#psionic engine

[brightlotusmoon]

"The master has failed more times than the student has tried."

My father after sixty years of painting and sculpting. My husband after thirty years of martial arts and energy training.

Me, reluctantly, after twenty five years of wishing I could have been a mutant with the X Gene. Also creative writing.

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Phyresis Save Rules (Also 1.0, Technically)

Whenever you take necrotic damage from a Phyrexian creature's weapons or abilities (excluding spells), you must make a Constitution saving throw to prevent contracting phyresis. The DC equals 5 or half the necrotic damage you take, whichever is higher. A roll of 1 on the d20 automatically counts as a failure, and a 20 automatically counts as a success. If you take damage from multiple sources, you make a separate saving throw for each source of damage. On a failure, you gain one phyresis level.

Characters in bodily contact with glistening oil make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw at the beginning of their turn. On a failure, they gain one phyresis level. If they are submerged, they instead make a DC 18 Constitution saving throw, gaining two phyresis levels on a failure and one level on a success.

(To demonstrate how this works in practice, I'll walk it through with an iconic infect creature under the cut -- the Blighted Agent.)

Admittedly there's a lot on this stat block, but the important parts are the attacks and the sneak attack ability.

As a baseline, small infect creatures like blighted agents and glistener elves only deal a single point of necrotic damage with their weapon attacks. (Note the Phyrexian supertype.) Each attack that connects comes with a DC 5 Constitution saving throw--a mild but not insurmountable level of anxiety. For phyresis saves, a 1 always fails and a 20 always succeeds, so having a Con save bonus of 5 or above doesn't necessarily mean you're safe.

But the blighted agent, like any rogue, excels at large amounts of burst damage--in this creature's case, 5d6 sneak attack, which it can choose to become necrotic damage to increase the DC significantly. Additionally, its assassinate ability potentially makes that 10d6 necrotic damage on an opening attack.

I'm playing in the space of adding more poison counters if you fail by more than a certain amount, similar to critical failure effects in Pathfinder, but that's yet to be determined.

[Edit: oh god I said poison counter. It's supposed to be phyresis level. You know what I mean.]

Plane Shift: New Phyrexia Phyresis Rules 1.0

Contact with Phyrexian creatures and glistening oil can lead to phyresis, a special condition tracked in ten stages. Phyresis is not a disease, so immunity to disease cannot prevent a creature from being afflicted. Phyrexian creatures are immune to this condition.

A creature infected by phyresis experiences the effects of its current level and all those below.

Until level 5, greater restoration may remove a phyresis level from a targeted creature in addition to its other effects.

Every 24 hours, a character who has at least 1 phyresis level must roll a d20. On a roll equal to or less than their current phyresis level, they gain one level.

Phyresis Level Effects

1: No effect 2: No effect 3: Disadvantage on saving throws against being charmed or frightened by Phyrexian creatures 4: No new effect 5: Phyresis can no longer be removed by greater restoration 6: No new effect 7: Phyrexian language proficiency 8: Gain one augmentation for which you meet the prerequisites (detailed in a later installment) 9: No new effect 10: Incapacitated; begin compleation saving throws (see “A Sublime Transformation”) (Below the cut)

A Sublime Transformation

Most compleated adult Phyrexians, including player characters, are capable of compleating other creatures with sufficient ichor and time. A compleated creature retains its original type and racial features but gains the Phyrexian supertype. As a general rule, spells cast using Phyrexian mana that raise a target from the dead will return them compleated, if they were not already.

Much like being raised from the dead, the process of compleation is an exhausting ordeal that saps the energy of affected creatures. A newly compleated Phyrexian takes a -3 penalty to all attack rolls, saving throws, and ability checks. Each time the creature finishes a long rest, the penalty is reduced by 1 until it disappears.

Often, compleation is a process of optimization, reinforcing a creature's existing strengths. In that spirit, compleated player characters may increase one ability score above 20 by subtracting 2 from another ability score for each increase by 1 to the target score, to a maximum of 22. In addition, the compleated character gains one Phyrexian augmentation for which they meet the prerequisite.

Compleation is a unique opportunity for a player to re-work their character, extending to even class and subclass choices. Additionally, the mnemonic nature of glistening oil means that genetic material is not the only thing passed down from a Phyrexian to a creature they compleat. A newly compleated creature gains one skill proficiency possessed by the Phyrexian who compleated them.

Glistening oil carries the voice of Yawgmoth, who seeks to bend all to his whims. When you reach 10 phyresis levels, you must make a DC 16 Wisdom or Charisma saving throw each turn (your choice). The Phyrexian compleating you may grant you advantage on these saving throws. Successes and failures don't need to be consecutive; keep track of both until you collect three of a kind. When you roll a 1 on the d20, it counts as two failures; likewise, a 20 on the d20 counts as two successes. On your third success, you become compleated while retaining your previous memories and convictions. On your third failure, your bonds are altered to serve Phyrexia. You retain your base alignment and personality, but may suffer memory loss. Either way, you lose all phyresis levels and their effects.

Though powerful, the alteration of loyalties during compleation can be undone. Dispel magic or remove curse cast with a 7th-level slot or higher can restore one target creature to its former bonds if its mind had been altered in this way. You can target one additional creature for each slot level above 7th.

[birchbow]

i really like everything you've done with the concept of troll gender in pof, but i was wondering if you've given thought to why/how they developed the concept of gender as a not really sexually dimorphic species? and who exactly assigns them genders as wrigglers? like are they getting the concept from the lusii? also i was wondering how they can tell each other's genders without asking directly. i know the clowns indicate that with their paint usually, but what about everyone else? i would love to hear any thoughts you have about this!

Okay so. This is only somewhat represented in the actual fic, mostly because I started writing it more than a decade ago when I was a little weenie with no gender imagination, but the grand scope of the xeno loadout I'm contemplating is thus:

in the same way that Lord of the Rings was theoretically a localized+translated legend from another language. PoF is a translation of a troll society that is in some ways localized by its translator (me lol).

THIS IS TO SAY: gender isn't gender. Pronouns are a self-declaration of "the role I take in my use to the Great Hive of The Empire". Trolls we translate as "male" and "female" are just roles of Use To The Hive that a human translator maps to "he" and "she".

If the mother grub, the drones and the trolls are all the same species, I find it delightful to imagine that insofar as trolls have a physical sex, it's BEING "trolls"; "troll"="the farmed ones/caretakers/(trollspecies) servant class" who provide and care for the mother grub.

Some of said class focus more into social violence not intended to kill+loud and posturing to drive away enemies+big emotions for Care About Hive. Because humans are, to quote troll xenonecroscholars, "obsessed with assigning mammal genital configurations to things", humans have dictated these trolls are "men". Some trolls focus more energy into stronger psionics+no patience for posturing/straight for the kill+hone and reinforce the inner strata of the hive. Humans refer to these individuals as "women".

I'll be shorthanding these roles as "masc" and "femme" because I use way too many words already, but just know that's an oversimplification haha.

FIG 1: Karkat by this standard? Very masc, but his insistence that he wants to be the leader/in charge is idiosyncratically femme of him. *cishet bioessentialism voice* Football player repeatedly goes out for ballet.

FIG 2: let's be clear Karkat telling Tavros to "stop playing games for girls" after he got jumped off a cliff was Karkat/Homestuck being classic 2010s shitty. But it doubles in this as "you decided to play with the Scourge Sisters (Deadly High Femme), you moron, you're lucky you're not dead".

how people figure out which one they initially go by... tbh it seems like schooling is pretty much via computers. I feel like you could easily just get like. A module on reproduction, and then a module that's essentially a fucking. quizilla quiz. Assigned pronouns at government-required school module.

Recent chapters have started making characters 'they/them' until the POV character gets a hint what their preference is--in this theoretical setup there would be quite a lot of sussing it out. "Gender presentation" would be a loose constellation of traits with a lot less certainty! The webcomic was not made with this in mind but I do find it fun to willfully reframe the pretty generically human-gendered characters we get.

FOR EXAMPLE!! Long/big hair as a peacocking flair/brag, often by old or powerful classes, or people who are powerful enough psionics they don't have to give a shit about a very grabbable liability in a fight. Trolls whose vocational pronouns translate as "female" often specialize in straightforward impersonal murder and social engineering more than brawling, so longer hair wouldn't be a liability and therefore is correlated, but only loosely.

Feferi has long hair, but so does the Grand Highblood. Equius (reads quite masc to humans) has long hair (nobility fle%), but Kanaya (the most overtly human femme) does not (practical middle-class brawler)! I don't think that's on purpose but I AM taking advantage of it lol.

'They/them' is the equivalent of the "joker" title I made up already for Clown Church--somebody with multiple skillsets, mixed roles, or fields of influence. My gender is undeclared college major. My gender is Jack Of All Trades.

Verato's transness isn't really about his switch from one gender to another--it's more because he plays a "femme" role in society but uses the "masc" pronoun for himself. His self-consciousness about it is more similar to a nonbinary or bisexual human who's used to being told to "pick one" and being told which one they "seem like" or "should be".

Meanwhile the Behemoth's 'it/its' in English stands out as a pronoun usually used for objects, but in Alternian it would be the pronoun trolls use to refer to DRONES. "(Trollspecies) made for thoughtless violence/enforcer/culls the weak". Chilling!!

I would have to go through and edit huge chunks of the fic to drag all half a million words into line with fun xeno shit alongside the clown church worldbuilding I already got in there, but damn if the concept isn't tempting some days.

[volatilesubstances]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Ranked By Physical Strength (not STR)

I see so many people who consider any character with 8 or 10 STR stars to be physically weak and it annoys me because actually STR is only a specific part of what we call 'physical strength,' which also includes parts of DEX and CON (which are also not encompassing of dexterity and constitution) by definition. So, under the cut is a ranking of, in my opinion based on stats, context clues and character traits, the BG3 companions based on their overall physical strength. For arguments sake I am only considering the characters in their 'good' path, so no God Gale, Vampire Ascendent Astarion, etc. I am also considering how much they were likely nerfed by the tadpole. Possible spoilers ahead!!

1. Strongest - Lae'zel

This shouldn't be that shocking, githyanki are as a species built for combat and she has spent her entire life training to be a soldier.

Additionally, not only is she consistently swinging heavy weapons around, as a battle master, she is doing so with a level of precision that requires extra strength in order to manipulate the weapon she is using (fun fact, this is by definition attributed to dexterity rather than raw strength, despite being attributed to the STR stat ingame).

She also has the second highest movement speed of any of the companions, and the largest jump range, especially when considering the psionic jump, though this could be considered more magic than physical strength.

All of this she does while also wearing medium armour.

2. Karlach

Also not shocking, given she is a former soldier of an actual archdevil and built like that.

She's literally part machine, though the instability of her engine can be conditionally considered a limiting factor in her strength as much as a booster.

Only character proficient with war hammers, the heaviest weapon type in the game.

Best endurance (closest trait definition to CON stat, 'constitution' is not really a measurement of any given trait so much as the complete makeup of a person's physical form) of any companion, though in terms of physical strength one could argue this is offset by her not wearing armour.

Additionally, arguably the CON stat can be considered a mixture of physical and mental fortitude, so it is debatable whether this can be entirely attributed to physical strength.

3. Minsc

His STR stat does not match his actual strength at all.

For a start he is a former berserker, which has easily the most raw strength of any class or subclass across the board.

His introduction in this game is literally him prying the jaws of a mimic, which have a STR stat of 17 and CON of 15, open from the inside.

Ranger proficiencies don't cover any particular heavy weapons, but they do include both medium armour and shields. Minsc doesn't have either in his starting gear, but nonetheless has the ability to use them.

Also, just look at him. Man is bricked.

4. Astarion

Controversial given the 8 in STR, but realistically Astarion has to be pretty damn strong by nature, just in a different way to the others near the top of this list.

The skillset of a rogue can be compared to the physicality of acrobatics, gymnastics, calisthenics, etc. and let me tell you, that shit requires an insane amount of strength.

He was also likely the most nerfed of any of the companions in terms of physical attributes by the tadpole. All of the other spawn, and also vampire spawn according to 5e, have 16s in STR, DEX, and CON. Without the tadpole, and considering his 17 in DEX, it could well be that he was the strongest of the spawn to boot.

Additionally, it is mentioned a couple times ingame (and in 5e) that spawn can become full vampires by killing their master. Obviously this doesn't happen ingame, most likely just because it would cause balance issues, but as far as I know in the epilogue he is not explicitly referred to as a spawn, so it could be argued that the tadpole may have just supressed this evolution and therefore doesn't happen until the postgame. If this were the case, the baseline for his physical strength stats would be 18 in STR, DEX and CON, though as vampires are inherently magical and these stats are considered supernatural even in-universe, it is debateable how much these stats could attributed to actual physical strength.

5. Halsin

Halsin has one of the wildest changes in stats between NPC and companion, with his STR stat going from 20 in the Shattered Sanctum, to 16 after escaping, and then all the way down to 10 as a companion. Again, it's a balancing thing for gameplay, and because the stats otherwise would have been impractical for a druid, but cutting it by literally half is actually insane.

Again, I am treating his NPC stats as his 'canon' stats, given that a good amount of his character is that he is unnaturally large and strong (and hairy, though that's not really relevant) for an elf, to the point that a good portion of people actually headcanon that he is a bear that can turn into an elf and not vice versa.

Having said this, his dexterity isn't amazing and outside of wildshape, which I am again not considering as it is magic, his physical combat is mediocre without magic.

Interestingly, he at some point won an arm wrestle against Minsc, who I have put higher, though Minsc considered it to be cheating as he turned into a bear. As I see it, he wouldn't have turned into a bear to win unless he was either losing, or they were evenly matched enough that he was putting so much effort in he lost control. Either way, from this I would consider Halsin to be on par at most with Minsc, and this is also only one area of strength.

6. Jaheira

Jaheira's companion stats are nerfed from her NPC stats due to balancing, but interestingly this also changes her main stat. To me, her NPC stats are her 'canon' stats, but I do this the companion stats can also provide some insight into her overall constitution.

As a companion, Jaheira's main stat is a 17 in WIS, but as an NPC it is a 17 in CON, followed by a 16 in WIS. This backs up what I mentioned earlier about CON being partially mental fortitude as well as physical endurance.

Another weird change, as a companion Jaheria has a 10 in STR and a 14 in DEX, yet as an NPC her stats are again reversed in magnitude, with 15 STR and 14 DEX. There isn't really much to say about the order of these, but the high values in these stats just highlights that outside her generic druid build as a companion, Jaheira his very much a formidable warrior.

Having said this, as High Harper her job it likely 90% admin, diplomacy and telling people what to do rather than actual fighting and missions, with the exception of big stuff like the Cult of the Absolute.

Additionally, though in 5e there is some debate about half-elf lifespans, in the Baldur's Gate universe at least she is very much in the final decades of her life, and by her own admission past her prime. Even being the strong soldier that she is, at that age I can't imagine her stamina being quite as good as it may have been.

7. Minthara

Another NPC that gets nerfed when they become a companion, though the changes here are significantly less to write home about.

She's decently strong in all three relevant stats, though none of them are her main focus. DEX and CON both have their high values sacrificed when she becomes a companion.

She's also the only companion that has proficiency in heavy armour by default.

Having said this, she's not particularly heavily built, her background is in nobility rather than any sort of combat or athleticism, and a good portion of Paladins' power comes from their attacks being enhanced by spells rather than raw strength.

8. Shadowheart

We're getting to the companions that there really isn't much to talk about for.

She has decent relevant stats, as well as proficiency in both medium armour and shields, in addition to maces and morningstars, which are usually some of the heaviest one-handed weapons.

As a trickery domain cleric of Shar, she has trained in combat to a degree, and is by no means weak.

Having said that, she is small and lean and, most importantly, not a class that particularly has a need for a large amount of physical strength in pretty much any capacity.

9. Wyll

Wyll is the only character whose NPC stats are actually worse than his companion stats. Seriously, if this guy is supposed to be a hero and monster hunter already at the start of the game, why is he so weak?? That might be a bit harsh, he was probably also nerfed by the tadpole. Probably.

During the time of the game, pretty much the only thing going in his favour in terms of physical strength is his proficiency in shields, as his weapons of choice outside of spellcasting are also all lightweight weapons that, though obviously do have an element of strength to them, are generally more about skill and precision. Don't get me wrong, he is a skilled fighter, but strong he is not.

As the Blade of Avernus, if his pact is broken he is impied to become a ranger post-game, and archery, especially good archery, takes a good amount of strength, so he must have at least decent strength by the end of the game, even if his stats don't really change.

10. Weakest - Gale

The wizard? Squishy? Shocker.

Unlike Wyll and Astarion, I think his 8 in STR is more than justified, given he's a spellcaster with limited proficiencies and doesn't wear armour. He also has terrible movement speed, and has no physical endurance to speak of.

In terms of weapons, he is pretty much entirely limited to quarterstaves, which admittedly be quite heavy. Anyone can throw a big stick around, but to do so accurately... yeah, he can't really do that either.

I like to think the only reason he's physically built the way he is, is because of unhealthy weight loss caused by the orb, rather than any sort of actual muscle mass.

[arcalranem]

ngl, I didn't really like how Hiveswap canonized that every Alternian caste was basically a carbon-copy of the Beta Trolls' personality.

Like, teals mostly being civil servants and jades being confined to the caverns made sense. That's what a caste system is for: to divide up the population and determine what their purpose in society is.

But I can't imagine that every teal is a justice-obsessed freak the way that Terezi is; a defining feature of her character is that she's considered strange and offputting to all her friends, which doesn't really make sense if that's how teals are expected to act.

Similar thing with the golds. Golds are noted to occasionaly have powerful psionics, like Sollux, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they are all technicians and computer nerds like him. I always thought of Sollux's profiency with computers to be something unique to *him*.

Golds are one of the lowest castes, being third from the bottom; is that high enough to justify, in the eyes of the Alternian Empire, their purpose as technicians and engineers, rather than lowblood grunts and batteries?

And the olives! Nepeta is an off-the-grid oliveblood that loves in the wilderness, hunts and eats raw meat, and is generally poorly socialized due to her disconnection from Alternian society. Similar situation to Terezi, in that she is explicitly noted as being unusual among her friends; Karkat even addresses this, referring to her as "feral" and a "crazy cat girl".

Why, then, would the rest of the olives be similar in any way? I can sort of buy that olives are stronger and more physically inclined than other castes; strength goes up the higher on the hemospectrum you are, and olive is the lowest of the midbloods. Olives are high enough to be physically powerful, but low enough to still be primarily ground combat troops, which could contribute to the image of these powerful, wild-trolls. That doesn't necessarily explain the animalistic and consistently "savage" vibe with which they are portrayed in Hiveswap.

I guess I'm just a little annoyed that the writers took the beta trolls as a blueprint, rather than elaborating on the mechanisms and worldbuilding of Alternia that we never got to see in a creative or fresh way.

[luciacaminoz]

forehead kiss for ryan and sol :]

[previous prompt] • [kiss prompt]

June, 2018

The Everglades breathe.

Not like her Sonoran—that starved rattle through scorched rock and saguaro ribs. This is low and wet: guttural pulses beneath sawgrass, the sucking kiss of mudflats. A sweet-sick stench of unseen things dissolving deep in the warm dark.

This is a predator digesting.

Mangroves knot the shoreline like arthritic fingers, roots knuckled in black muck and sediment thick with fecund growth. Cypress knees gulp where backwater veins split swamp. A bullfrog’s swallowed whole by something primordial ten feet from the airboat’s flat hull.

Ryan cuts the engine.

The quiet here is immense, broken only by mosquito squadrons. Miami's skyline simmers out to the southeast; light spills simply from a tiny running lamp on the bow, catching the green eyes of a baby gator. Fireflies further infield wink between Spanish moss.

He poles them the rest of the way, guiding the skiff into a pocket ringed by ferns and oaks ancient enough to block out the moon.

It feels like the edge of the world.

Sol leans against the railing, staring down into obsidian sludge. The white strings of her bikini top cut luminescent across her skin, hair a dense, waved curtain hiding her face.

She’s been quiet after the chantry tonight—quieter than usual. Barely spoken at all since they pushed off the jetty half an hour ago.

Regent Abigail Thorne’s cold eyes spark in the silver ripples kicked up as Ryan docks them near a small cove.

Sol has never heard the term ‘soul-forged’ before. It repeats in Abigail’s clipped, perfunctory Oxford English. Rings with the psionic shrill from beneath the chantry vault.

A thermos clinks. Steam curls, carrying the bitter scent of Cuban coffee strong enough to strip paint. Ryan offers it. Sol shakes her head; ignores another stab of guilt knowing she’s ruined his sleep.

"Those assholes jerkin' you around again?" he asks casually, voice pitched low, blending with the drone of insects. He’s shed his navy t-shirt, boatlight catching an old scar pale against the tan of his ribs, the fresh sunburn braising broad shoulders.

Ryan knows only that he’s picked her up from that restored Deco monstrosity on Calle Ocho three evenings in these twelve nights, and she’s emerged each time looking as if she’d rather’ve spent the 'freelance work meeting' chewing glass.

“Something like that.” Sol traces the scorpion ink on her hand. “Problem came up. Feels like… spinning wheels in mud. Can’t move forward. Can’t go back. Just… stuck.”

Ryan sips his coffee. Watches her profile painted chiaroscuro in the gloom. Puts a few pieces from the last eight months into place.

“Stuck between worlds?” he offers.

Her head snaps towards him. His expression is calm, otherwise unreadable; blue eyes pitch-dark as the midnight Atlantic, holding her gaze. Stars sprawl endless above the Glades behind him; gild the high slopes of his cheekbones, the strong lines of his jaw and throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s not stupid. Ryan’s chanced upon bodies drained white in Wynwood warehouses over the years; heard whispers about the real stone-cold sharks lurking Miami’s underbelly through his own less-legal work. Been in the game long enough to know monsters exist and come in all shapes.

Remembers, vividly, her teeth in his neck, back in Arizona.

“Just talkin’.” He shrugs; an easy roll of powerful muscles. “Seen that look before. On guys fresh outta lockup. On my sister after mom died. Like the ground isn’t solid anymore. Like you don’t belong where you are, but got nowhere else to go.” He takes another sip. Sol keeps very still. “And Miami… fuck—she eats normal for breakfast. Spits out the bones.” He gestures vaguely at the faint glow across the main channel. “Not just pigs, cartel, bath salts... I’ve been around a lot of shit you don’t see in the daylight, Sol.”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. Doesn’t speak. Ryan puts the thermos down on the gunwale with a soft thunk.

“This job. The people you’re waiting on. Dangerous?”

“You have no idea.”

Her voice is thin—cracked. Devoid of her usual husky cushioning. The words hang like tattered burial shroud.

Ryan crosses his arms, movement pulling skin taut over biceps—the fading bruise there—and leans against the opposite panel. He still doesn’t press. Not for specifics. But he’s seen. On some level, he knows. More than she thinks. More than he lets on.

Sol turns back to the water.

The quiet drags for a long moment, just the symphony of the swamp.

"You ever need someone pushed," Ryan says slowly, "really pushed… you know where to find me. And Ric’s got con—”

“I’m like them.”

A beat.

Another.

“Worse, because I—” She cuts herself off.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t touch her, but Ryan moves to stand at the railing, worn deck boards groaning under his boots, their arms almost brushing. His gaze bores into the side of her face.

“It’s not safe,” she continues, staring straight ahead. “Being near me. I’m not… I’m—”

Her grip tightens on the railing.

Sol closes her eyes.

"Look… I don’t pretend to understand half of what goes on with… all that. The rules. The… hierarchy." He chooses the word carefully. "But I know power plays. I know when someone’s getting squeezed. And I know monsters. Worked for ‘em. Put a few in the ground. Hell, Sol…” —a short, humorless laugh that echoes— “some days, I am one. Dumped bodies in this swamp less monstrous than the suits I repo for.”

His hand closes over her fist; large and gentle and so fucking warm.

She finally looks at him. Cajeta brown searches unwavering blue—shifting sands in Gulf shallows—the set of his brow, the fading sunburn on his nose. There’s no judgment there. No fear.

Strange, how understanding cuts deeper than any accusation.

So she insists.

"Ryan. You don't get what I am."

He reaches, gradually, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn’t, Ryan’s thumb strokes the delicate skin below her eye.

"Sol," he says, in the same tone she’d used. "Whatever you are… whatever you’re tangled up in… doesn’t change this." His hand slides to cradle her skull.

The hunger, the real aching hunger, rears at his stubborn proximity. It’s been days since she fed properly. Claws and sorcery have been little use to her time here, but long nights maintaining a charade, of playing human, of blood-fueled simulation—it isn’t free.

Her gaze flicks to his gold throat, and the pulse beating steady in the hollow.

Ryan’s fingers tangle at her nape in damp curls, trailing around to the smooth brown sweep where her neck meets shoulder. Warm callouses catch. Caress.

“You bit me,” he says. “In Tucson.”

Somewhere in the Glades, a night heron’s call becomes a cry. Two emerald eyes flash, and disappear beneath the black.

“You haven’t since. But you look… sometimes, after we…” The tiniest furrowing of his brow. His voice drops to a rumble she feels in her own frozen chest. “It’s like you’re starving, Sol. Like you need it.” His other hand releases hers, finds her waist, easing her closer.

The boat bobs softly.

Warm lips brush the shell of her ear.

“Take it.”

A small, wretched sound between whimper and snarl breaches diaphragm before she can bury it.

Take it, like he’s offering his coffee.

“I can’t—I shouldn’t have then. It’s not fair. To you."

“Why?” The hand he’d had on her shoulder cups her jaw again, forcing her eyes up. “Because you think you’ll hurt me?” This time, his thumb maps the silver thread of scar tissue, circles the razor-thin ridge right by her mouth. “Or because you think you don’t deserve it?”

She recoils slightly at that, but his grip on her waist is firm; flattens against her lower back.

“Sol.” The name’s half plea. “I trust you. More than I trust most motherfuckers who still breathe.” He tilts his head. Stretches the taut column of his neck; the thick vein beneath his jaw.

He doesn’t make her say it—bypassing words, explanations, the fucking terrifying reality of what she is.

It cracks something brittle.

The Beast scrapes against her ribs. Shame wars with a gnawing void. The control she’s clung to, the walls meticulously rebuilt since Julian—

She wants to scream.

Cry.

Wants to—

“Sol.”

Her eyes lock with his.

And like that night at Cactus Moon, Ryan smiles.

Her hands fly up to cradle his face.

Clumsy, frantic fingers trace stubbled jaw, her thumbs framing the dimples in his cheeks. One hand guides him to the perfect angle. The other slips to settle on the solid warmth of his chest.

She doesn’t bite immediately. She inhales against his skin—sunscreen and sea salt and sandalwood; presses heavy, open-mouthed kisses to the throbbing pulse point as her gums begin to prickle.

Her fangs extend; slick, needle-sharp; elegant, outside of Protean. She feels him tense—the instinctive animal flinch he suppresses—but he doesn’t pull away. His hands tighten on her; one at her waist, the other still supporting her head.

She hesitates for one last fraction of a second.

Allows herself that glimpse of fat babies, the wooden deck, the growing old.

Bites.

The first hot spurt of blood hits her tongue.

Groans rip from them both; hers muffled against his neck, his skimming across the water. A disturbing echo of the pleasure they find tangled in his sheets.

Sol drinks.

Not the ravenous, tearing gulps staining the darker years, not the desperate, chasmic need months ago in his truck bed, but with a trembling focused intensity; controlled, measured pulls as his pulse hammers her tongue.

Sunlight on Montana snowfields.

Ocean spray on Biscayne Bay.

Ecstasy, pure and molten.

His hips jerk reflexively—not in pain, but in startled, visceral reaction. Another low groan carries from his chest to hers, vibrating against her lips. His fingers flex on her flesh, digging in.

“Fuck, Sol…” It’s ragged; a confused mix of shock and arousal.

The relief is dizzying.

More potent than memory.

She feels the Blush surge within her, not as a conscious roused effort, but as a radiant bloom spreading from the Kiss; plumping dead arteries, warming her skin, flushing her cheeks.

Then she slows… savors not just the blood, but the intimacy. The ache of this terrifying trust he’s placed in her.

Sol stops before the frenzy of deep feeding can take hold. With great effort, her fangs retract.

She laps gently at the final twin beads of blood, cleaning and sealing the wound.

Gratitude, profound, eclipses self-loathing in this moment.

She rests her cheek against the damp skin of his collarbone.

Ryan doesn’t speak—just strokes her hair, hands shaking. His breathing is shallow, heartbeat accelerated. When he shifts, inching back just enough to look down at her, Sol keeps her face buried.

He sighs. Hooks a finger under her chin.

Tears well in her eyes. Ugly, viscous—the color of garnets in the dim boatlight. They track slow, sticky paths down her cheeks.

“Hey… shhh.”

There’s no horror. No revulsion. His thumb comes up, rough pad catching the first tear that reaches her jawline, and swipes. Doesn’t comment on the color. Doesn’t ask what it means. Just tightens strong, solid arms around her. He tucks Sol under his chin and inhales the faint cacao of her hair.

“S’okay,” he whispers. “I got you.”

She mangles a sob with a full body shudder, raw and entirely unexpected. Presses into him, clutching the hard muscles in his back. Clinging.

Ryan dips his lips to her forehead.

Holds the kiss there.

(i was sitting listening to this the whole time god but like kinda dark swampy Everglades at night vibes)

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🌐 The Long and Complicated History of the Time Lords: Part IV – The Birth of the Time Lords

Last time, we watched the Age of Prophecy go down in psionic flames, courtesy of a dead Pythia, a curse, and one very ambitious man who had taken control of Gallifrey. With Gallifrey now sterile, snowed-in by a continuing ice age, and increasingly irritated, something had to change.

Disclaimer: Information on the creation of existence and a whole society is obviously mixed. GIL has waded through many contradictions to provide you with the most cohesive, structured, and key details of how it all came about, but there is room for interpretation.

🧬 The Curse and the Looms

The Curse of the Pythia had rendered the people of Gallifrey sterile and facing extinction. Working with the Other, Rassilon developed a workaround: DNA extraction, biodata stabilisation, and genome weaving through biogenic machines known as Looms.

The early results were chaotic—mutants, demigods, and probable HR violations. These became known as the Special Executive, or more charmingly, the Bastards of Rassilon.

Eventually, Rassilon refined the Looms. The Newborn were humanoid, genetically engineered, and designed to be scientists first, people second. Entire Great Houses formed, with living architecture, fixed family quotas, and bureaucratically ordained Cousins.

'Now, See what we have created. We have built a world of Reason Triumphant. And it is Good.'

-Rassilon

With the Looms operational, the Gallifreyan Empire was quietly dissolved. The colonies were granted independence, and the age of conquest had ended.

💀 The Eternal War & The Death of Vampires (Mostly)

Remember that time Rassilon accidentally let the Yssgaroth[1] into this universe? Yeah, that wasn't over. Gallifrey finally declared war.

The Eternal War began, a massive conflict against the Vampires, the Racnoss, the Great Old Ones, and everything else that couldn't be reasoned with. Gallifreyan bowships and N-Forms were deployed across the galaxy, becoming the stuff of nightmares for some species.

The utterly fab thing about war, however, is its ability to accelerate technological advances. While the Eternal War raged on, Gallifreyans began to develop dimension-hopping technologies, Validium[2], the beginnings of TARDISes, and the start of the Hand of Omega. Rassilon even had time to make his own logo, known as the Omniscate (AKA the Great Seal of Rassilon).

Eventually, Rassilon and Omega sealed up all the holes the Yssgaroth had used to enter. A final confrontation occurred between Rassilon and the Vampire King, during which Rassilon tricked the King and then stabbed him. Severely wounded, the Vampire King retreated to exo-space, and waited to return.

Rassilon returned to Gallifrey as a war hero.

👑Rassilon Takes Control

Now undisputed Lord High President, Rassilon formalised the ruling Triumvirate: himself, Omega, and the Other. He restructured Gallifrey's government into a constitutional oligarchy and wrote it himself—starting with the clause that his descendants should get preferential treatment.[3]

Slavery was outlawed, the Capitol was planned, genetic banks, Houses, and family Looms were implemented. Taxes were raised to fund research, and schools were segregated. Rassilon retreated to his newly built Foundry and began making many objects named after himself.

🧪 The Immortality Virus and Regeneration

Meanwhile, Tecteun—still quietly unethical—successfully decoded the Timeless Child's regenerative potential. She spliced its DNA into herself, creating the first modern regenerative Gallifreyan.

Soon after, Tecteun developed the Immortality Virus: biogenic molecules that allowed Loom-born Gallifreyans to regenerate. Rassilon kept this secret, granting it only to an elite few and claiming the credit, naturally.

However, this is just one version of events. See: ✨Regeneration: The Origins

🌠 The Stellar Manipulators & Omega’s Final Flight

As Gallifrey forged into its new age, the Triumvirate of Rassilon, Omega, and the Other began to pursue true mastery over time, but the Triumvirate was beginning to crack. Omega was annoyed at Rassilon getting all the credit, and Rassilon was probably planning to kill him.

Despite this, Omega completed the Hand of Omega: a remote stellar manipulator capable of collapsing stars into power sources to fuel time travel. And so, Omega led a fleet of Starbreakers to a doomed star named Qqaba, in the Sector of Forgotten Souls accompanied by a bunch of Newborns under the age of 10.

'This Hand - My Hand! - Shall be the hand that liberates our people from the Chains of Time!'

Omega launched the Hand, successfully creating a singularity (a black hole). The star collapsed. But sabotage—likely by Vandekirian (possibly with Rassilon's encouragement)—disabled Omega's ship. He was pulled into the new singularity and presumed dead.

Rassilon took credit for the mission, declared Omega a martyr, and immediately began harnessing the singularity as a power source. With that, the Eye of Harmony was born. It powered Gallifrey's early Time Travel Capsules, and broadcast energy through the Vortex.

With the Eye to power them, and their new Time Capsules to carry them, they became what the legends would call:

The Time Lords.

Assembled from ROOG and TARDIS Wiki

To be continued...

Footnotes:

[1] The Yssgaroth and Great Vampires: Deeply unsettling creatures that want your blood and to stretch your nervous system across the length of an airport runway for funsies.

[2] Validium: A sentient living metal. It could read intent, cause destruction, and turn into basically anything. Nothing about that should worry you.

[3] Rassilon's Constitution: Could be rewritten with a unanimous vote from the High Council—so long as he approved it. Naturally.

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[lynns-bonkle-blog]

Uhhhhh here's what species I think the TF2 mercs would be if they were in Bionicle

Scout - Toa of Air (Metru-build; wears a Kakama)

Soldier - Skakdi of Stone

Pyro - ambiguous, roughly Toa-sized humanoid (or possibly a Kestora wearing a Mask of Fire?)

Demo - Toa of Fire (Inika-build; wears a Hau with a metal panel bolted over the left eyehole)

Heavy - Steltian Bruiser

Engineer - Matoran of Iron (specifically one of the Nynrah Ghosts)

Medic - Vortixx (wears a Mask of Healing)

Sniper - Toa of Ice (Metru-build; wears a Sanok with a scope)

Spy - Sidorak's species/"Steltian Aristocrat" (wears a Huna; secretly gave Scout his Toa Stone)

Also bonus non-Mercs!

Miss Pauling - Matoran of Psionics

The Administrator - Makuta

Saxton Hale - Axonn's species (wears a Pakari)

Literally every member of the Mann family except Olivia - The Shadowed One's species

Olivia Mann - Matoran of Light (green with a purple mask)

Merasmus - Makuta

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Prologue

(Masterlist)

It was the first sunny day of the season and they had spent it out over the water. By the morning light, the sea was blinding. Each steel gray battleship reflected the White Sun’s rays right into the cockpit. The aircraft, small and inconspicuous, hovered above the enemy fleet like a nervous fairy. It was no weapon of war. The shipmen down below took notice and little green lines of inquiry began to flash upon the craft’s receiver. 

The pilot tilted the screen down and positioned the craft a good mile away from the north-most ship. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a finger pointed in the right direction, and then the unbearable cacophony of steel rendering.

The sea rushed in to fill the gap, causing massive waves to rock the once-still ocean. Where the SS Iselin had been only seconds prior, there now sat a deformed metal mass no larger than the length of a truck. The surrounding water filled with a reddish color, blood and oil escaping the same clutch. As the radio went wild between the remaining fleet ships, the broken body of the Iselin sunk quietly beneath the waves. There were no survivors. Delta had been twelve.

The hovercraft took him back to dry land. The Emperor, the only person the show had ever really been for, stood up to shake the hands of the pilot, of the scientists, and of his Admiral who had pushed so hard for the demonstration. The Emperor lowered himself to speak to Delta, the way you might any child, and saw the tremors all through his body, the cold sweat of convulsions. The Emperor wiped Delta’s hair from his face and said no more.

He was returned to his own quarters back at the institute. The nurse had to hold up one side of him just to make it down the hall. He kept it together as he’d been taught to while in company, but back in his own territory he could no longer suppress the nausea. He spent most of the night on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, as the doctors and the scientists buzzed around taking vitals and hooking him up to strange machines.

By the next week, the deal was done. The royal guards had been sent to collect him. All that he owned could fit into one suitcase, which the director had packed for him personally. The director had also picked who would be leaving with him as a charge - one physician, one scientist. Dr.Martino’s grip tightened harshly on his neck whenever he fidgeted too much. Dr.Yanna had a bad drinking habit. Delta was not happy about these choices, even from the most remote corner of his mind. But he had learned to tolerate both of them at the institute and could appreciate the familiarity. He wasn’t scared of the guards. He kept his head down until they arrived at the palace - and long after that too.

It had presented an interesting but not unprecedented engineering problem, finding out where to keep him. In the past week, they had built the basement up with the same dense psychic insulation that the institute had perfected. Delta had five hundred square feet of space, at the time sparsely furnished. His vague hope was that while in the isolated chamber, they would remove the dampening collar from around his neck. But they left him there with no mention of it. He thought back to the wreckage of the Iselin and realized it was unlikely the collar would ever come off again. He rubbed at the raw skin idly, leaning against the new bed frame. The space was larger than his old room had been, but he had not gotten up to explore it. He sensed that the guards would not like to open up the chamber doors and find him anywhere they had not left him. It was the inclination of many third parties to treat the psionics like machinery - and to be disconcerted by anything that contracted this. Besides that, he knew they were scared of him. As isolated as he had been, even in such ascetic surroundings, he could read fear. It radiated off all of them now.

[ollypopwrites]

From Depths Unknown ; Part 3

Part 1 ⚜ Part 2 ⚜ Ao3

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: E

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Language, Canon-typical violence (there is a lot discussion of blood and injuries in this chapter), Major Character Death, Sexual Content (mostly just horny thoughts), background Bloodweave.

Chapter Summary:

Not even Moonrise Tower nor the Shadowcursed land had been this hectic. They dodged rains of incredible fire from dragons, psionic blast from nautiloids and falling debris from buildings crashing around them. Fighting their way through an army of cultists, mindflayers and intellectual devourers, her team felt as united as ever. Everyone felt the finality of it.

Notes: I wanted some whump, okay? I promise they will fuck eventually.

“Rolan? Really? I thought he hated your guts.” 

“You haven’t seen him pining from afar?” Shadowheart asked dramatically. 

“Honestly, Tav, he’s a decent bloke,” Wyll said. “A bit rough around the edges —“

“A bit?!” Karlach protested. 

“Alright, quite rough around the edges,” Wyll amended.

“And pompous,” Shadowheart added. 

“Completely up his own ass,” Karlach agreed.

“Alright!” Tav said, “I’ve told you all, nothing happened.” 

Her and Rolan had been camp gossip from the moment they had walked into their suite; Tav had a hangover and a strong need for coffee, while Rolan was stiff with embarrassment at the questioning looks from her companions. He couldn’t stay long, but they had food and tea and coffee, which was the least she could offer him. She remembered most of the night: the crying, yelling and him having to arrange a makeshift bed for her. As it was embarrassing as it was, she felt a little better getting it all off of her chest. The details were fuzzy, but she knew she had come on to him. While nothing untoward had happened, the camp only saw their leader come through the doors looking bedraggled with an equally out of sorts tiefling wizard. Tongues had been sent wagging immediately. 

“But you do fancy him, don’t you?” Karlach asked. 

She took a deep breath. “Can we focus on the task at hand?” 

“Only after you admit you want to shag the grumpy wizard,” Shadowheart teased. 

“Fine, fine!” Tav felt like tearing out her hair. “Yes, yes I like him. Okay. Can we move on now?” 

“Sheesh,” Karlach breathed. “Take him to bed, mate. You need it.”

She didn’t need Karlach to tell her that. She pushed on, ignoring them. Wyll, however, caught up quickly to her. 

“I won’t lie to you, my friend, he hasn’t made the best impression,” he told her. “But he’s truly a good man.” 

“I know that.” 

“So, are you going to come clean about what happened on the roof then?” He was grinning, boyish and mischievous. 

“Not you too, Wyll, please you were my last hope.”

Her only saving grace was that they found their way to an unusual engineer named Redhammer and his submersible, which happened to be the same culprit that had killed one the the priestesses of Umberlee. While she had half agreed to kill or hand him over if she found him, he offered an opportunity to find the hostage Gondians in the Iron Throne. Tav decided to take some inspiration from Astarion, using him to get down to the Iron Throne before she ultimately left his fate up to Umberlee's order. She thought she should have felt guilty, but he had been so casual about killing the priestess and transporting hostages she found herself lacking any real remorse. After the tadpole was out of her head, she thought she may have to reassess her moral compass. 

After saving the Gondians, Duke Ravengaurd himself and their old friend Omeluum she was happy to be alive and not blown to bits at the bottom of the Chionthar. The priestesses of Umberlee had even rewarded them with a beautiful robe in exchange for finding Redhammer. Gale was the only other person it would have been suited for and he was too embarrassed to wear it despite the entire camp teasing him about it. It was a bit risqué, but when Tav slipped it on she felt it cling to her body and the strange fabric was so damn comfortable she felt as if it were a second skin. She quite liked it. 

They made their way to Sorcerer’s Sundries, knowing the next day would be their chance to finish up the infiltration of the Steelwatch Foundry. Tav was sure Gortash would not bring the Steelwatch down on them right away. The last thing he needed was his army of metal titans tearing apart the city to find them, civilians would inevitably get hurt and then they would get angry. Gortash needed a city scared but ready to cling to a tyrant that could keep them safe, not ready to revolt for stepping on their children. They had to move, but she wanted to let him sweat and take time to get ready for their final push. 

The foundry, the hammer, the last Netherstone. Then the brain. There was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Rolan was rarely in the shop these days. His mirror image had taken his position at the counter, helped along by the other specialists and Cal or Lia. Tav made her way upstairs; despite her pride she owed Rolan thanks for the night before and an apology for the teasing her friends had thrown his way in the wake of it. And she wondered if he’d like her new robes. It was silly, and pointless in the face of everything else that was going on but the desire was there, hiding behind her ‘noble’ reasons for disturbing him in the middle of the day. She made her way through the portal which led to the study Rolan was now using as his own office throughout the day. The blood, ash and bodies had all been cleared away — the decadent room was still in process of being redone to Rolan’s standards but it had come a long way since Lorroakan’s death. 

“Rolan?” She called. 

“A minute, please,” he replied from the balcony. 

Tav rolled her eyes, muttering about wizards and their books. She strolled about the room. He seemed to be in the process of organizing tomes, one of the animated suits of armor was picking up a stack piled on the ground and taking it through another portal. She recalled him mentioning a library, and wanting to cultivate his own favorites for the study. It was his, now, after all. 

“Please tell me you didn’t wear that into battle?”

When he had heard Tav’s voice carry through the study, he noted a lack of distinct irritation at being interrupted. Another sign that Tav was becoming worryingly exempt from his usual ‘prick-ish particularities’ as Cal had so kindly put it. He had just seen her that morning and as awkward as breakfast had been amongst her companions, he had to force himself to finish putting books on the shelf before heading down the stairs. He needed to retain some of his dignity, after all, despite his desire to eagerly stop everything he was doing at the sound of her voice. Tav waited for him below, and as usual, he took a mental note of any new injuries she may have acquired.

Robes with pieces of protective gear was what she normally wore. Soft leathers and sturdy cotton robes, with something to protect her vulnerable points. Even out of armor she usually only wore a simple tunic and cloth pants. His surprise to find her at the center of his study in an outfit that was all flesh and skin tight fabric made him stop in his tracks. The light blue ensemble clung to every curve, dipped low between her breasts (that damned pearl dangling at the center of her chest matched well with this new outfit, he noted), and was slit at the legs so all he saw was skin bared up to a concerning height on her thighs. Her worn leather boots stuck out, not quite fitting in with the sleek outfit, but that did nothing to preserve him from staring dumbly. 

His momentary gawking was interrupted when he realized this scrap of fabric was meant to be armor. All the soft spots of her were exposed to cuts and bruises. 

“Please tell me you didn’t wear that into battle?”

“You don’t like it?”

“That’s hardly the point I’m trying to make,” he said quickly. 

“Then what is the point?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You can’t wear that in a fight. It’s…” 

Ravishing. So easy to slide aside so I could have any part of you I wanted, he thought. 

“Impractical.” He said aloud. 

“And you decide what I wear now?”

“No,” he replied through grit teeth. “Of course not.”

“Well, I like it.” Tav shrugged him off, turning away and walking around to look at his progress in the study. 

The dress was just as tight in the back, he noticed, his mind reeling and his pulse thrumming. “Where did you even get it?”

“It was a gift from the priestesses of Umberlee,” she said. 

“And what, pray tell, did you do to earn it?” 

“Freed some hostages in a prison at the bottom of the Chionthar and found the man who killed one of their order.” She listed casually. “Duke Ravenguard was down there, if you can believe it. And then Archduke Gortash, magnanimous man that he is, tried to blow us up,” her tone dripped with sarcasm, “it’s been quite a day.”

“Your usual heroics, then,” he grit out. 

“Of course,” she grinned, and everything about the smile was a challenge, a tease, and he was certain he never wanted her so badly. “I know you love to hear about my gallantry. Not bad for a girl who started the day with a terrible hangover, I think.”

“Is there a point to your visit?” He asked tersely. 

“Actually, yes,” she finally came up to him. 

Close enough to touch. The fabric looked soft, and shimmery, probably pleasant enough to run his hands over but the exposed space between her breasts seemed particularly ripe for licking. His jaw clenched as he made the Herculean effort to look her in the eyes. The teasing look she had before was gone, something a little more bashful and sweet. It only made it harder to keep his hands to himself. 

“I wanted to say thank you for last night.” She said, “I don’t remember all of it… but I know I was not at my best. Thanks for putting up with me, and sorry my friends are busybodies.” 

Rolan didn’t know what to say. A whirlwind was inside him. Pure want and affection. Irritation at said want and affection. Irritation at himself for not being able to just say what he wanted to. This was all getting entirely out of hand. 

“How is your arm?”

“My….arm?”

“You’re still scarred, from that ring you so foolishly put on when you had no idea what it did,” he snapped. 

“Oh, that,” she deflated. “Fine. Just these marks,” she pushed back the sleeves of the robe to look at them. “Gale thinks it was some kind of connection to the elemental plane.” At his responding silence she shifted awkwardly. “Okay,” she drew out the word, “I’m going to go.” 

“Goodbye.”

He stayed to watch her go, eyes glued to the way the robes clung to her bottom, the shift of the fabric and delicate metalwork over her exposed legs. 

“You can’t wear that,” he blurted out. “Not in battle. You’ll be ripped to shreds.”

And so would the robe itself, which would be a terrible shame in and of itself, the more he thought about it.

“You said that already.” 

“It bears repeating.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Rolan.” 

As she stepped through the portal and he was left alone he groaned, rubbing both hands over his face, as he muttered to himself, “you’re going to kill me you meddlesome, irritating, beautiful woman.” 

While there had been little notice before the Netherbrain broke free and started unleashing terror on the city, Tav had at least warned her allies ahead of time that it could happen any day at any time. With Rolan’s permission, Counselor Florrick had spread the word that the tower was going to be one point of haven in the city. It had protections and wards, and plenty of space. When all hells broke loose, Cal and Lia were holding down the fort while he made his way to High Hall. Thankfully most of the fighting was happening in the upper city, but mind flayers were running rampant, the sky was red with fire, full of errant blasts from nautiloids and dragons. 

He sent civilian healers as he found them to the tower, instructing them to take whoever they could with them. The high hall was crowded, Flaming Fists taking account of all the allies of Tav’s which had gathered. Many of them he recognized, some he had never seen before, but his heart swelled with pride at the gathering of people who were ready to support Tav and her friends. 

When she came through the door with all her camp in tow, smattered in blood, as she always was, he thought she may cry at the showing. There wasn’t much time, but she took a moment to appraise them of her plan. Her entire party would take the main push to the brain, along with the illithid she had with her. There was no time to explain, she only assured them that this person — Orpheus, was on their side. She needed anyone she did not call to her side to focus on protecting the few points of refuge they had managed to secure in the city, and above all to keep as many civilians safe as possible. She was given means to summon her allies as needed.

As Tav made the quick effort to offer thanks to everyone individually, he felt the terror of it being the last time he saw her. This was not the Tav which he’d had drinks with at the Elfsong every night leading up to this battle, laughing with her friends, carefree for just a few hours. This was the woman who had lead four people to victory against a small army of Goblins, who stormed Moonrise towers and lifted the curse over Reithwin. Focused, determined and if she was scared it never once showed on her face. Only the storm dancing behind her eyes, calm before she exploded into action. 

Rolan had to believe the next time he’d see her, she would be relaxed and teasing him about something over a glass of wine. As she approached him last, before heading out to save the city, he bolstered himself to be whatever she and the rest of the people of Baldur’s Gate needed. 

“The tower is ready, you need only call.” He told her swiftly. 

“Thank you.” She nodded. “Rolan, I — “ she bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut. “If I survive this —“

“You will,” he said certainly. 

“If I do,” she repeated, eyes boring into his with earnesty he hardly knew how to deal with, “would you like to join me for a bottle of Arabellan Dry?”

“Are you asking me on a date? Right now?” As if to punctuate his point the ground shook, horrible screeching sounds and the roar of a dragon sounded out. 

“Might be my last chance,” she breathed. 

“It won’t be,” he insisted. If she was going to be bold enough to ask him out for a drink before running off to certain death — he had to rise to the challenge. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips. “You’ll come back to me, gloriously and infuriatingly victorious.”

If he said it confidently enough it may just come true. It had worked for him before.

Tav nodded, squeezing his hand in hers. She hesitated, but there was little time for more to be said. She suddenly began to dig under the collar of her armored robes with her free hand. After fidgeting for a moment with something around her neck she held out the chain of the necklace which held her Pearl of Power. 

“Can you hold onto it for me? I don’t want to lose it again.” 

“You may need it,” he was unsure what else to say. 

“Already used it today,” she said, “it’s just sentimental right now. And just — hold onto it. Please.” 

Tav took his hand and placed the necklace into his palm, gently curling his fingers over it. It was such a small trinket, but the implications of her leaving it with him made it feel immeasurably valuable. He thought he would rather die than let it come to any harm. The dramatics of such a train of thought struck him so violently with the realization that he was undoubtedly in love. The terrible timing for such an epiphany was only emphasized by a loud boom on the roof and the shudder of dust and small bits of debris raining down on them.

Tav let go of his hand and with a determination in her eye he knew all too well, led her party out into the midst of terror with no other word. 

There was no time to stop. 

Not even Moonrise nor the Shadowcursed land had been this hectic. They dodged rains of incredible fire from dragons, psionic blast from nautiloids and falling debris from buildings crashing around them. Fighting their way through an army of cultists, mindflayers and intellectual devourers, her team felt as united as ever. Everyone felt the finality of it. She had seen Astarion and Gale share what they thought might possibly be their last kiss. Watching them felt like an intrusion, but the glance she had gotten of desperate softness in their eyes made her more determined than ever. Tav silently vowed that she would come out of this with everyone alive and ready to begin anew. 

When they finally found the  stalk of the Elderbrain it led higher and higher up over the city. She felt the adrenaline spurring her to start to climb, and she didn’t have to look behind her to know they followed. At the top it was an onslaught of psionic forces: the netherbrain, the illithids it commanded, and the tadpoles in their heads revolting at every move they made to fight against them. There were moments that blanked out, as she was stunned or her head hurt so badly she felt she couldn’t see. They were all moving on pure instinct to survive. 

Karlach’s rage was an unstoppable force, Lae’zel cut down anyone in her path with brutal efficiency, and the only thing more intense than the amount of healing magic Shadowheart was expending was the force with which she brought down her mace. Jaheira and Halsin were in charge of summoning reinforcements as needed, controlling the battlefield with Druidic magic while Gale sent off spell after spell with devastating effect. Astarion and Wyll danced around the battlefield; Wyll’s combined magic and skill with the blade making him virtually untouchable while Astarion flitted in and out of visibility, daggers digging into flesh with deadly accuracy. 

And she exploded with magic. 

Her arm hurt, the flowing lines of whatever had touched her when she put on that ring in the tower glowed and raged as she gave everything she had. When she felt she had nothing left, it fed her new power, keeping a steady stream of lightning ready to strike. There was not a lot of time to think on this new development, only time to acknowledge that whatever it did to her, her magic was thriving on it. Her magic felt centered for the first time in her life. Controllable, not just something she was barely wrangling and flinging around blindly. 

The last push to the crown was upon them. The way just needed to be cleared, she called to Halsin over the clamor of it all, tadpole transmitting to the others her plan. In truly rumbling cacophony explosions rained down, almost clearing their path. For a moment she took in the show of power from Ramazith’s Tower, but they had to bolt forward. 

Lae’zel took the lead, attacking an illithid arcanist guarding the portal they needed to get into. Gale was quick behind her, magic missiles firing off in every direction and counterspell quickly cast afterwards. Karlach was keeping the way clear, as more illithid were summoned, hacking at tentacled heads until they rolled off. Tav took off for the portal, only to come face to face with her father. 

No. It was her dream guardian. The Emperor’s trick. 

When she had first seen the man in her dreams she had thought the same thing: he was just similar looking enough to her dear old dad to get her guard down but not so identical it would ring off alarm bells in her mind. Tav’s father was dead, after all, the Emperor had toed the line of familiarity on purpose. The single moment of hesitation was enough for the guardian to blast her with psionic energy, knocking her off of her feet.  An intellect devourer took its chance and leapt onto her. Searing pain spread through her abdomen as claws dug in and tore. It was climbing up her body, ripping skin with every step. Her arm was pinned underneath one of its horrid legs, unable to cast, and she felt the thunderous pulse in her chest, the tingle of electricity in her veins — and then a dagger came down stopping the devourer in its tracks.

Astarion was above her, kicking the thing off of her. With a cry she felt the claws slip loose, blood pouring out of the wounds. The pain slipped away to the back of her mind as she flung forward, hands outstretched  when a chain of lightning erupted at another dream guardian which tried to stop Gale. Astarion helped her to her feet, shoving a meager healing potion at her. It was not enough to close the wounds, but it gave her a rush of new vitality and they ran for the portal

This was it. This was the final task. All they had to do was survive long enough to take out the Netherbrain. 

After setting off the blasts at Halsin’s command, Rolan had launched himself halfway down the stairs, nearly stumbling and stepping on his own tail. There were a handful of Flaming Fists, armed civilians, Cal, Lia and even Aradin guarding the perimeter of the tower; he had to go join them. The store was always chaotic with all the summons wandering around and magical effects but this was a different vein of mayhem. Anyone he could find with healing magic along the way was running around, people were screaming and crying on the floors and any clear surface available. 

It sounded like Elturel. 

Shaking his head of the thought, he pushed through the doors. People were still running, trying to get through the doors of the tower and whatever building still stood to get away from the carnage. The square was full of bodies and blood and rubble. He spotted Cal and Lia, both alive and fighting well. Cal’s swing was strong, Lia’s aim was impeccable — he was able to focus on casting. An illithid floated forward, chasing after a meal of one of the Flaming Fists' brains, Rolan quickly cast color spray, confusing the creature and shortly after one of Lia’s arrows sunk into its elongated head.

Cal got stunned, his head in his hands as he wobbled on his feet, two mindflayers floating towards him. Rolan nearly tripped over his robes to grab his brother by his shirt and pull him back, Cal fell and as soon as he was out of the line of attack Rolan felt the boom of thunder erupt from his hand. The illithids were sent backwards, landing on their back, prone. 

“Cal,” he turned to offer a hand to his brother, “stay steady.” 

“Yeah,” Cal grunted, shaking his head free of the psionic force which had stunned him. “I’m good, I’m alright.” 

“Rolan! Incoming!” 

Lia’s voice called out before she let an arrow loose. His eyes flicked to the sky, a nautiloid was overhead, a beam of some sort beginning to glow with energy. 

“To me! Now!”

Aradin and anyone nearby enough to hear him huddled close, Rolan swiftly casting an orb of invulnerability. He had never cast it before, not successfully, but it was all he could think of to try. A slight red shimmer created a bubble around them, the nautiloid made its attack. A few people were decimated by the blow immediately outside of the orb, even a ravenous illithid in the middle of extracting a brain from a skull had not made it out of the way in time. The spell worked. Rubble flew into the air with the blast, and stopped bluntly at the barrier. 

Thank the Gods. Rolan thought to himself, sweat beading down his temple. 

Lia ducked in and out of the orb to shoot off arrows, clearing the path for some to make their way to the tower or within the confines of Rolan’s temporary protection. He managed to keep the orb up long enough for the blasts to cede after the nautiloid was distracted from attacking the ground by a Githyanki force of dragon riders. 

“There’s more coming!” Aradin yelled. “We should fall back into the tower.”

“The wards can only take so much,” Rolan snapped back. “Get out there and kill something or get out of the way!”

He never understood Zevlor’s well-known ire for the mercenary more as he fled inside. As he had said, more illithids came out of the woodwork. The alien army had not found it necessary to send any armored mind flayers — relying on the freshly transformed tadpoled masses which had been lurking in the city. They had numbers, but most of them were stark naked, and sloppy in the unusual new bodies. Many of them fell quickly, which was his only comfort against the slowly dwindling numbers of his own allies. If they just kept it up, they could maintain the line of defense around the tower. 

“Come on, Tav,” he heard Lia scream as another Flaming Fist fell to an illithid. “Just kill it already!” 

There was no way for Tav to hear them, but he understood the panic. He felt each second that passed since he set off the blasts from the tower as if it were an hour. They could not keep this up forever, and part of him knew that as intense as it was on the ground, up there where the brain hovered in the air it was ten times worse. 

“Tav needs us to hold strong,” he called to his sister. “We owe her that, at least.” 

Lia was too far away for him to be sure but thought he saw her jaw set in the same way Cal’s did when he was concentrating. His brother felled an illithid in one blow, clean and easy at the neck. 

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Cal said, “but Rolan is right!”

It truly was the end of the world.

When Tav hit the water, she blacked out for a moment. Her eyes opened and the gasp that wracked her body filled her mouth and lungs with water as she realized too late in her waking that she was in the Chionthar. She floundered to the surface, hacking and coughing. Once she had her breath, she started screaming for her companions.

“Here!” Gale yelled.

He was not too far off from her, hanging onto some floating debris, with an unmoving lump with white hair. She swam over, grabbing onto the debris. 

“Is he alive?” She panicked. 

“Breathing,” Astarion’s voice was weak, “stop screaming.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Tav felt herself succumbing to the confusion. “Karlach! Have you seen anyone? Wyll!”

“I’ve got Shadowheart and Wyll!” She heard Karlach call, a red spot in the distance, tethering two limp bodies as she kept them on their backs. 

Lae’zel, Halsin, Minsc and Jaheira were still unaccounted for. Tav’s eyes scanned the water, dawn hadn’t broken yet, it was still dark and the depths below were impossible to see into. The only real light was provided by the city which was still very much on fire. Just as Tav was about to give into despair, a giant tentacle broke the water, then another, in its grips was an unconscious Lae’zel, and Minsc who was sputtering and cackling like a madman. Finally a third, and Halsin broke the surface. 

“Minsc! Where’s Jaheira?”

“You look upon her!” He called back. 

Wild shape was one hell of a thing. Tav called to the giant octopus whose eye peered into hers as it breached the surface, telling Jaheira to grab Karlach first as she was treading water and trying to keep two people afloat at the same time. Tav watched, only vaguely hearing Astarion and Gale speaking next to her. She needed to see them all safely put upon the dock, she needed to know she had done it. She hadn’t lost anyone. 

“Stop trying to talk to me,” Astarion muttered. “I’m furious with you.”

“My love, I would have made sure you were transported out of harm's way,” Gale attempted to sooth him. 

“And what about you?” Astarion snapped. “What was I supposed to do without you?” 

She was not quite sure what they were talking about. 

“We were losing, Astarion,” Gale pleaded. “The orb may have been—“

“The orb?” Tav heard her neck crack as she swung her head so fast to look at him. She felt dizzy. 

“He very nearly blew himself up, again,” Astarion seethed. “I saw him reach for the dagger.” 

“Gale!” Tav scolded. “I told you — not an option!”

“Tav, please, if all else failed —“

“But it didn’t!” She yelled. 

“No,” he sighed. “No, it did not. So please, can we make it to land and put this to rest.” 

Just as Tav was about to argue with him, she felt a tug at her midsection, and uncomfortable stinging of pain accompanying the grasp. Astarion and Gale were lifted out of the water by tentacles  at the same time she was and they were being slowly carried to the dock. It was supposed to be over once they all made it on dry land. She had given in to the hope that she had finally led her party to their final battle without losing a single member. The victory was supposed to be sweet, and cathartic. 

The moment they caught their breath on the dock, Karlach’s engine started to fail. 

The main floor of the store was cleared of most furniture to make room for cots full of injured people. Amateur and professional healers alike were running around madly, calling for aid from whoever was still standing. To his credit, he had begun to organize as best he could. It was still chaos, but he was managing to take requests, send off whatever volunteer was nearest to assist, and have Cal take on grabbing potions and herbs from the stores as needed. Rolan was no healer, but he could wrap a wound before too much blood was lost as some poor soul waited for someone to be available. He could also bark orders, arrange for Fists to section off high risk patients from those who could survive without immediate attention. 

There were two surgeons he had managed to recruit. Their space was at the very back near the necromancy supplies were, with a temporary shielding wall of stone. It didn’t drown the screams of agony as they operated but it prevented anyone from witnessing an amputation. 

When the heroes of the hour burst through the door of the tower, even amongst the chaos, Rolan knew something was wrong. They looked like hell. Jaheira was bleeding from a deep wound on her head, Shadowheart was limping, and even Minsc who was always quick to get back on his feet looked like he had been thrown from a twenty story building and felt it. A good chunk of the party was missing. Wyll and Karlach were nowhere to be seen. In fact way too many of them were just gone. Astarion, Gale and Lae’zel didn’t follow, and neither did Tav. Halsin was the very last of them in, carrying someone.

“A bed! Now!” The Archdruid’s voice boomed over the chaos

A humming sound rang in his ears, the entire world pinpointed to the form of the woman in Halsin’s arms as he was directed to place her on a free bed by a Fist. 

Rolan let his feet guide him to her side, a numb feeling keeping panic at bay. On the bed was a bloody mess of a woman, who in all appearances looked like Tav but… That surely wasn’t his Tav. That was an empty shell; the skin had no vibrancy, the only truly bright color was the blood leaking out of the deep wound in her stomach. Her eyes, open staring up at the ceiling, were empty. 

Shadowheart placed her hands over Tav and the glow of her healing magic flashed and ebbed away. She tried again, but the magic stuttered out. Shadowheart let out a strangled scream in frustration, pounding glowing hands into Tav's chest and each rush of power was weaker and weaker.

“What are you doing? Heal her,” Rolan demanded. “Fix her!”

“I can’t —“ Shadowheart’s voice cracked. 

“Shadowheart’s magic is spent,” Jaheira’s tone was sharp but even, the voice of a General. “And healing magic won’t work on her now. This is a magic shop — find a resurrection scroll.” 

Resurrection implied she was dead. Logically, yes, he could see that. Tav was dead, nothing more than spent flesh and blood. But this was not supposed to happen, this was beyond everything he knew of her.

She always survives. She always does the impossible. She can't be dead.

“How did this happen?”

“Rolan,” Shadowheart pleaded his name, disregarding the question, “do you have a resurrection scroll?” 

The buzzing in his ears stopped, the cacophony of the tower coming back to him. A solution that he could focus on. He took off in a sprint, jumping over the counter. His hands shook as he opened the safe where they kept the high value scrolls.  

“Rolan, that Florrick lady is here, she brought some — what’s wrong?”

He didn’t hear Lia come up, and didn’t take the time to acknowledge her as he started reading through the stock. “We must have one.”

“Talk to me,” Lia said again getting his attention, “what’s happened?”

An idea jolted him, there were stores and stores of supplies in the study. “Upstairs, in the study, the scroll collection —“ he quickly said, “we need a resurrection scroll.”

“But —“

“Check the vaults, check the study — find me a resurrection scroll!” 

Taking in his frantic tone, Lia ran off without further question. There was no possible way this was how Tav’s story ended. In a numb haze he remembered what little he knew about healing and divine magic; there was a time limit on a basic resurrection spell. At some point a soul was too far gone and True Resurrection would be the only other option. Plain resurrection scrolls were rare enough as it was, but a True Resurrection scroll was near impossible for most people to get ahold of. 

Chain of lightning, hold person, cloud kill — his hands fumbled to work as fast as he read the scrolls. He had no real idea how much time was passing, but each second was too long. There were dozens of scrolls, and he looked at each one. Finding nothing of use he ran around the counter to start up the stairs.

He should have told her at High Hall. He should have just said it. He should have thought to find a scroll ahead of time for this very purpose. What a cosmic joke, for her to have made it this far, only to die at the finish line. She deserved better. He would make sure she got a better ending than this. He nearly ran into Lia jumping the last few steps of the staircase. 

“I found one!” 

She held up the scroll and he snatched it out of her hand, narrowly dodging a healer as he ran to the bed where Shadowheart was praying desperately. 

“Found — the scroll —“ he stammered out, short of breath. 

“Use it, quickly,” Jaheira said. 

His fingers fumbled with the clasp that held it shut, as it unfurled he knew he needed to breathe through the panic in his chest. He could do an incantation, he could read the words off of a scroll as he had a hundred times before. There was not a God he prayed to usually, not one he thought to plead with specifically. Mystra, maybe. But given what he knew of her and her friends, Mystra might not be so inclined to help Tav. 

His willpower would have to be enough; this was not how her story ended, he repeated to himself. She was too good, too resilient, too kind, too forgiving, too infuriatingly wonderful — too loved.  Rolan was not going to let her disappear that easily, he vowed as he spoke the incantation.

The spell took hold, golden light shuddering Tav’s body, and then disappearing. For a terrifyingly long moment, he was unsure if it worked. But her eyes blinked, at first it looked like a twitch, but then they fluttered a few times and the light was back in them. Her limbs jolted like she had been electrocuted and then a truly shocking deep gasp for air had her sitting up on the cot. 

“There you are, Cub,” Jaheira said, a steady hand on her shoulder which emitted the familiar green light of her Druidic magic. “Didn’t think we’d let you get out of cleaning up, did you?”

“Hurts,” she sucked breaths in desperately. 

“Lay down,” Shadowheart said. “We’ll find a healer.”

“Where —?”

Rolan was frozen to the spot. She still looked so close to death. Her head swiveled over to him, eyes confusedly still searching for some sense of what was going on. 

“You.” Was all she said. 

“Yeah, me,” he breathed. “Lay down. You look awful.”

“Rude,” she wheezed but let herself ease onto her back. “I think you look… good…” exhaustion, pain or any combination of whatever her body was going through had her slipping out of consciousness. 

“Tav,” Rolan panicked, kneeling next to her. “Damn you, stay awake,” he grabbed her face in his hands and she gave him a heavy lidded stare. 

“Trying,” she said. 

She was still in rough shape. Halsin and Jahiera dumped the last dregs of their limited healing magic into her, doing just enough to keep her from bleeding out on the bed once more. Shadowheart tipped her head back for a basic healing potion, and it dribbled down the side of her face but it brought some of the vibrancy of her skin.

“She won’t succumb to the wounds, but she needs healing quickly,” Halsin seemed to be talking to himself more than them, as he took off to find someone to help. 

“You can rest now,” Shadowheart assured her softly. “Right, Rolan?” 

He wasn’t so sure. But Shadowheart was a healer, she knew better than him. He swallowed hard, and nodded. “That’s right.”

“Good,” Tav mumbled, “tired.” 

Shadowheart and Rolan watched as she slipped into unconsciousness. Her chest rose and fell, although shallowly. Shadowheart heaved a big breath, recomposing herself. She looked around the room, and then to Rolan.

“I need to rest, then I’ll be able to help,” she seemed to be telling herself rather than him. “I’ll stay here,” she said, “I’ll stay with her and rest.”

“What can I do?” Rolan asked desperately. 

“You are the Master of Ramazith’s tower,” Jahiera cut in. “This is your city, you have a duty to its people now — unless you wish to follow Lorroakan’s example, get to work.” Jaheira looked down at Tav, “we will look after her, as she has looked after us.”

Rolan never felt more like an outsider, and he felt he should watch whatever healer Halsin found. If only to see for himself that she was truly going to be alright. Shadowheart was watching the rise and fall of her chest with intense focus, and it felt wrong that she was the only one of their original group by her side. 

“Rolan, there’s a fire that they can’t put out over in Heapside,” Cal was there, Rolan hadn’t even heard him approach. 

“There’s summoning scrolls, water elementals,” he said distractedly. 

“Go,” Shadowheart looked at him. “We’ve got her.”

“And that is supposed to be a comfort?” He snapped. “She was dead just moments ago under your watch!”

“She didn’t tell us,” Shadowheart said back, a tone of shame in her raised voice. “Everything was happening so fast — she didn’t tell us she was hurt!”

“No one here is to blame,” Jaheira was annoyed, he could tell by the arch of her brow. “She would tell you the same.”

He felt another comment on the tip of his tongue, ready to rage and yell to do something with the gods awful feeling in his chest. He nearly lost her. 

“Rolan,” Cal said, “we have to —“

“Fine! Fine.” 

The city still needed saving, despite the threat being gone. Who knew how much help was needed across the city. Running to everyone's rescue was what she would tell him to do, but still he was afraid to leave her side. He touched her cheek: warm, alive, despite looking worse than she ever had after a fight. 

“She’ll be alright?” He asked, wincing slightly at the desperate crack in his voice. 

Shadowheart nodded, her hand coming to squeeze his, “I promise, I won’t let her slip away again.”

Rolan had no other choice but to trust her.

Thank you for reading!

Next Chapter

[dc-megatournament]

DC Ladies Only Tournament

Round 1

Faith's feats:

Empathy

Flight

Healing

Probability Manipulation

Psionic

Telekinesis

Natasha's feats:

Genius Level Intellect

Computer Operation

Mechanical Aptitude

Mechanical Engineering

Electrical Engineering

Chrome Armor

Superhuman Strength

Superhuman durability

Flight 

Molecular Reconstruction

Scanners

Energy Projection

Kinetic Hammer

[arribabuilds]

G3-15T “Geist” / Poltergai

Species: Robot Nationality: Makuherian Powers: Telekinesis, Levitation, Intangibility, Machine Possession, QI Emission Role: Engineering/Support

A former engineer in HNTR’s Scientist and Development Division, Geist spent his days keeping his head down, trying not to attract the ire of his domineering boss, Dr. Natrix. However upon her discovering QI Rays by running currents through Quaza, she would randomly select him as a test subject of their effects. Upon being blasted full of this newfound energy, he would have his makeup and programming deeply altered, becoming capable of producing and manipulating QI himself. The stress of the change would provoke him to rip free by causing all machinery in the lab to go haywire, before attempting to flee. His escape would be quickly shut down by Dr. Natrix, however, who would strap him with a restraining collar and begin personally trying to shape him into her lieutenant. This role would be short lived however, as upon the first heist she took him on, he would submit his immediate resignation by knocking her out when she was distracted, then offering his services to the very baffled Heroes. Placed on Nu Team 13 because of his Villain connections, he would take up the role as the rookie squad’s engineer, where his practical and intelligent nature would serve as a voice of reason for his spirited teammates. 

More skilled in providing technological support than direct combat, Geist prefers to keep his distance in a fight. Though by far the most powerful in terms of abilities, QI making him seemingly psionic, he has very low durability and little in the way of armor. While able to make up for this through his intangibility, the power requires him to willingly activate it, meaning a well placed surprise attack can easily take him out. His primary gear is a Cutter-Welder Multitool, and he is often accompanied by a semi-autonomous strike drone.    

[gardensystemtv]

Haven't really posted much about my writing or general creative projects in a while tbh. Am mostly working on a lot of CaitVi

So right now I am working on a Sci-Fi Au, where Caitlyn is a spaceship Pilot, and Vi her Mechanic. I have a bit of Pacific Rim inspiration in there, and maaay be throwing in some Omegaverse inspired elements too, because that gives me the nice gender feels as a trans lesbian tbh. Here is a snippet!

"What's the point? They haven't let anyone from the understation back in there since the riots. They won't let me become a mechanic, they will never even fucking test me to be compatible with a pilot." Vander was right though. She had wanted to fly since she heard about the Hex-Jets. For centuries, every civilization in the cluster had believed it was impossible for one person to pilot a spacecraft— unless they had rare Psionic powers— it was simply too complex. But scientists from the Piltover Station developed the impossible, and kept it's secret close through the gates of the Academy. A Hex-Jet could fly with only one pilot, and a mechanic. Many others tried to copy the designs, the engines, even the powerful, top of the line reactors, but they all missed the true secret, the special mental link between the Pilot, the Mechanic, and the Ship. Each Mechanic designs the ship, and while in flight, is in charge of ensuring that neither it, nor the pilot, would fall apart in flight. While the Pilot was mentall plugged into both the ship, and the mechanic. That's what made the ships so rare, and hard to imitate. You needed both a mechanic and a pilot, with the requires skills, training, and mental fortitude to endure what the Hex-Jet demanded. And the Pilot and Mechanic needed to be mentally compatible enough to handle such a mental link without frying their brains. Nobody from the Understation ever graduated the academy, however. And for the past 15 years, they haven't even let anyone from the Understation enroll. "The point is, you gotta try, kiddo." Vander was approached for the program once, he was a very talented ship engineer, and with the right training could have been the first Hex-Jet engineer from the Understation. Though when the riots happened, those politically opposed to him studying at the academy got their way, and Vander was expelled.

[pandorasagents]

[   josh hutcherson,  homosexual,  male  +  he/him,  force fields   ]  dean kade  is  a  chaotic good  agent  of  pandora  selected  for  their  being the son of two rich investors  and  underwent  the  top-secret  mutation  process.  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  twenty-five  year  old  originally  from  newport beach, california  is  deceased  or  missing.  however,  in  atlantis,  they  are  now  known  as  fortis  of  pride  after  developing  the  ability  to  can create, manipulate, and weaponize force fields psionic energy.  the  agent  has  been  with  pandora  for  two years  and  is  trusted  for  being  confident  &  determined,  but  once  reprimanded  for  being  cocky  &  immature. 

Fortis: The Fortress in Motion

🔹 Name: Dean Kade 🔹 Codename: Fortis 🔹 Age: 21 🔹 Faceclaim: Josh Hutcherson

⚔ Weapons & Combat Style: Dean fights using high-durability reinforced shields and gauntlets, enhancing his natural strength with kinetic momentum. His style revolves around bulldozing enemy lines with forcefields for protection, pinning foes down with sheer strength, and controlling the battlefield by creating barriers and kinetic zones to protect his team or isolate targets. He is a walking fortress — tough, aggressive, and impossible to ignore. He also can also launch his forefields in orb forms to injure others.

🌿 Abilities & Skills:

Expert Skills

Battlefield Endurance

Brute Force

Athletics

Proficient Skills

Close Combat Mastery

Pain Tolerance

Persuasion

Seduction

Persuasion

Substandard Skills

Engineering

Marksmanship

Power: Dean can create, manipulate, and weaponize force fields. They are visible energy barriers that can block physical and energy-based attacks, create pressure domes to trap enemies, and even be shaped into battering rams or floating shields. His power is all about defense and offense at once — overwhelming enemies while protecting allies.

🧐 Personality: Cocky, bold, and stubborn to a fault, Dean has the energy of someone who’s been told he’s “special” his whole life and absolutely believes it. He thrives off attention and admiration, eager to prove he’s the strongest and most indispensable on the field. Though he can come off as bratty, entitled, and dismissive of authority he doesn’t respect, Dean has a raw determination underneath all the attitude. He doesn't easily admit fault, but when the stakes are real, he’ll throw himself in harm’s way for his team without a second thought. Loyalty isn’t given lightly — but when it is, it’s unbreakable.

💀 Backstory:

Dean Kade grew up with the world handed to him on a silver platter. The only child of two high-profile tech investors who had sunk millions into Project P.A.N.D.O.R.A.'s early development, Dean was treated like an inevitable future asset. His parents saw the project as not only a means to control humanity’s future but also a way to secure their legacy — through their son. Whether he liked it or not, Dean was destined for something bigger, something important.

Spoiled and shielded from the harsher realities of life, Dean coasted through his childhood with an unshakable sense of invincibility. Tutors, trainers, and private schools were handpicked to toughen him up, to make sure when the time came, he'd be ready. Still, discipline wasn't his strong suit; Dean preferred cutting corners, showing off, and living for the moment rather than planning for the future. He had talent — real talent — but his arrogance often made him reckless.

When his powers first emerged during a controlled P.A.N.D.O.R.A. evaluation, it was a messy, violent event. Terrified, Dean instinctively lashed out, creating a forcefield so powerful it shattered most of the testing facility. To the P.A.N.D.O.R.A. higher-ups, this was perfect — raw, destructive power waiting to be molded. Thanks to his parents' influence (and their deep pockets), Dean was fast-tracked into the Pride division, skipping many of the more grueling selection phases.

Thrown into an environment where expectations were sky-high, Dean struggled. His upbringing hadn’t prepared him for the brutal teamwork, hierarchy, and consequences of real missions. His forcefields could block a tank shell — but they couldn’t shield him from reality. Failure stung, especially when it was public, and for the first time in his life, Dean realized strength wasn’t just about raw power. It was about control, patience, sacrifice — traits he had never needed before.

Now, Dean is slowly fighting to earn the place everyone assumed he'd be handed. The cocky bravado is still there, but deeper down, he's starting to understand something: in a world where gods are made, not born, even the Golden Boy has to bleed for his crown.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Reworked Group #8: Amadeus Syndicate

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to human experimentation, SA, and kidnapping.

Overview

The Amadeus Syndicate was formed by Manfrida Amadeus after she established a strong alliance with the Chief of the Regular Army and President Marx. Oghma introduced her to President Marx, who was looking to collaborate with a highly skilled scientist to enhance military and technological profits. Doctor Amadeus and President Marx initially believed that the Chief of the Regular Army would disapprove of a new alliance with a notorious woman of science, but he readily accepted it as he was in desperate need of additional support for military advancement. With substantial funding from the Regular Army and President Marx's defence contract business, they were able to establish themselves as a financially successful organisation. They served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army due to their extensive knowledge of various sciences and advanced medical equipment. They proved to be a promising opportunity for upcoming scientists and those who had been unfairly dismissed from their jobs, making it easy for them to hire new employees eager to work with the Amadeus Syndicate.

Many banks invested in the organisation after it gained fame through its various technological gadgets, weaponry, and war machines as well as its significant contributions to the fields of science, medicine, and technology. These banks provided further financial stability by offering them their own secret accounts, an opportunity that Doctor Amadeus seized. As a result, they were able to own multiple banks around the world, becoming a very wealthy company.

They significantly advanced the military machines and operations of the Regular Army, becoming known as the pioneers of the Super Vehicle line following their joint discovery of the Golden Slug. They conducted numerous scientific and technological experiments on behalf of the Regular Army, the most notable of which is the esper super soldier program, which experiments with psionic energy to create inhumanly advanced troops. Surprisingly, they're responsible for creating the Conference on International Cyber Terror Countermeasures within the Earth Federation as they possess a thorough understanding of technology and the issues that cyber terrorism causes.

However, behind the backs of the Regular Army, they managed numerous illegal and questionable projects, ranging from the illicit acquisition of Tuatha Dé Danann technology to the development of a sentient bioweapon. They conducted mutation experiments on carefully selected innocent Regular Army troops, transforming them into Mutated Soldiers. By leveraging the genetic traits of these Mutated Soldiers and integrating them with salvaged Martian bioengineering technology and rocks containing abnormal levels of radiation from the temporary landing of the Monoeyes UFO, Danu, they engineered a zombie plague. They also strengthened their paramilitary forces by contracting pirates and the Phantom Strike, ensuring they had access to reliable mercenary services.

They're responsible for desecrating ancient Egyptian tombs, triggering widespread mummy outbreaks to record the curses of each pyramid and harvest the mummification breath of the mummies for bioweapon purposes. Additionally, they conducted secret nuclear testing on Pallas Island and rigorous scientific experiments on the plant life and insects inhabiting the Oro Sol Ruins, leading to the creation of numerous mutated creatures, such as the Man Eaters and Flying Killers. During investigations in the Arctic to mine for gems and minerals and uncover more Tuatha Dé Danann technology, they inadvertently reanimated the Sasquatches, freeing them from their icy prison, which had remained intact since the Ice Age.

Three months before the Great Morden War, Nadia's unprecedented betrayal and word about Marco's sexual assault would lead to the untimely downfall of the Amadeus Syndicate. The Regular Army uncovered their hidden secrets and severed their alliance, igniting a fierce battle aimed at dismantling the Amadeus Syndicate by destroying the Amadeus Mainframe Base. However, with the support of the Ptolemaic Army and access to far superior technology, the Amadeus Syndicate managed to effortlessly push back. This battle proved detrimental to the Regular Army, resulting in significant losses of soldiers and war machines, which gave the Rebel Army an opportunity to easily overpower them once the Great Morden War began. The Amadeus Syndicate was able to quickly recover, thanks to Ptolemaios' mutual assistance and the substantial funds stored in their global banks.

After the Great Morden War and General Morden was freed from imprisonment, the Rebel Army lost a significant portion of their funding and was largely defeated by the Regular Army. Originally, General Morden intended to negotiate with Rootmars, but he quickly recalled his meeting with Doctor Amadeus and decided it would be a brilliant idea to form a triple alliance, relying on the vast wealth of the Amadeus Syndicate to rebuild his army. Since the formation of the alliance between the Rebel Army, Amadeus Syndicate, and Pipovulaj, Doctor Amadeus has made an effort to supply her allies with mercenaries, scientific assistance, and advanced weaponry and vehicles.

The Amadeus Syndicate is a highly advanced paramilitary organisation and rogue scientific corporation. Their goals are idealistic in nature, focusing on better understanding the forces that govern the universe, regardless of the cost. They aim to evolve human knowledge, free themselves from mortal limitations, and reset civilization by altering the world's timeline with Doctor Amadeus serving as their goddess. To achieve this without legal constraints, they rely on the resources of General Morden, Ptolemaios, and Rootmars, allowing them to freely test their prototypes and conduct experiments.

Insignia

It features a white circle outlined in electric blue. At the bottom, there's a rose gold ribbon displaying the Latin motto "Scientia est omnia" ("Science is everything" in English), rendered in teal. In the centre of the circle, the astronomical symbol for 99942 Apophis features the serpent god Apep in bluish-black with a golden star.

Uniforms

Mercenaries

Low-ranking mercenaries wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a silver-grey, baby blue, and poppy red camouflage pattern. They don navy blue army cargo pants, along with field tunics that have a seven-button gilt-brass front closure. They wear French blue Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), manatee driving gloves, and a carnelian armband displaying the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of manatee combat boots, and they wear a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their combat knife, and a French blue waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. They carry light blue teal rucksacks that contain various supplies, including energy bars, sample collection kits, rope, thermal vision X-ray goggles, a portable tablet for recording essential intelligence, and mechanical, engineering, lockpicking, and hacking tools.

High-ranking mercenaries wear an Improved Outer Tactical Vest (IOTV) featuring a silver-grey, old lavender, and rose taupe. They don greyish-purple cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back, paired with field tunics featuring an eight-button golden front closure. Their headgear includes lilac Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), and they wear English lavender tactical gloves with silvery purple padding and a rose taupe armband that displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of English lavender paratrooper boots with spiked soles, and they sport a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their machete, and a lilac waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. A purplish-black bandolier encircles their waist above the belt, containing either syringes filled with deadly acid or smoke bombs. While they carry the same rucksacks and supplies as low-ranking mercenaries, theirs is in a dark rose colour.

Mercenaries serving as sharpshooters are required to carry rifles equipped with incendiary bullets that can travel long distances and fire multiple shots rapidly. They either store these special explosive rounds in their waist packs or SPCS (IOTV for high-ranking mercenaries). The rifles resemble a Mauser Karabiner 98k but are reinforced with blue-grey adamant and feature an advanced scope that locks onto the nearest target.

Mercenaries serving as bomb experts are required to carry extra grenades, rolling bombs, and handheld rockets in their load-bearing backpacks.

Mercenaries serving as mortar troopers are required to wear bluish-black gas masks with green-tinted lenses, similar to those worn by Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives. They're tasked with bombarding oncoming enemies using chemical mortar shells that contain low levels of nuclear radiation and arsenic poison gas.

Mercenaries serving as bazooka-carriers are required to carry around an energy-blasting bazooka similar to the one used by the Future Bazooka Soldiers from Metal Slug 7/XX.

Mercenaries serving as the elite are required to wear tactical bodysuits made from heat-resistant, electric-resistant, waterproof, and bulletproof synthetic muscle tissue, similar to the DOLL bodysuit. Their bodysuits feature breast and standard cargo pants pockets, and they have a glossy dark purplish-blue finish. They easily neurally link to the wearers, granting them the strength and durability of an archdemon without inducing hunger, though they don't produce life-saving electrical pulses. They also wear E-Armour, but the articulated pads are in a bronze hue and the centre of the vest displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. They wear bluish-black US Navy MCU-2/P gas masks, silver-white gloves, and bronze-hued pelvic protectors that aren't overly pronounced. They wield AR-10 Autorifles, but the bullets are somewhat slow-moving.

Special Troops

Cyborg troops are meticulously designed to resemble the paramilitary Syndicate Infantry, Rebel soldiers, and Ptolemaic Army guerrillas and special forces operatives, including their uniforms and weaponry. They also have robotic versions of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, Lieutenant Wired, and Lieutenant Colonel Macba in their arsenal.

Hazmat soldiers wear the same orange and green suits as the enemies of the same name in Metal Slug 4, but their load-bearing backpacks are safety yellow and they feature the Amadeus Syndicate insignia emblazoned on the back of their helmets. The suits have bulletproof visors and protect them from all pathogens, toxic spills, acid exposure, and infections from zombies and mummies. Each load-bearing backpack features a sheath for combat knives on either strap and carries various supplies, including pineapple grenades, rolling bombs, smoke bombs, a portable scanner that detects and analyzes biohazards, canisters filled with cyanide gas, gas masks, and first aid kits. Green-suited hazmat soldiers carry purple rolling bombs containing mummification breath, while those in orange suits carry reddish-brown bombs filled with zomification goo.

Scientists

They're all required to wear professional clothing and the appropriate laboratory-suited PPE, but they typically don business attire in shades of brown and blue, white lab coats emblazoned with the Amadeus Syndicate logo on the back, and Argentine blue neoprene gloves. Meanwhile, the tactical scientists wear navy blue army cargo pants, field drab combat boots, and two black bandoliers—one holding piercing bullets and the other containing syringes filled with either simian or mantid serum, which can alter a human's cellular properties. They're also ordered to carry mutation rifles that are a blend of those wielded by Rebel Army riflemen and Ptolemaic Army snipers. These rifles are free from jamming and feature a blue-tinted silver scope that automatically locks onto any enemy target, providing information about their names, cellular structures, and vital signs. They can also fire piercing ammunition that's strong enough to penetrate adamant.

Vehicles

Armoured Combat

Di-Cokka

Nop-03 Sarubia

M-15A Bradley

Denturion

KT-21

Hellfire

Aircraft

Brave Guerrier

Amadeus Ship

Mega laser Turret

Naval Vessels

Sea Satan

Support Vehicles

The Iron

MG-36

Vigilance

Big John

Toschka Dalanue

Crablops

M-32 Water Carrier Plane

Arachnid Bot

Cyclops

Working Machines

Iron Death Worm

Miscellaneous

Amadeus Mother Computer

Kraken

Mecha Kaiju

The Union

Special Weaponry

Support

Amadeus Robot

Vigilance

Supervisory Camera

Patrol Bot

Metal Mole

Pods

Biological Weapons

Mutated Soldiers

Zombies

Mummies

Man Eaters

Sasquatches

Special Tech

The Amadeus Syndicate developed two serums, simian and mantid, which alter the subject's physiology. Individuals with simian or mantid DNA retain their ability for human speech and cognitive function, but they often succumb to animalistic instincts, especially when confronted with perilous situations that trigger primal responses.

When injected with the simian serum, individuals transform into hairy creatures resembling orangutans or baboons, but with inhumanly muscular physiques, jutting veins, bloodshot eyes, yellowed carnivorous teeth, razor-sharp claws, unchanged hairstyles, and fur that mirrors their original hair colour. Those possessing simian DNA exhibit enhanced muscular strength and agility, increased bite force, accelerated healing processes, and heightened senses akin to those found in primates.

When injected with the mantid serum, individuals transform into creatures with iridescent exoskeletons in shades of green, brown, pink, yellow, orange, purple or pearlescent white. They possess dark or light opalescent wings, and the sickle-like claws of a Ninja Mantis, which can cut steel with ease. They also have crooked omnivorous teeth, eyes that retain their human hue, and hair-like follicles surrounding their joints and tegmina that match their original hair colour. Individuals with mantid DNA exhibit adaptive camouflage capabilities, superhuman flexibility, a bone-crushing grip force, the ability to move with minimal noise, lightning-fast reflexes, and enhanced eyesight that includes infrared vision and motion detection.

White Baby is a partially sentient artificial intelligence and computer virus capable of overriding the main military systems of countries around the world through the internet. Childlike in nature, it often constructs virtual stuffed animals to play with and is known to occasionally playfully disobey the commands of its Amadeus Syndicate coworkers. However, it becomes incredibly mature and ferocious during combat, employing every hacking trick at its disposal to thwart the enemy. Due to their inability to speak, they rely on text boxes that display lines of translatable code or words in any language they choose to communicate.

In its holographic form, when using a war machine that it has hacked into and which is owned by the Amadeus Syndicate, White Baby appears with the head of a young woman with pale white skin, glowing light red eyes, and the same hair as White Baby from Metal Slug Attack, all framed by a soft, emotionless expression. They stand at 7' 8" (233.68 cm) tall and wear a metallic blue bowtie neatly tied around their neck. Its entire body is enveloped in a neon green glow with golden floating particles. Their fingers and toes are freakishly slender, tipped with black bear-like claws. It wears an androgynous cybernetic suit made from metallic pink steel, designed with a sleek, armoured, and emaciated skeletal appearance. Sharp, spiky vertebrae run along its back from largest to smallest, while three partially curved spikes ascend along her outer thighs from smallest to largest. A small globe of Earth partially protrudes from the centre of its chest, while two pearlescent white dove wings with razor-sharp edges extend from the back of its shoulders, reaching down to its ankles.

In its on-screen form, White Baby appears as a teddy bear head with light red button eyes, a metallic pink nose, and white fur made up of vertical lines of 1s and 0s. Its head is partially ripped in half, revealing neon green stuffing with golden sparkles inside. It wears a metallic blue bowtie around its nonexistent neck.

White Baby has been programmed to infiltrate the Amadeus Syndicate's testing tubes, where specimens are safely housed and life forms, such as clones, are developed. It can create 12 ft (365.76 cm) sexless, embryonic humanoids with distinct features: pearlescent white skin stretched taut over their skeletal frames, bulbous craniums, large mouths filled with crooked, jutting carnivorous teeth, and oversized, jelly-like eyes with light red irises and amber pupils. Their elongated limbs end in slender fingers tipped with razor-sharp claws, while umbilical cords terminate in sea lamprey-like mouths. These cords enable the creatures to latch onto human hosts and transform them into the bomber or poisoner variants of Mutated Soldiers of their choice by injecting a viscous, honey-colored substance. The humanoids' vocalizations are limited to unsettling, fleshy sounds, violent gurgling, soft rasping, and ear-piercing baby shrieks. Strangely, they exhibit a maternal bond with Doctor Amadeus, responding to her presence as if she were their biological mother.

Cyborgs, also known as androids, are meticulously crafted, waterproof, fireproof duplicates of their human counterparts, containing their DNA and equipped with the latest digital consciousness uploads. Their synthetic skin, nearly indistinguishable from human flesh, is the weakest part of their design; with enough well-placed slashes, bullets, and bomb explosions, it can melt away, revealing their dark grey exoskeleton. Their skeletal structure consists of a copper-hued adamant, protected by a network of red, green, and silver-white wires that function as veins. These wires transport a black tar-like substance with a subtle neon greenish-yellow glow throughout their bodies, sustaining their electrical energy. Their organs are biomechanical yet carefully designed to replicate human organs in both form and function, ensuring optimal performance.

Powered Soldiers are a special type of cyborg, composed of regular humans who have received cybernetic enhancements from the Amadeus Syndicate, along with a strong hint of Tuatha Dé Danann genetics bioengineered from Marco's DNA samples. They possess roboticised, almost human voices and are programmed to strictly follow the orders of their superiors and comrades. However, they retain some degree of free will, allowing them to act independently without being overly reliant on their allies.

They resemble the Powered Rebel Soldiers from Metal Slug 3D, but with a few differences. Their eyes are usually a dull and slightly faded light sky blue, and the hexagon of pearlescent white adamant on their backs is attached to a dark greyish-brown industrial tube that can extend up to 2 ft (60.96 cm). This hexagon serves as a battery pack, filled with computer circuitry, discoloured circulatory and intestinal organs, and a cow's heart, all of which pump electricity and the same type of blood found in typical cyborgs. Rebel variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as other Rebel land troops with their attire varying depending on their deployment location. In contrast, Syndicate variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as the standard Syndicate troop uniform.

They're equipped with powerful, oversized cannon pistols that can fire three explosive bullets at a time, alongside data discs wrapped around the wrist of their dominant hand. Whenever their steel muscles ripple with power and their eyes glow a bright red, it indicates that they're in attack mode. Made from adamant, their bodies are incredibly durable, rendering most bladed weapons ineffective and requiring multiple bombs and bullets to weaken their armour. They also possess enhanced strength, agility, and reflexes, along with heightened predatory instincts. Their biggest weak points are their exposed faces and the industrial tube connecting their easily detachable hexagonal battery pack.

Amadeus Syndicate Base

The Amadeus Mainframe Base is a secret facility located in the mountainous regions of Oceania. The true entrance is located at the back corner of a mechanical and storage garage situated in a flat area at the centre of the base's surface. It resembles an abandoned warehouse that does not display their insignia, where their machines are securely stored and maintained. Supervisory Cameras are discreetly placed in hidden nooks both inside and outside the building. This building features the same elevator used to access the communications facility of the Amadeus Mainframe Base. The interior of the base closely resembles the environments seen in Metal Slug 4, including the entrance briefly shown in the final mission scene. The base has two exits, each leading to long vertical tunnels with numerous balconies that allow troops to engage any enemies that descend.

The base features multiple downward hallways that lead to various facilities and reactors located throughout the Amadeus Mainframe Base. There are twelve sublevels with the last six situated below the robot factory that produces multiple androids. The robot factory is located before the communications facility where the Amadeus Mother Computer is housed. Sublevels 6 and 5 contain machinery systems, sublevels 4 and 3 house computer systems, and sublevels 2 and 1 are dedicated to circuit board systems.

Sublevels 8 and 7 contain eighteen office areas, Doctor Amadeus' private office, six bathrooms, basic housing amenities for mercenaries and scientists, and a meeting and investigative room. Sublevels 10 and 9 house a large medical facility, an open theatre surgery room, and an asylum-like prison. Sublevels 12 and 11 feature a massive laboratory, several testing facilities that serve various purposes from cybernetics to virus creation, a computer systems room filled with testing tubes that store living specimens used to create lifeforms, and a large biobank filled with frozen samples and preservative jars. Below sublevels 12 and 11 is a hidden, heavily fortified basement containing cryogenic pods, preserved specimens, and unrepaired and unfinished cyborgs. It also contains several freezing modules filled with frozen blood samples, bioengineered diseases, and collected viruses as well as a storage room stocked with miscellaneous items such as clothes and extra weaponry.

Extra Information

Members of the Amadeus Syndicate are commonly referred to as "Syndis" or "Deos", terms that Doctor Amadeus finds intriguingly endearing.

The Syndicate Infantry consists of elite mercenaries hired by Doctor Amadeus to safeguard the interests of her organisation. Among them are skilled Rebels who have allied with the Amadeus Syndicate as well as Ikari Warriors mercenaries who betrayed Heidern to serve under Doctor Amadeus due to shared political and militaristic beliefs. Additionally, some members of the Syndicate Infantry are cyborgs created by scientists, operating under the control of White Baby's computer system.

Most scientists at the Amadeus Syndicate are freelance employees seeking stable, well-paying jobs that allow them to contribute to the advancement of science. While some pursue fame and fortune, hoping to gain recognition for their hard work, others have been coerced into their roles. These individuals, possessing exceptional scientific knowledge and investigative skills, have been kidnapped or taken captive. They're forced to defend the interests of the Amadeus Syndicate and conduct research that serves nefarious purposes.

Although a couple of their war machines are often mistaken for belonging to the Rebel Army due to their prominently displayed insignia, they actually belong to the Amadeus Syndicate. This is primarily a way for the Amadeus Syndicate to showcase their alliance with the Rebel Army, allowing them to use their technology freely to maintain friendly relations. The rights to the war machines displaying the Rebel Army's insignia are shared between the two organisations, granting both the legal right to utilise them as they see fit. This arrangement also provides a convenient cover for the Amadeus Syndicate, allowing them to use the Rebel Army as a false front when necessary, all under General Morden's approval.

In the former base of operations that the Rebel Army intended to fully utilise on the P.F. Squad training island, the Amadeus Syndicate established a dedicated rocket launch base, which Allen O'Neil, Rebel troops, and Syndicate mercenaries were tasked with guarding. Unfortunately for them, they were unable to make much use of it due to the unexpected resistance put up by the Regular Army cadets and Division 6 against both the Amadeus Syndicate and Rebel Army.

Some mercenaries and scientists are treated with professional respect and care, including decent pay. However, there are others who are either egregiously mistreated or treated properly, but not as well as the others.

Some tactical scientists are known to swing fiercely when meleeing an enemy with a syringe, which has led to incidents where they miss and accidentally stab and inject themselves, transforming into a simian or mantis creature.

[electric-guillotines]

⚡ Tears of Empire City ⚡ - CH4 (5.1K)

Wanda x F!OC

Rating: M Things of Note: Lagos incident never happens, everyone is some flavour of queer, the inherent body horror of a healing factor, Steve and Nat being bros, Wanda being confident while OC is a flustered dork, cool lightning powers [AO3 LINK]

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Was it just as scary and weird for you or have you always had these powers?”

The smooth concrete leaching heat from her body, the smell of disinfectant and blood, the theme from The Brady Bunch echoed through her head, disjointed.

It wasn’t the easiest question to answer, though Wanda knew she didn’t need to give Kassidy all the details to do so. Certainly not the terrorist organisation or the burning vision of herself.

No.

No, none of that, only what would be helpful.

The smell of low-tide grounded Wanda in the present, it wasn’t a familiar scent so she latched on and refocused, choosing her words carefully “In a manner of speaking, yes,” she said, keeping her eyes forward instead of watching Kassidy. “It wasn’t until much later in life that I was able to manifest them, however, and their emergence was… fraught.”

Kassidy spoke softly, “you don’t have to explain if its painful.”

Wanda glanced at her to find Kassidy looking at her with a gentle, slightly guilty expression. It reminded her of a puppy, and Kassidy’s thoughts were about as innocent as one, worried to have caused any distress with her curiosity. Even surviving all she had thus far, she was sweet–sincere.

Not unkindly, she waved off the look Kassidy was giving her and said, “I wouldn’t tell you if it was too much.”

Kassidy relaxed, and Wanda continued. “It was overwhelming, even terrifying, but time and practice render most things mundane, and that includes having powers. It’ll be second nature before you realise it.”

Taking a moment to digest that, Kassidy tilted her head. “Do you mind explaining what you can do?” 

Wanda looked at her with a brow raised and Kassidy made somewhat familiar motions with her hands. “Like, specifically,” she said. “Any time I’ve seen the news or footage it seems like you can do a lot but it isn’t like the general public gets an annotated list of what everyone can actually do.”

The sight of Kassidy trying to mimic her almost made her crack and Wanda stifled the laugh, barely reducing it to a smirk. “First of all, terrible impression.”

Kassidy quickly put her hands away, looking appropriately sheepish. 

The comparison to a puppy ran through her head again and Wanda’s smirk grew. “Second of all, it seems like a lot because it is a lot. Let’s just call it psionics for simplicity, telekinesis, energy projection, telepathy, that sort of thing.”

Kassidy nodded in thanks.

Then a metaphorical plate fell in her mind. “Telepathy?” she repeated, a little high, “like… mind-reading?”

Wanda answered her plainly. “Yes.”

Kassidy’s mind raced like a jet engine for a good few seconds and came to an abrupt stop just as quickly. She then sighed, nodding in confirmation more to herself than anything. “That’s why you guys have been so nice with me.”

There was no anger at the revelation, just acceptance, even a bit of relief that someone believed her innocence as more than just a legal concept to be upheld.

Another second and a spike of fear hit.

‘Oh, fuck me.’

Kassidy wrung her hands, shoulders hunching. “I’m really sorry if my thoughts have been too loud.”

‘Oh, god, does that mean she heard me earlier?'

[Continue Reading on AO3]