#listening to Rezz right now

[not-poignant]

10, 12, 16!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Hmm.

Yes. A piece of writing has haunted me. Usually non-fiction books about the state of the environment re: climate change, they often stay with me for a long time.

Some fiction books infect me like a virus for a while, and I become really obsessed with them. They're not always the stories I write fanfiction for. I don't know if that's the same as being 'haunted' by something. To be haunted by something implies something that causes mental anguish or torment.

OH. Yes, actually, there was one m/m series that got published that was so much gratuitous torture porn and I kept hanging out for the comfort part of the increasingly insane levels of hurt, because hurt/comfort was one of its tags. It had like 20 installments (it's a published series) and it had no comfort, and a thrown together hasty ending that felt like slapping a bandaid on a person that had been exploded into pieces.

The process of reading that and getting NO good ending really, causes me some anguish to think about to this day. In that sense, I would say yes, I'm haunted by it. I'm not going to name the series if anyone asks, it was such a clear case of 'I'm being triggered and should have pulled out much earlier.' Though I am really mad that anyone dared to call that a hurt/comfort story lmao.

My own writing doesn't haunt me, thank god.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

Hmmm, three writing wishes. Hmmmmmm.

I wish for my writing to find more of the readers who will love it and enjoy it, and that some of those readers will continue to have the kind of income that allows them to support a writer once a month via Patreon, so that I can hopefully keep symbiotically giving them the kind of writing they want

2. I wish I could do editing just by blinking at a story.

3. I wish I had the energy / ability to help other people publish their own stories for niche audiences in ways that they enjoy. One of the things I actually find kind of frustrating is that this job forces me to live on the absolute edges of my energy levels and that I've always wanted to be able to help others out with writing and I'm very limited in how I could do that. If I wasn't, I would've 100% published like a Fae Tales short story anthology by now, and art books, with royalties going to the authors and artists, for example. And like, when I die - which will come probably sooner than I want it to with all my illnesses - this is something I'd really like for other folks to be able to do. Is that weird? I wish that would be easy, I wish I could somehow use that as a launchpad into helping more authors beyond the ways I do it now (which is mostly just writing advice sometimes).

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

...

Probably a used tissue. x.x

--

From the Weird Writing Asks meme!

[bg3-aita]

AITA for killing a powerful vampire lord so that my vampire friend wouldn't ascend and become an AH?

I (101f, high elf) have been traveling with this guy (259m, high elf vampire) for a while now (let's call him Ash), listening to him talk about his old vampire master (I'm calling him Carl) and how much he wants to kill him and something about a ritual for days now. DAYS.

It all sounded like it was going to be a very bad idea for basically everyone involved. Either we were going to have a super powerful vampire ascendant on our hands or we were going to have to fight a tough battle to stop him. Ash made me promise to have his back and put a stop to his master's ritual and I agreed.

Except things went fucking sideways. Ash got pulled into the ritual, there were bats everywhere, Carl kept turning into fucking mist, ghouls kept attacking us, there were werewolves, the only time I managed to yeet Carl's ass down into the chasm below he fucking popped back up like the world's ugliest jack-in-the-box, like everything that could have possibly gone wrong DID go wrong. Half my team died in that fight and had to get rezzed. I almost died in that fight.

And then THIS asshole, Ash, had the au-damn-dacity to want to ascend instead of Carl. Didn't we do all that work to kill Carl? Why are we not killing Carl right now?

I'll admit, I was running on fumes, bleeding faster than I could think, so when he asked me to help him, I just sort of went with it until he asked to link our minds so that he could carve ritual runes into Carl's back. That's when it clicked. This bitch didn't want revenge, he wanted to become an all-powerful vampire. And that, dear readers, seemed like a really bad fucking idea.

So I did the only logical thing and said no. Ash got pissy, but then decided stabbing Carl to death was still on the table, so he did that. And then pitched a damn fit and killed about 7000 other people too, all because I said no.

And then when all THAT was done, he blew up in my face, accused me of ruining everything, and said he hoped I died screaming. Like...what the hell?

So clearly he thinks I'm the asshole. You tell me. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

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[astercontrol]

Legacy in a universe that makes slightly more sense

FLYNN: (typing into Grid computer) ok Tron, got you all ported in there, I'm gonna rezz in there in just a moment TRON: acknowledged. Where is Yori FLYNN: not in there yet, gonna port her in later TRON: why not now? FLYNN: just gonna wait til after I get stuff set up, okay? this is my system. you know Yori, she'd try to tell me how to do things. TRON: ...ok but sometimes, Flynn, sometimes you need to be told what to do, because sometimes your own ideas are-- FLYNN: who is the User here. you or me. TRON: ...yes sir. FLYNN: good program. see, Yori wouldn'tve listened like that. Ho-kay, plugging in the laser now GRID COMPUTER: You have connected a device the system does not recognize. You may need to install the driver that came with the device. FLYNN: what... friggin... driver... TRON: ...Yori. FLYNN: ...oh... right. frigDAMMMIT. (Yori makes everything work out okay, and they all live happily ever after)

[gerogerigaogaigar]

This is it! My last batch of reviews. This time my boyfriend supplied six albums. He is more of a singles and eps kinda guy so the album choices are kinda...

The Front Bottoms - Going Grey

The Front Bottoms have existed in my periphery for a little while now. I'll hear a song now and then but I've never sat down and listened to an album. Going Grey exists somewhere in between 10s indie folk and 00s pop punk/emo. The lyrics are solidly unsophisticated without being stupid. A love letter to immaturity. It is clearly the work of someone looking back on their younger self and fondly roasting them. The music really supports this by primarily utilizing the tendencies of immature 00s pop punk and pretentious 10s indie folk. The contrast makes the tongue in cheek nature of the music clear without ever having to signal too overtly to the listener.

Blink-182 - California

So I actually kinda like Blink-182. I think their music from the 90s is a pure and raw expression of suburban alienation. Plus Travis Barker is an unbelievably good drummer. Unfortunately this album is from 2016. Ok it's not all bad actually. Tom DeLonge has been replaced by Alkaline Trio frontman Matt Skiba and he lends a bit of that emo sound to the album which isn't really much of a jump. Barker is still capable of breakneck drum fills. And a lot of the songs have the energy of their 90s output. There is a lingering feeling though that these men are in their 40s and still singing about being teenagers. Please stop. But between big misses like Kings Of The Weekend and Teenage Satellites are songs that remind me why I liked this band in the first place. The Only Thing That Matters is a major standout track for having the rawness and speed that made me love them back in their Dude Ranch Days. California is a mixed bag, but it's honestly a lot better than you'd expect out of a 2016 Blink-182 album.

Fall Out Boy - Mania

What the fuck happened to this band? From Under The Cork Tree is one of the best albums of the 00s full of witty lyricism and catchy music. Mania is an Imagine Dragons album. Fall Out Boy have become soulless trend chasers who don't even really care about the music they make. It's generically "epic" with vapid lyrics that don't communicate anything. Someone needs to euthanize these idiots before they go making more music.

Rezz - A Certain Kind Of Magic

Rezz is a lesser known DJ and electronic music producer that more people need to listen to. She has an incredibly chaotic style that mixes dubstep, brostep, electro house, and hip hop. And if that sounds a lot like Skrillex to you don't worry. While Rezz has a lot in common with her obnoxious brostep predecessor she is also capable of composing music that isn't just nonstop sensory overload. The peaks and valleys are what make her music so engaging, a very energetic segment can easily turn right into a lower bass driven dubstep sequence. The bass is crunchy with smoother mids and high ends and there are a good number of samples. A Certain Kind Of Magic also inexplicably ends on basically an emo song which catches me off guard every time, but goes to show how a wide range of influences makes for interesting music.

Rainbow Kitten Surprise - RKS

I don't hate this. I'll admit that the whole indie white boy blues aesthetic never clicked with me, and I can point to a number of bands doing this sort of thing that I like better, but I can point to innumerable bands that I like much, much less. RKS is deeply inoffensive music that isn't gonna hold my attention too hard, but it does have a few moments that are truly enjoyable. Particularly when they let down that bombastic sound and let those bubbly clean guitar lines shine.

Kelly Clarkson - Breakaway

I've been given special instructions for this one. I have to sit in the back of a car on my way home from my friend's house while it's raining and then I have to listen to this album and feel bad. I don't have any way to do that.

What is Kelly Clarkson? Being the first American Idol winner puts her in a position where she's primed to be a golden goose for a bunch of executives. As such her options for artistic integrity are severely limited to the commercially profitable. On Breakaway Clarkson split from the Idol management to craft an album that dated to explore outside the mainstream pop landscape. The results are embarrassing.

Obviously she was never going to make good music. I would be an idiot to try and give an American Idol contestant the benefit of the doubt in regards to their artistic sincerity. Her voice is a hollow void of emotion. The lyrics are paint by number. The music shows the outline of an emotion. Kelly Clarkson is the shadow on the wall of Plato's cave. Her fans incapable of comprehending that this is just a pale imitation of real music.

So I ask again. What is Kelly Clarkson? The answer seems obvious now. Kelly Clarkson is a name that once belonged to a human being and now is the property of record companies. The name is attached to records and the records are expected to sell based on the name. The human being that once shared the name Kelly Clarkson is a shadow. Kelly Clarkson is a music career. Kelly Clarkson is the avatar of the American Idol social experiment. Kelly Clarkson is a cipher. There is no such thing as Kelly Clarkson, there is only the music. But the music is also a shadow. There is nothing here. A shadow cast by a shadow. You cannot find the artistic merit in this music any more than you can get blood from a stone.

[finite-breakpoints]

trembling (Angstpril 2024, #19)

Cyrus doesn't know how long he's been plugged in.

This isn't his data rig, or even like the ones the other processors use. Theirs are buffered, with transfer rates tightly controlled. Those neat little data jacks along the base of their necks and down their backs, implanted before their training, to be removed when they move on. Two input, sixteen pins each; single eight-pin output; eight-pin monitoring. It's less risky than letting the regulator circuits form on their own.

Someone's speaking -- to him? -- as the steady hum lowers, the onslaught of information -- no, malicious data, blatant lies -- lessening just slightly. They must be bringing him back up now. A voice he almost recognizes… but it's out of reach. Another cycle down, then. He's lost count.

This train of thought is as much a distraction as it is a reminder. Because he can feel himself slipping, under the weight of all of it.

All he has to do is ignore it. Let it all pass unacknowledged, unfiltered. And if not, then it must be challenged. Remember that every bit of it is false by design.

The ISOs were never the problem.

One program's perfection is another's prison.

There is nothing wrong with me -- with any of us.

He'd rezzed in with the regulator circuits, albeit with that slightly-idiosyncratic bandwidth characteristic of the Encom processors. So they'd given him one of those rigs, pulled from storage somewhere. Two input, one output, forty pins each; eight pin monitoring. Direct access, no external hardware to get in the way of the connection. Not the one he'd asked for. It's a fraction of what it could be. But it's safer that way, apparently.

Not like this, what they're doing to him now. Constantly just under his maximum capacity, something he'd never worked up to. Something Yori had said was too dangerous for him to try -- it was why she hadn't given him the data rig he'd asked for --

"Cyrus. Can you hear me?"

Yori…? No. That's not right.

She'd never do this to him.

Demeter.

"Are you back with us now, little script?" Still blurry, but yes, it's definitely her. A smile in her voice, but there's nothing kind in it. "Your throughput's been dropping. Maybe it's time for a break."

"My throughput's fine." Those bright lights sting as his vision returns. Eyes refocusing slower than they should. "Not my fault it's all garbage data."

"Is it?"

"Sure. Garbage data, propaganda… Same thing."

Her smile turns sharp for just a microcycle, before shifting back into her usual false cheerfulness. "You look exhausted. Poor thing. Let's get you something to drink, hm?"

The sudden voltage drop rips through him -- the sharp silver pain of yet another improper disconnection. He clamps down the scream in his throat as four hundred and eighty pins retract from his back, his whole body trembling.

He knows what to expect from here. The lukewarm energy held to his lips, which he now knows not to refuse. Her quiet, false sympathy as she loosens the restraints just enough that they don't hurt, and tells him that he's only making this harder for himself. That she doesn't want to hurt him -- that it would be completely painless, if he would stop fighting it. That it's his fault, really, that they've left him here alone for cycles at a time in this cold and windowless room beneath the Archives.

"You're just so stubborn," she says -- and this time, the pity in her voice is genuine. "You know who you remind me of, sometimes…"

"This will be good for you, I promise." The memory's dim -- somewhere far away, all the way across the Grid. Maybe he's only been there a few times. Can't remember -- but he should. A sense of safety, a soft voice he can only imagine raised in laughter. "Be careful out there -- and listen to Yori, alright? I'll miss you."

"Yeah. I get that a lot."

Does he? If his memories are starting to slip… it might be working. There's an empty space on the other side of the room, where there used to be a second unit. Sometimes he wonders whose it was. Feels like maybe he should know that.

"He was good at this. I think you could be, too… if you'd just apply yourself a little more."

"Can't spread your lies without an amplifier, can you? And you don't have many of us left, not now."

"You'll come around eventually." Demeter presses the restraints back into place, patting his hand. "But in the meantime… the only program you're hurting is yourself."

"I know." He takes a deep breath -- steeling himself against what he knows is coming. "That's the whole point."

"How much longer do you think you can keep this up?"

"Good question." He looks up at her, meeting her gaze with as sharp of a grin as he can manage. "Let's find out."

And then it takes him down, back into the waiting current of hate and baseless fear.

Cyrus reaches for the half-formed image in his mind, but it's a fuzzy one. A gentle smile with just a bit of mischief in it -- "See you soon, kiddo. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Something tells him that he isn't.

On the bright side… he's finally gotten the data rig he wanted.

[phantomwarrior12]

crow can't discern whether the bubbly feeling in his chest is butterflies or that questionable stew that drifter gifted to him when he strays from scouting and watches the wolf cut cleanly through enemies. their sure, precise, and brutal fighting burning down the hive, almost a dance. but with more explosives. he's been feeling it more lately, averting their gaze when he feels his cheeks bloom a dark purple when their biceps brush together after walking down a hall. their big, strong hands pulling him back up from being rezzed. the way they tower over him, and he kind of loves being in the shadow of those broad armored shoulders. crow has never heard them talk directly, and the only time he's ever heard any type of word leave their mouth was when they were quietly murmuring to their ghost, their hand tenderly cradling his shell. he felt a guilty, small pang of jealousy for a moment. he wanted the wolf to hold him like that. with such love and trust. soon enough, he listens to glint's recommendations to invite the wolf out to drink, for a celebration of sorts. the first time he sees their face, it's a giddy anxiousness as he sits on a log beside them as he holds out the bottle of dark age whiskey. a small smile creeps onto his features, expecting a very handsome man to appear from under his hidey-helmet hole. it's a swirl of feelings when he looks at a woman- a very.. very attractive woman. woah. their hair falls out from their helmet, their captivating, striking eyes staring at him directly. " thank you, " they say quietly, softly. crow is convinced that is the best thing he'll ever hear in his immortal life. that smooth, gentle voice was like a siren song. their strong hands grabbing the bottle, brushing his gently. crow can hear glint cheering them on in subspace, hoping that the wolf doesn't bring up the fact that he is blushing heavily right now. after passing around the bottle for a good while, they decide to shed more of that menacing metal, hot shell they calls armor. crow admires ( he thinks, nonchalantly ) their frame, the way their muscles stretch and pull when they lean over the space between them and the flame to tend to it. the armor, surprisingly, did not make up most of their figure. they still were much bigger than crow, and he could see from their six-pack and lean, well-taken care of frame that they worked hard for. they invite crow closer to him to show him an intriguing file he asked about, but it was really just because he wanted to be closer to them. crow doesn't hear a single word emanating from the video, but completely focuses on their silk voice flowing through him. it calms him, almost. gives him enough confidence to press their thighs together. an apology is ready on his lips incase they move away, but instead they press their thigh against his, their hand taking place on his other side of the log. crow's heartbeat is so fast he can feel it reverberating through his very being, slender fingers hesitant but determined to pause the video. the moment his bright, amber eyes land on theirs, their rough palm strokes the side of his jaw. they meet in a slow, heady kiss. their fingers curl around the back of his neck, coaxing him deeper into the kiss. crow's hand runs up their other arms forearm, only coming apart to take a unfortunately needed breath. " guardian, " he murmurs, a indulgent sigh escaping his lips. their fingers card through his hair as a hint of a smile graces those beautiful, kiss-swollen lips. - lowercase anon

lightfall rises me from the dead with more scenarios and begrudging nimbus attraction

Excellent writing, friend! This is so adorable and wholesome! Makes me want to get back to writing New Light! ^.^

Welcome back, lowercase anon! My inbox has been mighty quiet without you!

[silverspleen]

BG3 Act 1 UPDATE

Wyll is a tiefling now, was the last thing to happen to me before I stopped playing. He's my bro though. We are cool. I'm sorry that happened to him but like. idk what his patron is on about he can TOTALLY still be The Blade of Avernus. It's all in the commitment to the justice and saving people and stuff.

I love how this game has managed to manifest immediate blinding hatred in me for every single devil I have met. They are SUS.

Astarion still thinks I am a boring no-fun weirdo. Babygirl let me love you or I WILL kiss Gale. I love listening to him talk about magic he says things so poetically.

Combat wise I am getting both better and worse, I am definitely trying to use more items and tricks and I'm getting better at positioning (as long as I'm not surprised by the combat) but also I beat THREE combats by the skin of my teeth with only one character alive/up. THRICE. Once fighting goblins (my druid spider!TAV got the last nibble in. I LOVE being a spider you guys. My favorite wild shape for sure.). Once fighting gnolls. Which are awful (respectful). Like. Uh. That gnoll just came out of the hyena? Just craaaawled right out. And finally once fighting the "paladins" for Karlach. The game was like "oh u can run away if you need to" NO. I BEAT THEM FAIR AND SQUARE. And like. I would rather not have to spend all of my gold on rezzing.

Mechanically I adore Wyll. I spec'd him into Pact of the Blade, which idk how useful that is but like. I am enjoying the spells! Also Astarion but like. That's because Sneak Attack Big Sexy.

I still love all the companions I've met so far, even the mean ones.

But like. Why does peepaw Withers need 200 gold to rez people. What is he doing with it.

Overall I'm playing a mostly nice person run with occasional moments of like, hmmm. Ambivalence? Carrow, my Tav, is an inherently good person but I think their Druid nature means there are moments where they come off as suddenly callous but it's just like an "ah nature is cruel like that" kind of thing for them, you know?

Really enjoying it. Love a game that rewards me for crawling all around the map to look at stuff. Gonna keep forging forwards and get to a point where I can start a run as a shitty guy instead, I'm excited to just pick completely different conversation options as Tav Silas.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Well I've been struggling to get in the mood to write the next chapter of American Beasts, but I think this album might just break the no writing streak

listening to this right now and the ideas are flowing. I'm supposed to be working and instead I'm just jotting down notes for my fic lol

[sylvadreamwalker]

Dragon Hunt Woes

Part one of a series, probably.

It's fine and dandy if you want to play hard. Throw up some handicaps/modifiers, yadda yadda.

But listen.

Buddy. Pal. Friendo.

Don't put a hard-level modifier on a dragon, demand that no one resurrect you or your comrades, and then throw a little bitch fit and dip when your comrades die (because you refused to help them and gave them shit for helping each other) and you realize your stats aren't good enough to fight the dragon all on your lonesome.

And while we're on the subject of treating your comrades like trash:

If you have a long-range DPS in your team (for example, a Wizard or a Ranger), don't throw a hissy fit when they have aggro and can't do as much damage because they get knocked down every two seconds.

If you are a tank, don't throw a fucking tantrum because you don't know how to play your role right. Your job is to go in swinging first, keep the enemy on you, and give your DPS space to, you know, DAMAGE. If you let your DPS, especially ranged DPS, keep getting aggro, that means YOU are failing, not the DPS.

If you get thrown in with a team of all DPS and you're short range (like a Rogue), you need to throw yourself at the dragon and act as tank so the long-range DPS players can better support you.

And if you're a healer... for gods' sakes, just fucking heal your party members. Seriously. This isn't even about like, digging on healers, cause I know a lot of great ones, and I'm training up a healer character now. But if you're a healer, and you just let your comrades fall in battle and don't even bother rezzing them, then I'm sorry but you're a shit healer. Play something else.

[jaykaycreates]

Behind Nora’s design

I promised to do a behind the scenes of my other characters, so now to go into the design and reasoning behind the warlock of Fireteam Dawn and the partner to my young wolf, Nora.

Lets start with her backstory Nora was rezzed in the Ishtar collective on Venus, all she had on her was torn clothes and a name tag. She didn’t have long to collect her self though, as Vex were alerted to her presence and were sent after her. With no knowledge of her light abilities, she was captured instead of killed. She was put into simulations and trials to test the limit of her light and limitations of her being alive. she experienced centuries of torture in what was only a few months in captivity. Foolishly as the Vex tested her limitations, they made her more adapt at her own abilities. Eventually she was able to use her solar light to break free of her capture, rescue her ghost, Nova and escape the vex structure on Venus. Nova was able to get into contact of a nearby ship and they were rescued and brought to the last city. 

Once in the last city and being underneath the Traveler, she grew desperate for some structure and form of safety after everything she went thru. She found and later joined the Praxic order and grew to believe in their values and philosophy over the years. Eventually she left, believing the order had become to zealous to what it once was. Over the years her views about the light and dark grew more black and white which has led to her being more zealous herself.

Her personality Nora is very serious about everything she does, believing that her only role in life is to protect the light and keep it from others who do not deserve it. As detailed above, she has a very black and white view of light and darkness, she believes the traveler is only for good and the darkness is only for bad, this has led her to alienate herself from others who do not see eye to eye with her and go against others who even dare to think of using a weapon of sorrow or stasis. She also has a very high and mighty attitude, due to her high intellect and status as a warlock, she will first and foremost believe she is in the right before listening to anyone else. I wanted Nora to be the ultimate extreme when it comes to believing in the light and a polar opposite to Joker and to represent the light as an ally for Tessa.

Her race, Human I picked human for her due to how much more humans are closer to the traveler then Exos and awoken (both races that came after the traveler had been around a while) So due to Nora’s dedication to the light I felt it was fitting to have her as human.

Her class, Warlock I picked warlock because typically they are more closely tied to the light, due to meditations and how they study the light versus how titan and hunters use the light. Plus many warlocks are seen to be “cold” or at least very serious in comparison to other known titans and hunters.

Nora’s armor choice I’ve recently changed her armor look but ill explain her old look versus her new one

This is her old look, the one I’ve drawn her in most. With this look I wanted something to look “royal” like she’s high and mighty, but also tie into the knight-like looks that Tessa and Joker have. The armored sections of the robe and the boots tie into the knight look, while the pattern and gold accents make her look like a mage or some form of royalty. The class item i used because not only does it have the warlock symbol, but since it spews solar light it matches her sunbracers. And yes her sunbracers the exotic she uses, I picked those for her because due to her connection to the light and of how the sunbracers are also Osiris’s exotic (and he is VERY closely tied to the light) it would fit thematically with who she is.

This is her look, post Witch queen and raid. As you see, her look has changed quite a bit, well technically not much but for Warlocks, the robes are the most visually distinguishing feature. I’ve chosen to darken her colors to align with her more pessimistic view of the traveler, she still has faith in it and believes it is a force for good, but those doubts in the back of her mind continue to bug her due to the traveler choosing the Hive. The robes also I picked to be more ergonomic to the swamps of the throne world but also because of the dagger on its back. I imagine when she summons her dawnblade she pulls out the dagger and the blade forms around it. Matching with Tessa’s new look with their shield on their back, now they both carry their “supers” with them just in case. Also the detailings of Osiris tie into her believing in the teachings from and that the Vex are the biggest threat.

Why the name Nora? Her name came about cause of two ideas. Her character is based on one of my OCs, Selina and I wanted a name to be tied to sun symbology or space symbology. So i struck on the idea to combine the name Selina with the word Nova, as it relates to Supernovas.

I believe i’ve covered all the major points of this character, I hope you enjoyed and were able to follow my unstructured thoughts.<3

Reblogs are read and appreciated <3

deviantart instagram

[screaming-skvll]

“Don’t ring it at me. Don’t ring it at me. Do not ring it at me.”

“But it sounds different now. See, I added this whole enclosure to the bell, and—”

“Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. Get it away from me.”

“You know, with this armistice and all, you really should make more of an effort to learn about Cabal culture. They could end up residing in the system permanently, after all.”

“And YOU should make more of an effort not to bring loud-ass bells around people with migraines. Ugh.”

“Oh no—I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I just thought you were grumpy. You know, like usual.”

“Oh, I am. But a drop pod landed on my head again and I haven’t felt right since, even after being rezzed a few more times. Maybe it was one too many.”

“That’s terrible. Uh, listen—I know you don’t like my bell, and this is going to sound like the last thing you’d want to do right now, but it has a whole different tone with this added cladding, and actually it’s really kinda soothing. Maybe... maybe if I just ring it a little tiny bit—I mean really, really gently, OK?—maybe that could help?”

“How is a ringing sound going to help?”

“Well, it’s something to focus on, you know, like meditatively—but the sound is so clear and pretty, even when I just barely tap the bell, so it won’t be overwhelming to hear. And like I said, it’s really soothing when you strike it a certain way, so... I dunno, I just thought...”

“Ah, to hell with it. Go ahead and try.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, sure. Not like it can make my head hurt much worse. But quiet! OK? Quiet as can be.”

“Yes, of course. Alright, ready? And...”

“...”

“...”

“...Oh... That really is... quite...”

“Yes?”

“...It’s very... nice. Would you... ring it like that again? And maybe... move it back and forth from one side of my head to the other, slowly?”

(Bell of Conquests)

[savathuns-pyramidscheme]

Peregrine-3 has a secret. One she should tell but can't. Should tell Saint, but can't bring herself to hurt him so.

Only three people know this secret apart from herself, only one of whom is around to judge.

She can feel Osiris's light. Since the day Sagira shared shells with Nolan, since the day their light got tangled up as the mismatch ghosts rezzed her time and again, since that day Peregrine-3 has always been able to feel Osiris's light, faintly, as if a backdrop to her own.

Nolan knows; he feels it too. Osiris knows, but says nothing of it. Sagira knew, and wouldn't stop talking about it.

Together, they felt Sagira die.

Together, they realized that, while incredibly faint now, they could still feel Osiris.

That is why she didn't know he'd been usurped. As far as she could tell, Osiris was right there. That he spoke nothing of the continued link was nothing out of the ordinary.

That is why Peregrine-3 knows now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Saint will not find Osiris elsewhere. Knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Osiris is, very much for worse, in the cocoon of his captor.

She pays visits to the hive god, not to chat or to listen, but to be there. Be there for him as she struggles to save him. Be there to submit herself to the fury she's sure he feels. She's failed him so fundamentally, so much more than anyone else could have. She says nothing as she visits, hoping Savathun remains unaware. Hoping there's no way she can exploit him further.

Peregrine knows she should tell Saint, but cannot. Not even awoken magic could protect that cocoon from his fury if he knew. She can't risk it. Or so she tells herself, but deep down she's just ashamed.

[catboynecromancy]

Do you have any of ur own ideas abt Ronan's music taste?? I personally think that it would include some experimental edm like some of SOPHIE's louder tracks (HARD, UNISIL, NYC2MIA SOPHIE remix etc.) or some stuff similar to Alice Gas's ,,Hardcore Heaven". Maybe some GFOTY, if we're going into electro pop then the Vroom Vroom ep.

Yes!! Omg I adore the idea of Ronan being into experimental and happy hardcore, it would absolutely be on par for him to love music like that! Especially since the dreamer trilogy seems to be taken place now instead of back in 2012, like the original TRC 🙈

If we go back to the original 2012 timeline, I see Ronan being heavy into tech house, industrial, and general techno. Thinking artists like Gesaffelstein (Conspiracy Pt.2 EP, my beloved), SebastiAn (the album art for motor and doggg is two dudes kissing dhdhdhf 😂), Noisia (Split the Atom album), and maaaaybeeee The Glitch Mob (Because everyone I know into edm back in the early 2010s loved Drink the Sea).

I made a 2012 appropriate Spotify playlist right here!

If we push it a year into 2013, the industrial lover in me would say Destroid's The Invasion Album!

More modern music? I still think he'd love Gesaffelstein, but I'd throw in some Rezz, i_o, Malaa, deathpact, certain zed's dead songs (like late night drive), Drezo, Zac Waters...

Sorry this is like activating my trap card 😂😅 I appreciate you asking and I'm now gonna go listen to that Alice Gas album dhhdhdhd 💕💕

[dimitrescus-bitch]

thanks for the tag @ssa-prentissinred

rules: tag 10 people you want to get to know better

relationship status: single and with no clue on how to get a girlfriend

favorite color: indigo

three favorite foods: donuts, chicken nuggets, and fish tacos

song stuck in my head: The Lap Dance is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying by Bloodhound Gang

last song i listened to: Someone Else’s Bed by Hole

last thing i googled: Bloodrayne

time: 11:46 AM

dream trip: Road trip across North America with friends

anything i really want right now: money and a baby pink satin jacket with something obscene written on the back of it

Tagging: @vhsrights @storiesofsvu @bellezalatina @retro-rezz-the-est @emilysblackturtleneck @baby-its-a-love-story @themanbexl @cabensons 

[flowers-of-io]

Where Lost Things Go

Read it on AO3 here.

Spider’s Palace. Oh, what a lovely spot to spend the evening.

Ór pulls her hood over her face before walking in, all knives in place, Ghost hidden and gun loaded. Two Eliksni in spiky armour guard the door but let her through without a word. They seem more of a warning than actual threat. When she passes them, the airlock behind her shuts with a thud.

The room is all chaos and noise – dozens of voices in at least four languages, chairs shuffling against the metal floor, suspicious fluids being poured to and drank from dirty glasses. Runi chitters uncomfortably in the comms.

“Don’t drink anything here. I don’t want to reconstruct your blown-up stomach,” he warns. Ór only rolls her eyes.

She scans the swirling crowd: Eliksni and Awoken, and even some Cabal deserters, all squashed together in a brightly lit space, drinking, gambling and shouting over one another. She catches a sentence or two in Terran, and a pair of Dregs behind her speak Eliksni so fast she cannot make out the words. Suddenly, a tall Awoken woman in the corner spills her drink over a Legionary sharing the table with her and pulls out a knife.

The guards in spiky armour are beside her in split second. One punches her in the stomach and the other whips the knife from her hand. When they drag her out through the airlock, she is still throwing curses in a posh Reef dialect.

The Palace is a venue with no rules but one: absolutely no violence.

Ór makes her way through the room, eyes sweeping over every passing face. When she spots a table under one of the lamps, just by the bar, with only one seat taken, one corner of her lips moves slightly upwards. The Spider knows his clients remarkably well. A Vandal sitting there looks haggard even for an Eliksni, shreds of grey and violet cloth hanging from his lanky frame and a helmet that has certainly seen better days. She notices no House symbols on him, though the violet rags seem to be a remainder of Dusk attire.

She checks the knives again, then throws a bag of glimmer on the table in front of the Vandal and slips onto the other stool. He looks up and his eyes flicker aggressively yet curiously.

“Heard you liked Human card games,” she says.

The Vandal’s gaze flicks between her and the glimmer before he hisses in Terran with a distinct growly accent, “Yess… for what?”

“Twelve thousand,” Ór gestures to the bag. “In turn… I want information.”

His eyes narrow under the mask, “Information valuable.”

In response, she pulls out a sidearm from the holster and places it on the top of the glimmer pile. A nice piece, custom-made. Black market. Runi hisses in her ear.

“Tell me this isn’t your only gun. Ór. Ór, is this your only gun?!”

She ignores him and leans over the table. The Vandal ponders the offer for a moment, then nods. As he takes out a card deck and shuffles it, she hears Runi’s distressed whines over the comms.

“You know what? I take it back, all of it back. If you win this, I’m never gonna complain about you playing with Drifter again. Ever. But if you lose your only gun and get killed in this hellhole, I’m. Not. Rezzing. You.”

She gives him a reassuring mental nudge, at the same time doing maths in her head on how many knifes she could spare to get out of here alive.

 ------------------------------------------------------

 When she places her last card on the table, the Vandal’s eyes shine with disgruntlement but he says nothing. Runi, on the other hand, lets out a long, digital sigh of relief.

“Never pull something like this out again.” He sounds as if he was planning on buying Drifter flowers.

The Vandal gently pushes the bag of glimmer in her direction with his lower hand and folds the upper ones. Ór reaches for her sidearm and puts it back in the holster.

“Let’s talk,” she says, trying to look him straight in the eyes but lacking a pair to properly do so, “but not here.”

They slip through the back door she remembered from the first time she was here, into a trash alley full of empty crates and drained ether tanks. Her eyes sweep the area and when she is sure they are alone, she presses her luck.

“Velask,” she says, praying it’s the correct pronunciation, and pulls back her hood.

The Vandal, leaning his back against the wall with both pairs of arms crosses, flinches.

“I hear about you,” she continues in broken Eliksni, “Have no House. Once Dusk, but not like their doings. Want something different.”

She observes his figure as he is considering her words, left lower hand fidgeting with a knife by his belt.

“Who did you hear from?” He replies, mercifully using simple structures, “What do you want?”

“Just talk,” she shrugs. “Dusk hate humans. But you work for Reef people, no?”

“You are not of the Reef,” he narrows his eyes. “Terran. Light-child?”

Ór nods.

“Dusk fight Light-children. But not all Eliksni want to, yes?... And not all Light-children want to.” She pulls out one of her knives, takes it by the blade and reaches it out, the hilt pointing towards him. “They want peace.”

The Vandal stares at the knife, stunned, then glances at her, then back at the knife. After a long moment of silence, so deep Ór can almost hear her own heart thudding, he raises his upper arm and takes it.

“Why?” His voice is softer now. He is leaning against the wall again, seeming a lot more relaxed, and eyeing her curiously.

“Must know about Io. What happening there. What make your Whirlwind.”

He winces, but nods.

“We must fight. Together,” she presses on. “Alone we lose. Alone, there is Whirlwind again. Collapse again.”

The knife spins in his fingers. “Why’ve you come to me? I’m a bannerless mercenary. No fighter, no kell.”

“Your father fight for the Queen. After Cybele.”

“Long ago. Reef is chaos now,” he barks a laugh and gestures towards the door they have left through. “The Spider now rules it as much as the Queen.”

Ór observes him intently. She has to look up, he is towering over her even when slouched against the wall.

“No Queen,” she says slowly, “No kell. But you hear about House Light, no?”

“Misraaks,” he mutters, almost making it a question.

“Yes,” she smiles with relief. “Hear you look for him. As I do. Want peace like him.”

The Vandal holds her gaze. She cannot tell what his eyes express, but it is certainly not hostility.

“Meet me tomorrow.” He makes a slow, careful move with his lower hand, pulling out his own knife and handing it over to Ór. She takes it by the hilt and smiles again.

“Here?”

“Yes. And my friend.” He withdraws his hand just as slowly, then bows his head in a gesture the meaning of which is unknown to her. “My name is Iskaar.”

A silence falls, him waiting for her to reply, but she only nods. They share a long look, six blue eyes glowing dimly in the shadows, until Ór sheaths Iskaar’s knife by her belt and straightens up.

“Tomorrow, then.”

  ------------------------------------------------------

With her legs stretched out and back against a jagged rock, Ór is observing the evening—or at least what passes for it out here—settle over the Tangled Shore. In the Reef, day and night are a societal construct, and the only way she can distinguish one from the other is by lamps lighting up and turning off around Eliksni burrows. She watches from above as dozens of tiny lights vanish and darkness gradually takes reign over this scattering of junk and stone. Moaning of thick metal lines holding the shards of asteroids and wreckage together and distant gunfire are a constant hum she’s grown used to. It’s just how the Shore is – always torn apart and whimpering.

From her spot on a rock floating above the Cobble Ór spots an Awoken woman driving off on a Fallen Pike and a group of Dregs chasing her. A Cabal Legionary shoots one of them in the back and he plummets to the ground, his vehicle crashing and erupting with flames. The rest of the band dashes by undisturbed and in a moment it’s quiet again.

She loves this place.

It is chaotic, vast, and full of hideouts. Hunter-esque. But what appeals to her the most is the mere idea of a makeshift space built with hooks and cables and ship parts and rocks and Traveler knows what else, and the fact that someone could call it a home. It seems alive – ever growing, ever changing.

Runi materializes beside her.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“We’re meeting these two Eliksni, remember? From the bar?”

“Ah, yes…” he twitches his shell and Ór suspects he actually wanted to ask about something else. “You’re not telling the Vanguard, are you?”

She raises an eyebrow, “We’ve talked about this, right?”

“Yes, but… uh,” he sighs, “I don’t like doing things off the record.”

“But you said this plan was a good idea.”

“Mhm.”

“And you know what they would say.”

Ór respects the Vanguard. Sha admires how they carry the weight of the City on their own shoulders, steady and unmoveable like pillars of a temple, how they wiggle and bend but never break. They are not a pair of cowardly zealots blinded by the Light, as Drifter would put it. Zavala is scrupulous and protective, Ikora is clever and bold; together, they form a leadership she is willing to trust, a leadership under whose banner she would gladly march into a fight.

Yet there has always been something she couldn’t quite place, ever since she came to the Tower. For all their welcoming nods and words of encouragement, she has been flinching every time she saw Cyle run off, excited and proud, to report back at the courtyard; every time Shinon sat in an alcove reading a book borrowed from the Vanguard’s exclusive library. Always that needle of envious regret pinching her.

She knows what they would say.

Zavala wouldn’t even try to listen, he’d slam his fist and close the case before she could mutter a word. Ikora’s criticism would be gentler; she would draw her to one side and list all the flaws of her plan until Ór barely had the energy and equally little confidence to defend it. She can well recall the barely stifled weariness in Zavala’s eyes, she has seen Ikora’s hands shake, and she knows where that would be coming from. They were protective, they were worried, they needed to defend this City—this world—out of a sense of duty and genuine love for it. She could not act against that. She would not bear their contempt.

It is a weakness, maybe. Drifter would put it this way, she thinks, but again, he calls many things many names and she does not agree with most of them. To her, it’s a splinter stuck under her skin, painful and festering. A need of appreciation? A call for recognition? There are so many lives all around her, Titans building defences and Warlocks understanding things, fellow Hunters getting intel and cracking codes. Rivers of people overflowing her, a nameless pebble thrusted by the current. The Vanguard still refer to her as ‘a Guardian’.

Maybe that is also why she loves the Shore so much.

It is her own thing; because here, she is entirely on her own. No fireteam to save her hide, no voice in the comms telling her the correct path. When Drifter brought her here first, he just showed her around and that was it—now she musts fight her way alone. And it feels freeing, as much as the dread of the unknown is intoxicating.

Sleepiness creeps upon her as she watches lights below disappear one after another into the darkness of space. They must find cover; she wouldn’t like to be surprised by a Scorn patrol alone on an exposed rock, with her Ghost out.

“Come,” she rises to her feet and gestures at Runi, “have any idea of a spot for the night?”

“Couldn’t your new friend rent us a room?” He teases, and her lips quirk.

“I think he only accepts payment in handguns.”

[phthalology]

cairn + jenev!

“I have a mission for you.” 

In Commander Zavala’s office, Jenev Furnon felt trapped. The air seemed to scratch at her skin. Servants and bootlickers should be standing here, not her. Everything oozed privilege and lies. The world outside wasn’t this clean, wasn’t this safe. The noble Vanguard acted like a fool for trying to pretend it was.

Yet here she stood, on the opposite side of the desk from the Titan commander, because he had caught her looking at a memorial. 

“Me?” She laughed at him. “I ain’t never been in a Vanguard office in my life. You see I’m a Dredgen. Why me?” 

“It’s obvious you’re a Dredgen,” said Zavala. “But the Drifter is helping us now. Plainly. Without pretense. And I suspect you haven’t left the Tower yet for a reason, just like he hasn’t.” 

Jenev squeezed the back of the chair. “What’s the mission?”

“Wait. I am not finished. I picked you because I saw you standing by the place a piece of the Almighty hit the Tower. You were curious, but I also saw more than idle curiosity. See, I’d been wondering about you for a while.” He raised a hand to stall the comment he saw on her curled lip. 

Watching me? She had been going to say, and figure out what to say afterward when she got there. She had plenty of options — offended, flirty, impressed — each with its own use. 

“First, you’re Awoken. Second, you’re a Hunter, so no one else is assigning tasks to you. Third, you felt something when you looked at that place where the Tower had been damaged. And that surprised me. Showed me a depth to you I hadn’t considered before. So I wanted to offer a chance to begin to understand that, in the way a Vanguard can. By sending you out to the field in a routine mission that will prove your mettle to both of us.”

“I don’t need to prove anything.”

“So you don’t. Then, what do you want? Answer that, and I’ll tell you about the mission.” 

His silver eyes met hers. He wouldn’t be moved, that gaze told her. Fine. She didn’t need him to. 

“So my reward for playing some personality game with you is to go do more work? I’ll pass.”

Jenev turned. Her heavy Gambit boots clicked on the polished tile. 

“I think you’re lonely,” said Zavala. 

Just as she had in front of the Winnower, Jenev laughed. “Me?” She swept back toward the desk. That was rich. A real joke. She hardly even slept alone. 

Zavala didn’t move as she leaned over his desk, taking possession of his space, close enough to kiss. She drew out the twin snake pendant, and still his eyes didn’t stray from her face. The jade dangled in front of his mouth. “I’m just peachy,” she whispered, and whipped away to resume her march out of the office.

He had succeeded in making her feel awkward, simply by not responding. Her back prickled. The office was too long, but she did know how to hold her posture so that she walked out with dignity. 

Finally, he spoke. “Just because you are social doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.��� Zavala’s voice was rough. Trying to gain sympathy, Jenev thought. Trying to say he gets it, as if there was anything there to get. She kept walking. 

His voice boomed. “You were looking at that memorial and thinking about the things you would regret if the Tower fell. Losing your old friends. Your old patrols. Your heritage. You used to care about all of those things. And now you’ve traded them away for a Gambit that makes you feel a little less lonely.”

Impressive. The Titan Vanguard could be mean. 

“I am offering you a chance,” Zavala said, “to find a new source of meaning. To solve a problem you may be uniquely suited to, in the Dreaming City. To use a business term you’ll understand, I think your current life is a bit … monopolized.” 

Jenev stopped. So what if she did take one mission? Not to run, but to forge. That’s what Guardians do. And maybe to make some money while she’s at it. The Dreaming City was stuck in a time loop: surely someone must want something smuggled in, even if their little bit of novelty will disappear at the turn of the dragon’s tide. Surely some other Awoken will be as desperate as some on Earth are, and Jenev will be able to make herself the one way they can get what they need. 

Was she lonely? She hardly ever talked to her old fireteam. Dredgens weren’t friends—they competed too much, took matches too seriously. For all they looked raucous, they were as cutthroat among themselves as they were among outsiders. The Drifter was often busy with Contact, and besides, what she had with him had never been intended to create some feeling of fulfillment that lasted after the moment was gone. It had always been playful, always immediate, always fleeting, chasing the perpetual now. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said over her shoulder, and walked out.

*

Often, when Jenev found herself alone, she went to see Devrim. He was reliable and earthy and always in the same place, even if that place was a war zone. He was doing work she believed in, and had a family to go home to when he was tired. 

She stood in the dusty, ruined sanctuary of the stone church, her arms crossed, wondering whether Zavala was right. 

He was wrong about what drove her. She was sure of that. She wanted safety, not companionship, and had found that companionship made safety more likely. And at the same time she wanted to be thrilled, as many Guardians did — to do wild, difficult work and die for it and come back exultant with victory that had, after all, been easy. 

Iris floated beside Jenev. She had recently chosen a plain blue shell. Iris hadn’t spoken since their meeting with Zavala. Jenev presumed it was because they both knew the Ghost’s opinion already. Iris’ ideas about being a Guardian were more conservative than Jenev’s, more slow. If she listened to Iris, Jenev thought, she would never do anything interesting. She’d never have joined up with Drifter or the Dredgens, never have discovered her own past. 

“It’s not that complicated,” Jenev told the Ghost without preamble. “I just do what I want.”

More dust showered down as a Guardian leapt toward the sniper’s nest, paying no attention to Jenev. She considered the church again — the remains of the stained glass, the thick, cool stone that had seen invasion after invasion of increasingly strange kinds. 

Although she was an Awoken, Jenev had always considered Earth her home. She had been rezzed in the EDZ and found little to separate her from humans. Other Awoken spoke of a kind of third sight, an awareness of the Light and the Dark that did not feel like they felt to humanity. Their descriptions had never rung true to Jenev. If she had some connection beyond a political one to the nature of her people, it was long dormant. 

Yet, once, she had met the queen. Once she had been told she was an old, old Awoken, and perhaps more human because of it, not yet washed in as much of the radiation that had changed the others. Any role she had held in her second life had been irrelevant to her Guardian life for a long time. Perhaps knowing that, never feeling connected to her fellow Awoken, had left her searching for something she could not name. 

But, so what? Revelation did not pay.

But why not go to the Dreaming City? It was one job. That might pay, and it would give her something to do while Drifter was running Contact and the Dredgens were chasing armor. 

She looked around the church again, peering through the empty arches out into the grassy, ruined lawn and the war beyond, and realized she was looking for names on graves. 

Zavala was partially right, but he thought she was softer than she was. She wasn’t lonely, but she didn’t like being alone. 

“Fine,” said Jenev. “You win.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Iris said cheerfully.