#And love for this planet we make our little lives upon

[squobbl]

The abyss has been a looming spectre for my entire damnable life.

I'd recommend not giving in and instead believing in a future world like that above; why shouldn't we, in a situation so horrid, strive for a world worth living for?

Of course, this is dancing around the selfish point that i will be happy, and what is the abyss to deny me that?

In the future, children will think our ways are strange. "Why do old people always grow so much milkweed in their gardens?" they'll say. "Why do old people always write down when the first bees and butterflies show up? Why do old people hate lawn grass so much? Why do old people like to sit outside and watch bees?"

We will try to explain to them that when we were young, most people's yards were almost entirely short grass with barely any flowers at all, and it was so commonplace to spray poisons to kill insects and weeds that it was feared monarch butterflies and American bumblebees would soon go extinct. We will show them pictures of sidewalks, shops, and houses surrounded by empty grass without any flowers or vegetables and they will stare at them like we stared at pictures of grimy children working in coal mines

[michellesneptune]

The Dark Side of Planets: Where the Sun and Your Pride Lie

Psychologically speaking, pride shows us where we stand in our own eyes. It appears when we recognise our worth and achievements. „It is linked to one’s self-concept and identity, serving as a signal of competence and social status within groups.”

However, if you’ve read any classic Greek tragedy, you probably recognise the term Hubris — pride against the gods — which is what makes its characters tragic and leads to their inevitable downfall. Overconfidence and self-importance bringing upon revenge from heavens. This kind of pride makes it impossible to correctly recognise and resolve a situation one finds themself in.

The duality of pride — authentic versus hubristic — makes it quite a powerful, dangerous tool. In astrology we associate pride with the Sun which defines our egos and self-identity. The equivalent of Sun is, of course, the proud Leo. In this post we’ll look at how the Sun signs behave when they take their pride to an extreme.

‼️Please keep in mind that those observations only regard unevolved signs and are based on people that I know. If something doesn’t resonate — scroll past!!

Aries Sun/1H: You’re proud of always being first. Everything is a challenge and a competition, and you finish second to no one. You believe you deserve to lead everyone — and to scold them for any shortcomings. You can’t stand being proven wrong, and you take pleasure in punishing people for their mistakes and for not living up to your standards. You can turn into a tyrant because you see only the purpose, not the people involved. The Sun is strong here, and so is your willpower. You cannot believe others don’t have the same tenacity and drive as you do. It’s the scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Miranda says: Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this. You believe you’re the star of the show and people will be waiting for you with a standing ovation every time. Your pride doesn’t let you see others as competent. Your way is the only way. When you get involved in something, you invest 100%. You reject the possibility of being rejected. You like to play with peoples��� anger for fun because you yourself feed off adrenaline and seeing red.

Taurus Sun/2H: This one’s easy! You’re proud of your possessions, of course. There isn’t a force in the universe that could separate you from your goods. Not only material! You’re extremely proud of your god-given attributes and talents. There’s at least one Venusian quality about you that distinguishes you from others. You’re probably very beautiful and gifted in artistic fields. You often display diva-like behaviour because of that. You expect to be treated like royalty and act as if “peasant” activities (like washing the dishes) were beneath you. You’re stubborn as hell and self-opinionated, unable to take advice, and extremely sensitive when it comes to criticism of your “stuff.” For example, you could be a talented singer but refuse to take lessons because you already sound so good — even though, in reality, it would benefit you. Remember that key to success is not only potential, but also humility and hard work. There’s a saying in my native language: a beautiful bowl won’t feed you. It might sound funny in translation, but the message here is clear: you need depth beyond your vain, superficial qualities.

Gemini Sun/3H: You’re most proud of your communication skills and how you can craft words into tools for achieving your goals. You think you can sweet-talk your way into anyone’s good graces and are genuinely surprised when people expect actual, tangible competence and work. You’re so proud of your intelligence that you believe you can turn anything into a joke. You intellectualise topics that require vulnerability and place little to no value on the sentimental aspects of life. You think you can have three different opinions on a single topic, each with the purpose of impressing a different audience. You love pondering and debating but hate when you actually have to stick to one view and take responsibility for it. You’re proud of how well you’re able to impersonate others. You think oneness is boring, preferring and craving variety. You think your brains can save you from any hardship, but guess what? Real human connection requires openness and softness. Some people care about who you truly are on the inside, not the façade you curate each day so that everyone falls in love with you.

Cancer Sun/4H: You take pride in how much you understand others’ feelings, psyche, actions, and every aspect driven by emotion. You believe you see through their schemes and are already five steps ahead. What reinforces this pride is family — you would do anything for them, even if it’s bad, dirty, dishonest or even illegal. This is where your special ability to read others comes into play. You’re an excellent businessman. You justify your means if it’s for your family’s well-being and expect the same loyalty from them. You want your children to make you proud. You want to build an empire together — with you as the leader. You want to be a strong, know-it-all paterfamilias, even within friend groups. You know how to use people for your benefit by playing on their emotions. You can easily hide your real motives. Sometimes the pride makes you forget that your family (and closest friends!) have their own lives, wants and needs — but you think you know what’s best. That’s because you wish to save them from what you’ve already gone through and the hardships you’ve endured. Yet, allowing them freedom is sometimes the biggest act of care one can offer.

Leo Sun/5H: You’re proud of literally anything you do in your life😂 You stand for self-love to the fullest. You firmly and wholeheartedly believe that you’re the most deserving of others’ attention. A Leo that I know once said to me: You know, I don’t think there’s anything I am not good at. You want to be followed and carefully listened to as you preach. The influencer mindset. If you thought it, that means it must be true. The Queen is never late — either others are or they showed up too early. You’re proud of your bloodline and heritage, and with the Sun being at home here, your pride can actually be quite justified. You love performing and sharing your passion with others. However, if it goes sour, you can turn into an arrogant person who will do anything for attention. (TW: substance abuse) You may turn to substances or dangerous behaviors just to be noticed. You can’t handle rejection, and you might fall into depression when you feel your ambitions aren’t fulfilled and your potential isn’t utilized. Your pride desperately needs an outlet. Remember you don’t need to be perceived to be truly fulfilled.

Virgo Sun/6H: You’re proud of how “proper” you are. Reminds me of those crunchy moms that compete over which one’s healthier. Your Halloween parties are always perfect and you prepare the best snacks. Also Bree from Desperate Housewives. You believe everyone would benefit from being a little more like you are. You’re always right, in your eyes, and you tend to not notice when you’re actually in the wrong. You keep yourself ultra-productive so that you can judge others — and escape from your own hypercriticism. Believing everything should be done your way, otherwise it’s not efficient. Openly making a disgusted face when someone does something you don’t agree with. You’re very precise and detail-oriented, there’s a surgeon-like quality to you. You notice what others don’t — they look, but they do not see. You’re sensitive to everything happening around you, but sometimes that sensitivity turns into hypersensitivity, which makes you, truth be told, annoying to others. You are sharp and you are competent, but sometimes you’d benefit from being just human. The world will end regardless of whether your sheets are ironed and folded.

Libra Sun/7H: You’re proud of your connections. You love mingling with powerful, obscenely rich and influential people. You surround yourself with an army of them so you can feel powerful, too. You charm them with your intelligence and beauty, and poof! Suddenly, their success becomes your success. You put a spell on people, and they start to feel obliged to do things for you while you play innocent throughout the whole process. But you know exactly what to say for them to believe they’ve found the one and only perfect partner. You’re proud of being a socialite and attending elite events. You love “casually” mentioning who your partner is. You can get so focused on acquiring expensive connections that you forget about yourself. The Sun is debilitated in Libra, which is why it’s easier to connect to others’ success than to your own. You need to remember that not everyone is good, honest, or trustworthy. When people leave — and their resources leave with them — you’ve got to be able to stand on your own. Even more than that, you need to work on being proud of yourself, so that romantic partners become an accessory, not a necessity. You can be a rich lawyer or a successful doctor but it’s crucial that you invest in yourself first. It’s like Cher said: Mom, I am the rich man.

Scorpio Sun/8H: You’re prideful when it comes to control and how much you can execute through others’ work. You’d never admit it out loud, but you take pleasure in making people do things without them even realizing it. You’re another fixed sign, so your beliefs about yourself are set in stone and almost impossible to change. You may not even be aware of the manipulation you’re committing — that’s how deeply you believe you’re deserving of what you want. You often don’t care about the well-being of others unless they’re really close to you. You’re dedicated to self-preservation, and you’re proud of how well you know yourself. You’ve lived through depths that know no bounds, which makes you perceive others’ sentiments as shallow or even laughable. Sometimes you’re too proud to notice that people hide their emotional battles so well that even you can’t spot them. You already know how dedicated and brave you are. Maybe it’s time to share your experience with others and help them be better?

Saggittarius Sun/9H: You’re proud of your education and general outlook on the world. You’ve got refined political views, you’ve probably seen quite a few different countries and even continents, which gave you versatile experiences and ideas about society. You’re open-minded and likely know a lot about philosophy, history, geography or literature. You take pride in the scientific major you pursue because you probably chose something ambitious at a prestigious university. You like to brag about the university you attend. You silently (or not) judge people with less wide horizons. You laugh at those with poor grammar. You’re well-spoken, maybe in more than one language. You’ve dabbled in many different hobbies throughout life and you’re very proud of yourself when you manage to surprise someone with a random skill. The random piano hates to see your ass😂 You’d be like ohh but you guys, it’s been years, I’m not even that good and then play Rachmaninov. You’ve got to understand not everyone has been as fortunate as you and didn’t get the chance to explore and broaden their worldview. Or they just chose not to. Which doesn’t take away from who they are and what they stand for. You can educate people, just don’t be conceited about it. There are many different eudaimonic philosophies in life outside of bettering one’s mind and knowledge.

Capricorn Sun/10H: You’re proud of your status and how respected you are. You very well understand how the world is structured and that it has leaders and followers in it. Instead of fighting for justice and equal treatment, you fight for your name and legacy. You firmly believe in hard work and that everyone is responsible for their own happiness. You believe that, if you work hard enough, the world is your oyster. So you do. Work is holy for you and if someone disregards what you’ve worked for — you’re more than ready to fight. Catherine, the Princess of Wales, has this placement and she gives her all to her job in service, even while battling illness. You can be too proud to notice that someone else is struggling. It reminds me of the Kim K quote: Just get your ass up and work😭😂 Your survival skills are outstanding and I’m convinced you would manage just fine under literally any circumstances. Your pride can turn into workaholism and only emotional regulation system you have.

Aquarius Sun/11H: You hide your pride under “I don’t care” and “I’m not like others”. You want people to perceive you as effortless, cool and composed. Your innovativeness makes you regard others as stuck-up or dated. You judge them for wearing skinny jeans, looking ‘basic’ or not knowing a 2004 unreleased Lana song Did you know that Elvis and I loved each other while Jimmy played guitar on the Sunset Boulevard. You couldn’t be prouder than when you get a niche reference from an obscure, avant garde, improvised movie. You brag about how your 100 Tumblr followers are equal to 20k Instagram ones. You don’t want people to give you attention but you want them to regard you as fascinating and strangely sexy. You’d rather die than be like others. You’re proud of being an outcast and hating on the society, yet you’re a true humanitarian at heart and those instincts tell you to “save them”. You’re not immune to wanting appreciation. Sun’s light is actually dimmed in Aquarius, so it might be hard for you to accept applause.

Pisces Sun/12H: You’re essentially proud of never being proud and not having an ego. You disguise your actions as altruistic and act like a monk — while in reality you’re often driven by victim mentality and the need for being pitied. You want to give your all to others — seemingly for free — the reality being that they become tied to you forever in exchange. You chase the high that you get from saving others to the point of neglecting your own well-being. You’re scared of not being needed anymore. You’re proud of how forgiving and compassionate you are. Even if you’re doing it all for yourself. No one will come for you if you start doing things for your own happiness and chase your own dreams for once. You’ve got an excellent and quick understanding of very complex emotions and situations. Knowing what others need and struggle with comes very intuitively for you. Remember not everyone is able to be grateful for your work. Your childhood probably taught you that being Prometheus is the only right way of loving. Please check in with yourselves and be egotistic from time to time😭i love you

Sending you guys much love from the Baltic Sea. It’s been making me feel very serene and inspired — hence the frequent uploads🙆‍♀️ I’ve honestly loved every second of creating this post so maybe hoping it will turn into a series😳

Love you always!

Michelle~

[radgalniya]

black mirror season 7 thoughts(spoilers)

dare i say, this is the best black mirror season. idc idc. i love every episode, so this isn’t a real ranking. every episode is #1.

1. USS Callister: Infinity

i don’t need to explain. amazing sequel. lived up to the hype. honestly could’ve been a movie on its own. so good. i loved the reveal that walton put a clone of robert into the heart of infinity and that the entire game was built upon that. that is so sick and evil i can’t even. then when i stupidly thought robert could be good, he was exactly who we thought he would be. come to think of it, if he had access to the hospital footage where nanette was, are you really telling me he was unaware of everything else that happened. yea right good riddance. and i almost felt sorry for that stupid ho too. also, i loved pixie’s character.

2. Common People

so tragic and real. the subscription service that takes away features and adds them to a “premium” service that costs more combined with a company exploiting their access to peoples brains in order to advertise combined with a company leveraging critical healthcare to maximize profits combined with a family struggling to concieve combined with people hurting themselves to make ends meet was honestly too real and so depressingly sad. exactly what i love in a black mirror episode.

3. Hotel Reverie

is it really a good black mirror season if there’s not an episode dedicated to a lesbian romance. i mean seriously. i hated that brandy didn’t tell them what she built with clara though. it was tragic when they made her go on with the story and then to see clara sacrifice herself and how empty brandy was when it was over. was crying real tears. the ending phone call of them flirting softened the blow a bit…a bit🤏🏿issa’s acting was a little awkward when she wasn’t being comedic but i didn’t care that much bc the episode was still so enjoyable.

4. Eulogy

i’m ngl. this guy pissed me off a little bit like he was being so unfair. making it seem like carol was the sole problem in the relationship as if he didn’t cheat first w the girl he told her not to worry about. then he didn’t even stop to think about her long enough to realize she was pregnant or that something was wrong. he was clearly very selfish and self obsessed buttttt also he was young. and i was still sad that they never got the chance to see things through before she passed. like he clearly loved her. also the main guy acted his ASS off, it was amazing. and i bawled when carol’s daughter played her song and he finally remembered carol’s face. rip carol dawg

5. Plaything

i feel like this is the underdog of the season. i’m agnostic so unfortunately i spend lots of time thinking about our creation and existence. this episode had me comparing the throngs to us and our creator to cameron. like do you think god has a deep desire to prove himself worthy of us like cameron does to the throngs? bc most of us have been taught that it should be the other way around. and do you think when things go horribly wrong on this planet that it’s just another higher being fucking with us for fun. maybe our god is fighting for us and losing, we can’t really blame god for that. ig i cared less about the tech part of this episode and more about the relationship between the throngs and cameron. also someone had mentioned maybe the throngs witnessed cameron and lump and decided humanity should die and wiped them out at the end lol valid!

6. Bete Noire

this episode had me losing my mind. i suffer from this debilitating disease where i’m always right and if some raggedy bitch used some tech to manipulate reality to the point where even when i’m right, i’m technically not right…i’d lose my fucking mind. maria was so valid for going crazy. like verity girl i’m sure it hurt deeply to be bullied in hs and i fully support ur right to vengeance but this isn’t even revenge anymore. it’s just diabolical. it’s one thing to mess around like just do more of the barnie’s/bernie’s stuff. but ur driving these women to the grave!!! and in becoming empress to the universe and a famous superstar, you never considered…therapy??? or going back and changing what happened in hs?? idk there’s so many solutions here and you picked not even one correct one. also maria’s boyfriend was so annoying. if ur my man, take my side! if i say fuck that ho, cosign!

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (here) | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | ...

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, Paimon, Traveler

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. There is a taglist if you want to be tagged. Also, I may say that the characters other than the reader may be a bit OOC cause it's been a long time since I played genshin and I'm just finishing all of my works with my knowledge left from playing the game. So sorry about it 🙏🙏.

ALSO, sorry for the inconsistent updates. I'm busy with uni and my job so, I have very little time to write.

____________________________________

'Oh no no no. It's the Traveler and Paimon. Shit! What do I do? What do I do?' You're heart is beating so fast that it might just pop out of your chest anytime. It felt like eternity, just looking at both of them, it's as is if time is slowing down. 'Should I just fake dead? No, that will make them worried then come up to me and then- OH NO!' You eyes widen in horror as the two come near you with worry etched in their faces.

"Uhm. Hello? Are you okay?" Paimon with her high pitched voice asked you. "Are you hurt somewhere?" The Traveler extended a hand, offering to help you up from the floor where you were sprawled upon.

[Reader.exe has stopped working. Brain circuit has malfunctioned. Attempting to restart... Failed. Reloading...]

You looked at them absentmindedly, your brain struggling to process the situation. "Huh?" The Traveler, noticing your distress, gently carried you and placed you back in your chair. They wiped the tears from your face with a handkerchief, their touch warm and comforting.

"Hmm. Traveler. don't you think that this place kind of resembles a restaurant of some sort? Or like Puspa Café? But just more... uh advanced???" Paimon flew around the Café, examining each and every corner. "And it smells so lovely in here." She kicked her feet in the air while giggling as she looked at the pastry you had on your plate hungrily.

The Traveler nodded but their attention was still on you who looked like as if their soul was going to heaven. 'As expected, they do seem familiar and their aura... Where have I felt this?'

As you sat in your chair, dazed and just all in all trying to process what is going on, the Traveler placed their hand in your shoulder. the warmth in their hand seemed to have had woken you up in your stupor. "Take a deep breathe. You seem quite overwhelmed by the situation." Gently their voice was. They noticed your drink in the table and slowly pushed it towards you. "Drink first, water would have been better but I can't seem to find any."

"Sorry for startling you. We didn't mean any harm." The Traveller smiled as friendly as they could. "I'm Traveller and she is my companion, Paimon. May I know your name?"

"Uhm... My name is... (Reader)..." you introduced yourself, voice still shaky. "(Reader)... That's a lovely name!" Paimon chipped.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Can we know where this place might be? This place is quite different from what we are used to and as you have seen earlier, we came from that door. The door appeared during one of our commisions and our curiosity led us here. It will be quite helpful to know where we are as of now." The Traveler slowly told you, thinking that you still might be startled at the moment.

"Ah. This is a Café and I'm the owner..." you explained, trying to regain your composure.

"I see." The Traveller nodded and seemed to be in a deep train of thought at your answer.

"WAHH! Traveller! Look! Look!" Paimon squealed. She flew to the Traveller and urged them to come with her. "Wait! Paimon! Slow down will you-" Silence. An eerie silence washed over your building. It was getting awkward so you had decided to walk over to them and try to explain the very advanced planet you live in.

As you approached the duo, you coughed, albeit awkwardly, and cleared your throat. "Uhm yeahh... As you can see outside of the window, this world is not the same as your world. It's quite baffling, right? I was also the same when I saw your world on the other side of the door." You scratched your cheek.

"What is this place?" Paimon said in awe, continuing to look at the scenery outside. The Traveler just continued looking outside speechlessly, eyes darting to one thing ot another. Then suddenly your eyes widened at a realization but you still kept yourself calm.

You explained to them softly, "The planet where you are in is called Earth and we are currently in (country name) situated in (where your country is)." While they where admiring the scenery, you took a quick silent run towards the shelf where the standees of genshin impact where situated at and roughly shoved them inside an unused cabinet.

"Oh yeah, what's your planet called?" You feigned ignorance of knowing who they already are. After all, if you somehow learned that you were just a game character, what would you feel? Wouldn't you feel so detached? or something along those lines and you don't want the both of them to go into a spiral of depression and continuous questions. It's also because you don't know what kind of excuse you will make if they ever saw the standees. It's only a miracle they didn't see it earlier.

"Oh uh, we're from somewhere called Teyvat. We're currently staying at Mondstadt due to some personal bussiness." The Traveler replied.

"I see. Teyvat... I have never heard of that. Come, sit here. Choose anything you guys want, except for the *cough* pastries cause they are only going to be delivered tomorrow. Also, my treat!" You winked at them as you gestured for them to seat at a table.

"You don't have to treat us to this. We will pay you for your service." The Traveler quickly told you. "Oh please, I insist. Besides, you guys are my first customers. Now, choose what drinks and snacks you would want in the menu." The Traveler wanted to refuse again but refusing twice would be quite impolite and you seem quite the person who would not go against what they say and stick to it no matter what so, they accepted their defeat with a soft sigh and begun browsing through the menu.

"WOAH! All of the drinks and foodsin the menu look and sound so amazingg! I can't choose!" Paimon squealed. Actually, you were quite suprised that Paimon has her very first voice and not the new one. Her squeals are more tolerable and she doesn't sound like a pig going to be butchered.

After minutes of them painstakingly choosing what they want and consulting you on what some of drinks are, they finally decided on what they want. Creamy Caramel Mocha for Paimon and Hazelnut Coffee for the Traveler.

(Note: I just randomly choose what I think they would want from the drinks I have already tasted so it might contrast with what you guys think they would like.)

You went behind the counter and proceeded to make their orders while you guys talk and ask each other about you guy's worlds, of course with you feigning ignorance even though you already know most of the lore.

_________________________________________

Without any of you three knowing, you lost track of time and soon it was evening. You had so much fun teaching them about Earth and listening to their tales of adventure on Teyvat. Paimon even provided you with an extensive list of her favorite foods from each nation, in case you ever decided to visit Teyvat. Nonetheless, you feel grateful but you don't know when you will go to their world but probably when you have a glock in hand would be the best time to go there. For now, you were content to cherish the memories you had made alongside them.

It was now time to say goodbye. You feel kind of sad since you have bonded with them much more in this short time but it's time to let go. Maybe there will be another next time or maybe not but, you are sure that you will wait again for the time they will come back again even if it's a long time. After all, they are still looking for their sibling so they may not have that much time to be able to visit you.

With a heavy heart, you packed some of the leftover pastries to give them as a farewell gift. "Wahhh! Thank you (Reader)!" Paimon exclaimed, tackling you in a grateful hug. "The next time we come here, we'll be sure to bring some delicious treats from Teyvat!"

The Traveler looked at you warmly. "Thank you (Name). I'll make sure to bring the finest sweets next time we meet." They stepped forward and embraced you gently. "Although our time together was brief, I cherished every moment."

"Me too..." you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. Standing before the door, you gently waved them a farewell as they prepared to depart. The Traveler and Paimon returned your wave, their faces reflecting the same emotions you felt. With a deep breath, they turned and stepped through the threshold, embarking on their continued journey.

As you watched them depart, you couldn't help but feel a bittersweet longing. But you knew that their paths would cross again, and you would be waiting, ready to welcome them back with open arms and a fresh batch of pastries.

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Taglist:

@kameyo-kumo

@esthelily

@haru-tofuu

@udretlnea

@shining-nebula2000

@ifeellikejumpingoffacliff

@resident-cryptid

@allblognamesaretakenlikereally

@leilakaro

@stvrbrighttt

@chericia

@evaline-ethan

@ra404

@mmmhyperfixation

[marymary-diva17]

His love and hope

The former gladiator had left the arena as he spoke for change to come to his home planet. During his time as a fighter, he gained some friends and allies. He had left one battlefield for another to help improve his home for everyone. He had also found love and someone who would stand by his side despite his past. 

Y/n " ......" you sit in your chair in your chambers, looking upon the cities of Cybertron. It has been many megacycles since you married your best friend, Megatron. 

Megatron: " Good evening, my lovely mate." You soon stood up from your seat and made your way towards Megatron. 

Y/n " Welcome back, my lovely mate. How was the meeting with the council? Did you and Optimus get your bills past?"

Megatron: " It went well, my love. Optimus and I were able to speak with them, but they might need more time to think about the bills."

Y/n " It good to hear and know they need time to think about it, versus flat out rejecting the bills right away, so that means some of them shall be passed." You had passed Megatron a drink of engeron, and he soon drank it and gave you a soft smile. 

Megatron: " So tell me, my spark, how was your day? I wish to know how my wife's day has been."

Y/N " It was good that I had some work with Starscream and Jet Fire. We had found some old data files, so we were archiving through them."

Megatron: " That seems very interesting, my love. The Titans might be able to help us in our cause."

Y/n " I hope so, my love, but we shouldn't use them for selfish reasons; they are why we have these planets we love so much."As you lay back on the sofa, Megatron soon kissed your forehead, making you laugh. 

Megatron: " Well, let's see what's on for entertainment this evening or if there's any news from the other planets as well."

Y/N: " Hey, maybe we can go on a vacation when we are done with all our work and enjoy each other's company, or maybe go with friends."

Megatron: " That sounds like a good idea. Maybe we can ask Optimus and Elite, as they are one of our couple friends."

Y/n: " That sounds good. Maybe we can ask Starscream, Jetfire, and some of our other friends."

Megatron: " If you wish for them to come, I will be happy, but I will also enjoy spending time with you." 

Megatron: " See how we are having a conversation right now? I was hoping we could have a talk that might be equally important."

Y/n " So what shall we be talking about, my love."

Megatron: "Well, I know we have been having small conversations about having our own family, and I was wondering if you still wish to have sparklings."

Y/n " Yes, I would still love to have kids and our own family, but are we in the right time to have sparklings with all that going on here?"

Megatron: " We can still be doing our work, and we can make sure that everything is good for the lives here and the future generations to come."

Megatron: " Many megacycles ago, I never thought I would have a spark mate, but look now, I have you and maybe soon enough a family as well if Primus blesses us." 

Y/n: " You are right, my love, but if we ever do have a little one, I hope to have one that looks like you."

Megatron: " I hope they take more after their mother and a bit of me as well. We will have such a beautiful family."

Y/n " Yes, we will."

Megatron: " My love, you are my hope and love."

Y/n "Thank you, and you are my hero and warrior." The couple just lay on the sofa, enjoying the shows on the screen and having a good time together. That family you all wish for will come with children like their father and mother.

[alice-makes-things]

[annoyed AI noises]

I am at a Bridgeton themed ball run by Into the Pages Events. We were invited to submit gossip to the society papers, which they would rewrite into the style of Lady Wistledown. As a writing exercise, I actually wrote mine myself, roasting myself in the voice of Wistledown.

I acknowledged that the writing may have been a little long and said they were welcome to edit it down.

However, reading the society papers, it is very obvious the text was just put straight through chatGPT. I am furious. I could tell immediately as it says it the same thing I said, just slightly different. All of my original puns and wordplay are gone, replaced with something less “me”. Less human. Less creative.

I immediately confronted the event organiser who immediately admitted to the use of chatGPT. She claimed to have “struggled to edit” my work, to which I responded - why not reach out to me and ask me to edit it.

If you are running a literary event, WHY 👏 ARE 👏YOU👏USING👏AI👏WHICH👏IS👏LITERALLY👏DESTROYING👏CREATIVES👏LIVELIHOODS👏AND👏THE👏PLANET👏

Sorry but I’m absolutely SEETHING. This event has been thoroughly lovely and I’m trying not to let this ruin my day (it has mostly been a delight, pictures forthcoming) but I’m so angry about this. It’s so unethical to put somebody else’s writing through an AI generator, and they will have a strongly worded complaint letter from me.

[My original text is below, please feel free to judge my writing]

“Dearest Gentle Reader,

A most peculiar ‘Young’ lady has entered our social sphere. While Miss Alice Young - a librarian of four and thirty years - possesses a keen mind for books, the novel of her romantic prospects is yet to be written.

One might wonder how such a charming woman has remained untouched by the affections of any gentleman. Perhaps she has simply been too engrossed in her beloved tomes to notice their advances - or - perhaps more likely - Miss Young simply does not have the money or prospects to engage with the Ton: living off a librarian’s meagre salary does not lend itself to funding extravagant ballgowns and attending soirees.

And yet this season, rumour has it that Miss Young has embarked upon an ambitious project: to become her own modiste. To stitch one’s own gown is a bold undertaking, particularly with limited budget and experience. Though Miss Young’s books may make her learned on many subjects, she is lacking in practical skill. And as we all know, not every tailoress is destined to thread the needle of success. One hopes her stitching is as perfect as her bookish charm.

Will this spirited seamstress complete this daring dress in time for the ball? Shall it be the talk of the Ton, or a tragic fashion faux-pas? And will it impress the eye of any discerning gentleman who might venture to glance her way?”

[separatist-apologist]

The Acolyte

Summary: When a mission on the planet Umbara goes wrong, Jedi Padawan Feyre Archeron will come face to face with the one creature the High Republic has believed long extinct: a Sith Lord.

Read on AO3

Note: This is a collaboration between the beautiful, smart, perfect, all-around talented @velidewrites who, upon watching the previous episode of The Acolyte, said, "Qimir is so Rhys coded." This has been our brain rot ever since.

DO NOT REPOST SITH RHYS

-

Drumming her fingers along the arm of the chair, Feyre waited with little patience. She ought to have it—it was unbecoming for a Jedi Padawan to be so antsy, so fidgety, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like years since she’d gone anywhere outside the temple besides hunting down street food. Master Tamlin wasn’t over their last mission.

Reckless, he’d called her.

Efficient, was how Feyre would have described herself. What was the point of tradition if it resulted in the deaths of so many innocents? Rules, protocol—it was all meaningless to Feyre in the moment. What mattered was the lives of innocents, not making sure Master Tamlin was satisfied she did everything by the book.

Tamlin loved the code, loved rules, loved everything except doing things the way Ferye wanted to. It was tempting to wonder why, of all the possible Padawans he could have had, he’d chosen her. They were a strange match even by the Jedi’s standards. Tamlin said the force had called out to him, urging him to take her under his wing.

Feyre sometimes thought he merely saw chaos where order ought to reign supreme, and made it his personal mission to bring her to heel. He was holding her back—Feyre wanted to be a Knight and free herself from Tamlin’s hold and he refused, telling the council she wasn’t ready.

She was, though. Feyre was stronger, faster, better than her pupils, a good number of whom had already graduated and were working under the watchful gaze of all Masters rather than just one. 

Let him take me on this mission, Feyre thought, sending it out into the world. One last mission—I can prove I’m ready.

Tamlin appeared from behind arched, hissing doors, his white robes swishing around beige boots. He’d tied his shoulder length blonde hair half off his face which made him look more severe, somehow. Green eyes pinned her in place, keeping her from standing even when she wanted to. Something about the hard set of his mouth made her think twice.

“The council wants you to join me,” Tamlin said, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Who are we to argue with the will of the Council?” Feyre asked breathlessly, finally standing. It was good luck, the first of many, she decided. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“This is too dangerous and you’re too reckless,” Tamlin said, turning for the long stretch of hall between them. Feyre’s long braid swung from her shoulder, tracing a path along her spine as she worked to keep up with his fast strides. 

“I’ll do as you say, Master,” she swore, truly believing she would. Tamlin only shook his head because he knew better. Feyre could be impulsive—it was one of her worst qualities.  

“You never do,” Tamlin replied with a heavy sigh. “It’s a mistake to bring you to Umbara.”

Umbara? Feyre practically vibrated with excitement, swallowing to keep her feelings in check. She’d heard of the Shadow World, seen it in the archives when she studied. She’d never been there, though. It felt like a waking dream, too good to be true.

“What’s happening on Umbara, Master?”

“Deaths,” Tamlin said, eyes cutting toward her as he carved a path through a gathered crowd of awed younglings. “Jedi deaths. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Perhaps they were caught by surprise,” she said, though Feyre, too, found it troubling. What was the point of training if a regular blaster bolt could end them, same as anyone else? She’d always imagined her death would be more spectacular. A fiery inferno, likely as she jumped in and out of hyperspace while Tamlin shouted at her. 

Oh, but what a way to go.

“We’re only investigating,” Tamlin said, turning so abruptly that Feyre tripped over her own white and gold robes in her haste. “Remove all ideas of grandeur from your mind.”

“I will,” she promised, but it was too late. This would be her test, she decided—one last mission to prove not just to Tamlin, who would likely never believe her ready, but to the Council themselves that she should be elevated to Knight. Tamlin had held her back for the last time.

They parted ways, Tamlin mumbling under his breath as Feyre practically skipped her way out of the temple. She wanted to tell her sisters what she was doing and knew if Tamlin realized she still had this connection, he’d march them right back into the Temple and demand she be put back in the Archives.

Feyre swore she’d tell them she couldn’t read if he did.

She, like all children, had been taken to the temple before she had a chance to truly know her family. And either by luck or the force or some other cosmic entity, she’d stumbled into Elain first—and then Nesta. How many women in the galaxy had the last name Archeron, after all? Elain was a rising politician, unhindered by an overbearing Master and Nesta the head of a Bounty Hunters Guild.  There was no denying the relation—they all had the same heart shaped faces, the same cheekbones, and the same whip-fast wit. 

Nesta ought to be back by then, though if not, Elain would be in her little office working hard to make a name for herself. Nesta had explained their family had once been wealthy before a few bad investments ruined it all. Sending Feyre away had been a mercy, and when their mother died, well…that was one less mouth to feed. 

Nesta learned to fight with vibro weapons, Elain with words. If their father was still alive, they’d never said and Feyre hadn’t dared to ask. Deep in her heart, she felt a small amount of resentment for the man who’d sent her away, depriving her of the connection with her family. Even if it had been selfless—even if he’d wanted to give her a better life. 

On climate controlled Coruscant, Feyre found herself standing amid a sunny, breezy day. Tilting her face skyward, she swore she felt a phantom breeze caress her skin. Turning, she decided she’d get something to eat, first, and to see him. It was wrong, the strange attachment she had to the man who ran the turbo dog cart closest to the Jedi temple and yet he remembered her name. Remembered the things she told him.

He was her friend. 

Feyre’s feet began moving of their own accord, body slipping into the throngs of people that lived on the planet. The cacophony of smells and noise—the chaos of it all—made her blood thrum with excitement. Feyre never felt more alive than she did just outside the Temple. Here, Feyre could pretend she was just like anyone else…ignoring the slice of hair woven into the traditional padawan braid, separate from her own thick, long hair she’d refused to cut, and the purple saber clipped to her belt. Still, she was practically bouncing as she made her way down the steps toward rows upon rows of shops advertising anything a person could ever want. Somewhere among the madness was Nesta’s little cantina, run by her friend Emerie most of the time. Feyre might stop in for a drink if she was feeling bold, though Tamlin wouldn’t approve.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, she reasoned. She’d just have to be careful to drink slow as alcohol went straight to her head.

Most things did, in truth. After a lifetime of denial, anything heady was practically a drug. 

Feyre fell into line, catching sight of the man handing out turbo dogs. Rhysand.

He’d appeared one day—or perhaps she’d merely never noticed him, though it seemed impossible that she could have walked by and not noticed him. His hair was so dark it gobbled up all the light around him, gilded blue in the late afternoon sun. Piercing blue eyes seemed practically violet when the shadows fell over his face just right, with brown skin that looked warm to the touch and just the shadow of a beard gracing the cut of his jaw. 

Not that she’d dare. She was definitely forbidden from that, though all the teaching in the world couldn’t truly stop her wanting. He looked up right on cue, smiling when he saw her just like he always did. There were people in front of her, so Feyre waited, schooling her face into careful neutrality when all she really wanted was to bound up to him and tell him everything.

What did it matter? Who was he going to tell? Feyre imagined, when she needed to temper some of her interest in this stranger, that he told stories of the Jedi Padawan to his friends in whatever local watering hole he frequented. Perhaps they all laughed.

But maybe he didn’t. 

“There you are,” Rhys said when it was finally her turn, large hands deftly putting her dog together. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And Feyre considered herself rather well-traveled. She’d seen a lot of faces. Rhys’ was all sharp angles and graceful lines, drawn together just so—on anyone else it might have made them seem too severe or perhaps lopsided. Not Rhys, who seemed blessed by some otherworldly entity despite his rather humble profession. 

There, in a black tunic, she caught sight of the familiar black tattoo crawling up his neck, half hidden beneath the white shirt just beneath. What did they mean, she wondered? She’d never dared to ask.

“I was looking for you,” Rhys added when Ferye didn’t speak. Heat stole over her cheeks, causing her to duck her head. 

“I’m where I always am,” she replied, grateful there was no one behind her to hurry things along. 

“Still trapped in the Archives?” Rhys asked sympathetically. 

“Not for long,” she said, unable to contain her excitement. “I’ve been assigned to Umbara.”

His dark brows rose. “What business do the Jedi have on Umbara?”

Feyre shrugged, wishing she could tell him the truth. It was a betrayal, even if he was harmless enough. She’d tell him everything when she returned, besides. Likely with some embellishments to make herself seem more heroic and more skilled than she was. As if he knew the difference. 

“I thought Umbara was supposed to be dangerous,” he continued, quickly turning the sign on his stand to read closed. Another elicit thrill raced up her spine. He wanted to walk with her while she ate, dragging out their conversation just a little longer.

Feyre wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth quickly, hoping he didn’t notice how the red stained her sleeve. “It is,” she said through a mouthful, hoping Rhys found her charming and brave rather than young and a little pathetic. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that. Is your Master still angry with you?”

She nodded, swallowing her bite quickly. “He thinks I’m reckless, but…” Biting her inner cheek, Feyre thought of the children who would have been swallowed by flames had she not intervened. Tamlin, and many other Jedi, would remind her it wasn’t possible to save everyone. She couldn’t let herself become so attached to simple strangers.

Feyre could feel them all in the force, just like every other Jedi. Their fear overwhelmed her, and try as she might, she simply could not block it out. Feyre let it all in, let their emotions rush over her like water until they clouded her judgment. And then she acted, honed by instinct and twenty one years of training. 

“But?” Rhys prompted, slowing his steps so Feyre didn’t have to work so hard to eat and breathe. They walked further from the temple, descending into one of the lower levels where the Jedi were unlikely to venture. He lived down there, somewhere. Did he see sunlight from his windows, she wondered? Or was he, like so many others, trapped in darkness? 

“It was wrong not to help,” she said fiercely, flooded with righteous emotion. Rhys smiled.

“I agree,” he said, running a hand casually through his hair. Feyre tried not to notice how a lock flopped into his eyes just as she tried not to imagine what it would be like to brush it away with her own fingers. 

“If I do this by the book, though, I think I can go around Tamlin to the Council and ask to take my trials,” she said, confessing to Rhys something she hadn’t even told her sisters. Again—it was harmless to tell him. He was just a man on Coruscant, her friend, truly. He had a passing interest in the Jedi and a passion for turbo dog meat. 

“What will you do then, once your Jedi Knight Feyre Archeron?” he questioned, eyes sliding to the padawan braid draped over her shoulder. 

“I don’t dare to think about it, just in case,” she said, finishing the rest of her meal and tossing the trash into a nearby bin. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Smart,” Rhys praised. “Who knows what’s waiting on a planet like Umbara.”

“Something dangerous, I hope,” she said with more bravado than she felt. If he guessed, he didn’t say.

“You should be careful,” he warned, just like he always did. It didn’t annoy her as much as when Tamlin said it, perhaps because Rhys wasn’t asking her to remain behind on Coruscant for safety reasons. Sometimes Feyre thought Tamlin wanted her to remain a Padawan until she died despite the early conversation they’d had all those years ago about her hopes and dreams. He’d been so supportive when she was younger.

Now he felt like a tyrant. 

Feyre left Rhys not long after when he said he needed to pick up a crate of meat, disappointed they never managed more than about ten minutes of time together. What she would say if she ever got more eluded her, though sometimes she conducted long conversations with him in her mind. At least there she was always witty, always charming, and he was always impressed with her. 

Feyre went to see Nesta and Elain, told them of her mission hastily, and promised she wouldn’t be gone too terribly long. How much time could it reasonably take to investigate the murders of a couple Jedi? They weren’t Masters, after all—it had been a trio of Knights she knew in passing, their bodies still missing. All that had been found were parts.

A hand here.

A torso there. 

Weapons missing. 

Feyre had a nightmare that evening, her mind grappling with what could have gone wrong to take out three Jedi in such a manner. Perhaps a bomb? A sniper hidden on a roof, cloaked somehow? 

Or, more thrilling and terrifying all at once, a long-extinct Sith somehow rose from the grave. Feyre had only ever heard stories of the legends—unlike Jedi, who were numerous, their Sith counterparts moved only in groups of two. A Master and Apprentice. Having spent so much time in the archives, Feyre read that once an apprentice finished their training, they’d kill their own Master and take an Apprentice of their own, thus repeating the vicious, cannibalistic cycle in perpetuity. 

The Sith were extinct, hunted to nothing centuries before Feyre had been born. If one managed to pop up, they’d be cut to pieces before they could manage to find and corrupt an apprentice, nevermind how they’d manage to truly immerse themselves in whatever perverse culture the Sith claimed. Still, it was an interesting fantasy and even after Feyre woke in a cold sweat, mind still racing from the shadows that seemed to press against her temple, she let herself imagine what it would be like to encounter one.

To cut one down.

Feyre bet they’d let her skip her trials if she did. Not that she wanted a Sith running around, of course. It was merely the wistful imaginings of all padawans hoping for glory. Feyre wanted to make a name for herself.

Old resentment bloomed in the morning as she packed her things into a sack, careful not to fill it to the brim. It would irk Tamlin, resulting in a lecture about how materialistic she was. Was it materialistic to not want to wash her robes every single night? In the sink, no less, while they were conserving water for drinking and washing? Tamlin would tell her to wear her tunic and robes more often between washings but Feyre got sweaty sitting in the cramped quarters of the ship. They started to smell like onions and while Tamlin might not mind, she certainly did.

Rolling them tight, Feyre packed three sets, closed up her knapsack, and made her way toward the shipyard just as dusk broke over the horizon. The light bounced off the metal buildings, half blinding her as she walked. 

What she wouldn’t have given for some shadows right then. 

Tamlin was waiting, handing over credits to the dock worker along with his clearance papers while they worked out which lane they’d take and what time they’d leave. It was all terribly boring, though she supposed it was important that they didn’t make the leap to hyperspace while another ship came out, obliterating them both in a fiery inferno.

Why did the thought amuse her? Feyre suppressed the smile forming as she clenched her fingers into fists, nails biting against her palm. Tamlin turned, eyes drifting toward her back at the pack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. Feyre could feel his disapproval coming off him in waves.

Silence was its own blessing, she supposed. Better than having to defend herself and submitting to the eventual lecture that would go on for what felt like ever. Still, she could feel his disappointment as they took their seat in the small, sleek craft they’d be in for only the force knew how long. Tamlin did the preliminary checks while Feyre settled everything in, finally sitting in the co-pilot's chair. 

Not a word was spoken until they jumped to hyperspace. Feeling his eyes burning holes against her skin, Ferye finally sighed with exasperation. “Just say it.”

“I think it was a mistake to involve you in this,” he said in that measured way of his, unaware of how deep his words cut. “You’re not ready for this kind of mission.”

“You don’t trust me.”

It wasn’t a question but merely a statement of fact. What other conclusion was she supposed to draw? Tamlin balked at every outing, especially as of late. Feyre had heard it a million times before and though she considered herself relatively tough, she thought she might cry if she had to listen to him list her faults again.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Feyre snapped, swiveling in her chair to face him. Multicolored lights lit up the otherwise dark cockpit, while the console separated them. Feyre could see the saber resting lightly against Tamlin’s thigh and knew if he ignited it, she’d find the familiar green blade humming before her. It had once been a comforting sight.

She didn’t know what it was now. 

“I think I do need to say it in order for it to be true,” Tamlin replied, infuriating as ever. She wanted to wring his neck, an inappropriate thought she couldn’t shake.

“No, you don’t, because you say it a million different ways. I’m too reckless, I don’t think, I’m impulsive and every other little thing. And when you’re not constantly saying that, you’re arguing passionately to the Council that I don’t belong on missions and you refuse to help me prepare for the trials—”

“Have you considered that I am not ready to let you go?” Tamlin asked in a low voice.

Feyre paused. Oh, that was a dangerous thing to admit and they both knew it. Feyre’s eyes slid to the windshield before them, suddenly nervous. “You have to.”

“I know. I know,” he said, unaware that the low, urgent way he spoke those words angered her. He’d hold her back because he liked her? Even if it wasn’t forbidden—and Feyre had to believe that any kind of relationship between a Master and a Padawan was—it was downright cruel. She could be his peer, at least, and in a position to have this conversation with him without worrying he’d drop her in the archive again while avoiding her so she had no one to practice with. 

“I want to be a Knight, Tamlin,” she told him, fingers twisting in her lap. 

“There’s time—”

“You’re wasting it!” she burst out, rising from her chair so quickly she slammed her head against the low ceiling. “For the sake of feelings you know we can’t act on!”

“It’s only attachment that’s forbidden,” he argued, as if he hadn’t just admitted he was holding her back to satisfy his own desires. Feyre wanted to scream—wanted to wrap her hands around his large neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and a raspy apology split from his lips. 

She’d take it too far if she didn’t get away from him. There was practically nowhere to go—down a ladder and into the hold, Tamlin right behind her. 

“Feyre–”

“No.”

Her heart thudded rapidly, lodging itself in her throat as she spun around. Tamlin’s tan skin paled at whatever he saw looking back at him, palms raised in defense. 

Take a breath. You are one with the force. Take a breath. 

“Feyre, can we talk about this?” he pleaded. There would be no avoiding it, and Feyre, never known for her tact, would have to figure out a way to navigate the conversation without throwing a wrench in her entire future. 

“Not now,” she said, exhaling through her nose. “I need—I need to think.”

Hope sprung like weeds in his eyes as Feyre tamped down her fury. Feyre knew, looking up at the man she’d once loved like a brother—respected like a father—and knew he would hold her hostage until she agreed to his terms. Lying felt wrong, deceiving him worse. If she went to the council, would they listen? Would they believe her over a Master? 

Tamlin nodded, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to find the words he wanted. “I just…I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Feyre could think of a dozen Masters and Padawans who continued to work alongside each other. Was he not ready to say goodbye to her, or to the power he had over her? The thought chilled her, filling her with fear. 

“You don’t have to,” she replied in a careful, measured tone though every inch of her vibrated with panic. “Very little has to change.”

Tamlin offered a humorless laugh. “Even you don’t believe that, Feyre. You’ll race off on a dangerous mission by yourself the first moment you get.”

“I won’t,” Feyre protested. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she hated being alone. A mission by herself seemed like a particular brand of hell. Every moment Feyre got she was looking for company—seeking out the other padawans, her sisters, hell, even the turbo dog guy when she could catch him.

But rarely Tamlin. Not since he’d begun to sideline her and her resentment had grown like one of Elain’s gardens. When had that begun, anyway? Racking her brain, she realized it had been around the start of her nineteenth birthday. Two years—how foolish not to realize the underlying problem. There was so much wasted time and too much ground lost. 

Tamlin only shook his head. “Let's table this for now. You rest—I’ll keep watch.” She nodded, swallowing all the words she wanted to say as a plan began forming in her mind. She’d petition the council, she decided as she watched Tamlin climb back up the stairs. Either they’d believe her or they didn’t, but she was entitled to another Master if she wanted one.

The thought didn’t give her peace, though. As Feyre slid into the small bed hidden within the wall, her anger burned hot in her chest. This was not the Jedi way—she needed to find a way to forgive him for what he’d done to her.

But she couldn’t. Even in sleep, Feyre did not find peace. Her dreams were tinged red and shadowed, as though her anger had been made manifest. She woke to the sound of light beeping and Tamlin pulling open the small door so light flooded in.

“Can we trade?”

She only nodded, rubbing at her eyes as she scooted out of the narrow space. His fingers grazed her collarbone as she hopped to the ground, narrowly avoiding his hands reaching for her waist. Feyre had to resist the urge to slap him away, to not bark out, don't touch me. Tamlin merely watched, his disappointment obvious. What he thought was going to happen, she wondered? That he’d admit she’d been purposefully holding her back and hobbling her self-esteem simply to meet his own needs and she’d swoon? Fall into his arms? Abandon all the tenants of her teachings for him?

Feyre let him sleep longer than he had—Tamlin had only given her four hours, but Feyre gave him the remaining eight. She flung the door open just before they were about to burst out of hyperspace, and only because she was required to. He was still the Master, she his student and her whole future was in his hands.

“You’re angry.”

Feyre flipped the switches that would pull them just outside the atmosphere of Umbara, the neon blue of the stars fading as they slowed their descent.

“I’m frustrated,” she admitted, not wanting to give him any honesty at all. He was manipulating her, using the teachings of the Jedi against her and Feyre didn’t know how to fight back. She wasn’t equipped for these sorts of games, didn’t know the rules to even play. 

“I’m sorry,” Tamlin murmured, as if that was enough to erase two years of wasting her time. “Do you want to discuss it?”

“Is there any discussion we could have? Am I allowed to say no?”

“Stars, Feyre, I’m not—of course—” Tamlin set his jaw, grinding his teeth together loudly. “Of course you can.”

But everything in his body told her that he’d be angry if she did. It was written all over his face.

“Can we just wait until we’re back on Coruscant?” she asked, forcing herself to speak softer, lighter, to avoid whatever was brewing in his gut. “You don’t feel it?” Tamlin demanded.

“Tam,” Feyre breathed, invoking an old, familiar nickname. It was enough to settle him, the tension between them evaporating. “We’re in the atmosphere. Let's do our mission, go home, rest, and then we can discuss…us.”

She didn’t dare look at him. Could he taste the lie? Did he suspect she intended to speak with the council the minute her feet were back on Coruscant? Could he stop her? Feyre had too many questions as they were plunged into shadowy darkness. Umbara demanded her attention, pushing everything else to the side as Feyre stared. The local star was simply too far for its ray to penetrate, its reach beyond even the Republic. 

“What were they doing out here?” Feyre wondered aloud, breath curling around her face like shadow. 

“I don’t know,” Tamlin replied, deftly landing on the landing pad in the local ship port. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

“Where do we start?”

Tamlin knew, of course. They’d been too busy arguing over the state of their tattered relationship to discuss the mission, and now Tamlin had all the clues and all the control, just like he always did. Feyre would be given information piece-meal, rewarded when she pleased him and iced out when she irritated him. It had been that way between them for a while. At least she understood that part of the dynamic, bothered as she was by it. 

“This way,” he said, disembarking with barely a glance back. Fingers balled to fists, Feyre followed after him, eyes searching the dark hungrily. Umbara was hardly some backwater planet that barely had running water, let alone civilization. Umbara was advanced in a way that would have made the cosmopolitan Coruscanti residents weep. Towering buildings tried to banish the shadows, bathing the surface in artificial lights. If she strained her eyes beyond the urban sprawl, Feyre thought she could see rolling hills rising like mist in the distance. 

Maybe that was her imagination filling in the gaps. 

What was beyond the gloom, where not even technology and light could touch? What secrets did the shadows hold? Perhaps it hadn’t been anything sinister at all, but merely the wildlife that had gotten the Jedi. Feyre shivered in spite of herself, wishing she could step closer to Tamlin without it being uncomfortable. In one fell swoop, he’d wrecked the delicate bond between master and padawan.

Her resentment reignited, hot as any flame. Her emotions were all over the place, though carefully guarded to keep Tamlin from sensing them. She’d learned to do this as a youngling, annoyed that she broadcast her every feeling to anyone who happened to be near, but perfected it when she found her sisters. Feyre didn’t trust the Jedi not to make them leave, even if it was a little unfair. Maybe they wouldn’t have.

But maybe they would have. And Feyre simply couldn’t take the risk. 

On the busy streets, Feyre kept her eyes straight ahead even as she examined the people from the corners. Umbarians were near human—their skin pale and bluish from the lack of sunlight, their hair white or silver, though sometimes so impossibly black that Feyre wasn’t sure if it was hair at all. Pale blue eyes peered through the gloom and she’d heard they could see colors regular humans couldn’t, though who knew how true that really was. Feyre wished they could linger and she could spend some time immersed in the local culture, but Tamlin walked quickly, determined to get them both in and out. Whether that was merely to conclude his investigation or bring their conversation to the fore, Feyre couldn’t tell. He was inscrutable that way. 

Along one of the neatly laid streets stood a rather shady looking cantina, even by Coruscant's standards. Feyre felt a thrill of excitement as Tamlin walked through the hissing steam of the door into the smell of liquor and sweat. 

Feyre’s eyes snagged on the chrome bar and the two impossibly large men seated on too-small stools. They likely would have fit a regular man perfectly fine—Tamlin could have sat with no issues at all. These men were built like warriors, with warm brown skin so at odds with the milky paleness of the locals and strange, scrawling tattoos inked in black. They both turned, their hazel eyes nearly gold as they landed first on Tamlin, and then Feyre. 

The larger of the two had his wavy, dark hair pulled half off a face marked with scars, confirming her theory he was a warrior. The other, more classically handsome, with shorter hair and sharper features, seemed entirely unblemished. That didn’t mean he looked less lethal. Feyre reached out with the force, trying to get a sense of these men but nothing but oily cold greeted her. Likely mercenaries, she decided as they turned back to their cups and the beautiful blonde woman wiping down the counter with a stained rag.

She had familiar eyes, though Feyre couldn’t quite place them. Was it the dark brown, or the shape? Blonde hair cascaded over fair skin, neatly curled either by her own hand or good genetics. Tamlin’s eyes lingered for a moment, too, before his lips pressed in a severe line. He didn’t speak as he approached—he merely swept his robe to the side to reveal his saber hanging from his belt.

The two warriors sitting at the bar grinned. Feyre didn’t think Tamlin noticed. Around them, people of varying species sat at tables, the hum of chatter enough to drown out their own conversation. 

“I wondered when your lot was going to turn up,” the blonde said, offering Feyre a smile that felt less menacing and warmer than what she’d given Tamlin. “Might as well sit down.”

Feyre did before Tamlin could stop her, hand on her shoulder as she slid next to the massive, long haired man. 

“We’re not here to drink. Three Jedi were slaughtered nearby, and the last place they were seen was here. In your cantina.”

“I’m Morrigan, though my friends call me Mor. You, I think, can call me Morrigan—you don’t seem like you have a lot of friends and I don’t see that changing anytime soon,” the woman told him, filling up a tankard of ale as if Tamlin hadn’t said anything. She slid it right past him to Feyre and somehow it felt like a test.

Antagonizing the locals wasn’t going to help them, Feyre reasoned. They needed information and they sounded like police. Relax, she wished she could say to Tamlin. But he was too rigid, too set in his ways and too proud to ever admit there might be a better way to get things done. His disapproval frustrated her even as she raised the spicy brew to her lips.

It earned Mor’s approval. 

“Look,” she said, cutting Tamlin off just as he was about to speak. Her eyes were still trained on Feyre as she pulled out a holo disc. “Your friends were here—I never disputed that fact and I’m not now. They came in for a few drinks, as you can see here…and then they left. Alive.”

Feyre did see that. The holo, sped up, showed all three knights order a drink, sit at a nearby table, and eventually leave with all their limbs in tact.

“It’s a rough planet,” the man next to her said, obviously eavesdropping. “Plant probably got them.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. It was possible, of course, though it seemed unlikely.

“Did they say what they were doing out here?” Tamlin demanded, his irritation plain. 

“Bet they were following the rumors,” the other man said, his voice icy and dark. Feyre nearly choked on her ale at the sound, eyes sliding of their own accord back to his beautiful face. He wore fingerless gloves, revealing horrific scars over the little skin he had revealed. What had happened to him? 

“What rumors?” Tamlin’s temper was rising, his force signature warming Feyre’s cool skin. 

“Is this a local ghost story?” Feyre asked them, offering up her most charming smile. 

“Something like that,” the man beside her chuckled. “They say he’s some kind of force user. Powerful.”

“Impossible,” Tamlin dismissed. 

“Cassian. Azriel,” Mor murmured, though there was no displeasure on her face. It was merely an order to mind their own business. Despite her more diminutive stature, both men returned to their drinks looking a little shamed. 

“Do you think they’re true?” Feyre asked, ignoring the waves of frustration rolling off Tamlin.

“I know three Jedi walked out of this bar alive, and met something in the dark,” Mor said, leaning forward so her hair spilled across the bar. “The wildlife and fauna here are dangerous if you’re stupid or careless. I didn’t think Jedi were either.”

“They’re not,” Tamlin all but hissed.

“Then maybe you ought to start there,” Mor said, eyes still only on Feyre. 

“They say he’s just outside the city,” Cassian added, nosing his way back into the conversation. “Lives on the edge of a mountain.”

“Or was it in the mountain?” Azriel asked with a sharp grin. Feyre knew they were trying to scare her and Tamlin, but she was genuinely intrigued. A dark force user seemed unlikely, but perhaps some kind of equivalent ability, like the Nightsisters were said to have. She wanted to know more than she wanted to unravel the mystery of the dead Jedi. 

“This was helpful,” Tamlin said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite as he tossed a couple credits onto the bar. Thanks for nothing, she swore she heard him say, though his lips never moved. Feyre gulped down the rest of her drink while Cassian and Azriel went back to studiously looking anywhere but at the rest of them. 

“Take care,” Mor said only to Feyre, offering a pretty smile. “I’ll see you around.”

Cassian and Azriel both turned to look at her with those unnerving eyes, their smiles suggesting the same thing. No one looked at Tamlin at all, who half jerked her off the stool and toward the door. Feyre stumbled, looking over her shoulder to find their smiles gone, replaced by some other emotion that almost looked like fury. 

“There was something strange about them,” Feyre said the moment they were back in the dark. “Didn’t you think—”

“Why didn’t you let me handle it?” Tamlin demanded, rounding on her so quickly that she did fall back then, her ass hitting the ground hard enough to rumble up her spine. She scrambled to her feet, eyes smarting with embarrassment. “They were making fun of you!”

“They—they weren’t,” she insisted, swallowing the urge to cry. She thought of how Mor had looked at her with respect, pulling out that puck so Feyre could see the Jedi had left unharmed.

If she’d been crueler, she would have told Tamlin the truth. They spoke with derision because they didn’t like him. 

“Let's go,” he said, his eyes like ice. “We can circle back in the morning.”

“Fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Feyre stewed as they walked toward the inn they’d be sleeping in, grateful for the two beds that were provided rather than one. If she had to sleep next to Tamlin, she thought she might have flung herself out a window. They still shared the small space, dodging the other as best they could, tempers still high. He kept sighing, waiting for her to ask him what he was thinking like she often did in the past. She didn’t, though. 

Feyre fell asleep thinking not about Tamlin, but what Mor had told her. Of the man who supposedly lived in or around the mountain and the power he commanded. It seemed more like a children’s story meant to keep them from wandering and yet…had those Jedi gone looking? It would be tempting, certainly, especially if that man had been framed as a force user. She wanted to go looking, too, even if Tamlin didn’t, though she didn’t know how to convince him of it. 

Feyre woke to darkness and Tamlin already dressed. He was standing by the door, hair left around his face.

“You’re awake. Good. I’ve been thinking about last evening,” he began, hand reaching for the control panel on the wall. Feyre sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“What about it?” she asked.

“I think it’s best if I conclude this investigation on my own. You’re…you’re safer here, I think.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open of its own accord, snapped shut as she processed his words. “Safer?”

“I want you to remain in this room until I return—”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. But things will move much faster, and go smoother, if you just let me handle this.”

“Tamlin!”

She scrambled out of bed, but he was quicker, reflexes sharper. He offered one last glance back, eyes hardly apologetic at all.

“Tamlin!” she yelled, but the door hissed shut just in time for her palm to smack against the cool metal. She screamed his name twice to no avail. He’d locked her in the room. Feyre turned toward the window, too small for her to crawl out of even if she shattered it. 

Think, she ordered herself, but the walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on her, the darkness heavy and oppressive. Tamlin was a lot of things, but at their foundation, he was her mentor. Her teacher.

Her friend.

Did she mean anything to him at all? Or was she merely an object for him to protect with no consideration of her own wants, needs, or desires? Feyre’s hurt shifted into anger, her mind replaying the argument in the ship. The realization he had been holding her back because he wanted to keep her around longer, that he would derail her entire life to satisfy himself. He was supposed to put his padawan above himself and yet…

Feyre went back to the door, reaching back into the force. It was wrong—so, so wrong—to use it the way she was. The once warm air chilled as she embraced, just for a moment, the hatred she felt. Metal crunched and snapped, the bolts whining before they broke entirely. When Tamlin returned, he’d know what she’d done and how she’d done it.

Let him, she thought as she gripped tight to that anger. It was a lifeline right then, antithetical to her teachings as it was. Hatred, anger, fear—all led to the dark side of the force. She needed to let it go.

All Jedi touch the dark side. 

She’d read that in one of the books in the archive. Well, here she was, touching it too. Feyre stepped from the ruined wreckage feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life. She’d atone when she returned to Coruscant, would tell the Council everything and hoped they understood her reasons, her feelings.

But right then, Feyre didn’t care about any lesson Tamlin had ever taught her. He’d betrayed her many times over, so thoroughly that it couldn’t be repaired with centuries worth of time. It was tempting to hunt him down and confront him, but Tamlin was a Master who’d been trained by someone who valued his education. He’d beat her easily—smugly.

No.

Once outside, Feyre’s gaze turned toward the darkness and the mountains she assumed lingered just beyond. For only a moment, Feyre took stock of herself. Was she afraid of what she’d find? 

Was she afraid to die?

No.

Feyre stepped with confidence, unafraid of the darkness around her. Maybe it was unchecked hubris that guided her, or some sense that the force would protect her. Feyre didn’t bother thinking too much about it, vanishing out of the city toward the mountains that loomed overhead like great, craggy fingers. All at once, Feyre understood why people would imagine a monster lived here—who else might survive it? It occurred to her, as she got further and further from the city, that this was foolish—she ought to go back to the ship and send a message to the Council before Tamlin knew what she had done. 

Feyre nearly turned back—she should have. If it hadn’t been for an overwhelming tug in her gut, she might have abandoned her plan entirely. Feyre kept moving, her body knowing the way even as her mind raced. She could feel the presence of something—someone—watching, waiting. The wind picked up, ruffling her hair around her face and too late, Ferye realized she hadn’t bothered to braid her long hair, nor had she changed from her training pants and tank-top. She’d merely run out, caring only that her feet were laced up in her white boots and her saber was clipped to her belt. It should have felt cold but Feyre was warm as her speed picked up, eyes trying desperately to cut through the dark. 

It never occurred to Feyre she might be running straight into a trap until a strong, bare arm wrapped itself like a noose around her neck. Clotheslined back, Feyre gagged as her fingers attempted to pry the grip off to no avail. She twisted, catching sight of a strange, angular mask in the gloom and familiar black tattoo’s scrawled up her assailant's strong bicep and Feyre swore smoke trailed off him, creating massive wings just behind him.

The man was strong, but Feyre was quick, kicking behind her to catch him in the knee. He grunted through the mask as she spun, heart racing, and ignited her purple blade. Whatever he was, Feyre was certain he was no match for an armed Jedi. Feyre didn’t wait for him to regain the upper hand, swinging furiously with all the skill she’d earned over the years.

Her breath caught as his own blade ignited, a brilliant, bleeding red, to block her strike. For a moment they were deadlocked, her staring up into that eyeless mask while their sabers hummed with anticipation. 

“You’re—”

He pushed back though he didn’t come forward to strike her again. Instead, he cocked his helmeted head as though curious to see what she’d do next. Feyre couldn’t breathe fully, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“That’s a Jedi’s weapon.”

The dark, mechanical laugh that sounded in response made her heart stumble. 

“Where did you get it?”

She didn’t expect an answer, though Feyre could force one from him. He wasn’t a Jedi—she’d never seen a blade that color before. Lunging, Feyre struck again, expecting to reveal his inability to truly wield it. A lightsaber belonged to a Jedi the way a person’s arm did—it was instinctual, innate. Not just anyone could pick it up and wield it. You needed a connection to the force and this person…

This person had it. He blocked her with skill, moving quicker than he should have been able to. Feyre was all offensive strikes, hair whipping around her face until she could smell the singed edges on the wind mingled with the sweat dripping from his skin. 

“Who are you?” she panted when he forced her back, just hard enough to put six feet of space between them. 

He didn’t answer, head snapping up to look behind her as something rough gripped Feyre around the navel and wrenched her back so forcefully it stole the remaining breath from her lungs. Tamlin has used the force to remove her from the fight, stepping around her with his green blade ignited. Feyre wanted to scream, though if it was to warn the assailant or Tamlin, she didn’t know. She couldn’t move, dazed and pinned by Tamlin’s superior use of the force. All she could do was lay there, desperately gasping for air, as Tamlin spoke words she barely heard. 

The warrior with the red blade made the first strike, moving in a blur of color that made her stomach roil. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have been toying with her and yet watching him match Tamlin blow for blow, Feyre knew with sickening clarity what was coming. 

“Let me go,” she whispered. His pride would be his downfall, would get them both killed. “Let me help you.”

If he heard her whispered plea, Tamlin didn’t respond. He moved just as quickly, dodging rocks half hidden beneath the soft grass. The pair vanished over a hillside for a moment before they were back, dodging and striking like two masters determined to see the other one fall. For a moment, Feyre thought Tamlin had the upper hand when he kicked the warrior in the chest, his blade slipping from his grip. Tamlin attacked three in a row, bashing the assailant over his mask until it was cracked-useless.

Tamlin raised his own saber to make the killing blow but she knew, somehow, what was coming. The assailant reached out, his own blade flying back into his hand. He pulled, turning one red blade into two. 

Tamlin couldn’t react fast enough. With one hand, his green saber was blocked while the other humming red blade drove neatly through Tamlin’s throat. His grip on her relinquished and Feyre scrambled to her feet, noting that Tamlin had managed to cut open the warrior's helmet. 

Tamlin fell to his knees, turning his head to look at her before he died. If he truly saw her or not, she didn’t know.

He was dead before his shoulders touched the ground.

Feyre made her way over, holding her own blade with something akin to fear. Blinking, it didn’t register who was standing in front of her until she heard a familiar voice.

“Surprise.”

Exhaling a shaking breath, she drank in the sweat soaked onyx hair now falling into violet-blue eyes. Rhys cocked his head again to look at her, a half smile playing on his lips.

“You killed Tamlin,” she whispered.

“Was that its name?” he replied without remorse. “You brought him here.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. Rhys continued to look at her with that cold amusement. “You didn’t kill me.”

“I didn’t come to kill you, Feyre.”

Her grip on her blade tightened. “Then why are you here? You…you pulled me here.”

His smile widened as he stepped over Tamlin’s still warm body like it was little more than trash. Perhaps to him it was. 

“Just as you pulled me to Coruscant,” he said, peering down at her with curiosity. 

Feyre yielded a step, keeping distance between them. Her mind was screaming static, unable to string together anything coherent. Feyre couldn’t figure out what was happening. She wasn’t adrift, but she didn’t feel awake anymore. This was a dream, somehow, and Feyre would wake up still angry with Tamlin, who would be alive.

She hadn’t wanted him to die. She’d just…she’d just wanted to be free.

“What do you mean?” she heard herself ask, her own voice taking on a dream-like quality. 

Something soft pulled against her—not the force, or, not exactly. It wasn’t like when Tamlin had pinned her to the soft grass, the force a boulder against her chest. This was more muscle memory, something that lived within her. 

“You’ve been calling me for a long time. When I was a boy, I used to dream about skies the color of your eyes,” he murmured, tilting his head again to study her. 

“You’ve been watching me.”

His grin widened. “Yes.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

He shook his head, hair sliding along his forehead. “You know that’s not true. I feel it, you know. Your pain, your anger…your hatred. I feel it all, Feyre. I could take it all away from you.”

She stumbled back another step. “No,” she whispered, unsure if she was telling him, or herself. He only smiled, his face still illuminated beneath the hum of his vibrant blade. 

“The Jedi are holding you back, Feyre,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. Feyre swore she could feel the words caress her cheek like a phantom kiss, cool against her overheated skin. “They refuse to see how magnificent you are and are afraid of the power you hold. They will never give you what you want.”

A strange, half-sob, half breath escaped Feyre. All she could do was shake her head back and forth, still stumbling back. She shouldn’t have come, she should have stayed in the room. Tamlin—Tamlin had been right. “This is my fault,” she managed, panting as she continued to move away from Rhys.

“Feyre,” he warned, stalking forward for her. Feyre broke into a sprint he interrupted with the force, lifting her off her feet and dragging her back to him. Feyre’s toes skimmed against the grass and though she could not move, Rhys wasn’t hurting her, either. He merely held her gaze, searching for something she prayed wasn’t there. 

“What do you want from me?” she whispered. “What are you?”

He stretched his neck left, and then right, his tattoos catching in the light. Too late, Feyre realized she’d seen them in the cantina the day before—Cassian and Azriel had sported the same ones. They’d told her about the force user, they’d lured her here. But worse, even, was the knowledge that they’d only been able to do that because Feyre had told Rhys before she’d left. She’d told him she was going to Umbara. She’d laid her own trap for him.

“There is no name for what I am, though I think the Jedi call me Sith,” Rhys said, his voice low and cold. “I want you, Feyre. Join me. Let me train you, teach you—not as an apprentice or acolyte. An equal.”

Sith. 

Fear won, in the end. Feyre pushed against his hold, shoving him so far back that he spun several times through the air before landing far from her in the distance, his saber finally sheathed. Feyre didn’t wait—she took off running as quickly as she could. There was no escaping him on Umbara, but if she could warn the Council, she could—stars, she didn’t know. 

Feyre made it to her ship, closing it up and turning it on before she managed to catch her breath. It was a betrayal to leave Tamlin’s body on Umbara, to not give him a proper burial befitting a Jedi Master and Feyre was afraid. 

She should have been. The moment Feyre made the jump to hyperspace, she heard him.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys murmured, appearing seemingly from nowhere. He had her cornered in the cockpit, his larger body blocking the only way out of the ship. Anger replaced fear as she screamed, launching herself from the chair with such force she didn’t feel pain when her thigh clipped the edge of the dash. She and Rhys went plummeting into the hold, tumbling to the hard, cold steel in a tangle of elbows and limbs. He groaned when her knee connected between his legs, causing her to slam it against him again, just because she hated him.

Straddling his waist, Feyre hit him so hard a small amount of his blood splattered against her cheek. Raising her fist to hit him again, Feyre realized he was grinning with red stained teeth, eyes watching her not with anger or horror, but delight.

“Do it,” he said, pushing his hips into her as his hands held her firm against him. “Hit me. Hurt me.”

“I thought you were my friend,” she accused, trying to writhe free of his grasp. There were a pair of stun cuffs hanging just beyond the door to the sleeping chamber and if she could grab them, she could restrain him. Could at least force him to face justice for what he’d done.

“I am your friend, Feyre. You just haven’t realized it because you’re so indoctrinated,” Rhys replied, still holding her tight.

“Let me go,” she ordered and to her surprise, he did. Feyre scrambled to her feet, careful not to look at the stun cuffs even as she inched close enough she could have snatched them. Rhys, too, stood, wincing slightly. Good. She hoped he hurt, that he had bruises in places he couldn’t even mention. That they reminded him of her when he was alone in a cell buried on Coruscant. 

“I’m not going to join you,” she threatened. 

Rhys only shook his head. “You will.”

Feyre backed away slowly as he approached, letting him play predator for just a moment. She wasn’t sure she liked the look in his eye—the same she’d seen on Tamlin’s face when he admitted why he wouldn’t let her take the trials. Rhys reached for her face, fingers curled to brush her cheek and Feyre struck. Quicker than he expected, she slid the cuff around his wrist, chaining the other to a nearby beam.

Rhys only laughed. Even when she pulled his sabers off his belt he still laughed, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. “Feyre,” he all but crooned, still looking exactly like a predator. His eyes seemed to shift right then, the violet shifting to red and back just long enough for her to see what the darkside had done to him. “Feyre, darling. You’re acting as if I am not exactly where I want to be.”

“In a prison cell on Coruscant?” she hissed in response.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll make it that far, do you?”

“Yes. I think I’ll testify at your trial and watch them behead you.”

Rhys only grinned. “We’ll see.”

Feyre left him there to gather her thoughts, strangely calm in the wake of the restrained Sith Lord in her hold. No one had prepared her for this—she’d never been trained for this situation. She shouldn’t be angry with Tamlin, who couldn’t defend himself, but if he’d just taught her like a Master should have, she might know. Everything Feyre knew, she’d taught herself and it showed. 

Her fingers hovered over the console, hesitating when she went to dial the code to reach the Council. She didn’t need Tamlin’s advice to teach her that, at least. They could advise her. 

Tell them. 

Feyre’s indecision cost her. She was exhausted, her adrenaline ebbing as she sat in the cockpit, warring with herself on what to do, how best to act. What even to say. How to explain that this was her fault, that she’d kept secrets even when having friends outside the temple wasn’t forbidden. She should have known, though. Should have sensed him.

Why hadn’t she?

Feyre’s fingers pulled back against her chest, her decision made when she felt him behind her. She barely had time to turn before Rhys raised his hands.

“Forgive me for this,” he murmured before he ripped the force over her head like a blanket. The world went dark, and Feyre was lost to slumber.

To peace.

Feyre woke with a start. The air was warm and she was in a rather large bed, still clothed in her tank top and trousers, though her boots were missing and her feet were bare. Reaching beneath the heavy silver blanket, she found her saber, too, was gone. Feyre kicked off the blankets and made her way across cool marble for a door that was, predictably, locked.

A note on a table just beside, in elegant cursive, read, 

Feyre,

You are not my prisoner, though the door may suggest otherwise. Please relax until I return.

I will explain,

Rhys

Would he explain why he’d disarmed her, too? Feyre crumpled it in her fist before stalking for a set of large windows overlooking an amethyst river winding down the mountain peaks. Certain he was about to give her some lecture about how she was his guest who simply wasn’t allowed to leave, Feyre took herself first to the ‘fresher to wash the blood, sweat, and anxiety from her skin before putting on the only clothing available to her.

He was a bastard, offering up those satin cuffed pants in a pale blue color, alongside a matching top that tapered to a point just above her navel. No shoes, no socks—nothing but bare feet and an exposed collarbone that offered far too much real estate for him to damage should they come to blows again. 

There was nothing to do once she was dressed but pace and ruminate. Feyre tried to hold her anger over what had happened on Umbara, and in her own way, she supposed she did. Only, instead of seeing Rhys cutting down Tamlin with ruthless efficiency, she saw Tamlin’s face as he admitted he didn’t want her to take the trials because she’d leave him. She saw his dismissal when he told her she couldn’t complete the mission with him.

Saw how he’d died because he refused to let her fight alongside him. 

And in her heart, Feyre knew that if she’d been allowed to join the fight, Rhys would have backed down. Wouldn’t have fought them both as hard because she was important to him for some twisted reason. They could have destroyed Rhys. They could have walked back to the Jedi as heroes who’d seen the faces of other Sith and could better hunt them back into extinction.

He didn’t trust her. Hadn’t viewed her as someone who could help. 

Now he was dead and she was somewhere she shouldn’t be. Feyre turned as the door hissed open, her thoughts settling as Rhys strolled in.

He, too, had showered, his dark hair pushed off his face and his beard a mere shadow clinging to his jaw. The faint red of his eyes shifted in the light, slipping into violet as he came fully into view. 

“Is there some sort of dress code here?” she asked, noting his sleeveless black attire once again. 

“Blue looks wonderful on you,” was his reply. “You look well rested.” “No thanks to you,” she snapped.

Rhys shrugged his broad shoulders. “Someone ought to attempt to take care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me! I need you to let me go.”

“Where will you go?” he asked casually, glancing at the door still open behind him. “Back to Coruscant.”

Feyre opened her mouth to tell him yes, but the word didn’t come out. She’d hesitated on the ship and she was hesitating now. 

A smile spread over sensual lips. “Ah. See? You don’t want to return.”

“That’s not true.”

Rhys reached for his belt where her saber was clipped and tossed her to her with ease, eyes tracking the movement. “No, you don’t. You could have cut me down—”

“I can’t,” she said with an air of breathless desperation. “I’m only a padawan.”

His brows crinkled. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m just a student. I…” Feyre didn’t know how to explain it to him. “You didn’t have a Master?”

His grin widened. “Once. For a time, I suppose.”

“Did you kill him?”

Rhys only continued to smile, his silence answer enough. 

“I couldn’t have killed you,” she repeated, trying to get her point across. “You spared me.”

“I had no intention of taking your life, but I wouldn’t have stopped you from taking mine. To die at your hands…that would have been an honor. To see you take up my helm, lead my warriors…” His smile was almost dreamy.

“I thought Sith only moved in pairs.”

“I am no Sith, Feyre,” he said, cocking his head so a lock of dark hair fell against his eyes. “Those are Jedi terms, not mine. I never said I was Sith, nor do we put labels on what we are.”

“But you are evil,” she shot back.

Rhys arched one dark brow. “Am I? From where I’m standing, it seems I did you a favor. I freed you from the shackles of a man who warped his teachings and traditions to keep you under his thumb for his own selfish desires—”

“And what do you call all this?!” she demanded with a shriek.

“Liberation,” he replied easily, as though he’d practiced this very speech and it was going exactly as he hoped. “You can be free of Jedi doctrine and dogma, can do whatever you like. Feyre, your power, I—”

He ran a hand through his dark hair as he stepped toward her, more cautious than he’d been on Umbara. “I could show you.”

“Sith don’t do equals,” she said, well aware she was really asking with curiosity rather than slinging accusations. “Only Masters and Apprentices.”

“I am Sith only by your standards,” Rhys replied with more earnestness than he had any right to express. “Dark, light…it’s all just the force.”

This was dangerous and she knew it. Rhys’s eyes flashed red for just a moment, reminding her that the Sith were liars by nature. Master manipulators. It was working, though and he must have known it. When had he gotten so close? Rhys reached for a lock of her hair, curling it around his fingers.

“I feel your pain, Feyre. I’ve felt it for a long time. You’ve spent a lifetime trying to meditate it away but what if you embraced it?”

“I’d be a traitor to everything I believed. Just like you are,” she repeated, stepping away from him before she could get too lost in his words. They tempted her, pulling her down as though he were some great, all-encompassing current. 

Back turned, Feyre only heard the hiss of his ignited saber. “Fight me, Jedi,” Rhys snarled, his voice laced with condemnation. “Fight me so I can show you what you really are.”

Feyre whirled around too fast, forgetting to think about what was happening. With a pushing leap in the air, Feyre’s blade was lit and crashing against Rhys’s before her feet touched the ground again. He grinned savagely, blocking the blow like it was nothing to him. Who cared how she killed him, Feyre reasoned as she lifted her blade again. So long as he was dead.

Rhys dodged her in a flurry of swings, but didn’t move to attack her back until Feyre got a little too close to his throat. Her blade singed over his cheekbone, sparing his facial hair, drawing a neat line of blood over his otherwise immaculate skin.

He was brutal, then, eyes a burning red as he spun on her, forcing Ferye to take on the defensive position rather than the offensive. Her wrist ached from the effort to keep that saber in her hand, though Feyre did not back down, either. Feyre, perhaps, should have realized what he was trying to do when the backs of her knees hit the side of the bed, but Feyre hadn’t put Rhys’s plan together until he’d wrenched her blade from her hand, tossed it across the room, and pinned her beneath his body and the mattress.

“You hate me,” he panted, sweat sliding down his forehead. His dark hair was soaked again, falling into those unnatural eyes like branches of a willow. He was beautiful right then, unfairly so, with his cheeks flushed and his wild eyes. “Say it.”

“I hate you,” she replied, gaze drifting toward his mouth. She shouldn’t want someone like him. 

“I almost believe you,” Rhys replied, chest heaving from the exertion of their fight. She hadn’t realized she was panting, too, until he leaned close enough she could practically taste his breath. Feyre hitched her leg up over his hip in an attempt to roll away, but Rhys grabbed her thigh, holding her so she could feel how uninterested in fighting her he was. 

“I’ve waited,” he murmured, lips caressing the side of her jaw as his other hand came to her throat. Rhys pinned her by her neck, fingers squeezing just enough to make her dizzy. “You’re the only woman in the galaxy I’d pretend to serve turbodogs for.”

“You think turbodogs are beneath you?” she asked. Feyre would have laughed at the realization that this brutal Sith Lord spent years on Coruscant pretending to be little more than a vendor if she hadn’t been so turned on right then. 

“I think pretending to be something I’m not was beneath me,” Rhys said, mouth touching hers. It was brief, a whispered breath before he pulled away to look, but Feyre felt it. His touch was electric, waking up a slumbering piece of her soul she hadn’t known existed at all. Rhys saw it, his smile triumphant.

“You’re mine, Jedi,” he murmured, cocking his head to the side as he arched a brow. Tell me I’m wrong, that arrogant look seemed to say. 

She couldn’t and he knew it. Rhys had known it the moment he turned up on Umbara because Feyre had been telling him so since they’d become friends. She’d told him her frustrations, her hopes, her irritations…Rhys knew it all. Could sense her even when she’d been too clouded to sense him. Maybe this dormant part of her had always recognized him.

Or maybe she merely liked the man hovering over top her, his eyes giving away his plan. Feyre met his gaze. Rhys stopped playing his games, mouth slanting over hers with a heady, desperate groan. Feyre kissed him back, tasting the sweat and heat on his tongue mingled with the left over copper from their fight. Feyre learned quite quickly that kissing him was a lot like fighting him.

He wanted to break her down until she gave in, and this was a far more effective battle in which Feyre yielded too much too soon.

After all, it was her leg he had hitched around his waist. She could have pretended he was driving the whole thing but Feyre was rubbing against him like a cat. It felt good, his hand around her throat, his cock between her legs, his tongue in her mouth. Worse, even, were her hands slipping from where he’d pinned them over her head, stuck thanks to the heaviness of his body laid across her own. Distracted by the kissing, Rhys didn’t notice until Feyre had them against his chest, not to shove, but to run them down the smooth material of his tunic. Rhys sighed, his thumb pressing against the hollow of her throat for only a moment.

Feyre gasped, arching her neck for a deeper breath. Rhys pounced, kissing her deeper, more fervently. She’d done exactly what he’d wanted, opening entirely so he could 

“You really didn’t know it was me?” he breathed, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Not even deep down?”

Feyre fisted her fingers at the nape of his neck, wanting him to just shut up, even for one second. No, she thought to herself as their teeth collided in a frenzy of need, the darkside clouds everything. 

But she’d been clouded by her own anger, her frustrations with Tamlin and the lack of movement in her career. Feyre wouldn’t have noticed Rhys was sith if he’d worn a badge printed to the front of his chest declaring him such. Surely he knew it.

“I need you. Right now,” Rhys breathed, his mouth sliding from her lips to kiss a path down her jaw. His teeth caught on her earlobe, tugging just a little rougher than she thought he meant to, though Feyre enjoyed it. The hand on her thigh moved toward her bare stomach, teasing the thin material as he pushed it higher and higher.

“I don’t—I’ve never—”

“I’ll talk you through it,” he promised, taking his other hand off her throat as he slid himself down the length of her body to settle on the floor between her legs. “I’m going to lick your pussy now.”

Feyre blinked, her mind frustratingly blank. Rhys took advantage, removing the pants he’d provided for her with ease to toss them over his broad shoulders like they were nothing.

“Peace is a lie, Feyre,” he murmured, once she was bared before him. Callused fingers slid up her thighs, parting them wider and wider until she was spread obscenely. 

“No peace,” Rhys repeated, his gaze burning as it raked over her half naked form. “Only passion.”

Rhys did exactly as he promised, licking up the center of her body while holding her gaze. It felt like there was some kind of magic there, something hypnotic that kept Feyre from looking away. Maybe it was simply her need for control that kept her eyes pinned on him. Whatever it was, Feyre panted as she watched, her arousal burning through the last remaining defenses she had.

No peace—only passion. 

Peace had always been hard, even with hours of mediation. Feyre understood passion well, though—she’d been battling it her entire life. Swallow her anger, swallow her frustration—swallow everything in an effort to find some higher purpose. She’d failed over and over.

Maybe a better teacher could have shown her a clearer path.

Maybe she’d always been destined to fall. 

Feyre arched her hips as Rhys drew her closer, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to tease his tongue over her clit. Over and over, in rhythmic circles, until she felt like she might die. Feyre was too hot, the desire burning through her from the inside out.

Rhys moaned against her skin, fingers spreading her wider before teasing her sensitive opening. Inch by agonizing inch he went, pushing that finger further and further until Feyre was whimpering, hips rolling against his hand and mouth looking for relief. Rhys only chuckled. 

“Needy,” he taunted, his voice strained. “What will you look like impaled on my cock?”

“Please,” Feyre replied, though she wasn’t sure if she was asking him to return to licking or shutting up. “Rhys, please.”

He lowered his face again, eyes rolling back into his skull before he resumed his attention on her swollen clit. Feyre barely noticed the way he worked that second finger into her body until he pulled away again, swearing softly about the tightness of her body. She was so close to finishing and desperate for it. 

He knew it. Rhys began pumping his fingers in and out of her body rougher, his mouth sped up until Feyre’s head hit the mattress, staring upward at the dark ceiling. “Rhys,” she pleaded. Her body was on fire, electric and aching. Her arousal wound its way up her spine, settling at the back of her throat and in her lower belly. He sucked, fingers curling so they found some secret spot only she’d ever known about and Feyre was undone. She screamed without meaning to, half plea, half prayer—the only word that escaped his name. Rhys didn’t stop until Feyre whimpered, boneless and exhausted on the bed.

“You’re not done yet,” Rhys said, rising up to his full height. Feyre could only watch as he peeled off his clothes, head cocked like a predator once more. “I won’t rest until I’ve had all of you.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’re mine,” he breathed, fingers unclasping the button on his pants. He’d already removed his top, revealing a toned body worthy of the arms she’d seen during their fight and more muscles than she’d known one person could reasonably have. The tattoos were on full display, unbroken by clothing though still just as indecipherable. She started to ask him what they meant, but Rhys’s pants fell to the floor, revealing the thick, hard length of him and Feyre forgot about everything else.

“You can’t put that in my body,” she whispered as he crawled toward her, the muscles of his back shifting with each graceful movement.

“I can,” he murmured, lowering himself over her flushed body for a kiss, “and I will.”

Feyre let him, forgetting for a moment what was going to happen. He tasted sweet after having his tongue in her body and his hands managed to take her top off before Feyre registered how he did it.

“You’re remarkably unobservant,” Rhys breathed, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock brushed against her wetness. “We’ll work on that.” Rhys slid himself inside her just an inch, though it was enough to draw a gasp from Feyre, fingers digging into his biceps.

“Breathe,” he ordered, eyes searching her face. “You’re doing so well, Feyre, darling.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted, pushing deeper. “You will.”

Even if she’d wanted to escape him, it was too late. Rhys made good on his threat from earlier, slipping deeper and deeper into her body until Feyre was certain she couldn’t take it. But he’d been right—by the time he bottomed out, she’d begun to adjust to the stretch it required to accommodate him, her discomfort turning to pleasure. 

“Look at you,” Rhys breathed, the tendons in his neck strained from keeping himself still inside her. “You take my cock so well.”

Rhys pulled out and thrust back in with the same brutality she’d come to associate with him. Feyre gasped, not out of pain, but desire. It felt good to be treated like she could handle something rough. Like she wasn’t fragile—like she was strong. 

Rhys kissed her again and she realized she was practically screaming her thoughts at him through the force. “You’re mine, and I’m yours,” Rhys breathed, nose nuzzling her own. “Those are our own tenants, the only code we live by now.”

Feyre met him thrust for thrust, kissing him rather than answering. She could feel the cold of the dark sliding through her, washing out the light that had once existed. With each new slide of Rhys’s cock, Feyre fell further and further into shadow. 

Where she belonged. 

“Take it,” Rhys moaned into her neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin. “Take all of it.”

As if she had a choice. Rhys gripped her hips, pulling her into him harder and faster, until all Feyre knew was the taste of the salt on his skin and the sound of his breathing in her ear. His hand found her throat again, pinning her beneath him as Rhys thrust over and over. His fingers squeezed just enough to leave her breathless without hurting her.

Feyre came again, surprised by the intensity of her orgasm. Her teeth sank into his shoulder to suppress the urge to scream again as Rhys moaned her name, whining ever so softly before slamming himself entirely into her body so he, too, could release himself.

He collapsed a moment later, face nuzzled into her neck. Sweat slicked down his back and over his forehead, making his golden skin glistening beneath the lights.

Rhys rolled over a few moments later, one powerful arm thrown over his eyes.

Feyre sat up, ignoring that she could feel the proof of his desire sliding out of her body. “What do these mean?”

Rhys glanced down at his tattoos inked over the top of his chest, arms, and shoulders. “Luck in battle,” he murmured, tracing one of the swirling lines with his finger. “According to the customs of my people.”

There was no point in asking if they worked. So instead, Feyre held his gaze as she said, “He locked me inside.”

Rhys leaned up on his elbows, hair half falling in his eyes. “I know. I know. Never again, Feyre. Never. Again.”

There was rage in his words—a promise that they would make themselves strong no matter the cost. Feyre wanted that. She wanted to be untouchable. Not a pet, not the delicate woman some man loved, but fierce. Strong.

Feared.

“Never again,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his as he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

“Sleep, first,” Rhys murmured, opening his arm in invitation. “Then we train.”

“And then?”

Rhys offered her a sleepy smile as Feyre pressed her head to his chest. “Revenge.”

[romanticizing-writing]

—Meet the Cast!—

Part Five: The Friend and Foe

Wilma:

Wilma is an environmental activist who does acting for a side job in order to make the money needed to be able to thrive in stability and fuel her organization "Wilma's Wilderness Protection Services," or "WWPS" for short. One of the most recent roles she took on within the acting industry was "Wendy Corduroy" from the beloved Disney series, "Gravity Falls". She claimed to have been attracted to the chill yet strong-willed nature of the character and said the traits reminded her of herself.

She's made a strong impact on certain aspects of the studio — suggesting the addition of recycling bins and utilization of recycled paper for scripts instead. She's also been seen, from time to time, picking up the litter occasionally covering the surrounding area of the building's outside. She deeply believes in her cause and takes every opportunity to attempt to take better care of the Earth.

"I feel like she has definitely affected all of us — in a good way, I mean. Not that I littered or treated our planet badly, but I never really helped out. I didn't know I could, to be honest. It felt like nothing I could do would make a difference. But, Wilma? She changed that attitude. She taught us little tips here and there, and recommended things we could do to help out if we ever felt like it. Not too much overwhelm us or make us feel like we weren't doing much before — like some people might do — but just enough to be encouraging and remind us that we could. That it was possible and we had a choice; a say in how much humanity affected nature. It's an empowering belief that she brought upon us," Melanie (actor of "Melody") expressed about her fellow actress.

Wilma is closest with Mabel and Alzamirano due to them having similar activities and firm opinions. When hanging out with the younger girl, the conversation usually revolves around their shared care for nature and its wildlife. When she's around Alza, meanwhile, they typically talk about how managing both of their associations is going and how they created them out of the common desire for the world's betterment.

William:

William is THE celebrity actor cast with playing the role of "Bill Cipher" in the show "Gravity Falls". He's one of the big names and is the most famous toon working on set for the series. He's been acting since seemingly forever (since he was ten years old) and is one of the most well known actors out there, period. He didn't have much competition when it came to auditioning for the role — since not too many shape toons exist in the world — and the little he had quickly left after finding out who they were up against.

William has been said to have a flamboyant and flashy personality. He's bold and will do whatever it takes to determine that he stands out from the crowd. He lives for the attention and makes that fact known. As a result, he sometimes comes across as fake, shallow, and even egotistical to people; finding him off-putting. Despite this, he's still extremely popular with public. He's the type of person who you either hate or love full-heartedly with little room for an in-between opinion.

While seemingly unapproachable on the surface, he's more than willing to converse, help, or interact with others — even if they're below him fame-wise. He's capable of being a very down-to-earth triangle who's sensitive and caring. Though, this piece of information is not that well known due to how he acts when near the spotlight. However, that's not the only reason. He has been making a noticable decision to attempt to appear less vulnerable and keep up his persona after the creation of a highly gossiped rumor. In the case you've been living under a rock (I apologize for any accidental offense caused to you, Patrick Star), I'll briefly explain what I'm referring to:

William has been theorized to have been close in some sort of proximity to famous scientist, Dr. Ford (actor of "Stanford Pines").

While I'm legally obligated reiterate that the connection between the duo is pure speculation, I'm more than willing to delve into why this has become a common belief. For starters, upon their first meeting, Ford was stated to have been shocked to realize William was also part of the cast in the way someone is suprised to see someone they know at the local grocery store.

"It was strangest thing I had seen. Mr. Ford was walking around, saying 'hi' to people, and then when he saw Mr. William he just...stopped. Stopped being able to do just about everything. He stopped being able to function properly, stopped knowing how to speak, stopped smiling — you get the gist. Oh! And then there was his eyes. They widened and became distant, as if he seen a ghost. Though, Bill does float like one. But, that's not the point. The point is: It was like he knew him," Deon (actor of "Gideon Gleeful") recited from memory about the two.

Furthermore, while they do seem avoid each other at every possible opportunity, their eyes have been caught to occasionally drift over to the other's. Their expressions changing to one of reminiscence as they (POTENTIALLY! This is theorizing, I don't want to be sued for any of this being mistaken for fact) let their minds wander to the ghosts of their pasts.

Again, none of this should be taken as objective truth. Though there is evidence to support this claim, they haven't confirmed any of the suspicion and instead denied it. Or avoided it like people avoid secrets they don't wish to speak about publicly. Please take all of this with a grain of salt. I was lucky enough to be hired to write these articles for the Disney company, since the show is so popular — I don't want to be sued for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Content:

(Fanfic in the process of being written)

Previous Part:

[eugenedebs1920]

Just a little fun wordplay 😊

We no longer stand in solidarity. There were periods when we did. These periods saw the biggest gains and the greatest successes of the masses and the middle class.

In the mid to late seventeen hundreds a collective of average people, some educated, some not, some of moderate wealth, others without. With the cumulative efforts, and rebellious spirit, these men, and a ragtag group of immigrants, fought off the mightiest global military forces, while at the same time, composing a series of ideas that would guide a free and prosperous society for centuries.

Theres always bad concepts, arbitrated by bad actors. Characters whose personal agendas of greed and self indulgence overpowers all aspects of decency and humanity. This was the case of the slave owning south.

As this young nation had shown before, there was no tyranny that couldn’t be bested. Again, an aggregation of peoples joined forces for the plight of humanity. For the freedom of the most vulnerable among them, a long, bloody, brutal war was carried out. Again, those who stood for the good of the common man toppled a hierarchy of wealthy, racist, tyrannicals.

Less than a century later a buzzing came from across the Atlantic. A charismatic overlord saw a susceptibility in his people. He would prey upon this by demonizing and lambasting those who weren’t arian, attesting the root of Germany’s woes lay in these immigrants poisoning the blood of their nation.

The largest conflict the world had ever seen commenced. Our cousins in England had bombs dropping on their doorsteps. The manufacturing of equipment and ammunition would prove to not suitable to subdue the forces against them. Again, a coalition of immigrants and native born American slaves would rise together in the fight against totalitarianism. Again their resolve would be victorious.

At home the powers of industry and capital would subjugate the workers of America. Making vast sums of wealth off exploitation. The accumulation of workers, all immigrants, men and women, brown and white, would capitalize on their numbers against the capitalists numbers of capital, showing that without a workforce the power of industry lies not in the wealth one holds but in the richness of solidarity. Again, this patchwork of peoples would, for now, would conquer despotic forces.

Society would see a period of great prosperity after the labor movements and the devastating war. That is with the exception of those stolen from the continent of Africa and forced to be here against their will.

The tether of reconstruction was long snapped and the menace of oppression in the south had ensnared in its provocations an atmosphere of violence and a thraldom of segregation, disenfranchising an already marginalized people.

Again, a plurality of common poor peoples amassed for the battle against those who contended their superiority over them. An exercise of non violent direct action through the plethora of peaceful persons would placate to the general population the putridness of the prejudices cast upon them by immoral ignorant racist, bringing to light their struggles. Again, the community of conciliating colored Americans coincided to overcome their oppressors.

At the same moment the military industrial complex Eisenhower had warned of, continued to manufacture conflict. This time in south east Asia.

This was a war where the richest county in the world, with the most advanced weaponry, combated communism on some of the poorest people on the planet. The atrocities, like never before, came through the screens, and into the living rooms of every American home. An anti-war, pro love revolution would sweep the nation. Again, the whole of these heartfelt hippies helped in the masses hearing that the horrific hurt perpetrated to these peasants across the globe was harmful to humanity and entirely wrong.

Where we stand now the masters of men have maniacally manufactured a mistrust amongst us.

They have seeded the sourness of the soul throughout our society. This syndicated system of separation from our various sects has shattered our symbolic social structure so severely, simple salutations have strained our sense of sensibility. Systematically dividing the civil citizens in seismic shakes of uncertainty.

A proud and progressive people, pushed apart purposely so politicians and powerful players of commerce can profit by polluting our planet and our perception. Pontificating on a provocation promoted to produce pre manufactured prejudices poised to poison person against person as the prerequisite for prestige.

We have shackled ourselves to the self indulgence of a capitalist culture only curating the catastrophic collapse of the middle class, whilst the cumulative cancer of cash corrodes the contemporary consciousness, cultivating corruption and canceling our once mighty congregation of caring and compassionate countrymen.

Before brethren born by the same bloodshed, serendipitously say our goodbyes, may we not bask in the blessings befallen between us, embracing the brotherly bonds, and the battle brought on by breaking that brokerage long ago, so difficult to ascertain again. Our best bet is to let bygones be bygones and believe that better beginnings rise in the dawn. Because brother, you are my family beyond blood our betterment is best bestowed building upon bridges not barriers, bound by bravery in the land of the free.

[illarian-rambling]

Hopping on this tag from @happypup-kitcat24 :)

OC Assumption Tag

Share one of your characters' name and a quote from them with zero context and let your followers (or other people who stumble upon your post) make assumptions about said character. You can post about more than one character but only one quote for each one for things to stay out of context.

1) Izjik Meautammera

“My name is Izjik Meautammera and I’m not at all wanted by the wealthy Devaris family of Unity. They won’t give you money for my safe and unconscious return. What I am is End’s avatar. It speaks to me, it controls my actions when it wishes. I have killed spirits and Chosen under its command. Immortality shatters beneath the stone of my washava. I have come here to ask for your help in our ultimate endeavor; destroying the gods and all life on this planet. You, your kid, your dog—it’ll all be dead and gone. So, who, uh, who’s with me?”

2) Sepo Kaiacynthus

“I expect you to fight to the bitter end if that’s what it takes, because you might love your husband, your son, but the people on that ship are the reason I’m here today and if your impatience costs them their lives, then believe me when I say I will turn that city down there into a fiery crater when I rip this damn island out of the sky!”

3) Twenari Undetasib/Devaris

“Something to do with gravitation runes and the density of air. It’s brilliant; they combine the magical with the mechanical and get a miracle. Gods, if I could just get a peek inside one of those fans….”

4) Djek Kagura

“Look, my point is, it’s hard to trust a bleeding heart. You figure that you’re too weak for this world, too sensitive, so you get in tight with someone who knows their shit. Someone smart enough to tangle with society and come out on top. You trust them to make decisions for you because they know better. They’re harder, more practical; they don’t balk when there’s bloody work to be done.... The first step in doing good is to let go of those people. You have to learn to listen to that bleeding heart of yours. It’s not soft, it’s not weak; it makes you who you are. A good woman. One who now has the opportunity to go out and make the world better.”

5) Astra DuClaire

“Nah, but I’ve been listenin’ in on your little chat with my friend here. I know I got you real worried ’bout how I figured out how to preserve a mind and you didn’t. And you’re right to worry, which is why I said it before, but all good messages bear repeatin’, so I’ll say it again. I am better than you.”

6) Mashal Darezsho

“I don’t care! I don’t care if you think I’m nothing more than a stepping stone on your path. I don’t care if you don’t think about me at all! But you will come out here and face me, gods damn it! And I’ll make sure I’m the last thing that ever crosses your fucking mind!”

7) Ivander Montane

“I didn’t come after the Surgeon out of the goodness of my heart. I… I didn’t come here to solve your murder or bring anyone to justice. The Surgeon can strip the magic from a sorcerer. I’ve seen the bodies with my own eyes—yours included. I came here hoping he could take the godly magic from me. ...I told you, I’m a selfish man.”

8) Elsind Cavernsight

“I forgive you, too. Just by knowing you, I can tell that your father was a good man. Not a good ruler maybe, but I can honestly say that I believe both of you did the best you could within the system you inherited. Very few nobles I’ve met were ever so, well, noble.”

8) Avymere Spearsong

“We are not retreating. The longer we take to act, the longer the people of Salis—of all of Skysheer—are held in Vermir’s grasp. Every second we waste means the death of another sorcerer whom it is my duty to protect. We push on.”

I like games like these, so ima call all the homies! Consider yourselves no pressure tagged ;)

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

@wyked-ao3 @thecomfywriter

[vodika-vibes]

Hey! Congratulations on the followers! I love your fics! I've just refound tumblr and have been obsessed with TBB and TCW .

May I please have a pansy and a purple lilac with TBB Tech and a F!reader?

Tiny Dancer

Summary: You own a dance studio on a small mid-rim world, which has started to have some severe electrical problems. Luckily, Tech is your neighbor and he's happy to help.

Pairing: TBB Tech x F!Reader

Word Count: 1120

Prompts: Pansy - You occupy my thoughts; Purple Lilac - first love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So, this is my first time writing Tech, so I hope I did him justice. And if I didn't, please let me know so I can do better next time. But! Welcome back to Tumblr and our little corner filled with Clones!

Once upon a time, before the war, you would travel from planet to planet, learning different dances from different people across the galaxy.

And, though you don’t like to brag, you like to think that you’re something of an expert in most forms of dancing. 

But when the War started, you were forced to find a safe planet to live on. Which is how you ended up here. On some mid-rim planet, running a dance studio for anyone who wants to learn.

Sure, the war is over, but with the Empire…

Well, it’s just not safe to travel anymore. 

Still, you like to think that you’re making the best of it. Or, well, you hope you are, in any event.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for this, Tech.” You say brightly to the tall man who’s standing on a ladder with his head half in your ceiling, “I would hate for someone to get hurt because of poor wiring. And the electrician I spoke to was so dismissive-”

“I am happy to help,” Tech says as he pulls his head out of the ceiling to look at you, “So far, however, I am not seeing any problems.”

Concern crosses your face, “Oh, but I saw-”

“I believe you.” He sits on the top of the ladder, “Is there another electrical panel somewhere?”

“Um…” You think back to what the previous owner said to you when you purchased the building, “The basement, I think.”

“Then we can look there next.” He climbs down the ladder, and snaps it closed before he leans it against one of the padded walls, “After you.”

You lead Tech through the studio, until you get to the basement door. You quickly unlock it, and then have to use your whole body weight to pull it open, “Sorry.” You say as you stumble back into him, “The door has always done that.”

Tech steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, “I can fix that.” He offers.

You beam at him, “Oh! Can you really? That would be wonderful!”

He stares at you for a moment, and then averts his gaze with a cough, “Yes, well. We should deal with the electrical problem first.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” You reply with a bubbly laugh, before you turn and flip the lightswitch, and lead him down the concrete steps, “Sorry for the mess. I mostly use this as storage. And the previous owner left a bunch of junk behind when he moved out. I kind of hoped that a member of his family would come to claim it, but no dice.”

You step off the stairs, and push a stack of boxes out of the way, to make room for Tech.

“How much of this belongs to you?” Tech asks, as he pushes several boxes out of the way as well.

“Less than a quarter.” You admit with a sigh, “But I don’t want to just throw it all away, it’s not mine. Oh, the electrical box is on the back wall, I think.”

Tech sighs softly when he sees the stacks of boxes blocking his path to the electrical box, and you duck your head with a mumbled apology. “If I had known that physical labor was involved, I would have brought Wrecker.”

You giggle, “Sorry. But I do appreciate you doing this for me. I kind of expected you to tell me to kriff off.”

He shoots you an odd look, “You really think that?”

You shrug, “You’re a nice guy, Tech, but most people don’t exactly like having their freetime claimed by other people.” You grin at him, “I wouldn’t have minded if you said no, but I’m so glad you said yes.”

Tech releases a quiet laugh, “I do not think anyone can say no to you, least of all me.”

“Least of all?”

“Sorry?”

“You said ‘least of all’,” You clarify, “Why least of all?”

“Oh.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, even as he slides boxes and old mats out of the way, “Because I think about you all the time. And I am pretty sure that I am in love with you. Though I am still trying to figure that out.”

You fumble with the small box you’re carrying, and only manage to not drop it because you set it on another box, “What?”

“Did you not think it was strange that I am always eager to help you?”

You stare at him, “No! I thought you just liked helping people!”

“I like helping you, specifically. You have never been bothered by my rambling.” Tech replies, “Even my own brothers tell me to shut up from time to time, but you never have.”

“Honestly, Tech, I didn’t think I was your type.” You admit sheepishly, “So I kind of slotted you in the ‘look but don’t touch’ column.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” You say dryly, “But I’m a bit…flighty.”

“I noticed that, yes.”

“And, like, super scatterbrained. And not all that smart-”

“Do you want to know the first good memory I have of this planet?” Tech interrupts you.

“-uh…sure?”

“The summer dance festival.” Tech says, turning to watch you, “You were wearing this sheer material that reminded me of the ocean, and you were dancing to some type of music that I have never heard before-”

“I remember that. I was the opening act for the little ones.” You say with a small smile.

“It was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen in my life,”

“I…really?”

“I think about that more than I should.” Tech admits, not the least bit ashamed.

You press your hands against your burning cheeks, “Oh.”

“If I have made you uncomfortable-”

“No! No! Not at all!” You blurt, and then you giggle, “I’m actually really, really happy.”

Tech pauses, “Happy enough to go on a date with me?”

You beam at him, “I’d really like that!”

A small smile crosses his face, “Then we can work out the details when we are finished here.” His smile grows when he hears you giggling even more.

“Alright! Then we should probably get to work moving the boxes.” You add as you force yourself to get your giggles under control. And then you grin, and quickly dart to his side and press a quick kiss to his cheek, before you pull away, “I have a box cart thing upstairs, let me go grab it!”And as you dart up the stairs, you see Tech press his hand against his cheek, where you just kissed him, and a bubbly giggle slips from your lips. This is the best day ever.

[multific]

We Are One

Chapter 2: Going Home

Din Djarin x Reader

Part 1

Summary: He watched you leave him and did nothing. Now, he was a Mandalorian again, he had his son, but he still felt as if something was missing. That something was you. Yet, Din Djarin never expected to find you on a far planet as the bride of the great Duke Leto Atreides.

Sitting on his lap in his new ship, it was tiny.

You tried to move but you couldn’t.

He even told you not to. After you nearly elbowed him in the lungs.

"I missed you." he admitted after a long silence, he pushed a couple of buttons on his ship.

"I like your ship. And I missed you too. I want to tell you that, I only wanted to marry Leto because I needed to forget you. It broke my heart, but I didn't think I had a choice."

"I know. And I am sorry for blaming you. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you." now, a lot more comfortable silence fell. "When I found out that you were to marry someone, I couldn't believe it, I wanted to see you but then I decided not to. I lived in this limbo and it made me mad. In the end, the kid made me go. And I'm glad I did. I was worried you wouldn't want to..."

"I wanted nothing more." you put your hand on his helmet and smiled. You looked into his eyes through his visor. "I will always love you, Din Djarin."

You felt his arms tighten around you.

"I love you too, Mesh'la." oh just how you missed him calling you that.

Before heading home, Djarin parked the ship on a planet. One that you loved very much.

A planet so colourful and lively.

You got out of the ship and walked towards the nearby lake. Djarin followed you. He stopped behind you as you watched the lake. 

"I always wanted to tell you about myself. After I started trusting you, I just wanted to tell you but then, Grogu and everything happened."

"The kid misses you very much. As much as I did."

"I don't doubt that. I missed you two as well."

"I never cared about who you were, Jedi or not."

"I am no Jedi. I took no vow to be one. It would have meant to let go of my feelings for you and I would have never been able to do that." 

"I took my vows again, I am a Mandalorian once more, but right now, I wish for nothing more but to take this helmet off and kiss you."

You smiled as you turned and looked at him. 

"Forever the romantic."

"Later, when it's only us, in the darkest room, with your eyes closed. I am sorry, but that is the best I can do."

"Even if you would never kiss me in my entire life, I would still be happy just to be with you."

"Be my wife."

"I would love to." he rushed over to you and held your hands in his. 

"Marry me, right here."

"I would love to." you whispered and he began the simple vow.

"We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors." He said, loud and clear, and you repeated right after him.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a simple ring made of beskar. 

He placed it upon your finger and you gave him a look.

"I had this made long before I made you leave me. I kept it ever since, I'm glad now it has found its rightful place."

You pulled him down by the helmet and placed a kiss on his head. The beskar was cold against your lips, but you could imagine how warm he felt inside.

"Can we go and see our son?" Djarin's heart nearly jumped out upon hearing the word, our.

He nodded and walked you back to his ship.

The two of you soon landed near his house.

Your home.

You got out of the ship and rushed to hug Grogu, the little boy happy to see you, immediately started to tell you everything that happened.

And you told him just as much.

Later that day, you sat down to eat and you felt so happy. You had your family now and no one will take it from you ever again, you trained enough to make sure of that.

Djarin smiled under his helmet, seeing his Clan be happy and content, made him at ease.

Now, his house was truly a home.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak  @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[promptling]

STAR TREK, THE ORIGINAL SERIES: PLATO'S STEPCHILDREN change pronouns as needed!

i sing, i dance, i play all variety of games.

i'm a good loser, a very good loser.

would you please accompany?

who are the inhabitants of this planet?

whom among you is the physician?

is there anything you can do?

they deserve better than to die.

you talk too much.

how old would you say i am?

don't be afraid.

i'm not vain.

i stopped aging at _______.

we're in the midst of a storm.

i've never seen anything like it.

if this keeps up, we can't last.

they say i'm a throwback.

i shouldn't have said that.

don't worry about it.

it will be very gratifying to leave her.

do not take that tone with me.

please, find it in your heart to forgive me.

i'm very sorry, but that's impossible.

you'll want for nothing.

i am losing patience.

i can't move.

you won't persuade me.

is this your utopia, your grand vision of the future?

i've had enough of your moralizing.

you can't force emotion of him.

don't let them break you.

how can you let this go on?

i trust they did not injure you too much.

the humiliation must have been most difficult for you to bear.

i have noted that the healthy release of emotion is frequently very unhealthy for those closest to you.

just goes to prove there's no such thing as a perfect solution.

i might have seriously injured you.

they have evoked such great hatred in me, i cannot allow it to go further.

i must master it.

i must control.

this is senseless.

let me give them a taste of what they gave me.

they're going to kill you anyway.

what's the point in you dying too?

if i'm going to laugh or cry, i want to do it for myself.

you can keep your precious power.

if you do make it out of here, take me with you.

i guess we weren't sufficiently entertaining.

it was like becoming someone's puppet.

i thought i was sleepwalking.

i have experienced a slight flush.

you've destroyed the festive mood.

please, please make them stop.

i haven't the power.

all i want to do is crawl away and die.

too much love is dangerous.

it makes them think they're alive.

i wish i could stop trembling.

i am not afraid.

you're half dead.

i may disappear tomorrow, but at least i'm living now, and you can't stand that.

you're half crazy because there's nothing inside.

they have to torture us to convince themselves they're superior.

do you want to be like him?

despite your brains, you're the most contemptible thing that ever lived in this universe.

we can all be counted upon to live down to our lowest impulses.

you're very good at making speeches.

i have a little surprise for you.

[grossrottie]

Birthday Celebrations (selfship rambles)

I’M 25 NOWWW!! IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT!!

So I decided to write about my F/Os and how we would celebrate my birthday.

These are in the context of my selfship universes with each of them, but some are vague because I either have multiple AUs or I haven’t decided on one yet!

Characters mentioned: Sixth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, The Toymaker (all Doctor Who), Sun/Moon/The Daycare Attendant (FNAF)

In no particular order:

Sixth Doctor: 🐈

The Doctor and I would absolutely go on an adventure to celebrate. He’d wake me up in the TARDIS and drag me off onto some bonkers adventure to a planet I’ve never been to. Maybe we’d go to an alien zoo to see all of the cool space animals that exist!

We’d end up in trouble though, as we always do. The alien zoo would turn out to be a place of money-making enterprise with an organization that takes different creatures and places them in live exhibits.

The Doctor and I would be approached by the zoo’s caretakers, both of us a bit clueless about why they’re so interested in our species designations and physiology. He would definitely preen when questioned about his own species—that cocky genius would be too focused on bragging to recognize the red flags.

Uh oh! We’d get snatched and forced into a zoo exhibit—together rather than separately, after the Doctor assures the zoo organization that we’re a bonded pair.

We’d get out of there eventually…after a few live demonstrations of human and Time Lord abilities.

—

Tenth Doctor: 🌌

The Doctor and I reunite on the day of my birthday, so there’s that celebration. But the proper birthday celebration later on with the Tenth Doctor would be very homey and comfortable!

He’d still be wary to take me to dangerous planets (considering that was how the Sixth Doctor and I got separated) so he would try to do things inside the confines of the TARDIS.

Honestly I think that he’d spend days planning it. When we reunited on my birthday, there was an alien invasion to take care of, and birthday celebrations weren’t a possibility. I wouldn’t vocalize any disappointment over that (I’d be much more interested in the Doctor) but he’d take it upon himself to make a fun plan for me.

Around a week after we found each other again, the Tenth Doctor would spring a day of celebration onto me. He’d fill the TARDIS with balloons (with non-decaying helium for a longer float), candy (with alien sugar substitutes that allow for eating all day without tummy aches), baked dishes galore (all charmed to protect the textures from changing over time), and an array of gadgets and gizmos that would either benefit me or otherwise provide stimulation or safety when on adventures.

He’d also completely redecorate my bedroom on the TARDIS, complete with fluffy blankets of baby blue with yellow stars, crunchy feather-down comforters, pillows abound, a large bed with drawable curtains, constellations glowing on the ceiling, and psychic temperature control.

He’d also take heed from his Sixth incarnation and indulge in the more…little activities that I’ve grown to slowly accept.

The Doctor would make me a little wooden chest with a lovely assortment of cozy jammies, stim-toys, scent therapy items, chewable toys, sippy cups and colouring supplies. I’m imagining a lil baby blue chest with TARDIS blue accents and yellow stars painted on it.

The dubiously consensual psychic link from the reuniting of me and the Doctor would also help him know what my true desires are, so he could use that to figure out the perfect way to provide a cozy, loving day of relaxation for us both. It would give us time to catch up. 💖

—

The Toymaker: 🚂♠️

Did someone say “gift giving” as a love language?

The Toymaker would be SUCH a gift giver. Although he doesn’t quite understand why humans think their birthdays are so important, he wants to celebrate with his toy partner.

He doesn’t know where I came from (neither do I), nor does he know my exact birthday. But my earliest memories are of summertime and that’s also when we met, so he and I both agree that we should choose an arbitrary date. We settled on the end of June, near the halfway point through the year.

When my first birthday with him approaches, he grows slightly distant, focusing almost solely on his work. He stays in his workroom and keeps the door locked—which is very new. I’m usually allowed sneak previews at his new toys (especially once I learned how his toys are actually made), so I’d be a bit confused.

When the day finally came, the Toymaker would leave his workroom and invite me in. He’d don a fancy new outfit (perhaps inspired by high-class butlers) and bow dramatically when letting me inside.

I feel like since my identity in this verse (the Wanderer) is very loose, the Toymaker would use that to use advantage. While showing affection by giving gifts, he would choose things that aligned me with his cause.

My memories of my past lives are vague and fuzzy, so he gives me a new history with photos of our time together—slightly confusingly, because none of the romantic scenes in the photographs were ever in the presence of any cameras. It seems as though he just summoned them into existence without needing recorded film.

I have no recollection of friends, family or loyalties, so he gives me a new loyalty by offering me the role of his official and treasured assistant.

I don’t know my species (I think it’s human but something is seriously Wrong) so he gives me the title of Toymaker Extraordinaire (a lesser version of his title as the Celestial Toymaker) and a seat at his side.

I am unsure of my true purpose in life, so he brings me into his workroom and gives me an ornate red-and-gold embossed book with a title written upon it. I’m considering “Toymaker’s Apprentice” and/or some sort of affectionate title in German. (Mäuschen/little mouse, Sonnenschien/sunshine, Kleiner Schatz/little treasure. Maybe even with the possessive Meine in front of it to claim ownership).

The book is custom-made by a God’s hand and is meant to hold my ideas for future toys, tricks and traps. The Toymaker encourages me to imagine some delightfully twisted ways to draw people into his toyshop. He encourages me to think up methods to capture people in his shop and turn them into toys that’ll continue the cycle of misery.

(It doesn’t take much convincing; the Toymaker has a wonderful way of making the worst things sound like carnival music in one’s ears.)

—

Sun and Moon / The Daycare Attendant: 🌞🌚

Sun and Moon are SUCH birthday lovers!

I work at the Security Breach location (same S/I as my William Afton ship form the FNAF movie, but different universe) and I am a caretaker who is also an on-call repair person!

I’m not the most experienced but I can do small adjustments for the animatronics. I’m not qualified for large changes or experimentation.

I tend to do an afternoon or evening check of all the animatronics, including their rooms and their functionality to make sure they’re working well.

I keep my birthday secret from the animatronics—not intentionally, just because it doesn’t come up. Plus, I don’t really celebrate it much anyways.

But one day maybe I come into work and the animatronics (convinced by Freddy and the Daycare Attendant specifically) have scoured the employee database and scraped my birthday from my file.

The animatronics are excited and extra friendly that day, wishing me happy birthday and even attempting to sing a company-approved birthday song (to which I vehemently refuse to accept—I hate people singing to/at me).

Once the fun center closes for the day, I’d go to do my checks on the animatronics. As I enter the daycare room, a bunch of the animatronics jump out and surprise me!

Freddy, Monty, the Daycare Attendant, and even Roxy are all happy to see me. (Chica is in the repair area again due to eating trash). I could totally see the Daycare Attendant dragging me along and guiding me to play in the daycare and enjoy myself. Colouring together, playing, chasing. The other animatronics would be cheerful and sweet, but I’d mainly be focused on Freddy and the Daycare Attendant, heheheh.

I would also be sure to turn the lights off once everyone else leaves, so that I can spend some time with Moon as well. It wouldn’t be fair to hang out with Sun and then not Moon. <3

OKAY now I gotta go to sleep ehehehehe. But I had so much fun writing these rambles eeeee

[rinski]

SH2R Review

I don't usually do this, but we live in extraordinary times and I have Opinions.

So here is my review of the new Silent Hill 2 Remake. (tl;dr: when it's not bad it's... good? kinda?)

If you go into this game holding up the original and looking for all the ways the remake falls short, like that Bobvids reaction video, you will have no shortage of material to work with. The remake is inconsistent and I legitimately do not understand what they were attempting to achieve with some of the changes they made. This game is incredibly easy to make into something profoundly disappointing if that’s what you want to do. Like Bobvids points out, almost all of the most iconic or emotionally-powerful scenes from the original were fumbled. Not like “they tried to do something different and it didn’t quite work,” no no, no: They were fumbled. They dropped the ball and it shattered like glass upon impact. It's ironic: The game has what it calls "Glimpses of the Past," which are little shrines to iconic scenes and objects from the original game, with their own bespoke camera angle and a little jingle, but then they somehow manage to fail at preserving the scenes people care about most.

If you're reading this, we have both probably been passionate about this game and franchise for a huge chunk (if not the majority) of our lives on this dumb planet, and seeing someone botch something we’ve managed to hold precious for so long can be very painful to watch. 

But there’s also a lot to legitimately like about this game that using that lens will obfuscate. And I’m generally of the mind that we should try to scavenge for whatever joy we can find, wherever and whenever we can, because the world fucking sucks in general. And besides, it’s not like we haven’t had to endure other SH games over the years that ran the gamut from “aggressively mid” to “well at least it’s funny in a bad b-movie kinda way.” I think the best way to enjoy this game is to go in with the assumption that basically everything you care deeply about is going to be butchered in some way, so that you won't be hyper-focusing on those mistakes when the game actually manages to do something good. By all means jeer and throw popcorn at the screen whenever they mess something up—that's a lot of fun too!—but don't let the bad completely shadow the good, especially if it's only bumming you out.

To be clear: I'm not arguing that anyone should buy the game. Other people already have, and their playthroughs are free to watch.

The game is overly long, which leads to some pacing problems. They fill up some of the extra space with places and story beats that feel on point, but a lot of it is filler with only the faintest, somewhat-sour Silent Hill flavor. They do some interesting new things with the combat and enemy AI, but that also gets old quickly because combat is more mandatory, more frequent, and there's only like 3 different enemies in total.

The characters are all different enough that I think comparing them to the originals is just going to make everyone sad. I do not love most of the new takes on the characters. But I also do not hate most of them. At times, they’re even surprisingly good. 

I like the new James most of the time. He's different, sure, but he feels more like a pathetic worm man hiding behind a facade that he's only barely able to maintain. His voice cracks with exertion and desperation as he kicks downed enemies, and after he hears a spooky noise he asks a wavering, "hello?" There are times where his facial acting is incredibly well done and there are times where he basically doesn't react at all, like his "k bye" exit from Angela's final scene that's worse than if they'd just teleported you to the next room with no transition.

The first two Eddie encounters made me roll my eyes, because he feels like a caricature of the original. They made him look and act a lot grosser in the remake, like they imported the original into a character creator and pushed all the middle sliders to one extreme or another. But despite nothing about his design or initial characterization saying “this was made by someone who appreciates subtlety and nuance” he still managed to have some legitimately subtle and nuanced character moments that are their own thing, separate from the original version. When James asks him, "You're gonna go out there alone?" and he gives that slight smile and a distant, barely audible "yeh"? That's good shit.

I think my hottest take is that the new Angela is Good, Actually. I love the original Angela. I think she was perfect. This is not her. Trying to draw any comparisons between the two is a shortcut to feeling depressed and disappointed. There are several interactions with her that actually hewed too close to the original version, which didn’t work *specifically* due to these changes. And her finale is nowhere near as good. Despite all that, I like the new take. She stands on her own as a different (but obviously similar) character. I like her new VA, I like her new scenes, and the new Abstract Daddy boss fight is, I think, the absolute highest point the remake manages to hit. 

Maria is the one character where I legitimately don’t understand what they were going for. Even putting the original aside and letting the new Maria be her own thing… what… *is* that thing, exactly? To start, she’s barely in the game at all—she's absent during many of the scenes she was present for in the original. When she does interact with James, she’s so inconsistent that I can’t get a sense of what they intended her character to be. Hot, cold, charming, socially awkward—in any case it definitely doesn’t seem like they intended her to be “the Mary James fantasized about,” so then… what *is* she? James and new Maria’s overall vibe is “people who only barely tolerate each other because they have a shared friend group." In fact, one of the better interactions between Maria and James is the lead ring scene, where instead of being flirtatious, James dejectedly accepts the ring with a flat, “Oh… thanks...” like she just spat in his hand. So ok fine, they don't like each other this time around. But in the finale she still claims to be able to provide James with everything Mary couldn't, which... no? I don't get what she's attempting to provide, but whatever it is, James certainly doesn't seem into it.

Overall, the environments and music were amazing and on-point, but there were also times where neither was true. The non-otherworld hospital in particular struck me as generic to the point where I’d believe it was made from asset store prefabs. And the newer version of Promise (Reprise) that plays after the video tape is… weirdly up-tempo? Like, to the point where it undermines the tone of the scene (don't worry, it wasn't great anyway). 

Look: being a SH fan has been tough for *multiple decades* now. And I have no love for Bloober Team. They most certainly did not stick the landing here, and even if they did, I would be reluctant to give them credit for it.

I understand feeling passionate about the original. *I* feel passionate about the original. I understand how someone could experience this remake while hating every second of it. I believe I understand how Bobvids feels too, because he’s objectively correct: The remake does not treat any of your most precious memories with care.

And that’s why I wanted to write this. Because it’s very easy to view this game through a lens where it sucks shit, is disappointing, ruins your enjoyment of the original, and spells doom for the future. This game provides a scenic vista full of eye-catching trash fires where all the famous landmarks should be. But if you choose to look elsewhere, away from all the hot garbage, there’s a lot to see that’s perfectly fine or even beautiful. And it makes me sad to imagine all that going ignored because the trash fires burn too brightly.

And also: trash fires can be fun too, right? When they're not bumming you out, at least. Given the choice between "mid" and "trash fire," I'd choose the latter every time.

Silent Hill 2 came out in 2001. Since then we’ve had SH3 in 2003, SH4 in 2004, Origins in 2007, Homecoming in 2008, Shattered Memories in 2009, Downpour in 2012, PT in 2014, and, most recently, Short Message and Ascension. 

We have been scrounging for food and sustaining ourselves on dumpster crumbs for a very, very long time. So let’s not throw away this opportunity to eat a bite or two just because the chef is a piece of shit and the food is partially spoiled: A lot of what’s on offer is perfectly edible. It’s not the best food, no, but we're already used to picking through garbage for a few savory morsels. And within that context, SH2R is a smorgasbord for anyone willing to eat around the moldy bits. 

I recommend we eat what we can, while we can, because we're not likely to get a better meal any time soon.

[revserrayyu]

3.3 Amphoreus thoughts [part 2]

***Spoiler warning*** for everything leading up to the fight against Aquila, the fight itself, and up until this world’s greatest lie is finally revealed. I’ve completed all of 3.3 and may possibly mention things that happen at the very end of this quest in this post, so be cautious of that as well if you haven’t completed the current story yet.

Sending big praise to Shea once again for her brilliant work as Cipher because her moment here is heartbreaking. Our girl knows lying is terrible, but she literally has no other option when that’s the ability that was gifted to her, and it frustrates her to no end that she can’t do more like the others such as Tribbie or Hysilens. And it hurts to hear anyone think they aren’t good enough because Cipher wants to live up to Aglaea’s expectations and prove that her being chosen as a Chrysos Heir wasn’t a mistake, but she can’t shake that overwhelming feeling of helplessness and anguish about her specialty being viewed so negatively. She’s honestly becoming my favorite from this planet so far.

It’s okay, Cipher. We know you’re beyond upset by Agy’s death. Be true to your feelings and admit it.

Oh, she most certainly does use a whole bundle of tricks too. Towards the Flame Reaver, the Chrysos Heirs.. heck, even all of Okhema and myself all get fooled one way or another. I know she’s the demigod of trickery but I have no doubt that Aha would fancy her little schemes too.

I know I’m skipping ahead quite a bit, bypassing all the chatter upon reaching that place in the sky alongside Hyacine, but eh. I can’t say much of it really thrilled me? But this is me after every patch:

In the far distance, one may be able to hear a certain wildfire butterfly shout with firm conviction “I’ll free you from your chains!”

I still get giddy whenever we pull out our trusty, flaming lance.. but it also kinda scares me because that’s when you know things are getting real intense and dangerous. I hope it isn’t just me, but I wish the shields for Preservation mc were a bit stronger in actual combat. I loved using this path before Aventurine came along.

Okay so try not to question the team comp so hard. I swapped out the usual two IPC members since they make you use Hyacine and I brought Clara back in only because Aquila had physical weakness. The fight itself went pretty fine actually. Had enough FUA to make E3 Feixiao happy.

So after that beast was taken down, we all plummet down several hundred stories in the air, coming real close to being dunked into golden lava, only to be saved by our favorite seamstress. I remember watching all that drama about her death earlier and kept thinking to myself “no way, Aglaea can’t be dead! I saw her golden threads in the 3.3 version trailer!” Well, here they are, courtesy of the bracelet she had commissioned Chartonus make for Phainon. Everyone say thank you Aglaea.

The relief is short lived though because after we find safer ground to stand on, the issue of retrieving the bracelet becomes apparent. While we attempt to rewind time to call it back over, it sorta.. misses its mark and the last remnants of Aglaea’s divinity finally earn that “final bath in warm and radiant gold.”

When we saw Phainon in the trailer, I figured he was upset over Mydei, Cipher or literally anyone else that had a big, red death flag looming over them. I never imagined his defeated struggle would’ve been a result of Aglaea. Not because he doesn’t care for her strongly enough; he absolutely does, she’s like his mentor after all, but mainly because I just didn’t think this all powerful woman could be killed. So yeah, makes sense that losing that final piece of her really took him to his knees.

Anyways, guess who forgot bosses have three phases? Mhhmmm, and here I was thinking that the first fight was no big deal. HAA. Nah, the real deal gave no issues either. Same team and everything. But can I just say that Aquila has such a cool design? So complex and terrifying for a titan. It’s perfect.

I absolutely have to mention the amazing soundtrack they had blasting during the final phase too because holy fudge, it was fantastic! I was not expecting Aquila’s theme to go that hard, nor did I even imagine we would get something so great with vocals at this moment! If anything, I thought they would save it for the very end of Amphoreus, but here we are. It’s as promising as Hope Is the Thing With Feathers and just as epic as Wildfire. I still may be bias towards everything Belobog, but Proi Proi is a real close second for my favorite boss theme! If they have another concert next year, you bet they’re gonna go wild for this one!

I hope whichever path the Trailblazer acquires next, it gives us a more intimidating weapon for such picture perfect shots like this. The bat and flaming lance are great, but you can’t deny that pulling out a fancy hat or feather pen isn’t just a tiny bit silly.

I shall not say much about this man’s leaks but oh my god y’all.. have you seen them? It’s like he’s the boss.

It’s fair to assume that the little golden sphere of Cloud Piercer is the same one that Imbibitor Lunae uses while attacking, yeah? After seeing Dan Heng hold it when he was just wielding the spear a second ago makes me wanna believe he just yanked it out from there.

Anyways, we end up safe and sound be because of course we do, then finally switching back over to Cipher. Seeing this part again and.. man, how could I have been surprised that the sky above Amphoreus wasn’t always sunny? It literally says right there they have “eternal night looming.” No wonder Cipher was so driven to come up with her lie.

He’s busy aura farming.

Bless Cipher for being brave throughout this entire chase to poke some fun at this man. From talking about his sense of fashion, calling him a brainless mutt, tricking him with vases disguised as the coreflame twice.. and this. I love it when characters have to pretend to be other people. It was fun hearing Joshua be Cipher for a moment. Also can’t forget about the new profanity! Love when they include those.

She is just.. so incredibly silly. Cipher gives Sparkles vibes in the best way imaginable.

Good times come to a screeching halt though and Flame Reaver basically clotheslines Cipher at ridiculous speed into the wall, hard enough to make her cough up golden blood..

But she laughs it off because she once again successfully tricks this loser at grabbing yet another vase. God, I fall in love with her more and more every moment.

It’s still so incredible how Cipher managed to fool everyone into thinking she was some old council member, spoke of this lie so highly that people treated it as gospel and it eventually became the true reality that persisted over several centuries.

I mentioned previously that Cipher didn’t really care for the Flame-Chase journey and never assisted before now in order to stay alive (see? I remembered), but another reason, one that couldn’t be shared with anyone, was to protect the lie. If she stayed in Okhema, around Aglaea and her many golden threads, then the truth would’ve been leaked eventually. They seek the truth after all, and while Cipher is clever enough to keep up that lie, one could never be too careful.

Thank heavens we had some moments of fun earlier to allow my heart to calm down before it ends up shattering all over again. There’s some kind of irony here, with how that Aglaea wished to see Cipher one last time and yet Cipher, who hidden her feelings deep down and brushed all that sappy stuff aside, gets to envision Aglaea before her own death. Means so much more as she gets to hear the words she always wanted to hear from her old friend too.

Guys.. do you think Cipher painted her nails yellow to match Aglaea? Random thought, sure, but I’d find it so cute if she did.

Precious girl!! You deserve the world! What a pretty last smile we get.

“Lies will always be lies, Cifera..” Mhhmm, maybe so, but even Aglaea would have to admit that this lie regarding Kephale’s giant sphere granting all of Okhema light forever is pretty epic, regardless of the tragedy it brings now. Giving people a thousand years of peace ain’t too bad.

Looks like I can squeeze the rest of this mission into one last post after all.