. Tech’s research on the Zillo beast, while helpful, unfortunately comes too late and the Batch are unable to either put down or recapture the creature before it grows too strong for them to deal with. In the process, the Zillo beast escapes and is eventually recaptured by the Empire.

I’ve always been fascinated by the point in this episode where Tech is downloading the rest of the information from the terminal onto his data pad, and Hunter warns Omega that Imperials are inbound. She immediately tells Tech they need to go, and he refuses for a moment, saying he needs to finish capturing the data. If Omega did not pressure him to leave (and the electricity go out), he very well could have been standing there when ships bomb their location a few moments later, and gotten both himself and Omega killed for no good reason. At this moment his love of knowledge is overpowering his common sense and his love for his family, and it almost costs him everything. 

Contrast this to a few moments later when he pulls Omega out of danger as they leave the ship, and Plan 99 when he chooses to sacrifice himself not for his own gain, but solely so his family has a chance to live. He had to face his greatest asset where it could also be his greatest failure, and learn how to prioritize and wield his strengths. 

Crosshair and the Vulture 

In The Outpost in season 2, Crosshair has spent almost two seasons engulfed in poor choices made both against his will (the chip), and of his own volition (staying with the Empire no matter what in pursuit of a sense of purpose and loyalty). His decisions are starting to grate on him and have led him down a dark path, but he hasn’t been fully ready to find a way to change them. When he lands on the icy planet of Barton IV, he encounters fearsome ice vultures shrieking overhead. He is told by the outpost’s commanding clone officer, Mayday, that the creatures are vicious, but admirable, because they find a way to survive. 

Vultures signify both death and cleansing and are often feared and viewed with disgust, yet are an integral part of nature. Crosshair’s isolation and status as a clone soldier have put him in a precarious and often misjudged position, in ways he doesn’t even fully realize until this episode. His very life is in danger due to the Empire’s stance toward the clones, but so far Crosshair has believed that he is valuable to the Empire in ways that the regular clones are not. This attitude and perspective are severely challenged by Lieutenant Nolan, who speaks contemptuously both about and to every clone he encounters. Nolan’s lack of respect for them as soldiers, as officers, and even as people, is an extreme look at what Crosshair’s callousness and misplaced loyalty could lead him to if he is not careful. His fate is hanging in the balance.

After being sent on an inhumane mission to retrieve two crates of armor in a blinding snowstorm, Crosshair and Mayday are caught in an avalanche. After coming up out of the snow gasping for air, Crosshair could choose to get himself back to base and leave Mayday behind. Find a way to survive in the cold on his own, but kill the last of his compassion and personal values in the process. Instead, he chooses to put his life even more at risk to bring Mayday along with him. 

Unfortunately for both of them, when they get back to base, Nolan has zero sympathy for their self-sacrifice, and allows Mayday to die unceremoniously on the platform from his wounds. Once again, a vulture is circling overhead, waiting to partake of its next meal. It signifies the threat of death but also Crosshair’s struggle and desire to survive. Crosshair is now staring his own lack of value and expendability in the face, and where he finds himself is now fully intolerable. He cannot continue on the way he has been without the very essence of who he is breaking irreparably in the process. Does he reclaim who he is, a compassionate and forceful individual who protects those he cares about? Or does he fall in line with what the Empire wants from him, knowing he will be discarded regardless?

Crosshair integrates his lesson in a visceral manner, his own personal traits mimicking the very essence of the ice vulture as he finally reorients his moral compass, takes a stand for himself and for his clone brothers, and takes vengeance on Lieutenant Nolan. His caution and inner turmoil are channeled into one desperate act as he becomes an agent/angel of death, the framing of the scene creating vulture-like wings spread on either side of him. He doesn’t expect to survive this encounter, choosing a path that looks like death on the outside but is cleansing and redeeming for him on the inside. He can now face the future as his whole, integrated self.

Hunter, Crosshair, the Vulture, and the Wyrm 

The vulture and its meaning for Crosshair, as well as Hunter’s cut-short encounter with the Ordo Moon Dragon, both have their bookends in season 3’s episode The Return. Crosshair has seen immense character growth after his choices in The Outpost, and has not only redeemed himself but has been given the chance to start reconciling with everyone he has hurt. This episode has two creatures that serve two important purposes: the vulture returns as a metaphor for Crosshair’s need to reconcile with and forgive himself, and a new creature, a giant wyrm (nice Dune reference there, Star Wars) highlights the fractured rift between him and Hunter, and the anger, distrust, and resentment that Hunter has been running from since Aftermath. 

The Batch has returned to Barton IV, and Crosshair is greeted by the ice vulture as they land. The weather is calm and clear this time, and the creature is observing him but not in a threatening way. At the same time, tensions rise to a breaking point between Hunter and Crosshair and a long-awaited argument starts between them. Before it can be resolved, the wyrm erupts out of the ground and puts all of their lives in danger. It had been kept at bay previously by high-pitched noises, (oddly similar to Hunter’s enhanced senses, which he has been so distracted from that he wasn’t aware of the danger ahead of time) and lived underneath the same snow that had buried Crosshair and Mayday. 

In their efforts to draw the creature away from the outpost so they can turn the sensors back on, Hunter falls through the snow into the wyrm’s tunnels. Crosshair has already had his inner journey underneath the snow on Barton IV. This time, Hunter has to finally face his own struggles. Every step of the way he has been running and hiding, trying to keep his family and Omega safe by keeping them away from the Empire, away from Crosshair, away from danger, but failing miserably. This time, Hunter could simply let Crosshair haul him back up to the surface when he reaches the spot where Crosshair and Batcher have dug a hole in the ice to pull him out. But he hasn’t confirmed that the wyrm is actually past the boundary and that it is safe to turn the perimeter sensors back on. This time, Hunter stays below the surface, and keeps himself in harms way until he is absolutely sure that his family is safe and that his own emotions have been worked through. He is starting to take responsibility for his journey. His senses start to kick in again and he refuses to leave the tunnel until the wyrm is barreling down his neck, and then he finally accepts Crosshair’s help. Both of them run to safety, the perimeter beacons turn on, and the wyrm is now on the other side of an invisible barrier of sound, harmless and chastened until it finally slinks away. 

The boys exchange glances and nods. Their rift has been bridged and they are both willing to move forward, together. This is proven by the end of the episode, where Crosshair, who has remained closed off and unwilling to discuss what he’s been through, opens up slightly to Hunter before they leave, and Hunter responds with forgiveness, acknowledgement, and hope for the future. And for now, it’s enough. Crosshair looks into the sky and watches the ice vulture flying overhead once again. Except this time, it flies off into the sunset, signifying that his lessons from this planet have been fully learned, that the spirit of survival in the face of death that he has been carrying with him can now be put towards living and thriving again. Both Hunter and Crosshair are leaving slightly more whole than when they first arrived, both as individuals and in their restored relationship with each other. 

Ventress, Omega, and the Vrathean

Omega gets a second chance at taming a terrifying creature in The Harbinger in season 3. After Asajj Ventress shows up on Pabu to help the Batch figure out the m-count conundrum that makes Omega’s blood so valuable to the Empire, (and after Omega has begged her to stay and test her capabilities), she and Omega go out onto the ocean to test Omega’s potential Force sensitivity. (Also after Ventress had to whoop the boys’ backsides to get them to slightly trust her, but we won’t go into that here). 

Throughout this season, (and really for most of her life), Omega has…not been doing well. Her time on Tantiss, leaving the rest of the clones imprisoned there behind when she and Crosshair escaped, and the relentless pursuit of her by the Empire has truly traumatized her and made her single-mindedly want to know why she is always in danger and putting everyone else around her in danger as well. Her mental health has been spiraling a bit and her inner turmoil is starting to rival Crosshair’s in season 2. She knows that m-count is important and is also thrilled at Ventress mentioning the Jedi, while the rest of the Batch and Ventress herself are very somber about the prospect that Omega might have Force capabilities. However, in her desire to have answers, she ends up being very impatient and frustrated and doesn’t even show her typical level of optimism and concentration in working through Ventress’ tests for her. It’s almost like her goal (finding answers) is at odds with what her idea of finding those answers looks like.

After having tried and failed to “reach out” to the Force to summon anything, Omega pouts and sits back down in the boat, seemingly defeated. Ventress has asked her to try to connect to nature, probably because she has seen Omega’s connection to Batcher and assumes that might be more in line with whatever her gifting might be. Two of Omega’s main traits and strengths are her optimism in the face of defeat, and her compassion toward literally every living thing she encounters. She is always curious, generous, caring, and wanting to connect with others. Which makes it even more curious that she is so easily stumped and disconnected by this exercise. She challenges Ventress to prove why *she* is the best person to be teaching Omega this lesson, and Ventress sighs but gently and carefully shows her powers by calling up a school of glowing green fish from the water. “I’m not the one holding back,” she tells Omega.

After a peaceful moment, however, another creature, this time a giant and tentacled Vrathean, emerges from the water as well and starts hunting Ventress and Omega down. It’s unclear if Ventress actually called the creature up herself or not, but if she did it was not intentional. She helps rescue Omega from the creature’s clutches and then chooses to put herself in more danger by letting it grab her, and communing with it through the Force as it tries to eat her. The deadly creature becomes a thing of astonishing beauty as the color of the sea ripples over its body and its eyes soften and recognize Ventress as a sentient being. 

This is where it gets interesting, because this peacefulness, calm, and compassion is not something we would have associated with prior versions of Ventress. Her experiences and growth throughout the Clone Wars, her associations with Ahsoka and Quinlan, and her choices have turned her into a much softer and stronger version of herself. This has now become her trial by allowing her to showcase just how much she has changed, and how much her own worldview has flipped. 

This is an incredible example for Omega, but similar to how she took Hunter’s trial for him in Replacement, Ventress has now filled what was supposed to be hers. This begs the question, what is Omega actually holding back on? Is she really Force sensitive? Or is just her compassion and tenderness toward everyone around her overtaking her in unhealthy ways? She has always had a tendency to put herself in harms way in an attempt to make up for the complications her presence brings her brothers. 

Omega will have to face these implied monsters at some point. I’m not actually certain that she will end up facing a creature like everyone else has—there’s the possibility that because she naturally has more affinity with creatures and beings that look monstrous but really aren’t, she may end up facing her inner demons in another manner. Will it be a person instead? Or a choice? Even, might I say, an identity crisis? It remains to be seen, but the fact that she must face it in order to overcome and integrate it is unquestionable. 

[mothiir]

all is fair in love and war, part i

In which our favourite diplomat faces an assassination attempt, and Sicarius and Roboute must address some feelings.

Cw: gore. No sex. That’s in the next part.

—

—

An Inquisitor is aboard the ship. An Inquisitor is aboard your ship, in your space, they are here. Fear pulses through you; the instinctive dread of a prey animal learning that the wolf is just around the corner. You have no firsthand experience of the Inquisition, but by the Emperor you have heard stories — colleagues who were threatened into taking part in the cruellest of traps, luring rebellious worlds into an accord, only for the Inquisition to burn the planet to cinders. Worse than this: you have heard stories of those who refused — lobotomised, servitorised, and not just them but their families, their friends, punishment that runs along the most tenuous of connections until everyone who heard the name of the would-be hero was dead, or wished they were. It cannot be chance that the Inquisitor has arrived now, when the Primarch has taken all of the battle-ready ships and most of the men to deal with a section of the webway benighted by daemons, coming to the assistance of their Eldar allies, a comradeship that you were instrumental in brokering. Aboard the diplomatic vessel the Hestia, with nothing more than a barebones crew, sheltered deep in Ultramar’s space you thought yourself safe. And you are — but only from external threats. 

The rot within the Imperium still finds you here, apparently. 

As the most senior civilian official here, you join the welcoming party, standing beside Captain Icarus, a now-retired guardsman who — having served decades on the frontline of the Imperium’s battles — knows the ways of the Inquisition all too well. There are no Astartes aboard the ship, only baseline humans — formidable foes, practiced veterans all — and yet as the Inquisitor and her retinue board your ship (the continent-sized bulk of her ship dwarfing your own, blotting out the stars) you find yourself possessed by the mad urge to gather the men beneath your non-existent wingspan, to shelter them. 

“My lady Inquisitor,” you say, with a deep and respectful bow. “It is an honour —“

”Are you really the most senior diplomat here? Hm. I suppose you will do, until the senior officials arrive,” says the Inquisitor. Oh, what a promising start. What a truly excellent start. You straighten up immediately. “I am Kagha, of the Ordo Xenos. I was under the impression that the Lord Primarch was resident here and came to offer my services.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, trying your utmost to keep your eyes fixed on Kagha — and not her Deathwatch bodyguards, looming like obsidian-wrought gargoyles; nor the cherubim hovering behind her, fleshy abominations with blank, unsettling faces. The other woman is a little shorter than you, hard-featured and haughty, but possessed of an ageless, sharp beauty that speaks of those rejuve treatments the upper-classes so love. Her copper hair is swept up in an elaborate braided style, ornamented with gold skulls with glowing red eyes. You would wager your life’s savings on those hairpins being secret, deadly weapons. Her outfit is equally impressive: a long black leather coat, embroidered with a motif of heretics burning in a flaming pit while an impassive angelic figure watches; skin-tight trousers; an elaborate lacy blouse that closes at her throat with a ruby the size of your fist.

She’s wealthy. Well-connected. Experienced. And yet there is something not right; an itch under your skin. 

You look to the Deathwatch marines, as briefly as possible. There are five of them — more than enough to annihilate the paltry crew here, should they wish — and all are helmeted. Two carry shields slung over their shoulders; huge oblongs of metal longer than you are tall, ornamented with strange milky stones, like opals, and yet somehow familiar —

Your blood turns to ice. Spirit Stones. The funerary custom of Craftworld Eldar is to keep the souls of their dead in these psychic tombs, thus preserving their fallen comrades, and keeping them safe from the endless maw of She Who Thirsts. To break a Spirit Stone is to send the soul contained within to eternal damnation; it is one of the cruellest fates you can imagine. And to decorate your weapons with them — and to bring these weapons to the ship of a diplomat you know brokers peace with the Eldar —

You know then what is happening, and you would laugh at the flagrant arrogance of the Inquisition, if you were not so fearful. They are so used to having nothing stand in their way — why would they be subtle about an assassination? You make a quick gesture with your right hand, keeping it pressed tight to your side. In battle-cant it means call the Primarch. Bring him back. We are in danger. 

To Kagha, you beam, trying to appear every inch the young idiot she appears to think you are. “Would you care to join me in my quarters for tea? I can send a vox to my senior — he is currently aboard a ship in the Ultramarine’s fleet, and will answer as soon as he can.”

A bluff, of course. You have no senior. And yet Kagha — arrogant, stupid Kagha — nods tersely. “This is acceptable.”

—

You do not think it arrogant to claim that you are more that a little adept at the finer points of conversation — it is, after all, much of your job to be personable and engaging. Indeed, this talent is in such short supply across the Imperium that you sometimes wonder if you count as a prodigy, just because you can engage in small talk without threatening anyone, or going on a half hour diatribe about the Emperor’s endless benevolence. You once even made a Harlequin laugh! Yes, it was because you fell over — but it still counts. 

And yet Kagha is a brick wall — no, that is an insult to masonry. She either does not answer your questions, or does so in a way that suggests she considers you the stupidest woman alive for even raising the point. Still, she is kind enough to pour the second round of tea, so you sip, and resign yourself to silence. 

After around twenty minutes, the ring on your index finger — a nondescript circlet of silver, set with a tiny little sapphire — tightens minutely. Thank goodness for that. You offer Kagha a bright smile. 

“If I were you,” you say. “I would have a word with your sources.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

”Well — they’re clearly quite out of date. I did have a superior diplomat overseeing my work here — her name was Sara Buchanan, and she was wonderful — but she returned six months ago to be with her grandchildren. I’ve been running the show here ever since.”

Kagha’s brow furrows. “If you are suggesting —“

“I am not suggesting. I am telling. Do you really think you are the first member of your Order to come calling to the Primarch’s fleet, thinking that they can disrupt our mission here? Granted, you are the first one to approach myself directly — but we know your sort. The arrogance of you! You’d see the Imperium remain steeped in shadow and ignorance if it kept your position safe.”

Genuine anger bleeds into your voice, and your throat tightens. You cough into your hand, cursing the sudden flare-up of — what? Allergies? Gunshots echo outside; lasgun facing lasgun. The Primarch has returned home, and is not best pleased with what he finds. 

Kagha’s lips skin back, showing her teeth. “You stupid xenos loving bitch — you have no idea what you are doing here.”

”I know exactly what I am doing here. Following my Lord Primarch’s orders. You are the heretic who claims to know better than the son of the God-Emperor —“ you break off into another bout of coughing, this time more strenuous. It feels like something is clawing up your throat. The door to your chambers crashes open, Cato Sicarius storming in, wreathed in smoke, spattered with blood. 

“Careful!” you yell out at the gunfight outside. “Don’t break the stones on the shields!”

”We know that,” Sicarius snaps at you. “We are well-aware of the Deathwatch’s tactics —“

Whatever he was about to say is amputated as you double over and vomit. A dark grainy substance puddles at your feet, like recaf-grounds. Behind you, Kagha sniggers. 

“So, so clever — but didn’t think to check the tea, did you?”

Oh for the love of the Emperor’s left bollock — you curse your oversight. She’d poured the tea. Ample time to slip poison into it, even though you had been watching her the whole time, because Inquisitors are nothing if not swift with their petty, lethal blows. You choke on another upsurge of bile, pain now radiating from your stomach, and collapse onto the floor. 

The next two things happen so swiftly as to be synchronous. Kagha reaches for her hairpin, presumably to activate some kind of suicide device, and Sicarius leaps towards her. Before she can complete whatever last-ditch resort she was planning, Sicarius has flipped her upside down, holding one scrawny ankle in each of his gauntleted hands. Kagha shrieks in astonishment — a shriek that soon turns to a wordless, senseless wail of agony as the Astartes moves his forearms, just a little, and rips her in half. Gore showers him, and you avert your eyes, but you can still hear the wet slop of organs falling to the ground in a bloody puddle; the popping and breaking of bones, rent apart like matchsticks. 

“That is my woman,” growls Sicarius — or, at least, you think he does. The world is starting to blur at the edges; the pain is receding — or perhaps you are receding, falling away into the dark. Your last image is of Sicarius bending down to you, reaching out. And then it is all black, as black as the void between stars. 

—

You blink awake to cool white light, and soft white linen. For an absurd moment you think you’ve perished, and this is the Emperor’s rest — an endless bed, where you can sleep as much as you wish (sleep being the one resource you were always so scarce of). 

Then —

“Ah, the wench awakes. Good. I was getting sick of looking at your sleeping face.”

Cato Sicarius sits by your bed, a paperback book open on his knee. The title reads Duty and Love: The Steamy Romance of a Kriegsman and a Sister of Battle — but before you can comment on it, he’s whisked it away, hiding it in one of his armour’s many compartments.

”How long — how long has it been?”

Your voice is rough; your throat aches. Sicarius tosses you a canteen of water. 

It’s metal. It’s Space Marine sized. You can’t catch it; it hits you in the chest and bounces off, leaving another bruise to deal with. 

“Next time, catch better.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. With shaking hands, you unscrew the lid and gulp at the icy water. 

“The poison ate through your oesophagus,” says Sicarius, conversationally. “Just as well it spared your tongue — a mute diplomat is no use to anyone, and we would have had to get someone new aboard. Can’t be doing with that.”

Perhaps it is your drug-induced delirium, but you smile at him. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

”Absolutely not. Give me that.”

He snatches the canteen back, spilling water over you both. It’s his canteen. There’s a jug of water on your bedside table, and he gave you his canteen — but before you can dwell on that , Sicarius is back to grumbling. 

“We had to divert our entire mission because of you. Lord Gulliman was not best pleased that the Ordo Xenos was causing trouble for him and his, so we had to go halfway across the galaxy to Kagha’s home base. He’s spent the last five days putting every Inquisitor he can find to the sword. Burned a couple of planets that were still perfectly useful just because they wouldn’t tell us what we needed to know.”

There is far too much there for your sluggish brain to process. You manage: “Five days?”

”Yes. You’ve been out for six. That poison almost killed you. It didn’t. Fortunately.”

You stare down at your hands. They are almost as pale as the sheets: sunless, drained. “And the Primarch —?”

As if in answer to your question, the door opens, and Roboute himself enters. You immediately try to greet him properly — stand, curtesy, even salute — but your body won’t obey, and you just manage to tangle yourself up in your sheets, tumbling from the bed. The Primarch catches you before you hit the ground, swaddling you up in your linen like a newborn babe, settling you back onto the bed. His armour is tarnished, swathes of it stained rusty with old blood, and he reeks of smoke. Deep shadows hang under his eyes. He looks like he has come fresh from the battlefield. 

“There,” he says. “Better? Glad to see you with us.”

Your arms are pinned to your sides, which is just as well, since you suddenly want to stroke his tired brow, comb your fingers through his hair. 

Roboute looks over at Sicarius. “Thank you for your watch, brother.” To you, he adds: “Sicarius stayed —“

”Here because I was ordered to, and now I must leave to attend to proper business,” says Sicarius, all in a rush. 

Gulliman stares at him. And stares at him. Then looks at you. Then back at Sicarius. 

“…is that really what you want to say,” he says, in a tone of infinite, weary patience. “Really. After all this. That’s your parting riposte.”

Sicarius stands up straight, throwing up a parade-ground salute. 

“I fulfilled your orders, my lord. Watched her for the five days and nights. But now I have to return to my battle brothers for my actual purpose.”

Gulliman stares at him for another long, long moment. You twitch in the cocoon that Gulliman has forced you into, feeling deeply awkward but not entirely sure why. 

“Last chance,” says Gulliman. Sicarius frowns. 

“Not sure what else I should say, Lord Father.”

”Right,” says Gulliman, and sighs, turning back to you. He tucks you in more firmly — clearly intending it to be a comforting gesture, but managing to strait-jacket you to the point where you think your fingers are going numb. “Theoretical: the potential of losing you drove me to depths of fury that I had not felt in quite some time. This was in part due to the Inquisitor’s meddling, but largely to do with the prospect of not having you by my side.”

He strokes your hair gently.

”Practical: when you are well enough to stand, you will come to my quarters and we will have nice non-poisoned tea. And we can talk. And enjoy one another’s company.”

You squeak. “S-sounds like an excellent strategy, my lord. Yes. Please. Would like to play my part for you and the Legion and —“

”Perhaps not the entire Legion,” says Gulliman. “Not yet, anyway. Oh, and Sicarius? Why are you still here?”

Sicarius’ face is frozen in a rictus of pure, delirious rage. “No — no reason at all Lord Primarch. I will…I will take my leave.”

No one can say Gulliman did not give his idiot son a chance. He leans forward and kisses you gently on the forehead, pausing to inhale the scent of air. It smells of home. 

[aimfor-theheart]

Act III

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 22k || masterlist ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: a whole ass year later and i have finally finished this behemoth of a fic. i will be including an intro of sorts below the cut, but the rest you will have to read on ao3! it just got too big! but i am sooo so so happy to have it done though. if you are still reading all this time later, THANK YOU! thank you for reading and thank you for waiting! and of course, thank you to my beloved @lorelune who beta read this last part and has offered me constant support and feedback!! also go check out their diluc fic (linked above) as part of this collab — it's really wonderful! i would love to hear how you feel about this ending/what you think!! enjoy!

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, emotional smut, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically

SCENE I

On the sloping, icy bends of Dragonspine. The sky is gray, snow cutting across the landscape in large, harsh flakes–the wind howls like a lone dog. You stumble through the snow, shivering harshly, gripping the fur of Kaeya’s coat around your shoulders like a lifeline. Dark blots of Fatui members urge you to keep walking. 

Your teeth chatter relentlessly. 

Out of fear or cold, you can no longer tell anymore. You have resigned yourself to focusing on one foot in front of the other. Stepping into thick, wet snow, and watching each foot carefully make ground. The wind cuts across your face viciously. You burrow down into the one relief you managed to grab–the fur of Kaeya’s coat. 

You think of him and feel the pressure of tears in your head once more. You sniffle. You stumble. 

The moment you do, you’re being barked at by a member of the Fatui to hurry up. 

Your legs are burning both from exertion and from the cold. You’re hardly dressed properly; they’d barely let you grab anything. They’d barely let you do anything at all. 

They forced you to write the letter; one of them had demanded that it felt real and there were no tricks to be had. In your haste and through your tears, you hadn’t been able to think of anything overly clever. No ciphers or sonnets or songs to uncover a true message to. However, you’d emphasized certain letters, tracing them boldly under the guise that the pen wasn’t working well, parsed through words that would give you those letters to form an easy message, one that you hope Kaeya would catch;

Help. Dragonspine. 

The letter itself had perhaps been too on the nose, perhaps a little too raw, but the Fatui member who had watched the argument transpire had urged you to mention it. To—

“Break his heart thoroughly, so that he wouldn’t dream of coming after you.” 

But you’d left your clues and now it was up to Kaeya to find them. 

To—to trust you, to know you—that you wouldn’t have left him like this. You wouldn't have left for Liyue. To know there is more than just the letter, but another one of your neverending puzzles. 

You hope he notices his missing coat. You hope he knows instantly that it could never be true, that you’re in danger. And you need him, now more than ever. 

Tears burn your eyes, pressing in your temples. Your throat aches. You’re not sure you have any more tears left to cry. They freeze out here on your cheeks, burn against your skin as the cold seeps into your skin. 

Even if Kaeya comes for you—even if he figures out your little message, it doesn’t change the argument. It doesn’t change what was said or what has become of the two of you. 

I don’t love you. 

The words ache fiercely, deep in your chest. 

You stumble. 

One of the Fatui members barks at you, harsh and sharp, to stand up. Get up. Keep moving. You grit your teeth. 

You force your legs to move, to make you stand. 

You keep walking. 

Tears break your lash line. 

The wind cuts sharply against your face, freezing them. 

Even if he’s a liar, does it matter?

If he can’t be open, if he can’t say it, then it may as well be as if he doesn’t love you, anyways. 

It’s all the same outcome. 

You choke on a sound, a whimper that could’ve been a sob if you had the energy for it. 

You sink your hands into the fur of Kaeya’s coat, gripping at it, desperate, and half-sick with your hope. 

With your despair. 

The shackles rub your wrists raw; something that subdues your Vision. You don’t even have your fire for warmth, can’t even call on the inner heat that resides inside of you. 

No, you think bitterly, mournfully, it’s just cold.

So cold. 

And you are alone against the harsh, gray sky. 

You breathe out, let it puff in front of you in a blast of small warmth.

One foot in front of the other. 

You pick your head up, you glance behind  at the world below—at your city and your land. You glance like you may be able to see all the way into Mondstadt, like you could see all you love now in hindsight, so far away. 

For a brief, rash moment, you feel like screaming, seeing how loud it would be. Would it echo across the lands? Would the winds carry it back to your city? Would your Archon hear you? Does he see you now? 

You turn back to face the winding slope of the mountain, like the curved, jagged spine of a dragon. 

You had never hoped to discover how the mountain received its name. 

One foot in front of the other. Deep breath. 

You cling to fur, half-sick with despair. 

With hope that burns and gathers in your eyes. 

***

❀ Read the rest of this part on Ao3 ❀

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Why don't the other ordos like the hereticus?

They’re seen as overzealous and shriek-y, to put it simply. Imagine a mixed Ordo meeting. The Malleus is talking about a chaos cult whose activity is building to summoning a greater daemon in a city centre, and a covert operation to take them out. The Ordo Xenos are providing additional intel that the whole thing is being machinated by a cabal of Drukhari who are using the event as a distraction to take something specific from the planet during the planned havoc.

Then one of the Hereticus pipes up to say “You know who are REALLY to blame for this? PSYKERS.”

Several Psyker Inquisitors present raise an eyebrow, but the sweating man, Inquisitor Lord Salem, isn’t done.

“Also MUTANTS. I suggest that we start rounding up anyone who suffers from headaches or has an EXTRA TOE, just in case. Then we BURN THEM ALIVE. PUBLICLY. And we should broadcast it over loudspeakers to inspire FEAR OF THE GOD EMPEROR in these other heretics. That will show them.”

Several other members of the Hereticus are nodding furiously in agreement. One is lovingly cooing to a heavy flamer sat on a nearby table.

A member of the Malleus thunks their head onto the table and tiredly asks a servitor to bring more recaf. And a horse tranquilliser.

[blocksgame]

/rp Tazercraft and after all of that, their mental link is gone. God knows what did it - separation, comas, dimensional travel, Federation meddling, glitches, time itself - who knows! Neither of them really understand the ritual they did to have it in the first place. Or maybe they don't remember it. With research and time and both of them there, maybe they could repair the link.

They haven't had those yet.

Mike shows up, laughing, in real life on Quesadilla Island, and for the first time in years, surprises Pac with his presence. But Mike's also yelling in delight and it's his voice. He tackles Pac and Pac doesn't feel a thing - well, he feels it, obviously, but he doesn't feel Mike, the touch-echoes.

He thinks MIKE! and there's a beat where nothing happens and then he yells "MIKE!". And Mike grins at him, because he only heard him the second time.

Oh, so that's how it is now. Cool. Cool.

Pac's long sleep mostly fixed the stab wound in his stomach but he still can't run far without shooting pains. He still runs with Mike to Fit and Ramon. Even if Mike won't stop making fun of him, it's selfishly easier with the others there, where they'd have to talk out loud anyway. It feels like Mike could be any stranger. Except that it's so, so, so clearly Mike, his best friend. Just... not in his head. Like they were years ago.

Mike shows him the murder mystery house, which he's been finishing. He stumbles to tell Pac about being haunted by the Naked Slenderman. He and Pac start to talk over each other and it's a surprise too. Stupid fucking surprises!

After stumbling out of Purgatory the second time, cut open, Pac had recovered on his own. He didn't want to go to the Ordo hospital, both because it's Cellbit's and because he'd spent too long there sitting with Mike's unresponsive body, like a stranger's who looks just like his friend, being afraid. Stupid fucking fear. Here he is being afraid again. Come on, he tells himself. Mike's right here. He's not a stranger.

Mike doesn't seem as thrown as Pac is. Either Mikes' more resilient or he hasn't had all these complexes built up of long months of being alone in his head. Pac hates always having to move on from things, always having to be sad and come back from that. The universe should owe him some change now and then!

Well, to be fair, the universe gave him Mike back. Maybe if Pac had known Mike would always be fine, he'd have been able to get over it too. Maybe he will.

When Mike runs down a staircase ahead of him, Pac throws a white sheet over his head, and creeps after him. For the first time in years, Pac successfully jumpscares the shit out of Mike.

Stupid fucking hope. Stupid fucking moving forward.

[lazywriter-artist]

Be still, Bleeding heart

Warhammer 40k writing practice + Oc lore

The guardsman froze, yanking their guns to a resting position they stared in confusion. The soldiers stared on in disbelief, they recoiled as their inquisitor in his hulking armor ripped a huge clawed hand forward, throwing one of the men aside who had been attacking one of the xenos.

“STAY BACK” he roared, falling to his knees as his huge armored hands lifted the small xenos pulling the shivering form close to his chest, heaving like a rabid animal. Silence fell over the soldiers, shock and horror at the inquisitor’s reaction. One they had never seen nor expected from him. He practically bristled with rage, palpable as he hunched over the xenos. Incomprehensible fear filled cries wailed from the xenos, at least incomprehensible to the guardsman that looked on, The large clawed gauntlet gently patted the back of the small xenos. Their inquisitor cooing back in that strange language, the men took yet another appalled step back.

“S-sir what are you-?” one man began with a brave step forward, Too far for the inquisitor it seemed.

“BACK AWAY!” he roared as he slammed his fist against the ground, pulling the whimpering xenos closer. He bore his teeth like a rabid animal. he looked pale, Sweat poured down from his head as he clasped the xenos tightly. He huffed and struggled to catch his breath as he again spoke in that strange language, the Xenos’ language, comforting the small shape. The inquisitor had been acting strange while they were cleaning out this Xenos vessel and now hugging and protecting one? their worry was growing.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The inquisitor and his men had boarded the t’au ship, it had invaded enemy space and as a member of the ordo xenos it had to be cleansed. Naturally all went as planned, Xenos soldiers set upon them as they boarded, though…something had felt off right away. The way the Xenos spoke was with…a strange distress he’d never heard before on military ships. They cried out something about evacuation, then some words he didn’t quite recognize or at least didn’t recall. Nevertheless, an inquisitor must naturally hold stead fast in the face of resistance. So he pressed on with his men- then it began. Unarmored xenos darted to and fro, some struggled to even hold their weapons- it disturbed the inquisitor. He again heard those words he didn’t recognize, it sent a chill up his spine. It felt- it felt familiar. He couldn’t place why but he didn’t like it, that’s when…it happened.

He rounded a corner, his restless and battle hungry men roaring with cheers at the ease this had provided. His eyes widened at the realization of what lied there. Several of those xenos soldiers loaded smaller shapes and xenos clinging even small little bundles into escape ships- his heart leapt out of his chest. There were civilians on the ship! He staggered backward as words caught in his throat, it all felt too familiar. His skin crawled as he felt himself begin to anxiously perspire, eyes darting all around as soldiers fell and a few unarmed fell. Luckily those already loaded into the Xenos’ saviour pods were able to escape before the bloodbath, but the few left were gunned down to Silverworth’s horror. He staggered forward as his eyes darted left and right, their cries filled his ears- any others. Any others he might not have cared- but unarmed and untrained civilians? It was slaughter. It was barbaric- it- it- it wrenched his heart. Staggering forward he hoarsely wheezed those agonizing words that had caught in his chest moments ago, then his eyes darted back down the hall. One of his soldiers was shouting, then he heard a xeno’s cry out, a lasgun fire and then the sound of a struggle!

In a flash, he rushed to the noise. His heavy armor clattered against the ships floor and walls as he moved with reckless abandon, startling the soldiers with him and the man wrestling the Xenos to the ground. Sure enough as he stomped forward he saw the poor shape, much smaller than the rest but certainly no baby. From his study likely a fully grown Xenos but not by much. It set flames in his mind, he saw red. Rage and painful memories soaked his thoughts as without thinking- THWAP the man was thrown aside with one fell swoop of the back of the inquisitor’s gauntlet.

“STAY BACK” he rumbled, the noises- the words he strung together burned in his throat and boiled in his chest like lava. Dropping down he scooped up the quivering shape in his arms as he tried to catch his breath, hugging tightly to the poor young xenos. Judging by the way the poor thing had barely put up a fight if it had any training it was minor and fresh. ‘Do not worry- they will not hurt you. I will not hurt you-‘ he crooned to the Xenos in its tongue, the T’au empire’s language was complex to some degree certainly but it had always felt so curious against his lips when he practiced it— a fact he dare utter to none, naturally— so it was a rather obvious choice for the language he wished to learn. The smaller shape seemed shocked at its own language ringing back at it from a humans lips, a human soldier leader no less. its lip quivered in fear as a large clawed hand patted their back.

A soldier stepped forward, eyes wide and filled with almost a feral look to them snapped back to the soldier “BACK AWAY” he snarled again, embarrassed to say he bore his teeth like some kind of feral animal- but in the moment he didn’t feel much but rage at the arrogant approach of the guardsman. He slammed his fist, a loud clang following, to let the man know he was serious. He could feel their stares but he didn’t care, his mind focused on the poor xenos, the poor shivering shape that he clung to. It…It reminded him of his son. The way the small child had clung to him as the little one had wailed for him. He could see it vividly now. He could see his son there, there in his grasp, shaking. Shaking and sobbing, begging for his father to ‘take away the pain, please!’ And his heart wrenched as he couldn’t. The blood that stained his shirt and his hands from his little boy’s wounds- it washed away his anger, that…sensation. It sunk its teeth into his heart and tore. Tore so harshly and violently he didn’t hear his men murmuring as tears began to roll down his face, shoulders jerking and breaths skipping as he sobbed. Even the Xenos now looked up at him with confusion as he hunched over their smaller shape, pressed them against his chest plate and sobbed.

This Xenos…he couldn’t allow it. Life so young, something so precious and new to this harsh galaxy. He couldn’t allow it. He had to- no. No, NEEDED to protect it…to protect them. Protect them with his own life, protect them with his last breath, with all his strength in his body- it didn’t matter. He has to protect this small…child.

Darling dividers by @squishyowl

[mamuzzy]

Kal'buir: *brings home uj cake to surprise his sons, trying to be as stealthy as he can* The Null ARCs, hearing the noises from the kitchen:

[iridescentpull]

Gatos e Rosas will be on hold for a week or so since I have a VERY busy week ahead of me and won't have time to write the new chapters.

As an apology, I did a thing on twitter that for every like the tweet received, I would post one fact about a character of the GeR universe (mainly fitpac ofc).

So here's part one of those facts, hope you enjoy :) lmk if you want more!

Ramón was adopted by Fit and Spreen when he was barely 3 years old

Pac lost his leg in an accident (will be explained in the story) when he was 19

Fit went to the army straight when he was fresh outta highschool, thinking he knew everything (he didn't)

Pac's amputation is an above knee one, also known as a transfemoral one

Phil and Missa are in a queerplatonic marriage

Tina works in the fashion industry and has dreams of owning her own boutique and line in the future

Quesadilla City is a small city in a fictional island located in the Northern Hemisphere

Ramón is autistic, and he goes nonverbal whenever he's extremely stressed or overstimulated. He and Fit communicate through sign language when that happens

Pac has diagnosed depression and anxiety and takes meds for it

Cellbit and Roier met when they were called to the school because Richas and Bobby had a fight

Fit figured out he was gay when he was in his teens, but didn't accept it until he was in his late twenties/early thirties

Roier does drag, aka Melissa

Quackity HATES Chayanne, and the feeling is mutual with Chayanne. Their hate-relationship started since Chayanne was a toddler

Missa works in a really famous orchestra, which means he often has to travel around for concerts, leaving his family behind for long periods of time

The first few weeks after Pac was alone in his new apartment for the first time, he fell into a rough depressive episode. He slowly got better after adopting Xereta

Ramón's special interest is the Krebs Cycle. Fit has no idea when, what, or how his son even learned what the krebs cycle is, but he's happy to listen Ramóns infodumps

After Pac and Mike immigrated from Brazil, Mike searched high and low for somewhere they could stay that would be cheap until they could get back on their feet. He met Bagi, who was searching for more roommates at the time. They moved in, and the Favela Five apartment was born

Death Family live in the more country side of the city, around the same area as Mike and Mine

Fit lost his arm up until the shoulder, also known as shoulder disarticulation

Pac and Mike met in the orphanage at Brazil when they were both seven and five, respectively

Fit and Phil met just when Fit was discharged and lived together as roommates until Phil met Missa

Quesadilla City is a VERY diverse city, with immigrants from all over the world having their little communities spread around. The Favela is one of the most popular communities, though!

Cellbit works at Ordo Theorita’s Publishing House, and he dreams of publishing his own thriller book in the future

Pac is transmasc, and had his top surgery in his midtwenties after the Favela Five managed to scrap enough money to pay for it

Ramón's biggest fear is his dad being lonely. His second biggest fear are heights

[bibimagines]

as someone who mostly sees forever's pov i will say our side. forever never wanted to be president. since the beginning he said he didn't liked being the "one who command", he liks to be the second hand at most. he entered the presidency as a request from cellbit because someone from the ordo (trustworthy, who would put it as priority) should try and not let a sus person be a president. that was when no one else wanted too. thats why they made a duo, cell couldn't be the president, the federation would never let him (or at least he believed that), so they both talked and agreed forever could do it and cell would support him. the thing is, forever liked the idea of a council, but he always believed that if they just overruled the presidencial part, the federation would take the minimal power they gave and just elected who they wanted (elq maybe), so he wanted to do both. he wanted to play the game, be a insider and while doing that, help his friends and giving what they want. what everyone fails to realize, all this talk of revolution and mistrust between friends is pushing him to what you guys fear already happened. it didn't. but it will. because while he's trying his everything to make his friends happy and do everyone's request, all he gets is fights and mistrust and knifes on his back. he never being as close to the federation and disconnected to his friends then he is now. and is not his fault, hes fighting w teeths and nails for his friends, begging to trust him, to support him, to not let the federation win (bcs thats the REAL enemy), but only have sm force alone.

alone with the enemy

[youphoriaot7]

"i'm not here / this isn't happening."

meanwhile the camera pans between the favela, the federation, the castle, the fear room, the ordo, everything.

god.

[ravens-inquisition]

⚔️ WELCOME TO THE INQUISITION 🐦‍⬛

This blog is dedicated to the recounting, archiving, and showcasing of "Raven's Inquisition". "Raven's Inquisition" is a Curse of Strahd prequel campaign where we get to explore setting elements and character relations that otherwise could not have been explored in the canon module. The DM @emp-roar is constructing the campaign as an adaptation of the "I, Strahd" novel, where Barovia has yet to be established, Strahd is still human, and the players are all inquisitors overtaking the Tsolenka Valley under the von Zarovich crest and the banner of the Morninglord.

The following tags are available for your eased perusal:

#journal entry (session recaps)

#public notes (in-world discovered lore)

#media (art/media)

#writings (personal inquisitor literature)

#inquisitorial mailbox (QnAs)

#AUs For tags pertaining to the individual inquisitors, please look at their personal accounts below.

By the decree of Count Strahd von Zarovich, the following names shall be knighted to receive upon them the title of

Inquisitor of the Tribunal of the Holy Office of Barovia, Ordo Solis:

Frank was a sergeant who served under the banner of House Dilisnya. Hindered by nothing but his own conscience, he chose to kneel to the Lord of Murder, Bhaal, so that he may strike the political enemies of his master without a pang to his sanity. He was later sentenced to death by his own general, not because of his crimes, but to control the unrest of the masses. This condemned his faith in Bhaal. After his release, his mind is ever-pregnant with the thoughts of meaningless murder, but he chooses not to, for while duty is in his hand, murder is never meaningless.

Ever since the attempted assassination against Strahd, Frank has been called to the battlefield, now riding and fighting beside the count, his commander, and the might of the Voronian army. [Frank's player has since left the table due to personal reasons. He will forever rage under the blazing heat of the morning sun. Sol Invictus, Frank.]

Everyone is entitled to fear. Not all are worthy of harnessing it.

Rising from the depths of enslavement, no one could have foreseen that a mere cripple would lead a savage onslaught against his masters. A gritty veteran, Cain's dreary origins gave birth to his singular conviction of dominance. This worldview born from despair molded his philosophy regarding the nature of power and the laws that govern all. Despite being fueled by darker ambitions, Cain is not without a heart of grace and kindness. The duality of the man who is both ruthless and compassionate is weighted in balance, reflecting symbolically his devotion to The Scales. Intent on liberating those in shackles and claiming power to ensure it, the "Dreadwalker" finds himself in the service of Strahd von Zarovich, planning to consolidate and secure both.

Anatomically speaking, how do you do?

Once a mere human consumed by an insatiable obsession with necromancy, Violet delved deeper into the dark arts, fervently worshipping the god Bhaal in her pursuit of forbidden knowledge. Gradually descending into madness, she adopted the guise of a pathologist, masking her heinous crimes as acts of scientific inquiry. Her obsession with understanding the mechanics of life and death twisted her mind, transforming her into a ruthless psychopath.

Calandrius Vaerethin is many things: a long-lived elf, a one-time hellrider, or the occasional robber baron. By all accounts he has the physicality of a golden knight, his fair skin complemented with his bright golden hair, as if stolen from the sun, with the composure of someone who has practiced a thousand strikes in his lifetime; though Caland would tell you he is anything but. In truth, he is the last of a long-dead order of knights, who were purged in the days of Old Voron. Now unfettered, whether it be the tenets of the old order of the noose meant for his neck, perhaps it is time to let the ghosts of his past rest. He was always told that his lot was to be the beating wings of the freedom of the sky. Though whether the Last Swan would herald weal or woe, only time and circumstance can tell.

Pikehead is imposing to say the least. Armored from head to toe in steel and spikes, little is known about him or what he looks like underneath the iron. Soft-spoken and tamed, his demeanor hardly lives up to the foreboding presence he commands. Mayhaps it was because of his duties to his late master in Old Voron. A soldier molded into a near perfect machine.

In war, the only thing stronger than fear is hunger. A tyrant is only different from a peasant in appetite.

Raised amidst the oppressive reign of the late King Barov, Omen had to learn how to navigate the streets of Voron as much as the various plights littering it. The circumstances of his birth, coupled with the struggles he faced growing up, taught him to attribute value to the few possessions he truly owned. Value he is willing to exchange for the only thing he ever hungers for: a home.

I promised them it would all get better, but all I brought them was ruin. I cannot fail again, but if ruin is what he needs, ruin I shall bring.

A soldier, a knight, a sword. Whatever he is, one thing that can describe him is loyalty. And why would he be the one that betrayed the kingdom? Who knows. But now, it seems like he got his second chance, and he will not waste it.

"My army settled in the valley of Barovia and took power over the people in the name of a just god, but with none of a god’s grace or justice." -- Tome of Strahd

☼ SOL INVICTUS ☼

[becauseplot]

i feel i should preface this with saying that this relationship analysis "takes place" before qcellbit's emotional exhaustion and motivation crash---

---but i have been having SUCH crazy thoughts abt the archivists (qcellbit n qphilza). guy who needs evidence of Everything 🤝 guy who takes pictures of and hoards Everything. two-cars-passing-each-other meme whenever cellbit (practically nocturnal at this point) makes a late-night run to the Ordo to grab some notes he left there and bumps into phil (trouble sleeping ever since the birdhouse incident) who's sitting in one of the evidence rooms organizing a new backpack of photos to hand over to cellbit.

"oh. hey phil." "hi mate."

their conversations and interactions center mostly around cellbit's investigations---the ones cellbit lets the public know about, anyway---and whatever new info phil managed to scoop up since the last time they saw each other. theories are exchanged, and photos are passed between them as easily as pleasantries. "how're you doing?" "oh, doin' alright, doin' alright. you?" "eh. busy, you know?"

they don't talk about much else.

see, they both understand secrets. intimately. things you did you would much rather leave behind you, if you can, or thoughts, worries, doubts you would much rather keep to yourself for fear of speaking them into existence. sealed lips; a tight lid. they look at each other and know they're only seeing what the other wants them to see, but that's okay. they get it. sometimes, it's just easier to focus on what is directly in front of you. what you can see, what you can touch; what you know is true, what you know is real.

what you can do.

so cellbit generates and bounces his theories off of phil, and phil is more than happy to be a sounding board. phil fills up a backpack with photographs, and cellbit is more than happy to take it off his hands. they focus on The Work, on the spiderweb of red string and loose ends and grainy pictures and scrawled notes pinned to the wall, madness-incarnate sprawled out before them. they trust each other's judgement, and they trust each other's skills, and they trust each other, and neither asks too many questions. they both appreciate it.