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bubblemoon66 · 2 years

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China Sorrows’ Backstory Headcanons [1/3]

I’ve never shared my headcanons about China’s youth and that is a tragedy that needs to be rectified immediately because I’ve probably got a more vivid image of her backstory than I do for any other character.

This was written before I read UTE and isn’t canon compliant with it but I don’t really care about canon anymore soo.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW for mentions of child abuse, sexism, death, cults, arranged marriage.

China’s given name is Bébinn. She was born and grew up on a large estate in Westmeath, Ireland with her parents, brother and maternal grandmother.

China’s mother, Tristitia, was a natural omnilingualist. I.E. She’s an adept who can speak any language and didn’t get to choose her discipline.

Tristitia was born in Ireland, but her ancestry was mixed. There’s a lot of Irish, but the scorpion on the family crest can be traced through several empires all the way to ancient Babylonia.

She was an only child.

Her father, alongside his two brothers, died fighting by Mevolent’s side in the war against the Unnamed when Tristitia was young.

China’s father, Dì, was Han Chinese. He was a natural teleporter. His discipline meant he was well-travelled.

He had four siblings. Two older sisters, an older brother and a younger sister.

His family came from a long line of powerful sorcerers but had only relatively recently converted to the Church of the Faceless, so they didn’t have the same standing in the community until Dì and his siblings started marrying in.

Their marriage wasn’t exactly arranged, but it wasn’t a love-match either. It was just a practical choice among slim-pickings. They were both from old, distinguished, purist mage families. Their values aligned. Their families approved. They were both ready to start a family and figured their bloodlines mixing would beget some powerful kids. Also, they weren’t closely related, which was a real consideration. Faceless Ones worshippers like to marry within the church, so inbreeding is an issue.

The best word to describe their relationship is amicable.

After Bliss and China were born, both of them began affairs. Each had a vague idea about the other’s relationships. Neither minded so long as they were discreet and kept up the happy family facade in public. Basically, it was an open marriage with a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy.

Tristitia preferred short, torrid trysts.

Several of her affairs were with China and Bliss’ tutors. Several more were with family friends met through the Church of the Faceless.

Dì had a second family in his homeland. He spent a lot of his time with them.

Neither China nor Bliss ever recognised their father’s other children as siblings. They’ve never met and with the family crest and house coming from the maternal side of the family, they’re not really a part of the same legacy.

Overall, China’s and Bliss’ relationship with their parents was formal and distant. Their physical needs were taken care of by mortal servants, their education was left to hired sorcerers, and their moral instruction came from their maternal grandmother.

Tristitia cared for her children’s well-being but, in her mind, the best way to protect them was to enforce perfection. After all, they won’t be punished if they never misbehave. So, she just winds up parroting her own mother’s teachings but with less harsh punishments when the children’s behaviour deviates.

Dì was less strict than the other adults in the house (although compared to non-cult standards he’s still pretty strict) but defaulted to whatever rules his wife and mother-in-law set.

His affection for his children was expressed through gifts picked up on his travels.

China often received bolts of silk, jewellery and hair ornaments, calligraphy supplies and, when she was older, rare books.

Bliss was given weapons, musical instruments and mechanical curiosities.

The aforementioned grandmother was named Ishara.

She was fifteen when she married China’s grandfather.

They were first cousins once removed.

Their marriage was arranged and devoid of any affection.

She was a vitakinetic—a healer. Although she used her powers to inflict pain as much as take it away.

She also had a keen interest in botany and toxicology.

After the deaths of her husband and brothers-in-law, she became a matriarch who ruled the household with an iron fist. Life on the estate revolved around her will. Disobedience was swiftly and harshly punished.

Both Bliss and China (and Tristitia, during her early childhood) had their given names used against them prior to taking a name.

This is taboo, even among the Church of the Faceless.

Bliss was five when he took his name.

China took longer to escape that abuse; she was seven before she took a name.

The children’s education was excellent for the era. Subjects included grammar, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, geography, music theory, astronomy, dance, Latin, Greek, French and Mandarin.

Although China revived a much better education than most girls of the time, there was still sexism at play. When Bliss studied athletics, she was encouraged to focus on drawing and calligraphy.

They were taught by mages (and mages only) with an expertise in one or two subjects. The mages would stay with the family for a few months, tutor both children intensely, leave suggestions for practice exercises and further reading so they could peruse the subject further and then move on.

Having a teleporter in the family meant tutors could be from all over the world.

The content of lessons was carefully monitored by Ishara. In particular, history and philosophy were taught in a very limited way that meshed with the family religion.

Unbeknown to the rest of the family, Bliss convinced a couple of his tutors to privately debate ideas and share books created by mortals. He was interested in the wider world from a young age and not all their tutors were anti-mortal.

All the family held a low opinion of mortals, although the extent of their bigotry varied.

Ishara believed, and encouraged her family to believe, that mortals were basically animals; useful if well-trained but incapable of the same level of reason and emotion as a ‘person’. Soft-hearted sorcerers might grow fond of individual mortals, but they shouldn’t be afraid to put a poorly tempered one down.

This view was mainstream but not universal among The Church of the Faceless.

Sorcerer’s who took this teaching to its extreme, view sexual relationships with mortals as akin to bestiality.

The mortals who served on the estate were kept out of sight (and out of mind) as much as possible. They navigated the house through hidden passageways, kept their eyes to the ground and were commanded to never speak unless spoken to.

The family never really hid their magic from their servants (or other mortals who lived near the estate). They didn’t flaunt it or discuss magic with them, but they didn’t hide their differences either. They were too insignificant to make an effort for.

Half the nearby mortal population was convinced the family was secretly sidhe. The other half swore they’d made a deal with the devil. All avoided interacting with them as little as possible.

It’s canon that China’s family’s beliefs veered away from traditional Faceless teachings. For millennia, they believed their family was more special and more deserving than other followers. This wasn’t shared with anyone outside the family.

These beliefs were enforced by sermons held twice daily in the family’s private chapel and led by Ishara.

However, at least once a week (sometimes more, for festivities) the family would travel to the church Mevolent led to listen to him preach.

If Dì was home, they’d teleport. If he wasn’t, they’d travel by horseback and/or horse and carriage.

Racing Bliss on horseback through stretches of countryside is China’s fondest childhood memory.

This is also the family’s chance to socialise with other sorcerers. After listening to a sermon, it was common to linger in the church afterwards to talk about it or catch up on news. This usually led to an invitation to dinner with a fellow church-goer (and sometimes breakfast the next day if they lived in the opposite direction).

While the adults wined and dined, the children were left to entertain themselves. So, yes, China got to play typical childhood games like hide-and-seek and blind man’s buff with other kids. She also got to play some atypical childhood games like what’s-the-worst-thing-we-can-drop-down-the-meurtrière because all her playmates were murderers in the making.

Young China and Bliss were very close. They were each other’s primary emotional support growing up.

They had an ‘us versus them’ mentality where it was the two of them pitted against everyone else in the household.

They’d act as lookouts and alibis for each other when needed. Also, if one of them was being denied food as punishment, they’d sneak some in if they could do it without getting caught.

That said, they never directly stood up to their parents and grandmother in defense of the other. Doing so would have only resulted in them both being punished (and their sibling calling them a fool).

Bliss was the more protective of the two, mainly because he was four years older and was in a better possession to protect (although their individual personalities also play a role).

They didn’t always get along perfectly, but their childhood fights were rarely serious or long lasting. Most of the time, it was just name calling.

Like most members of their family, China and Bliss were naturals. They didn’t get to choose their discipline or experiment with any others. One type of magic came naturally to them, and that was it.

They were taught to believe that being a natural is a sign of favour from the dark gods.

China is a venerian—a sorcerer who can manipulate a person’s sense of attraction. It isn’t just limited to romantic, sexual and aesthetic attraction either. She also affects their sense of platonic and social attraction. People who don’t know her are inclined to trust her and have a desire to protect her. The effect isn’t as strong if you’re used to it or are prepared for it.

NB: Signum Linguistics (symbol magic) isn’t a discipline. It’s a separate skill that isn’t limited to sorcerers alone, although many sigils require magical energy to activate.

Although she would have never had admitted it aloud to anyone, during some of China’s darkest moments she questioned whether the only reason Bliss protected her during their childhood was because she manipulated him into it—tutelary is a type of attraction too.

Obviously, Bliss’ magic is enhancement. He’s physically stronger but also more agile, resilient, durable, and dexterous. His senses are more keen too, although this isn’t as noticeable as his strength.

China’s magic blossomed slowly. It wasn’t obvious she had any magic until she hit double-digits. Although once she and her family had figured out what her discipline was, they suspected she’d been using it unconsciously for some time.

Bliss’ magic was apparent from a young age. Think three-year-old stomping their foot and cracking a paving stone.

China had very little control over her magic when she was younger. It’s the reigning in that’s a problem. It’s hard for her not to attract others, and it only grew stronger with age.

Bliss had the same issue with his magic. It was hard for him to reign in his strength. He broke a lot of furnishings during a gawky adolescence by misjudging his strength.

China’s magic and her lack of control over it led to many awkward to downright dangerous situations in her youth.

It started with a lot of staring from her fellow church-goers in public.

Then, when she was fourteen, an older mage belonging to the same church as China begged her to run away with him. After she refused, he grabbed her arm, intending to make her come away with him. An eighteen-year-old Bliss broke his arm two seconds later, but the incident stuck with her.

After that, China was permitted to study fencing and other fighting techniques—something she’d always wanted to do but had been prevented from doing.

The other consequence was constant chaperoning. Admittedly, her social circle had always been carefully controlled, but this was different. Where before she could have socialised with the children of family friends freely, now, she had to sit with one of her guardians every time she left the estate.

Despite this, more incidents followed. Nothing as dramatic, but always uncomfortable. China quickly grows bitter about the discipline she wound up with. Unfortunately, complaining about magic gifted by the gods would have been regarded as blasphemy, so she had to keep quiet about her feelings.

As China’s power and admirers grew, Mevolent began taking note of her. He saw potential in her and the opportunity to mold her into something useful.

During a dinner they’re both guests at, he strikes up a conversation with her. It starts off with a lighthearted discussion about her education and an innocently presented comment about how he wishes he had more time to devote to his pet interest, signum linguistics. The conversions ends with Mevolent promising to loan China several books on the subject.

Right from the beginning, China excelled at signum linguistics. The subject came naturally to her. She had the right temperament, and her educational background in languages, geometry, and calligraphy helped immensely.

After she had the basics of sigil magic down, China started modifying the house. The tallow candles were the first to go—replaced by illuminating sigils. She creates other conveniences and then defenses. It wasn’t long before she moved onto tattoos though. That’s where her real interest lay.

Tattooing sigils onto herself became her way of reclaiming her body. When she was young, her discipline made her feel vulnerable. Sigil magic turned her body from a weakness to a weapon.

Mevolent was too busy to devote himself to tutoring China formally, but he checked in on her progress after his sermons and would offer advice over dinners.

Her family approve of China’s study; it’s a suitable interest for a noble sorceress. They approve of Mevolent’s attention even more so. They’re already high status in their community, but the attention of the charismatic leader only helps their standing.

Ishara attempts to arrange a marriage between Mevolent and China, but he politely refuses. He has his eye on Serafina. She’s a better match politically and personally.

China’s mostly relieved. She’s fifteen at this point and not ready for marriage. However, there’s a minor part of her that’s disappointed. Even in her teens the idea of power entices her and a marriage to Mevolent would have come with considerable power.

Around the same time China began studying signum linguistics, Bliss took up traveling. It started with days away with sorcerers he knows through the church who are of the same age. The trips grew longer the older he got. After the first year, he started going off on his own.

Dì encouraged him. Tristitia and Ishara were neutral—they considered it a normal part of a young male sorcerer’s development to go adventuring before they settle down.

China resented him for it, though. His increased freedom came at the same time her own was being restricted. He’s allowed to disappear for months at a time and she can’t even spend time with her childhood friends without a guardian present. And frankly, she was lonely without him in the house.

They fought more often at this point when Bliss was home because China didn’t know how to deal with her jealousy or express her emotions healthily.

Although none of the family was aware of it, Bliss’ time away was drawing him further away from their beliefs. He’d always been inclined to question what he was taught, but being exposed to other ways of thinking and living cemented what he’d suspected for a while—he’d grown up in an abusive cult.

#skulduggery pleasant #china sorrows #headcanons #sp ramble #long post

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yamayuandadu · 2 years

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Hi! I hope this is okay to ask. I am trying to research the Pleiades and Hyades in Mesopotamian-influenced myths and cultures, but keep running into sources that seem… less than reliable. I honestly trust your knowledge more than most academic papers. Would you be okay with talking a little about them, and/or recommending sources to which I could turn? I’m sorry that’s so broad. I appreciate your time and wisdom!

Let's start with the more straightforward half of the question. Hyades played no notable role in Mesopotamian astronomy and astrology, let alone mythology. A constellation named "the jaw of the bull" consisted of roughly the same set of stars plus α Tauri, and a commentary links it with Girra, but take into account esoteric works like that often made random connections which had 0 to do with religious practice and there is, to my knowledge, precisely 0 evidence for worship of the Hyades as symbol of a deity, let alone Girra. This article summarizes the paragraph, the pdf is searchable. As for the Pleiades: it seems they were simply known as "the stars" (MUL.MUL, 𒀯𒀯; mul - 𒀯 - means "star" and also functioned as a determinative for astral body names) or alternatively as Zappu (a term referring to bristle or a bull’s mane, apparently), and it is safe to assume that from the Mesopotamian pov there were only seven of them (source). It has been argued that a symbol of seven dots in a line known from cylinder seals might correspond to them, which would imply some degree of relevance from early periods already, but note the symbol might mean different things in different times and areas, and as noted by Ulla Koch-Westenholz in her monograph (p. 39), most of the clear evidence comes only from Assyria. Pleiades were first and foremost associated with ill omens, especially with these signifying the coming of war and disease (pp. 133-134). The Sebitti (quite literally s/t like "the divine seven", "Heptad") functioned as a divine representation of them (p. 118); there is quite a lot of these deities and in addition to a very detailed Reallexikon entry entire studies have been dedicated to them alone (ex. this one; a quick ctrl+f reveals 400+ mentions of Pleiades, have fun) so it is difficult to summarize everything here. Long story short, their astral connection is firm and well attested, they were warlike, they appear alongside Nergal/Erra as members of his entourage (ex. in Epic of Erra), their father was seemingly the primordial god Enmesharra, whose grand cosmic role is that of Enlil's paternal uncle (sic) and their sister was Narunde/Narundi/Narudde/I give up, a goddess borrowed from Elam who for some reason survived in Mesopotamia longer than at home; I do not think she corresponded to any astral body. If you are looking for a basic overview of Mesopotamian astral ventures, Koch-Westenholz's aforementioned monograph, while focused on divination, is overall still a good start (I have not seen anyone else suggest Ishara’s star symbol, the “scorpion star”, corresponds to Venus, though). This author herself also recommended this article and a few others in an afterword added later. It is vital to take into account that for the most part this was not all that major as a component of religion before the first millennium BCE and outside of a the firmly astral deities (Inanna, Nanna, Utu, Ninsianna, the Sebitti, possibly Shulpae etc) there's no real reason to think the star associations necessarily had much to do with the average person, or even priests, conceptualized a deity.

You will get little unique material of the sort you are looking from the rest "cuneiform world." While Mesopotamian astral treatises had a very wide circulation and reached far to the west, I am not aware of any unique references to Pleiades from Ugarit (in fact, the sun and the moon seem to be the only astral bodies of some bigger importance there), Emar (save for a god list presenting Sebitti as equivalents of Hurrian Pairra), Qatna or Alalakh in the west or Nuzi and Susa in the east. Koch-Westenholz makes the argument that a divine representation of the Pleiades was present in the Hititte state pantheon (p. 46), but the most recent take on the matter I could find speaks of "alleged" rather than proved presence of these stars in Hittite religion. The matter is discussed in more detail here, here and in the Pairra article (with skepticism aimed at the Pleiades link or even the number of the deities involved).

#mesopotamian miscellanea #mesopotamian mythology

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hopefulkidshark · 9 months

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This flame is burning to give light, If a fire starts with this flame then what can the flame do....

Yeh Shama Toh Jali

Aya Sawan Jhoom Ke

Singer: Mohammed Rafi

Yeh shama toh jali roshni ke liye, Is shama se kahin aag lag jaaye toh yeh shama kya kare, Yeh hawa toh chali saans le har koi, Ghar kisi ka ujad jaaye aandhi mein toh yeh hawa kya kare.

This flame is burning to give light, If a fire starts with this flame then what can the flame do, Everyone is breathing in this flowing breeze, If someone's house gets destroyed in a storm then what can the breeze do. This flame is burning..

Chalke purab se thandi hawa aa gayi, Uthke parbat se kaali ghatta chha gayi, Yeh ghatta toh uthi pyaas sabki bujhe, Aashiyan pe kisi ke giri bijliyan toh yeh ghatta kya kare, Yeh shama toh jali....

The cold air has arrived from the east, The dark clouds have spread rising from the mountains, Everyone's thirst will be quenched by the clouds, If lightning falls on someone's house then what can the clouds do, This flame is burning...

Poochta hoon main sabse koi de jawaab, Nakhuda ki bala kya khatta hai janaab, Nakhuda leke sahil ke janib chala, Doob jaaye safina joh majhdhaar mein toh nakhuda kya kare, Yeh shama toh jali ...

I'm asking everyone, can someone give me the answer, What's the mistake of this naive one, This naive one is moving towards the shore, If the ship sinks in the middle then what can this naive one do, This flame is burning...

Woh joh uljhan si tere khayalon mein hai, Woh ishara bhi mere sawalon mein hai, Yeh nigah toh mili dekhne ke liye, Par kahin yeh nazar dhokha kha jaaye toh toh yeh nigah kya kare, Yeh shama toh jali....

The confusion that's there in your mind, I have that same sign in my questions, We've attained our eyes to see things, But if our sight is deceived then what can our eyes do, This flame is burning....

youtube

#Youtube

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 11 months

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False Sun - a Malevolent fic

It's time for Faroe's yearly birthday hike, when she and Dis spend the night away from Carcosa to avoid the Rite.

But Faroe isn't the same this year. Horrible things happened, and she doesn't know what to do. Dis, however, might… and Faroe is willing to risk her plans getting out in order to get her trainer's help.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

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This wouldn’t be the normal overnight trip.

Dis still didn’t know what the actual hell had happened out there. Rumors had begun to filter in, spooky ones, nonsense ones, and Faroe was overtraining with a scar on her neck, and the King was going to die in six years.

It was a lot. Dis didn’t like dealing with a lot.

Or, no, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t like dealing with a lot when a lot of it was unknown.

She didn’t know enough to plan things out, or properly defend herself. She didn’t know why Faroe’s throat was slit, why rumors were flying that Hastur had offed one of his kids, why Ishara suddenly belonged to Carcosa, or why some kind of folk hero thing was following new-guy Parker through the lower servant halls.

What in hells was going on? Would finding out draw the attention of the Outer God? (Because she had absolutely no doubt that was real. Hastur wouldn’t have humbled himself otherwise.)

Dis was a great believer in paring things down. When life was overwhelming, it was time to rip off all the frippery and unnecessary parts until the bones came clear.

Today’s bones had a shape: a nine-year-old girl with some problems. That much, Dis decided, was not a lot. That, she’d handle—whatever shape these bones turned out to be.

“Carcosa’s in a good spot this year,” Dis said, adding mountain climbing gear to their bag of holding. “I finally get to teach you how to properly scale a cliff.”

“With and without gear?” Faroe was focusing on packing her own bag, and she was going light: socks, underwear, a few shirts. Some knives. That borrowed bow and quiver.

“Both. You’ve been working on hand-strength; we’ve been working on you pulling your own weight up and down. It’s time to apply it practically.” Casually, she added, “Do you want to have a little birthday celebration out there for just us warrior women?”

“No, thank you.” This wasn’t the first time Faroe had said ‘no’ to celebrating her birthday out in the woods. When she’d turned seven, she’d said in a very sedate and adult manner that she was a proper princess and didn’t need to do frivolous things like celebrate birthdays (in spite of the veritable circus her father threw every year).

Dis still asked. It felt right. Faroe’s answer, though, was not right. Faroe kept her eyes on her pack, scowling as she pressed down a pair of socks.

Well. When the kid wanted to talk, she’d talk. Dis didn’t believe forcing her would turn out well.

They took their mounts and headed off into the wilderness.

Carcosa really had landed in a beautiful place. The cliffs were insane, almost straight down, stunning in beauty. Lake Hali seemed to merge with some strange fresh-water sea down that cliff, though still in the mountains—a rarified dream fed with underground springs.

The air was sharp and invigorating. They rode for a few hours, Vemmaera trotting along, Nibbles absolutely silent as shadow. Dis pointed at the water. “We got a false sun tonight. Fucking fantastic.”

“A what?” said Faroe, as if coming out of a trance.

A blaze of red light sat above the water like a giant, red firebrand. It wasn’t the sun; the light didn’t spread like the sun, and the Dreamlands were fully ensconced in night. Stars spattered the sky; two full moons hid them at the other end of the horizon. The false sun burned, turning the far ocean red, coloring the sky in a semicircle of illogical brightness before night took hold again.

Dis pointed again. “Sun’s set. That is something else. They don’t happen often. It’s a Dreamer thing. I haven’t seen one in two hundred years.”

Faroe stared. Nibbles stared. “Two hundred years?” said Faroe.

“Yep,” said Dis. “I always like a false sun. They’re just neat.”

“How old are you?” said Faroe.

Nibbles snorted.

“It’s not rude,” said Faroe. “Not on my birthday hike.”

Dis laughed. “Yeah, no holds barred. Not on the birthday hike. So, yeah. I’m about three hundred and fifty-ish.”

Faroe considered this.

Dis let her. She picked a spot for camp—wide-open field, easy to see in all directions—and started preparing their sleeping area.

“You’ve had time to make mistakes,” said Faroe out of nowhere, standing to the side, uncharacteristically not helping with setup.

“Fuck yeah, I have,” said Dis without hesitation.

Faroe stared at her, wide-eyed, vulnerable. Nibbles nuzzled her, making a soft and somehow awful sound—so naked, so sad.

Dis wasn’t stupid. That wound on Faroe’s neck would never have happened if Nibbles had her way. Whatever had happened had been worse than what one of the Dark Young could handle.

Faroe sniffled once. “Like what?”

Dis threw her head back, falling onto the bedroll, arms under her head, smiling toward the darkening sky. “Fuck. So many. Uh… military. Personal. Group mistakes, should’ve-been mistakes, and the sucky sisters, know-better mistakes and didn’t-know-enough mistakes.”

“Why know-better and didn’t-know-enough mistakes?” said Faroe.

Oh, they were getting into the weeds now. “Those are unfortunately really similar because in both cases, you think you know how it’s going to work. Also, in both cases, you have a nagging feeling you’re really fucking it up.”

Faroe swallowed. “But what if you have that feeling all the time?”

“That’s a rough one.” Dis watched the stars. Constellations changed in this place; Dreamers made it so, though nobody knew exactly how. “Experience is honestly the only way I know around that one.”

Faroe twisted her hands, looking away, seeing nothing. “What if…” Nibbles nuzzled her, and she leaned in. “What if you knew better, but you made the mistakes, and everybody got hurt?”

“Then you make up for it.” Dis didn’t hesitate because she believed this with all her soul. “There’s no such thing as a mistake that you can’t work to make better.”

Faroe clearly did not believe that. She also clearly thought that keeping her face turned away from the false sun would hide her tears.

Maybe a human’s eyes would be fooled, but Dis was not human.

“But what if the mistake meant someone is dead?” Faroe whispered.

“Then you live for the living.” Dis wasn’t being harsh; she’d knew. “Someone always lives after. It’s not on the survivors to make up for the dead because you can’t. But you can live for the living.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Nibbles made a similarly puzzled noise.

“I’ve gotten people killed,” said Dis, still watching the false sun’s light play wild with shadows on distant waves. “It’s one of the reasons I don’t like being in charge of groups, platoons, armies, whatever. I can do it. I’m actually really good at commanding; but I fucking hate getting people killed, and it’s inevitable when you’re in charge. Just the thought of it makes me feel like shit.”

“You’re not shit,” said Faroe quietly, and finally sat down.

Dis’ smile was brief. “I got people killed. Went through anger, revenge. All of that. Finally figured out there wasn’t much point. You live for the living. That makes you feel better in time.”

“You’ve really done everything, haven’t you?” said Faroe with a sweet sort of naivety as she lit their small fire.

“Not yet.” Dis grinned. “Happily, I don’t think I ever will.”

Moments passed while distant Carcosa glowed golden (normal on this night), and the sky grew blacker between stars, and the false sun sat there, stuck to the horizon as if glued.

“I got my brother killed,” said Faroe, which both confirmed and confused a lot of Dis’ guesses.

“Fuck,” said Dis. “That’s a heavy one, kiddo.”

“Yeah.” Faroe hugged her knees to her chest; she wiped her eyes.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” said Dis.

“No.”

“Then we don’t have to. You wanna know how to get past.”

“I… I need to.”

“All right. Lemme think on this a bit. Willing to answer questions?”

“Yes,” Faroe whispered, and Nibbles flopped beside her, pressing in. Faroe draped over her, arms around her neck.

“Good enough.” Dis fell silent. Some things took time to soak before they were worth anything.

The false sun remained. How—if it was actually on the sea, or perfectly matching the planet’s rotation, or who knew what—was unclear. It didn’t matter. It was like a lit window, a glimpse of some far-off home in the wilderness; not bright enough to interfere with the feel of these lovely evenings out, but striking, and beautiful. Whoever dreamed it must have quite the imagination.

They had eaten, climbed down the cliff, swam a little, climbed back up, sparred. They had torn down and rebuilt their fire for practice, worked on spells to hide themselves and one another, and played heartily with their beasts of burden. Nibbles’ frisbee game was on point tonight. Now, under the light of two full moons, their faces slightly warmed in color by the false sun, they lay by the fire and stared at the stars and thought their secret thoughts.

Dis felt that maybe, she was ready to peek under this bandage and see how bad the damage was. “Think you’re up for some questions, kiddo?”

Faroe didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, she sounded quietly sure. “Yes.”

“Did you mean to kill him?”

Faroe made a tiny, hurt sound. “No.”

“Okay. That’s important because it changes things. Did your dad do it?”

“Yes.” Faroe swallowed.

“Was he threatening you?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “It was my fault.”

“Okay. But I’m not talking fault. I’m talking facts.”

“Yes, he was threatening me,” whispered Faroe.

“So who survived?”

She shifted. “Me. Dad. Arthur and John. Nibbles.”

“Then living for them and for yourself is what matters.”

Faroe frowned. “For them?”

“For your people. For you. For those who survive. You can’t make anything better for the one who died—but you can make it better for everyone else while you still have them.” Fuck; that phrasing wasn’t great. Dis bit her tongue.

Fortunately, Faroe missed it. “I… might know something,” she whispered.

“Something?”

“To make things better. But I’d need help.”

Dis and Nibbles shared a questioning look, then both turned to the princess. “I’m listening,” said Dis. “Not promising yet until I hear what it is.”

Faroe’s smile was new. It was knowing; it was, Dis felt with a little shiver, a shadow of the smile she might have as an adult. “My brother had spies somewhere in the palace. I don’t know if they were spells or people, but he knew things he shouldn’t have. He knew the exact layout of even my father’s war-room, including his most recent maps. And he knew things about Arthur that… just… he shouldn’t have known.”

Dis stared. “Fuck. That’s serious.”

“Very serious. But dad is… right now, he’s working so hard to prepare things for when I come of age,” she said. “I don’t want to interrupt that. You know how he is when he has a plan.”

Dis snorted. “Everybody knows how he is when he has a plan.”

Nibbles snorted, too, a distinctly amused huff.

“So what I want to do for him is find and punish those spies myself,” said Faroe.

Dis whistled, low. “This is above your paygrade, kiddo. I’ve taught you to know your limits. You’ve got to know that.”

“I do,” she said slowly. “But I hate the… things they knew. Not just about my dad, and the palace, but about Arthur. I don’t like that someone we can’t see, an enemy, has that much access to my… to him. I want to make this right.” And she looked Dis right in the eye, her own blue-gray ones somehow piercing through the dancing flames. “Help me, Dis. Please help me make this right for the living.”

Nibbles bleated, then added her own pleading look, all eight billion of her eyes wide and innocent.

Holy fuck. “Hm,” said Dis. Holy fuck.

“Please,” whispered Faroe.

“I haven’t said yes or no yet,” said Dis, sitting up, fighting to keep her tone even. “This is something you want to keep from your father.”

“Yes.”

Holy motherloving fuck. “And how do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out?”

Faroe stiffened, hugging her knees more tightly. “I hope he’ll be proud of me. Maybe even grateful. Though… I know he’ll probably be upset at first.”

At first!

Here he was, going absolutely bat-shit insane to ensure she’d be safe when he fucking died at the end of six years, and now here she was, trying to make up for gods fucking around (which had nothing to do with Faroe and was not her fault) and refusing to tell him she was putting her life on the line!

Dis exhaled slowly. “LIke father, like daughter,” she murmured.

“What?” said Faroe.

“Can you give me a minute, kiddo? This is a bigger ask than you realize. I’m not saying no. I need to chew on it.”

“Okay,” said Faroe, eyes huge, and stared after her as Dis stalked to the edge of the cliff and paced.

She could walk. There’d been nothing in her contract with Hastur that said she wasn’t allowed to quit. Hell, he wanted her to return her money/weapons/toys, she could, with gusto.

She could just say no. Do the letter of the law, stick to training, take on no further responsibilities until this all just played itself out in tears and ashes (because it sure as fuck would not go well).

Or she could help this poor kid, like Dis herself had never been helped.

Fuck.

She wasn’t a hero. That wasn’t what she did, was in fact a path she’d chosen to fucking avoid, even knowing her heritage and what it all meant. She didn’t have to help this kid. She could walk away and survive and not help this kid.

But the thought of letting Faroe plunge into something so much bigger than she was, watching her get killed… it just…

It didn’t sit right.

Dis had seen plenty of kids hurt. She’d hurt some kids, too (fortunately rarely, and one of many reasons she would never again work as a soldier for anyone). This wasn’t her problem. A hundred years, she’d hardly remember Faroe’s name.

And of course, because her brain was her enemy, it conjured a bunch of memories.

Faroe, tiny, her yellow sparkly dress absurd, crying because she hadn’t instantly mastered the bow and arrow. Faroe, still tiny, squealing with joy as she learned to ride Vemmaera. Faroe, slightly bigger, mimicking Dis’ expressions and eye-squint when she took aim, following footsteps with an adorable determination. Faroe, proud, climbing rope and throwing knives as if she’d been born to do it all her life. Faroe, shy, smiling and offering tiny cakes she’d learned to conjure as survival rations.

Faroe, showing Dis the new songs she’d written for Arthur (and had not yet garnered courage to show him). Faroe, prattling on about how great her dad was, which was demonstrably absurd, but she was a kid, and she was well-loved, and loved well in return.

Faroe, disappearing, and leaving Dis (and everyone) feeling physically sick.

Faroe, returning, with a scar on her neck that could not heal because a god had done it, and a burden no one had asked her to carry… but one she would, regardless, even if Dis did do the shitty thing and tattled on her to her dad.

Faroe needed this. Faroe was going to do this. Whether or not Dis helped her, she’d find a way to hurl herself into the path of stampeding elephants.

And it didn’t feel… good.

Dis sighed. She’d made a reputation for being a damned good tutor, which is why Hastur hired her in the first place, but she’d always kept her heart’s distance before. Something about this kid broke through.

When had that happened? When had she gotten attached? She never got attached! Attached meant stupid!

Like here and now, considering taking on Hastur’s fucking enemies for the sake of one little girl.

“I am out of my mind,” she groaned, staring out at the sea, at the false sun that mocked her—at the impossible star, landed gently on the water, that made as much sense as Dis right now.

She thought about walking away, and knew she’d hate herself if she did. Finally, she sighed. “You were right,” she muttered at past voices she’d defied in her arrogance, and made her way back to the fire.

Faroe’s eyes were still huge. Nibbles was as still as the trees she so resembled.

“I will do it on one condition,” said Dis, and already knew she had her by the way Faroe sat up and her face lit up and her clever fingers clenched her knees. “I am in charge. No secret missions. No heading off on your own. No disobeying. If we do this, kiddo, we are entering territory more dangerous than almost any I’ve ever bothered to throw myself into. You will not fuck it up by going your own way. If we do this, you follow my lead.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” said Faroe, quickly, and even in the twilight, her eyes were shiny. “Step where you step. Speak when you speak.” Then a puff of princess came through: “I can follow orders, you know,” she said, chin raised.

Dis snorted. “I know, or we wouldn’t be talking. All right. You’re going to have to fill me in, honey. I know it’ll be hard, but you can’t just go, ‘There are bad guys,’ and expect me to find them. Who, what, when, where, why. Everything you know.”

Faroe nodded, wiping her eyes one more time. “When I went to Ishara, looking for answers, they told me to go to the Oracle,” she said, and at the name, Nibbles growled, and did not stop until the horrible recitation was through.

#malevolent au #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #surrogate series #faroe lester

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cr-noble-writes · 1 year

Note

So what was Alex’s relationship with the Asari as a biotic? Did he have biotic potential on earth? Did the Reds fit him with an amp?

He was, like any other human biotic, exposed to element zero in the womb. However, he did not manifest until after a secondary exposure that occurred while he was on Asteria. It wasn't very heavily reported on because it wasn't a human vessel that was involved, and it happened at the space port in Blackdamp which is an Asari colony, so beyond the initial deaths/injuries caused by the explosion, there wasn't much concern about eezo exposure.

If you'd like to know about how his biotics manifested when he was seventeen, and how he ended up with an implant (which is not the same thing as an amp), check out this fic from the Odyssey!verse! It covers a lot of his background while he was living with Ishara in Blackdamp.

Thank you so much for asking so many questions about Alex! It's really exciting to see someone so invested in his story!

#crnobleanswers #oc asks #Alex Shepard #Mass Effect

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justaminion · 2 years

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@temple-mistress very kindly tagged me in this WIPs meme, which I’m reposting below and tagging @barmadumet and any Obikins who follow me to please give it a shot!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

Sadly, my own WIPs are a very sorry state of affairs and I only really have one Obikin WIP with whole written and unposted chapters. I hope to revisit it one day, when I have a lot more spare time and feel better about my writing (and about Obikin which is quite frankly just giving me the sads these days), but I thought I’d just directly post a summary and excerpt here in case it never sees the light of day.

Ishara: summary

An AU where Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order at 13 and followed a different path, eventually becoming an undercover agent for the Outer Rim Security Alliance. This brings him to Ishara: a planet which, until recently, was cut off from the rest of the galaxy, and where an atmospheric disturbance means most modern technology does not function. Members of the Isharan Royal family have become involved with slave traders in a crime syndicate, and Obi-Wan has been working to ingratiate himself with them, and, secretly, to take the entire ring down.

Meanwhile, Anakin, who is now 21, was brought to the Jedi by Qui-Gon, and has been training as a Padawan, but is desperately unhappy.

When he reacts badly to the news of his mother’s death, Anakin is sent away to Ishara by the Jedi Council, on a sort of cultural exchange programme. There he meets Padmé, who is also part of the programme. Young, reckless, and desperate to prove himself, Anakin crosses paths with a man he thinks is his enemy, but turns out to be the mentor (and eventually, the lover) he’s been missing all this time. Obi-Wan is outraged and frustrated by this beautiful, idealistic man who puts his entire mission at risk. But once they start working together, he begins to regain the confidence he’d lost at 13, and finds the home he’d been searching for ever since.

Excerpt

This is the scene where Anakin and Obi-Wan (in disguise as Ben) meet for the first time.

Padmé has been on-planet for a couple of months, and has already picked up a decent amount of Isharan, together with basic etiquette, and who should - and should not - be relied upon, spoken to, and avoided. Anakin's first introduction to the Isharan Royal Family takes place at dinner on his first evening.

“It's harvest time, and the start of the hunting season,” Padmé tells him as they enter the hall and walk past tables laden with fruit, meat and decorated with the severed heads of numerous long-horned beasts that remind Anakin of Tatooine Jerba. The hall is filling rapidly with people and smells of sour sweat, beer and musky, drying blood.

“Queen Faeron will wish to greet you,” Padmé says as they take their places near the high table. “But don't address her directly. In fact the less you say the better.”

Then there is shouting above the clamour of the room, and everyone gets to their feet. The Royal party sweeps in, flanked by a dozen guards dressed in the same uniform as the soldiers who had escorted Anakin to the castle. The queen is tall, long, midnight-black hair streaked with grey, her only jewellery a striking pale blue stone worn on a pendant chain around her neck.

A tall, imposing figure of a man follows the queen. “He’s the Crown Prince,” Padmé says. “Vorad Issorad. Jovial when sober, violent when drunk. Which is often.”

Padmé indicates a man toward the back of the party, walking with a limp and the aid of a stick. “And that's his older brother, Raic. He would be heir to the throne if he'd not been injured in a hunting accident when he was an adolescent. The damage is permanent, and the Isharans would not tolerate that in a king.”

The banquet lasts for over two hours, and Anakin has to wait until the dishes have been cleared away before he's summoned to the royal table. Before he has a chance to ask, Padmé gets to her feet too. “Let me help.”

Anakin bows deeply before the queen, waiting to be spoken to, as Padmé had advised.

Vorad Issorad, seated to the queen's left, whispers something to her and then she turns her gaze on Anakin, smiling graciously, and she makes a short speech in the lilting Isharan dialect Anakin is only just beginning to recognise.

“She welcomes you and wishes you health, strength and good fortune,” Padmé says.

Anakin inclines his head, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

The queen says something else, and by the expectancy in her expression Anakin guesses it must be a question. He looks at Padmé.

“Um, she wants to know what your training will lead to. What job will you do?”

“Tell her I'll be a warrior. And a keeper of peace.”

Padmé relates it back and the queen replies and then laughs, all her companions laughing with her.

“She says you have it wrong. Warriors make war. Only the feeble keep peace.”

Vorad says something, and Padmé replies, causing the prince to laugh, flashing Anakin a mocking smile.

“Why do I get the impression that was directed at me?” Anakin murmurs.

“He asked for a demonstration of your swordsmanship. I told them Jedi use laser-swords so your arms are weak and I expect you could hardly lift their steel, even if you were brave enough to accept which would be unlikely since you are barely a child, not a proven warrior.”

Anakin stiffens. “I'm perfectly capable-”

“-of being slaughtered by an Isharan broadsword-wielding thug.” Padmé interrupts. “Save the bravado, it won't do you any favours here.”

Anakin becomes aware of the silence in the room, all eyes on him. “Tell them I accept.”

“I really don't think-”

“Then I'll tell them myself. It can't be hard to make them understand.” He begins to take a step forward.

Padmé puts a hand on his arm. “Okay, shut up.” She speaks again, directing her words at Vorad, who just shrugs. From the other side of the table, Raic Issorad says something, to which Vorad and the queen seem to reluctantly agree.

“So?”

“I said that it would bring great shame on the Jedi Order if you were slaughtered by an Isharan warrior on your first night here. Raic suggested you fight another offworlder, and they agreed.” She pats Anakin's arm. “Happy now? Just don't come to me crying when your wounds have gangrene.”

Servants push tables and benches to the side of the hall in order to make space for a decent fight. Anakin waits, hand lingering instinctively by his lightsaber hilt, even though here, it’s nothing but a useless lump of metal.

He studies his prospective opponent.

The man, who had been seated next to Raic at the table, seems unremarkable. Medium height. Medium build. A certain lightness to his gait that betrays a good sense of balance. Otherwise, ordinary.

Twelve, maybe fifteen paces separate them. The man ignores him completely. Gaze fixed on the floor, his eyes are hidden from view. Dirty red-brown hair hangs down over his forehead. He scuffs the flagstones with the tip of his sword, fingers strangely pale and elegant against the hilt. Artist's fingers, Anakin thinks. Unsuited to such a vulgar weapon.

Thinking there is likely no harm in it, Anakin reaches out to him, carefully, with the Force, expecting to find another concoction of the shadows lurking around the room. Greed, lust, hunger, resentment.

Instead he finds... well... nothing.

Not the blank, smooth, empty, nothing of a Jedi accustomed to shielding, but a soupy grey fog of nothing, betraying not the slightest flicker of emotion behind. Anakin has witnessed natural shielding in non-Force-sensitives before, but never a case quite as effective as this.

In his surprise he lets his control slip for a moment and it's almost as if the other man notices, because he stills his movements and looks up, stopping Anakin's scrutiny with a piercing look and an arched eyebrow.

But that is as far as their conversation gets, because a second later the man's sword is flying through the air, straight towards his head.

#obikin #obikin fic #wip

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bubu-pharmacy-doctor · 10 months

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I have come to a decision surrounding the mod issues that I am comfortable with.

Provided there are nothing surrounding the current family issues, this is my plan:

Character-to-character interactions

Only with mods I currently interact with or new mods who are willing to message and discuss interactions either on tumblr or discord. If you are unsure, please send me a message.

11th December: @ask-tighnari @bubu-pharmacy-doctor @tis-i-lyney @duke-wrio

15th December: @wangsheng-consultancy @cavalry-cap-kaeya @dan-heng-lunae

As the Pantalone blog closed due to some of these issues, character interactions with Baizhu will be largely things such as Ishara Narami, since there are not many canon characters who frequently interact.

Asks

Inboxes will open with anon:

11th December: @bubu-pharmacy-doctor @dan-heng-lunae @scribe-not-sage

15th December: @ask-tighnari @tis-i-lyney @duke-wrio

22nd December: @wangsheng-consultancy @cavalry-cap-kaeya

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thegreaterlink · 2 years

Text

Reviewing Star Trek TNG - S4E6 “Legacy”

THAT'S RIGHT! I'M NOT DEAD!

I promise I wasn't taking another mid-season hiatus. This has just been delayed through a combination of work, writing and general procrastination. Sorry about that.

Anyway, on with the review.

THE PREMISE

The Enterprise tracks the crew of a Federation freighter to a colony on Turkana IV, the birthplace of the ship's late chief of security, Tasha Yar. An away team beams down to find themselves in the midst of a war between the colony's two factions, the Alliance and the Coalition. They discover that the Alliance is holding the freighter's crew hostage, and the Coalition's leader, Hayne (Don Mirault) offers Ishara Yar (Beth Touissant), Tasha's sister, as a liaison.

MY REVIEW

Yeah! Tasha Yar! Remember her? The show… kinda does!

Ishara can’t be played by Denise Crosby, though. Only Soongs get to have that level of family resemblance. At least she carries her sister's penchant for the most 80s haircuts the 24th century has to offer.

Regardless, Data manages to form a connection with her which thankfully does not involve intoxicated sex. In fact, he probably talks more with her in this episode than he ever did with Tasha, despite his claims to the contrary.

“Tasha and I spent much time together. We had a number of conversations.”

You’ll just have to take his word for it. After all, writing scenes like that would’ve required things like "effort" and "proofreading" and "second drafts."

Ishara gives them the gist of how the colony went to hell, explaining that Tasha left shortly after the factions abolished the government and asked Ishara to join her, but by that point she had already joined the Coalition.

They then get a message from one of the hostages telling them that they have twenty hours before the Alliance starts killing them off. The crew acknowledge that they're probably being deceived by the Coalition, but that this is an opportunity they can't pass up... even though the Federation seems to have known about this conflict for a while now and has made zero attempt to intervene. Hmm.

Anyway, our heroes construct a plan to infiltrate the colony and install an amplifier into the freight's escape pod so they can use the pod's vital sign monitor to locate the hostages. Ishara will beam in first and trigger the alarm to create a diversion.

Before the mission starts, Dr Crusher acquires Ishara's DNA in sickbay to verify her identity while she asks Data about her sister's death.

Ishara: How did she die?

Data: Lieutenant Yar was killed on Vagra II by a malevolent entity.

Ishara: In battle?

Data: No. She was killed as a demonstration of the creature's power, without provocation.

Ishara: ...That's not how I intend to die.

Wow. They actually almost acknowledged how bullshit her death was. I’m impressed.

The plan goes a bit tits up, with the away team being delayed by Geordi needing to fix the scanner while O'Brien fails to beam up Ishara before she gets taken down by a phaser blast.

I guess random instantaneous deaths run in the family.

Okay, that's not true. Ishara is injured but survives the attack. After all, do you see a red blotch on her face? I didn't think so.

I can appreciate Riker's sentiment of going out of his way to save Ishara after Tasha died on an away mission under his command. Picard even gives him a little "good job, but don't do it again" nod, then goes to sickbay to check on Ishara.

Ishara: I don't run away when things get tough, like some people. Like my sister did.

Picard: Let me tell you about your sister. The first time I saw Tasha Yar, she was making her way through a Carnellian mine field to reach a wounded colonist. Her ship had responded to their distress call, as had mine. When it was all over, I requested that she be assigned to the Enterprise. Her ship's captain owed me a favour. In the months that followed, she never once failed to put the safety of the crew before her own, and she died doing the same. I'm sorry you never knew the woman Tasha became. I think you would've been proud of her, and she of you.

Look, I've not been the least bit subtle about my disdain for this series' treatment of Tasha Yar, from mostly treating her like a glorified extra before killing her off with next to no fanfare, but I can appreciate the creators attempting to rectify their mistake and trying to pay tribute to her like this. This episode even rectifies The Measure of a Man's little fuckup by emphasising that Data and Tasha's relationship was based on more than that one time they had the space equivalent of a drunken hook-up.

Thoroughly convinced, Ishara gets back to helping the crew with their plan to rescue the colonists and some more bonding with Data, to the point where they consider each other friends. She even comes to terms with Tasha's decision, realising that she wasn't weak for wanting a better life in a more constructive environment.

I'm pretty sure Ten Forward has done more therapy for these characters than Counsellor Troi ever did.

It makes it all the more infuriating when we find out that she's secretly been working with the Coalition to deceive them and that the whole thing has basically been a lie. Though it's clear at least some of her newfound affinity for the crew (specifically Data) is genuine.

After using the Enterprise's phasers to drill down to the colony, an away team consisting of Riker, Data, Worf and Ishara beams down and frees the hostages, but then Ishara slips away in the confusion and Data finds her trying to disable the Alliance's security grid.

Data tries to intervene, since this would make the Federation technically responsible for the Alliance's defeat, but she is still fully prepared to kill him if it means the success of her mission. And God bless him, Data actually looks heartbroken at the realisation that their friendship was merely part of the deception. Data manages to stun her, but they realise that she did fully intend to carry out her threat of killing him.

Hayne demands her return, and despite Riker's objections Picard agrees to return her. He reflects that they all trusted Ishara so much because they were trying to get part of Tasha back through her sister, to the point that they saw more of her than was actually there.

Ishara and Data share an understandably awkward walk to the transporter. While she reaffirms that she did what she had to do, she claims that not all of her experience was a lie.

Ishara: You know Data, I wasn't always lying to you. That time we spent talking, that was the closest thing to friendship I've ever had... if that means anything to you.

Data: ...Energise.

It's quite fitting, really. One way or another, both Tasha and Ishara learned not to fuck with an android.

A few days later, Data goes to talk to Riker about Ishara, and they have a nice little conversation which I just have to include here.

Riker: In all trust, there is the possibility of betrayal. I'm not sure you were prepared for that.

Data: Were you prepared, sir?

Riker: I don't think anybody ever is?

Data: ...Then it is better not to trust.

Riker: Without trust there's no friendship, no closeness, none of the emotional bonds that make us who we are.

Data: And yet you put yourself at risk?

Riker: Every single time.

Data: Perhaps I am fortunate, sir, to be spared the emotional consequences.

Riker: Perhaps...

And so the crew takes off, apparently content to leave the occupants of the colony to tear each other apart. The end!

Yeah, this ending is... not the best. And the same goes for this whole episode. The conflict is nothing we haven't seen before, aside from the presence of Ishara and her interactions with the crew adding some much-needed flavour to an otherwise formulaic plot. And while there are some interesting ideas about the impact that Tasha has left on the crew, much like her they could’ve used some more development.

6/10 - Serviceable, but nothing special.

Previous Episode | TNG Masterpost | Next Episode

#star trek #star trek the next generation #star trek tng #star trek review #jean luc picard #captain picard #uss enterprise #will riker #tasha yar #ishara yar #star trek data #season 4

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not-the-darknight · 10 months

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((Mod -

Hey everyone.

I just wanted to inform you all that I am deleting most of my side blogs. The only blogs that I will keep are Diluc, Paimon and Navia (and my OC). If my blog has caused anyone problems, I really would like to apologise. I wanted to have fun without any conflicts but that doesn't seem to be the case.

Please feel free to interact with my other blogs. There's no restrictions on the interactions to the above mentioned blogs. You can send it anything- even sillies.

So active blogs-

@not-the-darknight

@teyvats-best-guide

@ask-navia-official

@ask-ishara-narami

))

I am sorry if this is a bit of a downer. That wasn't my intentions. But the vibes today are just not it 😦 and for those of you who have interacted with all my blogs. Thank you. You guys are amazing and I genuinely had fun with all of these interactions

#mod attempts to speak

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startreklogicoftheforce · 1 year

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Star Trek: Logic of the Force - Chapter Five

STARDATE 57898.9

Two months had elapsed since Sonal's arrival on the Enterprise. In this time, Picard had witnessed unparalleled efficiency and dedication to duty. Whenever a problem arose, Sonal promptly resolved it. And amidst interpersonal tensions among crew members, Sonal imparted ancient Surakian wisdom, fostering reconciliation. To all appearances, he was a Vulcan through and through.

However, beneath the surface, he was so much more. Beyond being a fusion of human and Vulcan heritage, a product of a half-human, half-Vulcan male and a full-blooded Romulan female, he harbored a profound power that had slumbered for eons. Immersed in deep meditation, he heard the voice of his newfound spiritual guide.

"PICARD'S HATRED OF THE BORG WILL TURN OUT TO BE USEFUL IN OUR PLANS TO BRING BACK THE GALACTIC EMPIRE…"

Sonal opened his eyes. Now, he was Darth Chaos, his eyes radiating an incandescent orange as the Dark Side's hold on him deepened. "He is a remarkably useful pawn, my master," Chaos declared. "His abhorrence of the Borg is deeply rooted." A surge of anger engulfed him, his raised eyebrows evoking an uncanny resemblance to the malevolent entity depicted in ancient Earth's religious beliefs—a figure synonymous with evil and darkness. Chaos's voice assumed a low, guttural tone. "Yet, my animosity...runs even deeper…" His gaze shifted to a wall-mounted portrait above his bunk—a striking woman with dark tresses. "I shall avenge you, Caitlin Yar…"

Abruptly, the door chime resounded. Hastily, Sonal concealed his inner turmoil, his eyes reverting to their usual hue. "Enter." The door slid open, and Counselor Troi stepped in. Sonal stood up. "Counselor Troi, your presence is most welcome."

Troi regarded Sonal with a trace of concern in her eyes. "Is something troubling you, Sonal?"

"I strive to emulate Vulcan perfection to the best of my abilities," Sonal confessed. He guided Troi to a picture on the wall. "Yet, there are moments when I struggle to release the grip on the memory of the only woman I've ever loved."

"Who was she?" Troi asked.

"Her name," Sonal continued, "was Caitlin Yar. She happened to be the niece of one of your former colleagues, Tasha Yar. We crossed paths on Turkana IV. I was accompanying my mother, Saavik, during our visit to the planet. It was there that we encountered Caitlin and her mother, Ishara." Sonal's expression softened. "Caitlin was the only person I ever allowed myself to express my emotions to. Contrary to common misconceptions, Counselor, Vulcans aren't devoid of sentiment or warmth. We simply opt to employ logic in shaping our decisions."

Troi inquired with a touch of sorrow, "What happened to her?"

"Two years ago," Sonal's voice began to waver, "they were en route to visit me on Vulcan. They happened upon a Borg cube. Ishara lost her life while shielding Caitlin from danger, and Caitlin…"

"Caitlin was assimilated," Troi murmured softly.

"Yes," Sonal replied, a chill lacing his tone. "Since then, I resolved to lead my life guided solely by logic, eschewing the affliction of human emotions."

Troi gently placed her hand on Sonal's shoulder. "Sonal, would you be willing to join me in Ten Forward? Will, the Captain, and I would appreciate the opportunity to spend some quality time with you and perhaps enjoy your lyre music."

Sonal's eyebrows arched as he regarded Troi. "I would gladly accept your invitation." Retrieving his lyre, he walked alongside Troi to Ten Forward—a venue that offered refreshments and camaraderie to the entire crew around the clock.

"Welcome, Commander Sonal," greeted the Captain. "How about a taste of Romulan Ale?"

"Yes, please," Sonal responded.

Seated together, Picard, Riker, Troi, and Sonal savored their drinks. Troi's words were slightly slurred from the effects of the intoxicating blue beverage as she proposed, "Captain, Sonal has his Vulcan lyre here. Perhaps he could treat us to some music."

Riker chimed in, "I'd love to hear that."

Picard's voice resonated with enthusiasm, "How about it, Commander?"

Sonal stood, clutching his lyre, and addressed their anticipation with a hint of irony, "Such eagerness is an illogical trait. However, yes, I shall oblige."

Taking a seat on a solitary stool upon the small musical stage, Sonal launched into an Earth tune from the twentieth century:

"REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG? YOU SHONE LIKE THE SUN. SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND! NOW THERE'S A LOOK IN YOUR EYES, LIKE BLACK HOLES IN THE SKY. SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND!"

Unbeknownst to the Enterprise crew, Sonal kept his eyelids firmly shut, concealing the dark orange hue that manifested when Darth Chaos held sway. He was immersed in communion with the Force, his animosity toward the Borg pushing him to his breaking point.

At the zenith of his disdain for the Borg, Palpatine's voice reached Sonal's consciousness. "Use the Force, Lord Chaos, and you shall exact...your...vengeance." He harnessed the full extent of his Force powers, conjuring a wormhole into existence that ensnared the Enterprise.

Abruptly, emergency klaxons blared, plunging the ship into red alert. Crew members scrambled to their feet, rushing to their designated stations. Upon reaching the bridge, Picard, Riker, Troi, and Sonal collaborated to make sense of the situation.

Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the wormhole vanished. Picard sensed an eerie presence. "Sonal," he addressed quietly, "where are we?"

"In the Delta Quadrant, sir," Sonal answered without glancing away from his station. His attention was captured by an old Earth radio signal. "Sir, I'm detecting an ancient Earth radio signal."

"Display it on the main screen," Picard ordered. The screen depicted what appeared to be a partially constructed ship of staggering proportions—impeccably symmetrical and astonishingly immense. The scale was beyond comprehension, rendering the Enterprise minuscule by comparison. Instinctively, Sonal recognized the vessel. Memories of his father's tales from his childhood resurfaced.

"V'Ger," Sonal murmured.

Picard's expression was one of astonishment. "The V'Ger encountered by James T. Kirk. So, that planet of living machines…"

"The Borg homeworld," Sonal interjected, his smile taking on an eerie cast as his eyes began to radiate an orange hue. Darth Chaos had ensnared Picard as he intended, and Palpatine's influence over Darth Chaos was equally effective. Palpatine understood that the annihilation of the Borg would seal Sonal's descent into the Dark Side.

"Inquiry about our arrival seems irrelevant," Chaos remarked. "Our current location is the only pertinent fact. And now," he continued, his voice adopting a sinister timbre, "your opportunity for revenge presents itself." Chaos gestured with his hand, a command infused with a sense of dark power.

Picard's gaze became fixed on the machine-infused planet, his consciousness manipulated by the Force. "Yes," he agreed with a slither of malice, "revenge is within reach."

"Your nanoprobes will not malfunction," Chaos asserted, his hand commanding the unfolding scene.

Entrapped by Chaos' influence, Picard echoed, "My nanoprobes will not malfunction."

Chaos delivered the ultimate directive, "V'Ger and the Borg home planet must be annihilated. Focus all phaser power on the dish."

"Commander Worf," Picard issued the directive, "redirect all available phaser energy toward the dish and initiate an attack on V'Ger and the Borg homeworld."

However, Worf expressed his concerns, "But Captain, this action could cause the nanoprobes to malfunction. It defies the Prime Directive, altering history."

Abruptly, Darth Chaos whirled around, revealing his enraged countenance and his blazing orange eyes to the entire crew. His voice surged with rage, carrying a guttural and venomous tone, as he addressed Worf, "Your Captain has given you an explicit command, Klingon!" He pointed his fingers at Worf, discharging scorching lightning that coursed through Worf's body, inflicting excruciating torment. Chaos' malevolent smile grew as he extended his hand towards Worf's terminal. With a deft wave, he orchestrated the obliteration of the machine-infused planet and the Borg-constructed vessel—originally created for the ancient Earth probe Voyager VI—reducing them to nothingness.

With the eradication of the Borg collective, Picard sensed the gradual fading of the nanoprobes. Sonal's promise about the nanoprobes not malfunctioning had held true.

Chaos had executed his vengeance. As Sonal began to resurface, he focused on the remnants of the parasitic race that had inflicted tragedy upon his cherished Caitlin. "Finally," Sonal intoned, "you can rest, knowing the Borg's reign of terror has been extinguished."

Picard regarded Sonal with a gratified smile. "You've altered history. That implies I never endured assimilation by the Borg."

Commander Sonal gestured once more, conjuring the reopening of the wormhole, which subsequently transported the Enterprise back to its original point in Federation space and time, prior to Sonal's manipulation that had transported the ship to the Delta Quadrant.

"Indeed," Sonal affirmed, "and your cybernetic heart shall remain impervious to malfunction." Picard and Sonal's attention turned towards the incapacitated Worf. "What... what happened here?" Sonal inquired.

Riker, embodying his characteristic sense of responsibility, stood up resolutely. "You're well aware, Commander. This was your doing." He signaled for two security personnel to advance towards Sonal. "Commander Sonal, on behalf of Starfleet, you are under arrest. Pending further instructions, you are to be confined to your quarters."

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hcrdknocklife · 2 years

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closed starter for @citrusfield

“You hungry?” Ishara asked the other as she sat down, sliding her Tupperware container across the table before she picked up a cookie for herself. “I was up late last night, and I couldn’t sleep. So, as always... I decided to bake. It helps with the stress that comes with this job sometimes.”

#interactions | ishara jane mara #this one's normal #relatively lol

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startrek-logicoftheforce · 2 years

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Star Trek: Logic of the Force - Chapter Five

STARDATE 57898.9

It had been a full two months since Sonal came aboard the Enterprise. Never before had Picard seen such efficiency and devotion to duty. When a problem arose, Sonal was quick to remedy it. And when tensions between crewmates arose, Sonal offered ancient words of wisdom from Surak to bring about peace and resolution. To his peers, he was definitely a Vulcan.

Inside, however, he was much more. He was more than a hybrid between a half-human, half-Vulcan male and a full-blooded Romulan female. No. He held a power deep within his soul that had gone undiscovered for millions of years. He sat in deep meditation as he heard the voice of his new spiritual guide.

“PICARD'S HATRED OF THE BORG WILL TURN OUT TO BE USEFUL IN OUR PLANS TO BRING BACK THE GALACTIC EMPIRE…”

Sonal opened his eyes. He was now Darth Chaos. His eyes glowed fiery orange as the Dark Side completely overtook him. "He is a most useful puppet, my master," Chaos said. "His hatred of the Borg runs deep." A wave of anger washed over Chaos. His eyebrows arched in such a way to make him look as evil as the mythological embodiment of evil in the old religion of Christianity - Satan. Chaos' voice became low and guttural. "But my hatred...runs deeper…" Chaos looked to the wall above his bunk and gazed at a beautiful dark-haired woman. "I shall avenge you, Caitlin Yar…"

Suddenly the door chime rang. Sonal quickly buried his darkness, and his eyes returned to his normal color. "Enter." The door opened, and in walked Counselor Troi. Sonal rose to his feet. "Counselor Troi, your presence is most appreciated."

Troi looked at Sonal with a hint of worry in her eyes. "Is something bothering you, Sonal?"

"You do realize that I try my best to be as perfect a Vulcan as possible," Sonal said. He walked Troi to the picture on the wall. "But there are times when I find it difficult to let go of the only woman I have ever loved."

"Who is she," Troi asked.

"Her name," Sonal continued, "was Caitlin Yar. She was the niece of one of your former colleagues - Tasha Yar. We met on Turkana IV. I was traveling with my mother Saavik, and while on the planet, we met Caitlin and her mother Ishara." Sonal smiled. "Caitlin was the only person I ever wanted to show my emotions to. You know Counselor, contrary to popular belief, Vulcans are not cold-hearted or unfeeling. We just choose to use logic to dictate our choices.”

"What happened to her," Troi said with sadness.

"Two years ago," Sonal said, his voice beginning to break, "they were traveling to visit me on Vulcan. And they came across...a Borg cube. Ishara was killed trying to protect Caitlin, and Caitlin…"

"Caitlin was assimilated," quietly said Troi.

"Yes," Sonal said with coldness in his voice. "Since then, I decided to live my life by logic and not by cursed human emotions."

Troi gently put her hand on Sonal's shoulder. "Sonal, would you accompany me to Ten Forward? Will, the Captain, and I would love to spend some quality time with you and...listen to you playing your lyre."

Sonal looked at Troi and raised his eyebrows. "I would be most delighted to." He grabbed the musical instrument and walked with Troi to Ten Forward, a bar and cafeteria frequented by the entire crew, all day and all night.

"Welcome, Commander Sonal," said the Captain. How about some Romulan Ale?"

"Yes, please," Sonal said.

Picard, Riker, Troi, and Sonal sat and enjoyed their drinks. "Captain," Troi said, her voice slightly slurring from the effects of the intoxicating blue beverage, "Sonal brought his Vulcan lyre. Perhaps we could hear him play."

"I would like to see that myself," said Riker.

"How about it, commander," Picard said, his voice booming with anticipation.

Sonal arose, taking his stringed instrument in hand. "Eagerness," he said. "How illogical. Yes. I will entertain you."

Sonal sat on a lone stool on the corner musical stage and played a familiar Earth tune from the twentieth century;

REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG?

YOU SHONE LIKE THE SUN.

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND!

NOW THERE'S A LOOK IN YOUR EYES.

LIKE BLACK HOLES IN THE SKY.

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND!

Little did rhe Enterprise crew know, but Sonal had his eyelids firmly shut to prevent them from seeing the dark orange hue that indicated Darth Chaos was in control. He was communing with the Force. His hatred of the Borg drove him to his breaking point. He conjured up all the powers of the Force and caused a wormhole to open up in space, and the Enterprise was caught up in it.

Emergency klaxons suddenly blared loudly as the ship went into red alert. All the crewmen rushed to their feet and ran to their respective stations. Once aboard the bridge, Picard, Riker, Troi, and Sonal tried to assess the situation.

Suddenly the wormhole disappeared. Picard suddenly felt a cold presence. "Sonal," Picard said quietly. "Where are we?"

"Delta Quadrant, sir," Sonal said without even looking at the position. Suddenly he observed an old Earth radio signal. "Sir, I am detecting an old Earth radio signal."

"On screen," Picard said. On the screen appeared what seemed to be an almost-constructed ship of enormous proportions...and perfect symmetry. The size was unfathomable. It made the Enteprise look like a speck of dust on the smallest dwarf planets. Sonal instinctively recognized the ship. He remembered all the stories his father told him in his youth."

"V'Ger…" Sonal said.

Picard looked stunned. "The V'Ger encountered by James T. Kirk. So that planet of living machines…"

"The Borg homeworld," said Sonal. He smiled as his eyes began to glow orange. Darth Chaos had Picard where he wanted him. And Palpatine had Darth Chaos where he wanted his apprentice. Palpatine knew that the destruction of the Borg would complete Sonal's fall to the Dark Side.

"How did we get here," Picard asked.

"How we got here is irrelevant," Chaos said. "The only fact that remains is that we are here, and," Chaos spoke in a voice low and sinister, "now you can have your revenge." As Chaos spoke, he waved his hand.

Picard stared at the machine planet in a trance. He was being manipulated by the Force. "Yesss," Picard said, "I can have my revenge."

"Your nanoprpbes will not malfunction," Chaos said with a wave of his hand."

Under his spell, Picard said, "my nanoprobes will not malfunction."

Finally, Chaos gave the influencing command. "V'Ger and the Borg home planet must be destroyed. Direct all phaser power to the dish."

"Commander Worf," Picard said, "direct all phaser power to the dish and fire upon V'Ger and the Borg home planet."

"But Captain," said Worf, "yoir nanoprpbes will malfunction! The Prime Directive! We will be altering history!"

Suddenly, an enraged Darth Chaos turned around, and his dark orange eyes were visible to the entire crew. His voice became loud, guttural, and venomous. "YOUR CAPTAIN GAVE YOU A DIRECT ORDER, KLINGON!" He pointed his fingers at Worf, and hot lightning shot from his fingers and struck Worf. Worf writhed in agony as the electrical surge tore through him. Chaos smiled wickedly, and he waved his hand ar Worf's terminal, and the machine planet and the ship which the Borg created for the old Earth probe Voyager VI were completely obliterated.

As the Borg collective died, Picard felt the nanoprobes disappearing. Sonal had told him that the nanoprobes would not malfunction, and he lived up to his word.

Chaos had his revenge. He felt Sonal slowly emerging. He stared at the remnants of the parasitic race that killed his beloved Caitlin. "Now," Sonal said, "you may be at peace, knowing that the Borg are no more."

Picard looked at Sonal and smiled. "You...changed history. So that means I was never assimilated by the Borg."

Commander Sonal waved his hand again, and the wormhole reopened, and the Enterprise found herself back in Federarion space at the exact point in time and space it had been before Sonal transported the ship backwards in time to the Delta Quadrant.

"Yes," Sonal said, "and your electrical heart will never malfunction. Picard and Sonal turned around and saw Worf lying unconscious. "What….what happened," Sonal asked.

Riker stood up, his face firm in duty. "You should know, Commander. This was your doing." Riker motioned for two members of security to approach Sonal. "Commander Sonal, in the name of Starfleet, you are under arrest. You are confined to quarters until further notice."

#Star Wars #Star Trek #crossover #fanfic #fanfiction

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