Im Lucius or Grievous, my pronouns are mostly he/they. Im 19 yrs old. I used to be .agrievousmistake on Quotev, and can be found under that URL in most places ive been, Including my twitch! Certified Furry. I consider myself rather introverted and have a hard time reaching out, but will do my best. Taken by my own cephalon ◇ ♡ 𓃦 ~ !
@0rd4n anything tagged with 'endurance of hybrlythia' is our shared warframe au! its mostly for-fun nonsense, but we do love it lots.
[This user loves general grievous. Made by my friend Babu]
Interests, Roleplay blog, and Tag navi under the cut!
My current biggest interest(s) are highlighted in red
I'm fond of: Warframe, Starwars, Slime Rancher, Baldurs gate 3, Hyenas, Shiney rocks, Rock music, cult of the lamb, metal music, Crows, Bones, Plants, Taxidermy, Minecraft, dragons, wings of fire, Arcane, Cyberpunk 2077, and Rubber ducks.
My main hobbies are: playing video games, occasional roleplay, writing, drawing, being a plant dad, legos, and making silly guys.
I've been a Warframe loser since 9/13/18, and i'm MR25
I'll update this post as-needed, and My roleplay blog is @agrievousplay, all my rambles/random shit can be found under the tag #Grievous talks at the void.
The obvious ones are #my screenshots, #my writing, #my ocs, #my art, and #spear point is my OU stuff!
Putting them in the tags here so its easier to just swap to them if youre lookin ! <333
So, the way that Amir describes injecting the serum into his system, how he jabbed it into his thigh and pushed the plunger
It kinda
Makes me think the syringes kinda worked like epipens?
Please correct me if I’m mistaken, but with an epipen you press it into the person’s thigh and hit the button— which then injects the medicine, yeah?
Cause the alternative is that it’s a normal syringe with a long tiny needle on it and that
Sounds incredibly unsafe to just stab into your thigh without being careful. Like, with a syringe like that you gotta make sure you get the air bubbles out and everything, and then I imagine those needles aren’t exactly the strongest with how thin they are skcjksbcksb
Does anybody have any Amir Beckett x Marie LeRoux. Even just through the drifter polycule. I cannot be the only two romancing these two please help there's no water for this ship to sail on.
Albrecht's Requiem logs are such a gorgeous bit of prose, and I wanted to do a deep dive into them because I have many thoughts on how they really set the tone and scope of the conflict between Albrecht and the Man in the Wall.
Xata. (Truth). It began long before us, we who now live our perfect and dull, endless lives. It began long before these moon-palaces and body-markets hurling around our golden sun. It began long before our light-coil thinkers, our radiation wars, our oil, smoke. It began with us. The continuity and its twin, wanderlust. The need for unseen shores deep in our marrow. No judge, jester, queen, or king can escape this old blood. We are nomads, eternal. And when no ocean, mountain, or sky could contain us... our gaze hungered star-ward. Afar, they mocked us with their brittle light. Winking and jeering like dangling Ayatans, forever out of reach, illuminating the truth: immortal as we are - we die with the sun. That's where I come in.
It should be noted that the longing to explore and lay sights on unseen shores is not inherently wrong. It is neutral and an old human instinct, that took homo sapiens out of Africa and into all other continents. It only becomes wrong when it becomes about taking. About the excessive extraction of resources in pursuit of power and vanity.
I have many other thoughts about Warframe's alternate history and how it might stem from a different expansion, dissolution, and fallout of the not-Mongol Empire and its many offspring, and how the Scaldra/Orokin might stem from people who are both descended from and who intentionally bastardized the ancient not-Mongols, not-Romans, etc to claim legitimacy. I think this might be lightly implied (or, at least, unintentionally implied) through a few things, and sadly makes 1999 less focused than I would prefer, but that's another post entirely. But it's loosely relevant, when Albrecht describes the Orokin and their predecessors as "nomads." The Mongols were nomads who revered the sky and established the first empire to reshape the world in terms of connecting it across vast distances - particularly the Jochid ulus, the Golden Horde, the territory of which would have loosely corresponded to and bordered where Warframe's Earth map is centered.
Jahu. (Form). My departure was a day less than any other. When I stepped inside the Bell, I saw no crowd through its seriglass. No skeptical onlookers. No regal sendoff. They all had given up on me and my paradoxical formulations. The wasted years had shown the Void to be just that. Nothing. No energy. No entanglement. No form. To space-faring ambitions, a dead end. On the day, my laboratory was mostly vacant of witnesses, most of all, of expectation. Only my sluggish attendants, my sagacious Kavat, Kalymos, and of course, my daughter. I had raised her alone but with inconsistent vigor. In those eyes, her mother's, I did see a terrible reflection. Of a man that did not exist. A brave and principled man about to make history. In truth, he was a Void himself. A outcast, a joke, a nothing. Driven by my humiliation. Failure had made me bitter and reckless. I would dive into the depths myself to prove them all wrong. I gave the signal. My daughter grasped the lever. Kalymos, then, belted out a desperate, rasping growl. But it was too late.
Vome. (Order). The calipers yawed open the wall between worlds, stretching there a black, trapezoidal gap. A door. A mouth. It yawned in the light of the room, splintering it to mesmerizing, unearthly hues. And I, inside the Bell, dropping obliquely towards it from my gallows. Mass and time rippled as a sudden vortex jawed before me. My head was vapor, my feet, lodestone. The Bell around me, flexed like a rat paralyzed in a winding, gulping snake. I faltered in the awe of it, stumbling against the seriglass and, with that, shifted the Bell's path through the wall. It grazed the caliper membrane, the edge of the door. No worldly edge was as thin, as sharp as could split even light. As the bell faintly grazed it, the seriglass was all at once rendered like strips of flesh by Dax blade. My enclosure was beheaded in an instant, but still, I fell... sideways... Into the void.
Fass. (Chaos). Death was on me; I was certain. I was face-down, eyes clenched. My heart pulsing the last of its seconds, and my lungs burning the last of its air. A sudden nostalgia gripped me. I grasped desperately, for memory, of a storm, just passed, the fumbling pitch of a child's song... yet all these thoughts seemed to steal away from my mind like smoke through a vent. I would die empty. I then became aware of another sensation. Physical. A web of pain, needles itching into my arm. At once I realized: I was alive! Laying in the Bell's shattered seriglass! I groped the ground. Warm stone. The floor of my laboratory. So: I had never left... and so: I had failed. Again. I heard a crunch alongside me. Someone stepping through the shattered glass. With great shame, I gasped and rose my head to face my daughter above me. But as I opened my eyes, it wasn't her. It was me.
When Albrecht first enters the Void, it's beautiful. He is tinting it with his assumptions ("profane in color"), but the way it's described is beautiful and leaves Albrecht awestruck.
He tries to ground himself with a memory of childhood - a foundation. Maybe the Void is drawn to this because the Void itself is foundational to reality, described in many ways like it's the memory of the world. The memory slips away, and Albrecht finds that he is alive and intact. The memory and Albrecht's presence in the Void have summoned or awakened or created the Man in the Wall.
Ris. (Light). The senselessness of it, the paradoxic, the vague untime form. I was alone, but not. For I stood there confronted by myself. A twin, but no brother. A reflection but with dimension. Behind him, no horizon, but a vast broiling sea of caustic light pierced at random by black-pin stars. And closer, around me, a gale of flowing vapor. Profane in color, billowing relentlessly into the nascent lack, seeking all directions. I was standing on a precipice of familiar stone, jagged and unanchored, as though cleaved directly from the very floor of my laboratory. I wondered at the vapor's path, smoking outward more, leaving behind now, the walls, the filigree gold, the rare cuts of marble from my home. I knew at once the vapor's source. I turned away, back toward the wall, the trapezoid I had yawed into it. Vapor erupted inward at the gap, but not just from there. For as I rolled my eyes back, I saw the same... A great-steam of scintillation, smoking from my skull. Dumb in awe, I faced toward my chimerical twin. He spoke.
Khra. (Time). An old name, unspoken in the centuries since my mother reared me. A soft hiss, soothing as a viper's gaze. Little Bengal. The other me reached out, offering his hand, gliding toward me without moving, as though the distance between us was now collapsing. A confusion, most euphoric, filled my mind. With the shred of wit that remained, I decided that I should run for my life. At once, crazed and frantic, I fled. But I made no forward progress. Instead, the world compressed evermore around me, as though I were an anchor pulling the shore to reach. When I arrived at the door, or rather, the door arrived at me, I howled, hurling myself inside. Out. And then and there, I was. Lost and unlost. Howling on the floor in harmony with my wretched Kalymos. Lacerated in flesh and heart. Scattered as the bell glass. Spilling blood and stomach on the cold, stone floor. But I sensed the other there, at the wall's breach behind me, reaching still. I screamed, but my voice was gone. Forever. I looked, but my eyes would never see again. I swept my fist across the floor, snatching broken shards. And in gripping tightly, I filled my hands with ink. Close it! I wrote.
The entity calls out with a nickname from Albrecht's childhood. Albrecht was frightened and reached out for a comforting memory, and the Void reached back with one. This is its first act, or perhaps its second one, since Albrecht is shocked to find himself alive, and the Void may very well have coalesced into a material form (his laboratory floor) to save him. Regardless, the Void's first act is empathetic. It reacts to fear and pain by offering what Albrecht sought to ground himself with.
Albrecht doesn't see this through his fear. And this is where I get a little more into interpretation rather than simply looking at what's been written.
Netra. (Decay). Time, to us, is all but conquered. Our sacred Kuva moves us on to new skin. We numb to our daily, yearly, trifles... and remedy those memories that bring lasting misery. With all our misdeeds, our excess, our indignity... we are haunted by nothing. But not for me. For with each passing day, there grew within a tumorous idea. It was minute in those early days: The pale reaching digits severed on the floor... studied with reverence, with greed. And it swelled larger in the latter days: the regal domes, the Rail dedications, the unholy Zariman parade. I had put the stars within reach, but at what cost? I never spoke of him, that man, trapped in the wall. And while there have been countless souls who have followed me through, with their light-skippers, and field-wave skins and vari-eyed instruments... not a single one ever saw him. Me. And so it is that I will not take the Kuva now. Or ever again. This is the last skin I'm in. Because of this idea: That I cannot be sure. That in all that smoked commotion, in all that panic and fear, in that bending light and blinding dark... was it I who escaped? Or the other?
I think Albrecht is more of a career man than a genuine, passionate scientist. His automatic assumption, when he thinks himself back in his laboratory, is failure and shame, even though he just witnessed and experienced a flash of something that, to his knowledge, no human being had ever laid eyes on before. That is enormous and awe-inspiring. That is an overwhelming success, and a typical one for scientific study (slow, intermittent, frustrating, half a step forward at a time). But all Albrecht can see is failure. And when he sees something strange that he can't make sense of, he reacts with fear.
And listen. I think a scientifically-minded person, who is genuinely passionate and in it for the love of the game, would be THRILLED. I grew up in some very swampy backwoods, so I've come face-to-face with dangerous wildlife on occasion, and my reaction has only ever been a bone-deep thrill - no room for fear when I'm thinking "this is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me." If I encounter something I don't understand, I want to get close to it to learn everything that I can, or else bask in the not-knowing and the mystery. (Everyone read "The Cloud of Unknowing" by Anonymous 14th Century Christian Mystic right now.) If a strange entity from another dimension extended its hand to me, I would simply shake it. If that's how I die, then that's how I die. Outta my way, gayboy, I'm boutta get it.
Contrast Albrecht with Yonta, who can't help but be ecstatic about and enamored with it all even after the Void has torn her apart and put her back together.
And Albrecht's fear is still understandable. Survival and fear are deeply wired biological impulses. He is witnessing something far beyond his experience, and he is Orokin - he has had an unimaginable range of experiences, so something beyond that is overwhelming.
But that's the underlying factor, I think. It's not just survival instinct and fear of death. Albrecht bookends the Requiem logs by talking about the misdeeds and mindset of the Orokin. He is not studying the Void out of a passion for understanding and connecting with the world. He is doing it to maintain status and to advance and expand the Orokin Empire.
Albrecht doesn't see the Void's empathy for what it is because he is not reaching out in empathy. He is an invader in the Void, and he knows it. He is setting foot in a place to which he has not been invited, in order to take from it, and therefore what he expects is for that place to retaliate. Considering how the logs are bookended, I think that is driving his fear more than anything.
Notably, he does not suffer the extreme injuries until he runs through the metaphorical door, something he initially entered through the safety of the seriglass bell. His injuries may very well have been accidentally self-inflicted due to his panic.
It's also notable that Albrecht doesn't do the severing himself; he makes his daughter complicit in it. He makes the entire world complicit in what he has done, because he never speaks of the man he saw trapped in the wall, not until it is far, far too late. (And note the wording he uses - trapped.) Which is a consistent theme throughout the game: the Orokin inflicting complicity on others through ignorance, threats, and force.
And then comes the crime. The fear, the severing of the finger(s), all of that can be considered an understandable misconception and mistake. But despite being a scientist and an intelligent man, Albrecht doesn't stop to reconsider his reactions and assumptions. He doesn't stop to be curious about what it is that he actually saw. He made, to his knowledge, first contact with a non-human species, and he doesn't care. He only fears it. That alone makes him a complete failure as a scientist, even as his scientific advancements reshape the world through use of the stolen fingers. He doubles down on what he's done and takes too long to regret it, and there is a strong implication that the Void and the Man in the Wall are in pain because of it. Tech powered by literal flesh has always been a shorthand for utter depravity in science fiction. Flayed flesh for stolen stars.
Albrecht fears what he sees within the Void and expects the Void to retaliate because he is an interloper there with intentions to take and plunder. He flees and proceeds to inflict violence on what he has discovered in pursuit of greed and status, and he does not stop until it is too late. And the Void is a mirror. The Void reflects, and so what Albrecht expects and what he inflicts is what he creates.
Lohk. (Void)
From brooding gulfs are we beheld by that which bears no name
Its heralds are the stars it fells, the sky and earth aflame
Corporeal laws are unwrit, as suns and love retreat
To cosmic madness, laws submit, though stalwart minds entreat
In luminous space, blackened stars, they gaze, accuse, deny
Roiling, moaning this realm of ours in madness, lost shall die
Carrion hordes trill their profane accord with eldritch plans
To cosmic forms from tangent planes, we end as we began
I love how DE really push hard on the narrative that the Operator is still entirely a child and the Drifter is more mature and adult and the entire fandom basically just said "yeah no" because we read the Halo novels and know what a super soldier with the physical maturity of an 8 year old thinks like let alone a teenage one who is actually mentally hundreds or thousands of years old.
Like I understand 100% that DE can't treat operator exactly like the Drifter both for all sorts of reasons. Ratings, content warnings, general backlash/uproar, and usually I'd agree. I hate the "immortal who looks like a child" trope... when it is used to sexualize the physicality of children. But this is not that!! I just want Operator to be allowed to act like the grizzled, cold as ice war veteran and/or the EXTREMELY disciplined and scholarly monks that they are!! I want to see Operator struggle with their physicality. See it as a weakness, or a reminder of their traumas, or even as a barrier to forming friendships or relationships with their peers. You know, like literally every single fan work I've ever seen has them do. Because it makes sense. And fits the character and the narrative.
But instead we get the operator reduced to whining at the Drifter every time they get a speaking role these days.
