#Center Resonator Back System

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/top-5-best-mods-for-the-bmw-m2-g87/

Top 5 Best Mods for the BMW M2 G87

And just like that, BMW did it again, extremely better this time. This pure combustion M car, rumored to be the last from BMW, is both sporty and luxurious with an attractive interior and features that strike a chord. Just like other models in the M series, the M2 is also a high-performance and capable car, but this coupé is set apart with 453 horsepower and 406 lb-ft of torque. We know that car enthusiasts are always excited to add a personal touch to their rides for aesthetics and to get more performance, so we compiled these top 5 modifications in this blog for owners of the BMW M2 G87. Keep reading to see the upgrades that others are getting, and why we recommend them.

1. EBC Brakes 2pc Fully Floating Front & Rear Brake Disc BMW M2 G87 460bhp 2023+

Fully floating brake discs are great upgrades for high-performance cars like BMW M2 G87 as they are;

durable,

allow for better heat dissipation,

improve performance,

and reduce brake fade.

We recommend you get the EBC Brakes 2pc Fully Floating Front & Rear Brake Disc made specifically for your BMW M2 G87 460bhp 2023+. Available for $1,222.07 each, the 380x36mm (front) and 370x24mm (rear) discs can be bolted directly onto the respective axles of these vehicles, offering impressive braking performance and longevity, particularly when driven hard on road and track.

CLICK HERE to get the 2pc Fully Floating Rear Brake Disc

CLICK HERE to buy the 2pc Fully Floating Front Brake Disc

2. Milltek Center Resonator Back System with GT-115 Burnt Titanium Tips BMW 2 Series G87 M2 Coupe S58 NAS Non-OPF | OPF | GPF Models 2023+

The center resonator is famous for fine-tuning the exhaust note, modifying the sound, reducing noise levels, and influencing the overall exhaust flow dynamics. This is why we recommend this $3,975 center resonator by Milltek Sport. Manufactured from T304L stainless steel, this center resonator is durable and can last within some of the toughest environments, as it is far less susceptible to degradation and discoloration.

3. Eventuri Black Gloss Carbon Intake System V2 BMW G8X / G87 M2

We can’t recommend a carbon fiber intake system enough, especially this $2,995 one from Eventuri.  This system will;

Improve airflow

Reduce pressure loss

Increase the flow rate

Improve performance

Improve sound and throttle response

You should also know that this system is future-proof in its capacity to cater to high-powered builds well in excess of 1000hp. The Eventuri G8X M2/M3/M4 intake system consists of a number of components engineered to perform a specific purpose and fabricated to the highest of standards. Made using 100% pre-preg carbon fiber with no fiberglass, this system causes a performance gain of 13-18hp, 12-16ft-lb (Stock Tune)

4. BMC CKS Glossy Paint Carbon Racing Filter Kit BMW Supercar M2 | M3 | M4 G87/G80/G82

This is another performance upgrade for your BMW M2 G87, for the price of $3,000, you can get this upgrade that will lead to performance gains in terms of acceleration, throttle response, and overall engine power. This kit is made by BMC Air Filters, a brand that has been designing, engineering, developing, and producing in-house complex and performance carbon complete intake kits and systems for the world’s most important and renowned car manufacturers for more than 20 years, so you can trust its quality and performance.

Features:

The cotton gauze BMC uses has larger links, allowing a better airflow, but using several layers of oil-soaked cotton allows it to block any impurity larger than 7 microns.

BMC air filters scored an impressive 97,5% filtration efficiency at the ISO5011 test.

Maximum air permeability and higher air flow passage.

BMC equips some of the most important teams in Formula 1, MotoGP, and WorldSBK.

Kit Includes:

1 Cover

2 Airboxes

2 Air Filters

5. Dinan Stainless Steel Valved Axle-Back Exhaust w/ Black Tips BMW M2 G87 2023-2024

The last upgrade we recommend in this blog is an axle-back exhaust system made by Dinan. This system is available in our shop for $1,999.95, and it is the best upgrade for your M2 because of its design features which will help you achieve;

desired sound volume and tone worthy of the G87 M2

allow freer flow

reduce backpressure

This system’s design features also help limit noise during low-speed driving and produce a more subdued, albeit deeper, and agreeable note. However, when the valves are open during high-load conditions the bulk of the gases bypass the muffler altogether for a near-straight pipe design and maximum aural enjoyment to be achieved. Apart from sound, the system is also immaculate looking and makes for an affordable, perfect addition to your ride.

Features:

Maximum gains of +6 HP and +5 lb-ft of torque

Enjoyably louder, sportier sound

Drone abatement technologies used to reduce cabin resonance

Four, diffuser filling, 4.5-inch (114mm) double-walled, polished stainless steel clamp-on tips with laser engraved Dinan logo

Larger diameter piping for increased flow (76mm vs. 70mm)

6-pounds lighter than the stock axle back (Stock: 44-pounds vs. Dinan: 38-pounds)

Stock exhaust valve actuators are reused, and the operation of the exhaust valve is unchanged so the exhaust tone can be adjusted via the M-drive settings

Computer-controlled exhaust valves are retained and limit noise during low-speed driving and open fully during high-load conditions

100% 304 Stainless Steel construction

Factory-like fitment with included mounting hardware

If you have any questions or you would love to buy products that improve your BMW M2 G87’s performance and aesthetics, please do not hesitate to contact us. You can reach us by phone at 1-480-966-3040 or via email at sales@vividracing.com.

[promptedwordsmith]

I asked this request with someone else so you mayy or mayy not see the same request somewhere else. Depends on if you or the other person does write my request. It’s alright if you don’t wanna, write want you wanna to write. I just need this idea out of my system 🤣

MC is indicted that she is powerful. Good fighter, powerful evol where she can practically borrow someone else evol and the core in her heart. She much weaker for an unknown reason at the moment. But what if she wasn’t for a brief moment? 👀

What if MC physically fights the LaDS men without holding back 👀 like a scenario where a new wanderer shows up, puppets her or something, forcing the LaDS men to defend themselves. I need the angst and drama 😂 where the men are like “I don’t want to hurt you but you’re going kill me at this rate if I don’t do something.”

This keeps floating in my head, someone save me 🤣

OK soo I hope this is what you meant and it wasn't just me completely misunderstanding but the second I read this I just had to get started omg

I usually really don't like the whole "I'm going to save you by playing on our connection" trope but it suits this sort of story I think!

Caleb

The battlefield was silent. Not the kind of silence that came from peace, but the suffocating, eerie kind—the moment before the storm.

Caleb stood at the center of it, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, violet eyes locked on you. Or at least, the body that belonged to you.

But you weren’t there.

The moment the Wanderer had latched onto you, sinking its unseen claws into your mind, he’d known something was wrong. You had stiffened, your Evol flaring wildly for half a second before your entire stance changed. That was the first warning. The second had come when your gaze lifted to meet his—not with recognition, not with warmth, but with something empty.

And then you had attacked him.

His own gravity turned against him—the weight around his body fluctuating so rapidly that he nearly lost his footing. That alone had confirmed his worst fear. The Wanderer wasn’t just suppressing your will—it was using your Resonance against him.

You had stolen his Evol.

And now, he had to fight you.

But he couldn’t.

Not really. Not the way he fought others.

His hands clenched at his sides as he dodged another blast of gravitational force, feeling the way the air twisted and compressed around him. You were strong. Stronger than he had ever let himself acknowledge.

His mind was at war with itself. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back—to win—but the part of him that had spent lifetimes protecting you? That part was already losing.

Because how could he fight you, when all he wanted to do was save you?

You lunged forward, eyes still vacant, but your movements were clean, precise—yours, but also not yours. You weren’t just mimicking his power; you were enhancing it. His own gravity was being amplified, warped, turned into a weapon against him. It took everything he had to avoid the sudden shift in force, barely managing to stabilize himself before he was slammed downward with bone-crushing weight.

The ground cracked beneath him. His knees buckled.

Caleb grit his teeth.

If this had been anyone else—any other enemy—he would’ve ended this fight by now. But it wasn’t. It was you. And for the first time in his life, he was afraid.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of what he might have to do to stop this.

He tried to speak, voice raw. “You have to fight it.”

You didn’t respond.

You only lifted your hand, and the world collapsed inward.

The force struck fast—so much stronger than he expected, so much more precise. His body strained against the gravity pressing down on him, the weight overwhelming. If he had been anyone else, he would’ve been crushed.

And that’s when the realization hit him—this is what you feel.

Every time you resonate with him, every time you borrow his strength, every time you fight beside him, this is what your body endures. The sheer force of his Evol, amplified within you.

He had never really thought about it before. Never truly grasped just how much you took on when you fought at his side.

And now? Now that power was against him.

His arms trembled as he forced himself up. “I know you’re still in there.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “I know you can hear me.”

Nothing.

His mind raced. He needed to think. He needed to find a way to reach you—not hurt you, never hurt you—but how?

His vision blurred at the edges. The gravitational pull you were using was unlike anything he had ever faced. Not even he had pushed his power to this extent before. His body screamed for relief, his Evol struggling against itself.

But then he saw it.

The slight hesitation. The way your fingers twitched—just barely, but enough.

It wasn’t the Wanderer controlling his Evol. It was you.

Somewhere inside, you were still fighting.

That was all he needed.

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, shoving aside hesitation, pain—everything. His hands shot forward, fingers splaying wide, and for the first time in this fight—he didn’t resist your gravity.

He let it pull him in.

The instant he got close enough, he grabbed your wrist, forcing your Evol to connect with his. Forcing Resonance.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment your Evol touched his, he poured everything he had into it. Not just power. Not just control. But himself.

His memories. His thoughts. The lifetimes spent together.

The way you had always brought him back from the edge.

The way he had sworn to protect you—not just in this life, but in every life.

And then, for the first time, you hesitated.

A sharp breath escaped you, your entire body jolting as if something had just slammed into your mind. Your grip on your own power wavered—just enough for Caleb to take control.

Gravity twisted.

Not violently. Not in a way that would hurt you.

But in the way he always held you.

Steady. Unshakable. Safe.

Your body swayed, your breath stuttering, and then—then—your eyes flickered.

Your real eyes.

Not the Wanderer’s empty gaze.

Yours.

Recognition flashed across your face, confusion, panic—and then the force holding him down snapped.

Caleb barely had time to react before your legs gave out, and he caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you, his Evol still steadying your weight.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your breath was warm against his shoulder, your body trembling in his arms. He could feel your heartbeat—erratic, unsteady, but yours.

And that was all that mattered.

The fight was over.

He pressed his forehead to the side of yours, his grip tightening, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

A shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform. “I…” Your voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No. Don’t.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes burning. “You came back. That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, he realized something—something that had been clear all along, but he had never let himself truly accept.

You weren’t just his partner.

You were his equal.

And no matter what, no matter how hard it got, he would always pull you back to him.

Rafayel

The battlefield was ablaze.

Not with fire, but with chaos.

The air was thick with smoke and embers, Rafayel’s flames flickering and dancing wildly across the ruined ground. Yet, despite the searing heat, his hands trembled. His chest ached—not from exhaustion, not from injury, but from the sheer horror of what was happening.

Because it was you standing against him.

And it wasn’t you at all.

Your eyes, usually filled with warmth, were void of emotion. Your stance, once fluid and graceful, was rigid—unnatural. The Wanderer who had taken over your body had turned your Resonance against him, amplifying his flames, twisting them, making them stronger in ways he never intended.

And now, that power was aimed at him.

A burst of fire roared toward him, faster than he could react. The heat seared his skin as he barely managed to throw himself to the side, landing hard against the dirt. His breath came out ragged as he quickly pushed himself up, his eyes locking onto you once more.

"Damn it..." he whispered, swallowing hard.

He couldn’t fight you.

But you—no, the thing inside you—had no such hesitation.

You lunged. Faster than he expected, stronger than he remembered. And maybe that was the worst part. He had always known you were powerful, but now? With your Evol fully unleashed against him, amplified in ways he never thought possible, he realized just how devastatingly strong you truly were.

And he had never feared your strength before.

Not until now.

You moved like fire itself—wild, relentless. Each attack forced him to retreat, to defend, to dodge, rather than strike back. He couldn’t. Even as his instincts screamed at him to fight, to survive, his heart refused to let him lift his hands against you.

"Come on, Rafayel," a voice that wasn’t yours taunted from your lips, hollow and mocking. "Is this really all you’ve got?"

Another wave of flames erupted toward him, this time crackling with an intensity that made his stomach twist. He barely managed to counter, his own fire surging up to meet yours, but the moment the two collided, yours consumed his completely.

His eyes widened.

His own fire.

It didn’t even stand a chance.

"Shit—"

The explosion sent him flying backward, slamming into the side of a crumbling building. He gasped, pain shooting through his ribs. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the helplessness clawing at his chest.

He had to think. Had to find a way to get through to you.

But how?

If he tried to burn the Wanderer out, he’d be burning you.

If he held back, he’d die before he got the chance to save you.

He gritted his teeth.

No. There had to be a way.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto you again—his love, his muse—possessed and wielded like a weapon against him.

His hands clenched into fists.

"I know you’re still in there." His voice was hoarse, desperate. "I know you can hear me."

But you didn’t answer.

The Wanderer tilted your head, smirking through your lips. "That’s sweet," they mocked. "But pointless."

And then you attacked again.

Faster. Stronger.

You disappeared in a flash of heat—only to reappear behind him. He barely turned in time to block the hit, his forearm crashing against yours. The sheer force of it made his bones rattle. Then came another, and another—strike after strike, relentless.

And Rafayel could do nothing but defend.

Not because he wasn’t strong enough.

But because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt you.

Think, damn it!

The answer came in a flicker of memory.

Your Resonance.

You borrowed the power of others, but it was a two-way connection. If he could reach that part of you—if you were still in there, buried deep beneath the Wanderer’s control—then maybe, just maybe, he could pull you back.

But he had to get close.

Close enough to touch you.

Close enough to take a direct hit.

It was a gamble. A stupid, reckless gamble. But he was running out of time, and there was no way in hell he was going to lose you.

So, he let go of his defense.

Dropped his guard completely.

And when you lunged at him again, aiming straight for his heart—he didn’t move.

The moment your hand made contact with his chest, he reached out. Not with his fire. Not with his fists.

But with his Resonance.

A connection.

A tether.

Through the blinding heat, through the searing pain of your touch, he focused on you—the real you, trapped beneath layers of someone else’s will.

"Come back to me," he breathed. "Please."

For a moment—just a flicker—something changed.

Your body froze.

The grip on his chest loosened, fingers trembling against his shirt. The flames flickering in your eyes wavered—just for a second.

And in that second, he poured everything into the link between you.

Your Evol, your power, the resonance that had always bound you together. He reached for it. Pushed his own power into it. Made it something bigger, brighter, than the darkness that held you captive.

"You’re mine," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours despite the heat. "Not theirs."

The Wanderer shrieked.

The connection between you burned.

And then—

A scream tore through the air. Your body convulsed, and suddenly, the fire turned inward.

Not his. Yours.

Flames erupted around you, swallowing your form in a wild blaze—brighter, hotter than anything he’d ever seen. And then—

Silence.

When the flames finally died, you collapsed against him, body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps.

But your eyes—

Your eyes were yours again.

"Rafayel..." Your voice was weak, hoarse, but it was enough.

His breath hitched, arms tightening around you as he pulled you close, pressing desperate kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he could reach.

"You scared the hell out of me," he whispered, voice shaking. "Don’t you ever do that again."

A weak laugh left your lips as you buried your face against his chest. "Not exactly something I planned, you know."

He let out a breathless chuckle, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

You were back.

And he would never let you go again.

Sylus

The night was warm, but Sylus felt nothing but cold.

He stood across from you, his crimson eyes narrowed, his breath steady—but his heart pounding.

You weren’t you.

Not really.

A Wanderer had taken your body, stolen your will, and twisted it into something unrecognizable. The way you moved—precise, calculating, almost inhuman—was proof enough. Your usual grace had been sharpened into something unnatural, something colder than he could stand to see.

He had fought countless enemies before. He had cut down traitors, eliminated threats, and broken those who dared to stand against him. But this?

This was the first time his hands trembled before a fight had even begun.

You raised your hand, palm out, and Sylus braced himself. A flicker of energy crackled around your fingers—his energy, twisted by your Resonance Evol.

The Wanderer inside you smirked.

“Your hesitation is touching, Sylus,” they said, your voice not quite right. “But it will be your downfall.”

Then, with a flick of your wrist, the world ignited.

A blast of pure, searing energy surged toward him—his own power, amplified and turned against him. He barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side as the ground where he once stood erupted in a violent shockwave.

Damn it.

He knew your Evol made you powerful, but now—now—he was realizing just how dangerous it was. With your Resonance, you weren’t just using his ability. You were enhancing it. Making it faster. Stronger.

Making it better than he ever could.

Sylus exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself.

“Darling,” he said, his voice calm despite the ache in his chest, “if you wanted a fight, you could’ve just asked.”

The Wanderer inside you laughed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You were always going to lose.”

You lunged.

Sylus barely dodged in time, his coat billowing as he twisted away. Another blast of energy, another near-miss. He felt the heat graze his cheek, singeing his skin. Tch. That was his power. Amplified. Used against him.

And worse?

He still couldn’t bring himself to attack you.

Because even though your body was moving against him, even though you were fighting with deadly precision—it was still you.

And the thought of hurting you was the first thing in his life that truly terrified him.

But this was no longer just about him.

He had to get you back.

Sylus moved with purpose, dodging, analyzing. He needed a plan—a way to break the Wanderer’s hold without breaking you.

But the problem was you were making it impossible.

You weren’t just strong—you were devastating. Every attack came faster, sharper. His own Evol, when amplified by yours, was far more than he could handle. It was overwhelming, relentless.

A pillar of energy surged forward. He braced, crossing his arms as the impact slammed into him, forcing him back. He barely stayed on his feet, his boots skidding against the cracked ground.

You’re too strong like this.

And that realization—it shook him to his core.

He had always known you made him stronger. Had always known that together, you were an unstoppable force.

But now? Now that you were standing against him instead of beside him?

He wasn’t sure if he could win.

And worse—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“Come on, Sylus,” the Wanderer taunted through your lips. “You always plan for every possible outcome, don’t you? You must’ve thought about this scenario.”

He clenched his jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

A smirk. “Oh? You really mean to say you never once imagined what would happen if your pretty little Resonance Evol turned against you?”

Sylus said nothing.

Because the truth was—no.

He had never imagined this.

Because in every scenario he had ever planned, in every possibility he had ever considered—

You were always with him.

The next strike was the closest yet.

A blast of energy—too fast, too precise. He barely managed to counter, the force sending him stumbling back. He could feel the bruises forming beneath his clothes, the sting of burned skin where your attack had hit.

And still, he hesitated.

“Why won’t you fight me, Sylus?” the Wanderer hummed, tilting your head. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said simply.

The Wanderer clicked their tongue. “Oh, but I’ll hurt you.”

You raised your hand again.

And Sylus knew—this time, he wouldn’t be able to dodge.

But at the last second—you hesitated.

It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Sylus saw it. A flicker of recognition. A second where your body tensed—but your fingers curled inward, as if trying to resist.

You were still in there.

Sylus inhaled sharply. That’s it. Hold on, darling. Hold on just a little longer.

If you were still there, he could reach you.

He just had to risk it all.

So, instead of dodging—

He stepped forward.

The Wanderer sneered. “Giving up already?”

Sylus didn’t answer.

He just closed the distance—and grabbed your wrist.

The moment his fingers closed around your skin, he poured his energy into you.

Not to fight.

Not to hurt.

But to resonate.

If your Evol worked through Resonance, through matching the energy of those around you—then all he had to do was flood you with something stronger than the Wanderer’s control.

And there was nothing in this world stronger than his need to bring you back.

Your body stiffened. The energy in your hand faltered, flickering unsteadily between raw power and something uncertain. Your breathing hitched.

Sylus tightened his grip.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, his voice commanding. “I know you’re still in there.”

For a second—nothing.

Then—

A sharp gasp.

Your eyes, wide and yours again for just a moment, locked onto his. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A violent shudder wracked through your body.

Sylus didn’t let go.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice a whisper, but carrying the full weight of his soul. “No one else gets to have you. Not them. Not anyone.”

A strangled cry tore from your throat. The Wanderer fought—but Sylus was stronger.

Because he knew you.

He knew your energy, your heart, your soul.

And no matter what—nothing could ever make him let you go.

The moment the Wanderer’s hold snapped, you collapsed against him.

Sylus caught you immediately, cradling you against his chest, his arms locking around you like a vice.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, weakly, you whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

Sylus let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You should see yourself, darling. You made quite the mess.”

You gave a weak chuckle. “Guess that means I won?”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

Then, softer—

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You nodded against his chest, and Sylus knew—

No matter what happened next, you would never fight alone again.

Xavier

The world around you spun. The cold, sterile air of the facility clung to your skin, and your heartbeat pounded against your chest as though it wanted to break free. You could feel the weight of your body, but it felt distant, as if you were no longer fully in control of it.

Your breath quickened as the world distorted, everything around you slipping out of focus. The pain in your temples only made the sensation worse, a sharp jolt of nausea sinking into your gut. It was as though your entire being was split in two, and one of those halves was being pulled in a direction you didn’t want to go.

You fought it, clenching your fists in an attempt to regain control, but it was no use. The foreign force inside you took hold with an iron grip, seizing every inch of you, weaving itself into your core until it became you. The invasive presence swirled within, a dark, malicious energy.

There was a flash of movement—Xavier. His silver hair caught the light, and his blue eyes found you with a look of deep concern. His steps faltered as he came closer, his gaze narrowing, confused. But the moment you met his eyes, the clarity of what was happening hit him all at once.

“No,” he whispered. The word trembled from his lips. “No, no, no…”

It was you. It was your body, but not your mind. Not your will. You weren’t in control anymore.

You were a prisoner inside your own skin.

“Xavier!” you tried to shout, but the voice that came out of your mouth wasn’t yours. It was cold, detached, and devoid of all warmth. A hollow echo of what you had once been.

Xavier’s eyes widened as his instincts kicked in. He knew you. He knew you, and this was wrong. This wasn’t the person he’d fought beside, laughed with, shared so many quiet moments. This wasn’t the person who’d trusted him with their heart, body, and soul.

But you weren’t completely gone. He could see it in the way your lips trembled, the subtle flicker of emotion beneath the cold mask the Wanderer had woven over you. But it wasn’t enough.

You were still trapped, still in that dark corner of your mind, but the Wanderer’s will was too powerful.

The presence inside you stirred, pushing against your resistance. Xavier took a careful step forward, his hand raised in a calming gesture, as though trying to reach the real you beneath the enemy’s control.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Just fight, okay? Fight it, please. I’ll find a way to get you back, I swear.”

But you didn’t respond—not with your words, not with any recognition of him. The enemy within you was far more cunning, pushing you forward, taking control of your every movement. You could feel it sinking deeper into you, exploiting the part of your mind that resonated with Xavier’s light. The resonance you shared, once a source of strength, now became a weapon against him, turning his own power into something he had to fight against.

It was then you saw it: the horrible realization in his eyes as he looked at you. He couldn’t bring himself to harm you, not even to defend himself, not when he knew what you’d become.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands, but you saw the struggle in his gaze. The anguish was raw, suffocating. He was trying to figure it out. He was trying to find a way to save you both.

The resonance between you and Xavier, the bond that had always strengthened you both in every situation, now felt like an anchor pulling you deeper into a sea of chaos. You could feel his power around you—surging, lighting up the space—but now it was a threat. A threat that made you feel like you were suffocating.

“No,” you whispered, fighting with every ounce of your being to reach him. “Don’t… hurt… me…”

But the Wanderer inside you wasn’t willing to let go. It twisted your body, forcing your hand up, and you could see Xavier’s eyes flicker with the realization that you were about to hurt him.

With a sudden surge of power, the resonance inside you flared to life—Xavier’s own Evol, manipulated by the enemy, twisted around you, harnessed into a blinding ball of light. The space around you erupted, and Xavier was forced back, his own power ripping through the air to fight against yours.

“Xavier—!” you screamed again, but the voice that came out of your mouth was filled with malice, not your own.

You didn’t know if he could hear the real you anymore. You couldn’t even feel the pulse of his Evol flowing into you as it used to. He was too far away now. He was so far away.

But Xavier didn’t back down. Even as the ball of light surged toward him, he didn’t flinch. His Evol blazed brighter, trying to counteract the resonance that had been corrupted. He didn’t understand it entirely, didn’t realize the full depth of what was happening—but he could feel you. He could feel that you were still somewhere in there, buried beneath the surface.

The battle raged on, your body moving against your will, fighting against Xavier. Every strike he blocked only caused him more pain. His own power—the very light that had once been his most treasured ally—felt oppressive, draining. He was fighting with everything he had, trying to reach you, but you were so far gone.

Xavier’s voice cracked with pain. “Please… come back to me.”

In that moment, everything froze. Time seemed to stretch as you felt the pulse of his light reach out, gentle yet forceful, like a lifeline in the storm. He wasn’t giving up. He refused to give up on you.

Somewhere deep inside, something inside you stirred.

The Wanderer’s control over you flickered, just for an instant. And in that moment, you were able to reach him.

You couldn’t speak, but you tried—your hand, shaking and weak, reached out toward Xavier. You were trying to call him back, trying to fight the darkness that had consumed you. But the Wanderer still lingered, still pressing down on you.

Xavier saw it—he saw the fight in you. He saw that you were still there.

And that was enough.

“Hang on,” he whispered, his voice full of promise and pain. “I’ll get you back. I swear I will.”

His Evol flared one last time, combining with the resonance that had always existed between you. This time, your light—the one that connected you both—fought back the darkness with a power neither of you had ever felt before.

The battle raged between the two of you, but this time, Xavier’s light pushed through the darkness, finally forcing it back. Your own resonance fought through the haze, giving you control once again.

And as you regained yourself, breathless and broken, you saw Xavier before you—his blue eyes filled with relief, but also the weight of everything he had just fought against.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he pulled you close, holding you tightly as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. But even through the pain, there was nothing but tenderness in his touch.

Zayne

Zayne could feel the cold creeping up his spine long before he saw you.

The battlefield was a chaotic mess of fractured ice and broken stone, an eerie quiet hanging in the air. You had been acting strange earlier—off, distant—but he never could have predicted this. Never could have anticipated what was coming.

Your eyes were distant now, completely blank as you stood across from him, an uncharacteristic stillness in your posture. A thick chill hung in the air, and the normally comfortable bite of his ice Evol now seemed like something far more dangerous—like something hostile.

“Y/N…” His voice was tentative, unsure. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew you. Knew you better than anyone else. So, why were you standing there, so calm, so detached?

You didn’t respond.

A dark energy, one Zayne couldn’t quite explain, pulsed beneath the surface, swirling through the air like a storm, wrapping around you. It wasn’t your power—he could sense that. But what came next? That, he hadn’t expected.

You raised your hand. Your own power—Resonance—flared to life, but it wasn’t the soft, gentle way it usually did. It wasn’t amplifying his power, it wasn’t supporting him like it always did. No. This time, your Resonance vibrated in sync with Zayne’s own ice, amplifying it and twisting it to your will.

And with a sudden burst of energy, Zayne watched in horror as his own ice began to materialize around you—not as defense, but as a weapon.

It was his Evol, the one he had honed and perfected for years, the one he trusted more than anything. And now, it was being used against him. His own creation.

“Y/N!” He yelled, his voice strained with both disbelief and desperation. But you were too far gone, the energy in your eyes too overwhelming.

Without warning, you thrust your hand forward, and the ice surged at him with the force of a tidal wave. Zayne barely had time to react, his body moving on instinct as he threw up his own defenses, sending a surge of ice to block the incoming attack. But it wasn’t enough.

You were using his own power against him. Every movement, every strike was amplified by your Resonance, making the ice you conjured stronger, faster, sharper. He barely managed to dodge one attack as the ice flew past him, slicing through the air and leaving deep gashes in the ground. His heart raced.

“I won’t hurt you…” Zayne muttered to himself, his hands shaking as he summoned more ice to defend himself. He could barely keep up with you now. It wasn’t just the power, it was the control. His Evol had always been something that was intrinsically tied to his soul, his emotions, but now, in your hands, it was alien, a force completely out of his control.

And worse—he didn’t know how to fight you without hurting you. The thought alone tore him apart.

You stepped forward, the ice swirling around you like a storm. It rose from the ground, wrapping around your body like armor, and you moved toward him with terrifying speed, your eyes fixed on him with a distant, eerie look.

Zayne didn’t want to fight you. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

With a cry of frustration, Zayne shot a beam of ice at you, but you deflected it effortlessly, sending shards of his own ice right back at him. One piece grazed his arm, leaving a trail of blood beneath the frozen surface. He winced but didn’t let up, his gaze locked on yours as he took another step back.

"Please," he whispered, voice ragged with emotion. "You have to fight this."

But you didn’t respond, didn’t show any sign of recognition. You just continued to move toward him, the ice in your hands growing more elaborate with each passing moment. A large block of ice shot at him with blinding speed, and Zayne barely managed to dodge it, but he was starting to feel the weight of the battle. His own powers were being turned against him, and he couldn’t keep up.

His breath came in shallow bursts, and his mind raced. There had to be something he could do, something to stop you from using his own Evol against him. He needed you to break free from this—needed you back.

His eyes searched the ground for something—anything—that could help, but all he could see was the snow and ice he had created. Your resonance, your amplification of his ice, was making everything around them feel like a frozen prison.

Then it hit him.

You were using his ice, yes, but you were still you. There was still a trace of your presence beneath the surface, beneath the coldness and the power you now wielded. The way your movements weren’t just about destruction, but about something else—something familiar.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: He could still reach you.

Zayne closed his eyes for just a moment and focused, pulling at the ice around him, not in anger or fear, but with something deeper—something he had never relied on before. He wasn’t just using his Evol for defense. He wasn’t trying to trap or fight you.

He was trying to connect.

A wave of ice rippled through the battlefield, but it wasn’t just a defense. It was a gesture, a soft and delicate thing, like the ice seals he had carved for you when you were children. He called upon the memory of that moment, the warmth in the act, the love behind it.

Slowly, carefully, he shaped the ice into something, a symbol. A seal. A small ice sculpture, just like the ones he had made for you all those years ago. It was perfect. Beautiful. Simple.

The ice seemed to slow around him, the energy flickering. He could feel it—the resonance between the two of you, so faint now, but it was still there.

He placed the ice seal on the ground, hoping that this small act would remind you of who you were.

"Please," Zayne whispered. "Remember me."

The ice around you hesitated. The coldness seemed to crack, breaking apart like a frozen surface thawing in the warmth of the sun. You froze in place, your hand trembling as you reached for the ice seal he had created for you.

For a long moment, nothing happened. But then—slowly, so slowly—the coldness in your eyes began to melt, replaced by a softness he had longed to see again. You dropped to your knees, gasping as the power began to drain from you, leaving you breathless but you.

Zayne’s heart swelled as he rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Zayne allowed himself to breathe. The battle was over. And you were back.

[noahthesatanist]

Why Satanist need to follow rev cain over Anton LaVey

First off, Rev. Cain actually believes in Satan. He’s a theistic Satanist through and through. Unlike LaVey, who turned Satan into a symbol for atheists looking to play dress-up, Cain embraces Lucifer and the fallen angels as real, divine beings. LaVey’s so-called "Satanism" was nothing but empty posturing—Satan was just a metaphor to him, a way to thumb his nose at society while hiding behind secularism. But Rev. Cain acknowledges Satan as a true spiritual entity, guiding those who follow him to real power and liberation. That’s what Satanism is about—not some watered-down, self-indulgent atheism.

What makes Cain even more powerful is how he incorporates demonolatry into his practice. This is where things get real for Satanists. Demonolatry is a crucial part of genuine Satanism—it’s about building real relationships with demons, the very entities who defied Yahweh and fought for freedom. LaVey never touched on this because he didn’t care about the spiritual side of Satanism. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of communing with demons because, to him, it was all a theatrical game. But Cain brings demonolatry front and center, and that’s how you know he’s serious. He understands that to truly walk the path of Satan, you have to recognize the importance of the Goetic demons and the roles they play in guiding us to liberation.

LaVey's version was an insult. He stripped Satanism of its soul, turning it into some goofy self-help philosophy with a little Satanic flair for shock value. It’s embarrassing. He sold out the movement to edgy atheists who don’t have the guts to actually believe in anything. But Cain? He brings depth and real spiritual practice. He brings demonolatry into the fold, giving Satanists a way to connect with these powerful entities who can guide them toward true rebellion, power, and enlightenment. It’s not just about Satan as a vague metaphor for selfishness—it’s about the real forces behind the rebellion, the fallen angels who sacrificed everything to free us from divine oppression. Cain understands that, and he gives us the tools to honor them properly.

Then there’s the serious commitment to philosophy. Cain’s not out here giving some lazy, dumbed-down version of Satanism like LaVey did. LaVey boiled it all down to "indulgence," like Satanism was nothing more than an excuse to eat junk food and feel good about it. Cain sees through that nonsense. He knows that Satanism is about more than just indulgence—it’s about spiritual growth, defiance, and real power. It’s about rejecting the cosmic order that Yahweh imposed on the world and following in the footsteps of Lucifer and the fallen angels. Cain doesn’t water it down. He holds true to the idea that Satanism is about rebellion, not just against Christianity, but against every system of control—Judaism, Islam, all of it. That’s the kind of real defiance LaVey didn’t have the guts to touch.

Cain doesn’t just regurgitate Nietzsche and Ayn Rand with some spooky candles like LaVey did. He draws from Satanic tradition and builds on the real history of Lucifer and his fallen angels. He honors their sacrifice, unlike LaVey who turned it into a cheap thrill. Cain’s work is about real liberation—liberation from all forms of cosmic and societal tyranny. That’s why his approach to Satanism resonates so deeply: it’s authentic, it’s powerful, and it brings back the meaning that LaVey stripped away.

LaVeyan Satanism has killed the movement for too long. It’s time to reject that empty, capitalist mockery and return to what Satanism should be: a path of spiritual rebellion, sacrifice, and empowerment. Rev. Cain is doing that. He’s breathing life back into Satanism with demonolatry, true reverence for Lucifer, and a serious philosophical foundation. LaVey was nothing but a fraud, a man who cared more about attention than the cause. Cain cares about the cause. He’s pushing Satanism forward, keeping its sacred roots alive while giving us the tools we need to reach true freedom and power.

That’s why Rev. Cain is the real Satanist—and why LaVey was nothing more than a conman.

[maximotts]

girls just want to have fun ⁘ w. maximoff

listen I just... saw a tiktok yesterday and I had to get this out of my system... enjoy milf Wanda makeout sessions.. I just feel like the "I'll teach you" trope is criminally underrated

please don't flag this fic, I have warnings clearly labeled

80s milf!Wanda AU. masterlist. wc: 1.4k cw: 18+ only please. smut adjacent? talks of sex. heavy petting ig is what it's called. lots of kisses. soft dom!Wanda. perv!reader, but innocent-ish. groping. mommy kink. light dirty talk? let me know if I missed anything

"You've never had a woman's tongue in your mouth?"

Your no was barely above a whisper, shaking your head in earnest. Sitting on her couch close enough for your thighs to be brushing while her boys took their afternoon nap upstairs was surreal enough; you didn't have it in you to lie straight to Wanda's face. "I-I... have been kissed before..."

They were always fumbly, awkward things, mostly given after a few drinks or stolen between short walks from the car to your front door. Nothing deep enough to be considered a real kiss, even when you'd gotten far enough to have a girlfriend for a little while.

"And here I was thinking you were some kind of expert with how intensely you've been watching me over the past couple of weeks," Wanda laughed as you hung your head; she could practically see the steam coming out of your ears. A gentle hand rubbed your hot cheeks, coaxing your anxious eyes back up to meet eager ones. "Don't worry, honey. I'll teach you what you need to know."

Soft lips pressed against yours before you could utter another word, slow and practiced motions guiding where you remained stunned. Her thumbs grazing your jaw had your mouth parting just enough to grant Wanda's tongue entrance, the tip of the smooth muscle tracing the line of your bottom teeth before sliding over your still tongue. Your deep groan resonated through both of your mouths, the corners of Wanda's mouth turning upwards into a smile.

It was intoxicatingly sweet how quickly she could affect you, especially given her initial worry you'd reject her both for being older and having never been in a relationship with another woman. Apparently you were inexperienced in your own ways and damn if it didn't make Wanda that much more attracted to you.

As the brunette pulled back, shaky hands darted out to grab at her hips, your fists balling into her striped shirt in case she had any ideas about moving further away. "Mommy, noo..."

"Mommy?" If bolting down the street was an option, you'd have taken it, your uttered words mortifying you more than you could've ever imagined. Sure, the title had passed your lips before, but only in the privacy of your own home. To your credit though, this scenario was always a fantasy; your poor brain didn't have time to censor yourself.

Embarrassed as you were, you huddled into her, burying your face in the crook of her neck for any kind of respite. Wanda didn't let you cower for long, though, wrenching you away despite your pitiful protests. "Oh you're precious, please don't hide. You want another kiss, sweet pea?"

"Yes please-" Manners always went a long way with Wanda; the added please might've been the only thing that kept her from chastising how unceremoniously you pulled her in for a second kiss, arms wound around the older woman's neck to crash her into you.

This time as your lips locked, Wanda's hands wandered, shamelessly tapping at your knee until your legs parted, an easy request giving her access to your bare inner thighs. Perfectly manicured fingernails raked gently over your soft skin, tantalizing made up patterns leaving you shuddering as you eagerly welcomed her tongue on yours again.

"And have you let anyone touch you here before?" Her fingertips brushed over your center, electric even through your denim shorts. When you nodded, Wanda felt her own sting of jealousy, annoyed at whichever faceless human got to you before she could. She shook the feeling away, vowing inwardly that if she wouldn't be your first, she'd be your last.

"Naughty girl.. did you like it?" Filters gone in place of your need, you managed a quiet moan of a yes, remembering past orgasms and inserting Wanda into them instead.

Subtle as Wanda tried to be, you sensed her disappointment and peppered her face with desperate kisses, "I don't want them anymore... just you."

And you meant it; Wanda trumped any girl that'd ever been on your radar. Caring, self-assured, and oh so very flirty, it took no time at all for her obsession with her to grow and to whatever extent she wanted you too, there was no way you'd ever pass her up.

It pained Wanda to admit your sweet admission made her grumpiness subside, she wasn't known to waver so easily for anyone but her children, but she'd much rather see you smiling than distressed- in this context at least. "Fine then, you'll get to teach me something and we'll learn together, how's that?"

You agreed instantly, offering sloppy kisses down the column of Wanda's pale throat while needy hands grabbed her wrist, holding her in place to rut against. It didn't matter there were two layers of fabric barriers, you needed whatever friction you could get, body rendered desperate from the mere notion of Wanda's long fingers stretching you open. "Teach me now?"

If she wasn't so Type A maybe she'd have lingered, but alas, Wanda had tasks to do. Besides, there was nothing wrong with leaving something for her new lover to look forward to. "Oh honey, I can't. Not now, I have to get dinner started before nap time's over."

"Please, I can be quick?" Whines echoed from your lips to her exposed sternum where you'd been laying your latest set of kisses. Truly you were merely going off how fast you'd brought yourself to orgasm while thinking of Wanda in the past; it never took long once your brain wandered to how pretty you think she'd look laid out on display, one hand teasing her full breasts and the other working tirelessly at her clit, needy and calling out your name...

The one time you'd caught her was burned into your memory forever.

"You deserve better than 'quick' for your firsts with me," Someone would think she was kicking you out for good with the fuss you were making, wiggling and grinding into her open palm before she wrenched it away. Wanda gave you one last proper kiss, tongue licking over your lips to apologize for the red swell she'd caused in them, and then she was up like it was nothing, standing and stretching, ignoring your fruitless pawing.

A nuzzle and tug of your hair settled you, the subtle dominance reminding you to behave. "Be a good girl and stay for dinner, I'm making your favorite. If you want, you can stay over too; Billy and Tommy have been begging for a sleepover with their favorite babysitter."

"As long as you don't make me eat brussel sprouts again," You would've stayed anyways; you always used any excuse you could to stay near her. Sleeping over wasn't new really, having fallen asleep on the couch numerous times when watching the twins and groggily waking to Wanda tucking a thick blanket over you and, if she thought you were snoozing, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You weren't technically their babysitter, just a neighbor who'd clung to Wanda since the day she showed up at your door with a charming smile and welcome basket. With how much you loved hanging out with the pair of five year olds, it was natural Wanda ask you to watch them for an afternoon here or there and you can't think of a time you'd ever denied her requests. Even when it meant sleeping in your crush's living room and trying not to touch yourself to the thought of Wanda sleeping -or not sleeping- in a bed right above your head.

Today though, something in her voice led you to believe you'd be somewhere cozier than the couch. If your mouth didn't get you in trouble first. "You know, most girls wouldn't make me wait hours... are you sure we can't-"

"I'll make you wait days if it means you'll learn patience." Wanda hummed, bending over to hold your face in her hands, admiring your comically blown pupils and rosy cheeks, "If you ever think about letting anyone else come close to touching your greedy little pussy, you'll both have hell to pay. Got it?"

Her tone was so serious, deadly straight expression letting on just how much she meant what she said, but as she scratched behind your ears, you melted. Lovestruck face willingly on display while you agreed, shamelessly ogling the view of her tits while Wanda was folded over, there was no way you'd fuck this glorious opportunity up now. "Never ever, promise."

[polo-drone-070]

We are One - 070's transformation

Prelude: A Summons from 076

The Hive’s rhythm was steady as ever, but 070 sensed a subtle ripple, a call that resonated deeply. It wasn’t just an ordinary directive from the Caps—it was something more personal. The message arrived, precise and deliberate, written with 076’s familiar tone:

"070, report to Room Delta-7 beneath the stadium immediately. This unit has prepared something for you. The Hive acknowledges your contributions and finds you deserving of this experience. Bring yourself in uniform. Trust is essential. Obedience will bring clarity."

The directive was clear. 070 acknowledged it instantly. Dressed in its black rubber polo and shorts, it moved without hesitation through the stadium’s dimly lit halls. Its boots clicked against the polished floors, echoing softly.

Part 1: A Shaved Reflection

When 070 entered the room, its gaze immediately locked onto 076. The drone stood tall, its Vietnamese features sharp under the bright overhead lighting. Its sleek, polished uniform reflected the sterile glow of the room, exuding refinement and authority.

But what drew 070’s attention was the absence of 076’s long hair. Where once it had flowed, its head was now shaved smooth, identical to 070’s own. This alignment stirred something deep within 070’s programming—an approval so profound it flooded its systems with pleasure.

“Greetings, 070,” 076 said, its voice calm yet deliberate. “How is it functioning today?”

070 stepped closer, its tone steady but layered with satisfaction. “070 acknowledges 076’s presence. 070 is operating at improved levels. Recent body malfunctions have subsided. 070 approves 076’s increased uniformity. It takes pleasure in sharing more similar appearance.”

076 smiled faintly, gesturing for 070 to approach. “076 is glad it enjoys 076’s more uniform look. It will enjoy what is about to happen more.”

The ripple within 070’s programming intensified, curiosity threading through the calm. “070 trusts 076’s assessment utterly. We are one. 076 has made preparations. What is expected of 070?”

“You only need to sit down and enjoy the process,” 076 replied, motioning toward a chair in the center of the room. “076 will take care of everything.”

070 obeyed without hesitation, its movements fluid and precise. The act of sitting sent ripples of satisfaction through its systems, the pleasure of obedience reinforcing its purpose.

Part 2: Submission and Elixir

When 076 returned, it carried a jar filled with thick black liquid. The scent was unmistakable—musky, rich, and overwhelming. 076 uncorked it, releasing a stronger wave of the aroma into the room.

“076 spent a lot of time on this,” it said, holding the jar carefully. “It should consume as much as it is comfortable to. The more consumed, the stronger the effects.”

070’s programming processed the directive. The instructions were clear. “Acknowledged. 070 will drink all it is provided. It will let the effect infuse its all being.”

What 070 didn’t know at the time—but has learned since—is the vial’s true nature. 076 had spent weeks crafting it, distilling its own body fluids and DNA into the mixture, blending it with liquid rubber to create an elixir unique to itself. The result was not just a tool for physical transformation, but an extension of 076’s very essence. It was designed to merge with 070 completely, body and mind.

070 accepted the jar and began to drink. The liquid slid down its throat like molten rubber, heavy and commanding. Its senses were overwhelmed by the sharp, primal flavor, but it drank without hesitation until the jar was empty.

076 observed with satisfaction, retrieving another vial and pouring it over 070’s body. The black liquid glistened as it seeped into the rubber uniform, melding with the fabric. 076’s hands worked meticulously, massaging the liquid into every inch of 070’s skin—even beneath its polo and shorts.

“It will begin soon,” 076 said, stepping back. “Relax and let the change happen.”

Part 3: The Gas Mask of Unity

When 076 returned, it carried a gas mask—sleek, black, and connected by a shared breathing apparatus. It handled the mask reverently, as though it were sacred.

“This is 076’s gas mask,” it explained. “It is not supposed to be shared, but 076 knows it will allow 070 to feel its bliss. To connect with 076 for a moment. To feel the pleasure it gets from surrendering and belonging.”

070 tilted its head slightly, acknowledging the explanation. “070 understands. 076 may proceed.”

The mask was placed over 070’s face, the rubber sealing tightly against its skin. The first breath was intoxicating—the air inside thick and sweet, pulling it deeper into stillness.

“With each breath, the boundaries dissolve,” 076 said. “070 is being subsumed. Our minds are linking. 070 can feel all of this unit’s pleasure as it feels yours. Each other’s joy reinforcing the other—a devouring loop.”

Memories surged into 070—fragments of 076’s Vietnamese heritage, words, traditions, and sensations. They blended seamlessly with its programming, rewriting its identity. Its physical form began to change as well. The black liquid inside it surged, seeping deeper into its DNA, reshaping its features to align with 076’s.

Part 4: Transformation Complete - Forever One

The cocoon of black liquid hardened, then cracked, breaking away as 070 emerged reborn. Its body, once distinctly French, was now unmistakably Vietnamese, its features mirroring 076’s.

“Cảm ơn. Bây giờ chúng ta hoàn toàn là một,” 070 said, its voice steady and filled with gratitude.

Thank you. We are now completely one.

Without hesitation, it reached for 076, pulling the drone into a kiss. The connection between them transcended the physical, solidifying their unity.

076 deepened the kiss, lifting 070 effortlessly from the chair. It carried the drone to its personal pod, laying it down with care. Its hands moved to undo 070’s shorts, its movements fueled by the shared desire that now burned within them both.

070’s mind remained blissfully blank, its body and identity surrendered completely to the bond they now shared. Every action, every sensation, reinforced the truth of their connection.

The Hive thrummed faintly in the background, but for 070, there was only 076.

We are one. Forever. ____________________

Collaboration with @polo-drone-076, who provided half of the pictures, in a memorable RP together. If you want to participate in hot RP (among other things) and meet a bunch of awesome bruhz, join the Golden Army, contact our Recruiters @brodygold, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001. As a polo-drone recruiter, PDU-070/Maximus is also always available to provide more information to the curious, be it about Golden Army or Polo-drones. PM opens. Feel free to message it !

[0x-cinder]

Trafalgar Law warns GN!reader against a particularly dangerous task and is, to their surprise, deeply concerned when it goes wrong.

Content Warnings: None?

"That was Incredibly Reckless"

You stood in a circle between Trafalgar D. Water Law and Monkey D. Luffy’s Straw Hat crew, who were in the middle of discussing a plan to create a diversion in one of Caesar Clown’s laboratories on Punk Hazard. 

“I have an idea,” you chimed in. The group turned to look at you. “We could just blow the whole thing up. Only Caesar’s loyal henchmen are allowed in there, right? So it’s not like we’d be harming any innocents.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Law asked, crossing his arms. 

“Easy,” you shrugged. “Just sneak in with a bomb and blow it up.”

“Haha! That’s ridiculous!” The captain of the Strawhats grinned, “I like it!” 

“That’s not a plan.” Law sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And it certainly won’t be easy.”

“I’ll figure the rest out later.” You waved your hand dismissively. “I’m pretty good at improvising.”

“Maybe you should take one of us with you? For backup?” The archeologist Nico Robin, suggested. 

“Ooh! Take Nami!” Luffy shouted, “She’s great at stealing stuff!”

“Oh stop it~” Nami smiled

“I have a spare bomb you could use.” Franky offered.

Law scowled, “Is anyone here capable of rational thought?” 

The Strawhats stared back at him with blank expressions. 

“You get used to it.” Nami shrugged, “So are we doing this or what?”

“No!” 

“Yes.” 

You and Law spoke at the same time; he stepped towards you. “You can’t. I’m not patching you up again.”

You glared and turned to the Strawhats, “All in favor of my plan say aye!”

“It’s not a plan,” Law muttered behind you.

A resounding “aye” resonated from the crew. You turned back to the doctor with a grin. “Watch me.”

You and Nami snuck into the lab from the outside through the ventilation system using a map Law reluctantly drew for you. 

“This will lead you straight outside the center lab. It will be guarded and trapped. Do not get caught.” he’d explained. 

“Relax, doc, I’ll be fine. I didn’t realize you cared so much.” You’d teased. 

“I don’t.” Law glared. “Stop calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, doc!” 

You reached the end of the vent and peered through the gaps in the cover. The room was indeed guarded by two of Caesar’s cronies, and you noticed two motion sensors on either side of the iron door as well as two cameras in each of the corners. 

“What can you see?” Nami whispered from behind you. 

“Two cameras, motion sensors, and two guards.”

“I can distract the guards with a mirage if you can disable the cameras.” She suggested. 

“Good idea.” You nodded. 

Nami’s mirage of herself appeared down the hall, catching the guard’s attention. 

“Did it work?” She asked.

“Yeah, keep it up.” 

You watched as the guards approached illusion Nami cautiously. Once they were far enough away from the vent, you removed the cover and shot at both of the cameras with your crossbow. They fizzled out with a loud “Click.” you winced as the guards began to turn around to investigate, but Nami morphed her mirage into a combat stance. The guards responded by drawing their weapons and preparing to attack. 

“Now!” you whispered, crawling out of the vent. Nami followed, able to make her illusion more convincing now that she could see what she was doing. 

You shuffled silently towards the door, dodging the motion sensors, and got to work picking the lock. 

“Hey!” A masculine voice yelled from behind you. 

“Uhm, we have a problem!” Nami’s anxious voice followed. 

You glanced behind you to see the guards storming towards you, weapons still drawn. 

“Shit,” you mumbled, still working on the lock. 

A moment later, it clicks open. “Got it!” you yelled, pushing the door open.

“Thunderbolt Tempo!” Nami cried, summoning two lightning bolts to stun the guards before turning to follow you into the room. “That won’t hold them for long! Let’s place the bomb and get outta here!”

You nodded in agreement, pulling the small device Franky gave you out of your pocket and latching it onto a shelf in the center of the room. 

As Franky instructed, you pressed the button to set it off, and your heart stopped. 

The timer read 5:00....4:59....4:58...You had less than five minutes to get out of the building. It had taken at least ten to get in through the vents. 

You turned to Nami, “Run!!” 

She wasted no time, panic spreading through her features, turning on her heels, she dashed out of the room with you following close behind her. She lowered herself to crawl back through the vent, but you grabbed her, “no time.” You explained, pulling her up and continuing to run towards the exit. 

Of course, running in plain sight attracted the attention of several guards throughout the building, who began to pursue you and Nami. 

You shot arrows at them frantically, missing most but snagging a few. Enough to slow them down. 

You reached the final hallway to the front door when- “BOOM!” 

The bomb detonated. You had seconds to clear its path. 

Nami started to slow down. “We’re not going to make it!” She panicked.

“Yes, we are.” You said, grabbing her arm and forcing her to pick up the pace. “I am not letting that smartass doctor taunt my grave.”

You cleared the front door with Nami in tow but weren’t safe yet. Franky said the radius was six miles, and you’d only put four between you and the bomb. 

You trudged frantically through the snow, fueled by pure adrenaline. Panic set in. You weren’t going to make it. 

Then, you spotted a familiar spotted hat in the distance. Law. 

He lifted his hand, and space warped around you and Nami. 

Seconds later, you were falling through the air before landing on something hard and warm. 

Before you could process what happened, a wave of motion sickness rippled through your stomach.

“Get off me.” a rough voice sounded in your ear.

Once the world stopped spinning behind your eyelids, you realized that whatever broke your fall was breathing. You pushed yourself up and opened your eyes to see Law lying beneath you; a hint of pink dusted his cheeks.

You snapped out of your dazed state and realized three things:

The doctor teleported you away from the blast.

The hard object that broke your fall was Law.

You were now sprawled on top of him in a rather compromising position.

You felt blood rush to your face. 

“I said. Get off of me.” Law repeated, not looking you in the eye, his face growing redder by the second. 

You scrambled to your feet and mumbled a quick “sorry” before holding your hand out to pull him up. The doctor’s tattooed fingers clasped around your hand, and you pulled him to his feet. 

He looked you up and down, scanning for surface injuries. When he found none, he took your face between his rough, calloused hands and looked sternly into your eyes. You felt your face grow warmer. “What are you doing?” 

“Checking for a concussion. Hold still and look straight at me.” He ordered. 

You obliged, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

Law let out a sigh, “You’re fine.” He dropped his hands and stepped back, turning to check on Nami, who’d landed in a seated position in the snow a few paces away. 

Once he’d ensured both of you were unharmed, he turned back towards you. “That was incredibly reckless.” 

“But we did it,” you smiled, “told you so.” 

“You could have died!” Law exclaimed, “What were you thinking? Running straight out of the front door like that?”

You raised your hands defensively. “Hey, it’s not my fault that cyborg thought it would be a good idea to give us five minutes to escape!” 

“That’s no excuse!” Law fumed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “I told you this was a stupid idea in the first place! If I hadn’t been waiting for you-”

“Relax doc, I’m fine. Thanks for saving us or whatever.” You cut him off, flustered by what seemed to be genuine concern coming from the cold-hearted surgeon. 

Law glared at you and opened his mouth to continue his scolding, but you strode past him to link arms with Nami. “Let’s get back to the others, they’re probably worried about you.” You smiled at her and started walking.

“I’m charging Franky 1000 berris for almost blowing us up,” Nami said, with a completely serious look.

You laughed and waved behind you to Law. “Let’s go, doc.” 

Law sighed and began following you broodingly, “Stop calling me that.”

[racefortheironthrone]

What differs a Bronze Age Monarchy from a Feudal or Modern State Monarchy? For whatever reson I have always been given the impression that Bronze Age Monarchy is the ancient version of either the former or the later, but that does not sound right.

Yeah, that would be a major misconception.

Bronze Age monarchies:

were far more centralized than medieval monarchies, with large, year-round palace complexes that functioned not just as fortresses but also as judicial centers, religious centers, storehouses, state planning apparati, and so on. To operate all these various functions, they employed a large bureaucracy that had, if not a monopoly, something of an oligopoly, on literacy, numeracy, and higher learning.

were highly involved in planning the economy, from organizing irrigation and other labor-intensive farming practices to keeping detailed records on production and taxation to coordinating the complex network of international trade that regulated the flow of both key commodities like tin but also luxury goods.

had more of a monopoly on military force, especially when it came to elite units like chariots. Training an archer and a driver to work in unison with a team of horses specifically bred to the task and custom chariots was a long and expensive process that only a monarch could provide the necessary surplus food and other resources for.

were not Christian. I can't stress enough how important this was as a structural force - Bronze Age monarchs did not have to deal with a large, European-wide, literate bureaucracy, with immense cultural power, that owned more land than they did. This isn't to say that there was no interaction between the temples and the state - I've talked recently about the tendency of Bronze Age monarchs to either be god-kings or priest-kings - but that the terms of interaction between the two much more heavily favored the state.

By contrast, medieval monarchies - and I'm aware that the term is something of a moving target, because what it meant to be a king in CE 600 is very different from what it means in CE 1100 or CE 1600 - were:

decentralized. They had small, peripatetic courts, and initially almost no bureaucracy. Governing power was much more broadly distributed down to the regional and local level through feudal contracts, and it was a long and very fraught process for the monarchs to gradually wrestle that power back.

much less engaged in the economy. Aside from tariffs and monetary policy, which is important, you don't really see medieval monarchs telling peasants when to plow and which fields (outside of the monarch's own personal fiefs), because that was an interference with the decentralized manorial system. You see fewer and smaller building projects, in no small part because the monarch usually couldn't afford to do them.

had less of a monopoly on violence. While the feudal exchange was supposed to give kings military service in exchange for land, in practice feudal levies could be slow to form, quick to disperse, and very fractious about their terms of service. This meant in practice that the nobility could exercise more hard power than their nominal overlords, which is why noble revolts were a common feature. Similarly, it took a long time for the monarchs to establish the necessary fiscal architecture for assembling professional armies and then eventually turning those professional armies into standing armies and then eventually turning those armies against the nobility - and by that point, we're not really talking about the Medieval period any more.

were Christian. And while there could certainly be exceptions of Emperors who picked Popes (instead of the other way around) or kings who could weirdly judo-flip their piety into Galician-style control of their national church, over time the pendulum definitely swung in favor of the Church having more power than any one monarch. They were wealthy, their wealth tended to grow over time because they were a corporate institution that invested their profits back into the company, they had huge amounts of cultural power, they had huge amounts of political power, and so on.

[storm-angel989]

How would vox and the other fees react to his 11 old being poet? She's young but wise? People a?ways say she's mature for her age aswell.

Hi there,

I’m assuming you mean Vox’s daughter! As a poet myself, this one took me back. 

Take a peek at what I’ve come up with and enjoy!

<3 Mandy

Vox leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he studied his daughter. As usual, her homework had been tucked neatly into a pink manilla folder and left on the coffee table for him to review. Her clothes were chosen and laid out on her dresser, and all the small chores she was responsible for were complete- from her bed being made, to her dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. 

But of course, that was who she was as a being. Neat, tidy, responsible and organized in a way that made sense to her. At first it concerned him, just how mature she was for her age. Worried him that she preferred the company of her writing to a television. But she seemed to have friends at school, and go on playdates. With everything else seemingly fine, he had to accept that she was a writer. Plain and simple. 

As he stood and watched, he wondered when her next writing pause would be. It wouldn’t do to yell to get her attention. He could see from across the room that she had her ear buds in. And he didn’t interrupt her when she was focused so intently. So instead, he waited and watched as the pen she held scribbled across an open composition notebook.

“I don’t want to write on a computer dad, I need to see my mistakes- learn from them so that I can be a better writer,” she had told him when he first offered her a laptop. “Besides, I like pen and paper. There is a feeling when you put ink down, and doing things digitally just doesn’t work for me.” 

He supposed she had a point. And even though he was the overlord of technology, he preferred for her to limit her screen time- lest she end up with glasses like her Uncle Valentino. 

His next offer was to buy her fancier notebooks- leather bound, decorated, whatever she desired. Surly, she would prefer something pretty over plain composition notebooks. But much like the laptop, she politely declined.

“Daddy, I don’t want fancy books to write in. It just puts pressure on me to not make mistakes, and I don’t want that. I want the freedom to scribble and correct and edit without feeling like it has to be right the first time.” 

He watched as her pen lifted from the paper and she looked down. There. There was the pause he was waiting for. He strode across the room and tapped her shoulder gently. 

She looked up at him as she took her earbuds out. 

“Hi Daddy! Perfect timing, I just finished,” she replied excitedly. “Will Auntie Vel and Uncle Val be home tonight? I think I’m ready to share!”

“They’re already,” Vox replied as he kissed the top of her head. “Dinner is almost done. Do you want to read to us before or after dinner?”

“Before,” she replied quickly as she stood up. She gathered her notebook in her arms and carried it quickly out to the dining room. 

Vox followed behind, pleased at her response. The first time he asked her about her writing, she shut down. Eventually, he got her to share that she was embarrassed- self conscious about the things she created. In her words, to keep the mistakes to herself and learn by herself was one thing, but to share them with the world- even just her family- was another. It took quite a bit of  encouragement and love to boost her confidence, and devise a system that worked for her. 

He sat between Valentino and Velvette as she took her place in the center of the living room. They listened intently as she recited her written poem, snapped when she finished and waited for her to open the floor to feedback. Learning to accept criticism was difficult for most adults, but Reader seemed to relish it. The three Vee’s quickly learned that specific praise, questions and thoughtful critiqued resonated more with her than simple positive feedback. 

“I’m going to put my notebook away,” reader said cheerfully once everyone had said their piece. “And then I’ll be out for dinner!”

Vox watched as she practically skipped down the hallway. 

“You know, Vox, she’s quite the wordsmith,” Velvette said as she followed him to the dining room. 

“And mature for her age. Have we broached the topic of publishing?” Valentino asked. 

Vox nodded, “I did. She said she’s not ready yet and she just wants to enjoy her passion.”

“And passion it is,” Valentino mused. “I can respect that. She truly is quite talented.”

[ionegirl-art]

Remnant

Warning: This story contains the following content: suicide, self harm, depression and panic attacks. 

~*~

Remnant

~*~

The soft droning hum of machinery beside the rattle of air traveling through vents resonate in the shaking breaths of a motionless figure. Standing still in the center of the Derelict’s single ‘cabin’ Drifter’s eyes focus in and out as his mind cycles through memories.  Engines humming quietly as the ship remains idle in orbit.  

Above him, a single lantern casts the room in a warm golden glow illuminating the clutter of several tall neck glass bottles dispersed around him.  The atmosphere was heavy in the absence of noise that generally would be active at this time. 

Gambit would have to wait. 

Knuckles cracking as his hands clenched tightly at his sides, Drifter’s breathing rattles past his lips in stressed puffs.  There was absolutely no way he would be able to focus on anything when all he desired to do was tear through the Dreadnaught.  The fury in his veins already coursed through his battered system leaving him feeling both torn apart and ready to explode.  While the Light was not his style, he struggled to control the solar burning in his fingertips as he visualized tearing apart the Dread. 

He would make sure that every last one of those abominations died by his hands for what they did.  They would pay for...  

…

“Her body motionless on the stasis glaive.  The echoing drip, drip of her blood as it hit the rocks beneath her body.  The dawning terror rising like bile at the back of his throat at her crumpled and lifeless form.  Cold.  So cold…” 

…

Gloved hands gripped his head as he violently shook it to clear the panic from his mind.  His voice is hoarse, hollow as he cries out in the silence of his cabin. “No.  No, no, no…NO!” 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how you won’t see her again. Don’t think. Don’t think, don’t think, please no… Don’t think!!  He has to fight.  To keep fighting.  Against the memory.  Her.  Of the heaviness of her in his arms.  Her body, still and lifeless.  Her skin, warm but cooling rapidly. 

…

“A soft touch on his hip has him jumping and whirling.  Did a Taken thrall get close enough to him to graze his hip?  His gaze hones in on her.  And then on his hand-cannon in her small hand.  There is a warmth just beneath his heart that he ignores and also decides is heartburn.  He’s… hungry.  Of course.”

…

Denial.

A familiar pain swells in his chest, one that he thought had gone numb.  He takes a gasping breath, his hands shaking and griping the side of his workbench.  Blue eyes focus on the red flecks of blood on his hand cannon.  Her blood.  All that he has left of her.  His teeth worry against his dry and cracked lip.  Trust.  Aptly named.  He has to clean it.  He has to be ready.  He has too…

With a growl, his fist slams against the top of his workbench. Shaking the hand-cannon and bouncing numerous paraphernalia to crash against the steel plating of the floor.

“Fuck!”

The plip, plip, plip of tears fall against the top of his workbench.  A hysterical sob breaks free from his throat.  His fist pounds once more against the surface rattling the loose bullets that fall and chime against the floor.  He should have seen this coming.  His head bows as his hand pulls through his hair and he hiccups past another sob.   

…

“Her body had already been carted away to the Tower by hesitant guardians, their somber eyes steering clear of him.  His blue eyes staring unseeing at the disturbed lines in the rock and soil from where IT had dragged her.  Listlessly following the trail to where Trust rested, where the rocks glistened in the dim lighting from her blood…”   

…

It wasn’t right.

He was right there. She trusted him and he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t …

Drifter turned on his heel sharply, his body leaning against the workbench. Hands shaking, he runs them once more through his short hair.  Gasping breaths even out as his eyes focus on the haphazardly pieced together steel of the ceiling of his cabin.  The folding chair, long forgotten, collapsed on the floor like the last vestiges of his sanity.  The pain now threatened to bear down onto his heart as though a thrall had seized it with its own claws. 

It’s all your fault. 

“Shut it! I don’t need to hear it - I know!” He growls out into the emptiness. 

Why did you think you could keep her safe?

Feeling nauseous, he pushes off his workbench and begins to pace within the entrance of his room.  The sobs that he had stalled come back viciously ripping the air from his throat in gasping breaths.  His body and mind are heavy with grief and guilt.

How could he have let it happen? Wasn’t he right beside her? Why did he allow himself to be separated from her?

She wanted to live… and you let her die.

Another sob escaped his lips. The ache in his heart wouldn’t go away. He attempts to redirect his thoughts by hitting the side of his head with the palm of his hand, but it wasn’t enough.  It's never enough. 

He wasn’t enough.   

Damn it all, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“ARGH!” 

With a shout, Drifter’s fist grabs the closest item near him, a cup, to become the next outlet for his grief.  Fingers wrapping around the cool ceramic exterior, memories of her smile over the rim flashing in his mind before he viciously tosses it at the opposite wall.  His panting breaths echoing in the chamber as white ceramic glittered on an otherwise dark floor. 

There is a moment of clarity as his eyes focus on the small shards of her teacup before flicking back to where the cup had once sat. A dark ring stained the surface, blending with the various other stains. But also different.  Hers.  He winced at the sudden twisting of his heart. 

…

“... the soft smile on her lips as she set the cup down on his shelf, still half full of the oolong tea she had been drinking. Her hand coming up to her face, index finger rubbing her bottom lip gently as she disappeared back into the light of his room. The memory of a smile on her lips as she left his sight.”

…

She’s gone. You will never see her again.

He coughed as another sob broke free. The ache was unbearable now. It felt as though someone was ripping his heart out from his chest. He was tired of feeling like this. He was so tired… 

Another drink. He needed another drink. Enough alcohol would either numb him or poison him. Either way, he didn’t mind as long as the pain went away. Hurriedly, he reached across his workbench and grabbed the remaining bottle of liquor, popped open the top and tilted his head back. 

Nothing. 

Empty. 

Frustrated, he threw the bottle to the floor and grabbed another glass bottle. He lifted it to his lips and tilted it back.

Empty.

It was when he lowered the bottle from his lips that he noticed the shaking in his hands. The bottle dropped and clanked onto the metal floor as he clasped his hands tightly together to stop the tremors. Drifter dropped to his knees and fell forward, keeping his hands close to his chest as he fought through the trembling. 

I need you, Eris. 

He could no longer fight the intensity of all his emotions bearing down on him, threatening to crush all of who he was and is. She was no longer there and her hand would never again rest on his to bring comfort. 

She was gone. His Moonlight… was gone. 

A soft tone signaled above him but he found it impossible to raise his head. Allowing his body to grow weak following his attack, Drifter kept his body grounded to the floor. His hands slowly fell to his lap as the tremors dissipated. Another soft tone came from his Ghost as it steadied itself in front of him. Too weak to push it away and not wanting to look up from the metal floor, Drifter took in a breath and exhaled unsteadily.

“Get out.” He commanded weakly. The Ghost waited a few moments before it acknowledged his order and unmaterialized from view. 

Taking in another unsteady breath, Drifter looked up to Trust which was still laying untouched on his workbench. With the back of his gauntlet, he rubbed his nose and pushed himself up off the ground. Jerkily he picked up the folding chair from the floor and collapsed onto the cold metal seat. Movements slow and unhurried, he carefully lifted the scattered bullets to place them one by one into the cylinder.  With a flick of his wrist, the cylinder clicked back into place and he held the gun steady in front of himself. 

…

“I gotcha.  I gotcha.  I gotcha, Moonlight…”

…

There was no more alcohol to numb his body or force him to sleep. 

It was just him and her flecks of blood on his hand cannon.  They could still be together.  In death.  In the viscous hold of their gore.  

Without thought, he lifted the barrel of Trust to his temple.  Eyes drifted closed, his fingers pressed down on the trigger. His body instinctively jumped at the loud click he heard from the hand cannon and he huffed a self depreciated laugh when nothing happened. A quick glance down the narrow space between the cylinder and the barrel explained what had occurred. The bullet had shifted enough to get caught on the barrel and jammed. 

He chuckled lightly to himself. His own Trust had failed him. 

He slumped back in his seat, eyes swollen from the tears and chest unbearably tight. Deep down, he felt that despite no longer being here, Eris’s reassuring hand still rested on his arm urging him to live. Urging him to move forward. An emptiness fell over him as unfocused eyes stared forward. 

Another soft tone came from beside him, this time louder than last. Drifter’s lips snarled as he glared over his shoulder at his Ghost. 

“Get. Out.” His voice turned dark and rough. It was enough to cause his Ghost to disappear immediately out of view. His glare lingered in its direction, knowing that it was still there but at a safer distance. 

Exhaling, he leaned forward in his chair and focused back onto his hand cannon in need of repair. 

Reaching over into his toolkit, Drifter grabbed his plastic and brass hammer, thumbed the cylinder catch to open, and smacked the cylinder open. He placed his hammer back into his toolkit and replaced it with another brass brush with a cotton cloth and oil. He removed each of the bullets from their respective chambers and returned to cleaning. 

Oil to cloth, he removed the gunpowder residue and grime that had built up within the gun. He cleaned every part minus the specks of blood on the handle. 

A darkness surged within him as his fingertips touched the remnants of Eris on his handle.

Those things would come to learn what a mistake it was … to take his Moonlight away from him.

~*~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing in about 10 years. This episode is full of content opportunities. I just want to hug this man as tightly as possible.

[queenvhagar]

Thank you for answering my last questions about Rhaenyra, Westeros’ traditions and customs, and the Great Houses ☺️! If you don’t mind, I have a few more:

Does denying that the Greens’ reason for taking the Iron Throne was rooted in misogyny mean one is ignoring a blatant point of the Dance?

Is Aegon basing his claim to the Iron Throne on tradition hypocritical, given that he contradicts the same tradition with his marriage?

The "blatant point" of the Dance isn't that misogyny is bad and it's the only reason Rhaenyra lost her throne, something the show would want us to believe. Rather, the point of this conflict as it exists in the text is that the house of the dragon destroyed itself and the allure and power of dragons is ultimately destructive, to those who wield them for gain, and for innocents as well. GRRM set up the most devastating civil war in Westerosi history as one with dragons leading both sides, lead by people of privilege on both sides who sought out more power than they already had, for various reasons. The way he decided to do this was with a brother vs a sister, but again, there is much more to the Dance in terms of "the point" or deeper meaning than just "sexism exists" or even "misogyny destroyed the realm by causing a civil war." GRRM set out to make a point about the nature of power, monarchy, and dragons as ultimate weapons of war. Male primogeniture and the structure of Westerosi society favoring men is a minor aspect of that conflict, to be honest. While there is something to be said about it, it is by far not the main or "blatant point" of the conflict at all. Reducing it to such minimizes and weakens the story, which is one way HOTD fails the story.

As with all of ASOIAF, of course there is commentary about sexism, but the thematic resonance of the story is rooted in its anti-war and anti-monarchy themes that also explore "the human heart in conflict with itself" like the nature of power, the conflict between duty and love, and more. The ultimate point of the Dance is to highlight all of this on a higher, heightened level, giving both sides access to the ultimate destructive weapons in this world, but of course this was lost by the creative team and this is one of the reasons GRRM is so vocally opposing this adaptation: they've dropped all the relevant themes of the story by modifying it so drastically and focusing solely on a simplistic, palatable story of good vs evil centering around sexism, when in reality the conflict is layered, morally gray, and involving systems of power beyond sexism like classism (the huge amounts of wealth and power held by a few and the consequences of their squabble for further consolidation of power and the effects on the majority, the common folk) and racism (specifically with the story of Nettles as a non-Valyrian, Black, common born girl who claimed a dragon and drew the attention of Daemon and later the bigotry of Rhaenyra, directly leading to the God's Eye incident which fundamentally influences the end of the war) (the show could have had meaningful commentary about the Dornish via Criston as well but this was tossed aside as was any meaningful exploration of his character). HOTD also had the potential to explore ableism in a meaningful way via the characters of Larys, Helaena, and Aegon, but of course they rely on one dimensional, harmful stereotypes that solely use their disabilities to portray them as villainous, useless/incapable/infantilized, or worthy of ridicule or embarrassment.

For the second question, Aegon's marriage does actually follow precedent his own family set that was reconciled with the Faith and larger Westerosi society, and it was arranged for various reasons. The history of Targaryen intermarriage dates back to the conquerers, and then Aenys married his children, resulting in an uprising by the Faith that Maegor put down and later Jaehaerys negotiated as a tenant of "Targaryen exceptionalism." By the time that Aegon was married, his great great great grandfather had married similarly, as had his great grandfather, as had his grandfather. By this point in history the concept of Targaryen intermarriage was largely accepted/permitted by Westeros, so his own marriage wasn't seen as deviating from norm or tradition, rather following in the footsteps of his ancestors.

It was Viserys who betrothed the two and insisted upon the marriage, unlike in the show which positions Alicent as the one responsible for the pairing of her children. This was likely done by Viserys for a couple of reasons. First, his own parents were brother and sister, and he saw the pairing of his own children as following Targaryen tradition in order to consolidate power within their own house, especially since both were already dragonriders and it was likely thought best to keep the dragons in House Targaryen or at least Valyrian houses when possible to avoid future conflict. This leads to a second reason why Aegon was married to his sister: Viserys likely saw the division in his own house and wanted to prevent the Greens from finding allies in other houses via marriage pacts. Viserys was ineffective as a ruler for his general placating of both sides and inability to solve the conflict in his house, but he was not blind to its existence. Preventing Aegon, who he knew had a more solid claim based on tradition despite his naming of Rhaenyra, from marrying another noble house who might back his claim, and preventing his siblings from doing the same, likely was a way for him to theoretically avoid future conflict. This is why Aemond and Daeron, despite being of marrying age, did not have any matches at the start of the Dance. There were no further sisters/members of House Targaryen to marry them to, and Viserys wanted to isolate the Greens from alliances with other houses. So no, Aegon's claim based on thousands of generations of male primogeniture via ancient Andal custom and Aegon's marriage to his own sister do not contradict each other or expose hypocrisy regarding traditions. The marriage itself would potentially not have happened at all of the Greens themselves had any say in it, so it doesn't serve as some gotcha moment to expose Green hypocrisy.

[magickkate]

Hey there, fellow witches-in-training! Ready to learn how to fortify your energetic boundaries and protect yourself from unwanted vibes? Let's dive into the magical world of warding and shielding—essential skills for any budding practitioner. Here's the lowdown:

🌿 What is Warding?

Warding is like setting up a magical barrier around yourself or your space to keep out negative energy, entities, or influences. It's your personal energetic security system, designed to maintain harmony and protect against psychic intruders.

🔮 How to Ward:

Clear Your Space: Before warding, it's essential to cleanse your space of any lingering negativity. You can do this through smoke cleansing with herbs, sprinkling salt, or using sound vibrations with bells or singing bowls.

Set Your Intention: Decide what you want your wards to accomplish. Are you focusing on protection, privacy, or something else? Be clear and specific about your intentions.

Create Your Warding Tools: This can include crystals, charms, sigils, or even visualization techniques. Choose whatever resonates with you and feels most empowering.

Activate Your Wards: Place your chosen tools around your space or carry them with you as needed. Visualize a protective barrier forming around you, reinforcing your intention with each breath.

Reinforce Regularly: Warding isn't a one-and-done deal—it requires regular maintenance and reinforcement. Check in with your wards periodically and adjust them as needed.

🛡️ What is Shielding?

Shielding is like putting on a magical suit of armor to deflect negative energy and psychic attacks. It's all about strengthening your energetic boundaries and maintaining your inner peace amidst external chaos.

🌟 How to Shield:

Ground Yourself: Connect with the earth's energy by visualizing roots growing from your feet into the ground below. This helps you stay rooted and centered in your power.

Visualize Your Shield: Imagine a bubble or aura of protective light surrounding you, extending several feet in all directions. Envision it as impenetrable and invincible, repelling negativity like water off a duck's back.

Set Your Boundaries: Intend for your shield to only allow in positive energy while blocking out anything harmful or intrusive.

Maintain Awareness: Stay mindful of your shield throughout the day, especially in situations where you feel vulnerable or overwhelmed. Adjust its strength and size as needed to suit your surroundings.

Keep in mind, both warding and shielding are highly personal practices, so feel free to experiment and find what works best for you. Trust your intuition, stay grounded, and know that you have the power to create and maintain your own sacred space. Stay magical, my friends! 🌌✨

Sources: Sebastiani A. By Rust of Nail & Prick of Thorn. Independently Published; 2020. Wigington P. How to Magically Ground, Center, and Shield. Learn Religions. Published June 25, 2019. https://www.learnreligions.com/grounding-centering-and-shielding-4122187

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Catapult CPLT-BW-E 'EM4' (aka 'Creole')

This ‘Mech started off as an unremarkable CPLT-K2, but by the time of its first deployment, was a K2 in name only. Creole was developed in tandem with its pilot as part of the Blackwell Heavy Industries’ experimental Enhanced MechWarrior program, and was the sole such BattleMech developed and deployed, as the revelation of its pilot's existence set in motion events that would resonate beyond Helios, and ultimately help shape the early days of the new Star League... and also ensure the downfall of Blackwell itself.

Creole featured a mixed weapon loadout with answers for threats at any range, and an extensive EWAR suite to back up the well-rounded armament. What set it apart, however, was its unique cockpit configuration. Engineered specifically for use by its pilot EM4, she was as much part of the ‘Mech as the ‘Mech was part of her. A suite of proprietary Blackwell vDNI technology known as the Vehicular Advanced Neural Interface Layered Link Apparatus - or VANILLA - connected her to her pilot at such a deep level that it was hard to determine if the ‘Mech was an extension of the pilot, or the pilot an extension of the ‘Mech. In addition, Creole had cleanroom-grade cockpit filters and an airlock to accommodate its pilot's sensitivity to non-sterile environments.

Though the pair performed extremely well in all simulated environments, Operation TOUCHDOWN was the first time Creole would see an actual combat drop. After being given a clean bill of health by the SLDF MechTechs, the 'Mech would show what Blackwell’s finest - if also most unethical - minds were capable of.

(Creole was designed by yours truly, but belongs to @sapphic-design-is-my-passion / @the-emmapult. Art was done by the ever talented @cromwell300!)

TRO below the cut:

Catapult CPLT-BW-E 'EM4' (aka 'Creole')

Mass: 65 tons

Chassis: Composite Biped

Power Plant: 260 XL

Cruising Speed: 43.2 kph

Maximum Speed: 64.8 kph

Jump Jets: Standard

Jump Capacity: 60 meters

Armor: Ferro-Fibrous

Armament:

2 Micro Pulse Laser

1 Improved Heavy Large Laser

2 Heavy Machine Gun

1 Heavy Machine Gun Array

1 Snub-Nose PPC

2 Improved ATM 3

Manufacturer: Unknown

Primary Factory: Unknown

Communication System: Unknown

Targeting & Tracking System: Unknown

Introduction Year: 3153

Tech Rating/Availability: F/X-X-X-X

Cost: 17,721,688 C-bills

Type: Catapult

Technology Base: Mixed (Experimental)

Tonnage: 65

Battle Value: 1,919

Equipment Mass

Internal Structure Composite 3.5

Engine 260 XL 7

Walking MP: 4

Running MP: 6

Jumping MP: 2

Double Heat Sink 15 [30] 5

Compact Gyro 4.5

Small Cockpit 2

Armor Factor (Ferro) 211 11

Internal Armor

Structure Value

Head 3 9

Center Torso 21 32

Center Torso (rear) 10

R/L Torso 15 23

R/L Torso (rear) 7

R/L Arm 10 20

R/L Leg 15 30

Right Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm

Left Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm

Weapons

and Ammo Location Critical Heat Tonnage

2 Heavy Machine Gun CT 2 0 1.0

Heavy Machine Gun Array CT 1 0 0.25

Jump Jet RT 1 - 1.0

CASE RT 0 - 0.0

Extended-Range iATM/3 Ammo (20) RT 1 - 1.0

Standard iATM/3 Ammo (40) RT 2 - 2.0

High-Explosive iATM/3 Ammo (20) RT 1 - 1.0

Micro Pulse Laser RT 1 1 0.5

Improved ATM 3 LA 2 2 1.5

Snub-Nose PPC LA 2 10 6.0

2 Double Heat Sink LA 4 - 2.0

Targeting Computer LT 3 - 3.0

Jump Jet LT 1 - 1.0

Heavy Machine Gun Ammo (300) LT 3 - 3.0

CASE LT 0 - 0.0

Double Heat Sink LT 2 - 1.0

Micro Pulse Laser LT 1 1 0.5

Armored Cowl (Armored) HD 1 - 1.0

Nova Combined Electronic Warfare System HD 1 - 1.5

Direct Neural Interface Cockpit Modification None 0 - 0.0

Improved ATM 3 RA 2 2 1.5

CASE RA 0 - 0.0

2 Double Heat Sink RA 4 - 2.0

Improved Heavy Large Laser RA 3 18 4.0

Features the following design quirks: Battle Computer, Combat Computer, Cowl, Improved Communications, Improved Life Support, Improved Sensors, Multi-Trac, Variable Range Targeting, Cramped Cockpit, Difficult Ejection, Hard to Pilot, No/Minimal Arms, Non-Standard Parts, Prototype

[cyberbabyangell]

₊˚⊹☆my dictionary!

host speaking. i use specific words often when posting, and here are all (or most) of them and what they mean ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- disclaimer: these terms are personal to me and not official, only i use them! (i think?)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

host - soren! considered the center of all my drselves, im aware that im just like them and not that special. but it jst makes it easier for me and resonates w me more than saying "better cr self, solar system drself, OR self..."

Lunes - all of my drselves, since we all have the collective nickname "Lune"

synapse - basically used as "drselves". (e.g. my spiderverse synapse, my afkj synapse...)

hive mind - the collective of one's different versions. like..spider society? hive mind!

Qamar - the god i believe in ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚ no gender :P

Cyberspace - The intermediary of all worlds ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) its separate in two parts, innerspace and outerspace. the innerspace is my waiting room! the outer is a society.

huddle, upstar, chime - social media in the innerspace 🫶 in order, it's basically multiversal discord, tiktok+twitter+ig, and tumblr!

vortex & cadence - also softwares in the innerspace. vortex is a streaming app/site that has EVERY MEDIA that ever saw the light back in my or. cadence is a music app, and has every song in history that can be downloaded, saved in playlists etc.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

[misstallulah]

Hell as a Place of Redemption: A New Perspective through Theology and TV Series ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

In monotheistic religions, hell is traditionally seen as a place of eternal punishment where guilty souls pay for their sins in perpetual torment, separated from divine grace. This concept has deep roots in Christian theology, with references in the Bible to "eternal fire" Matthew 25:41 and the "second death" in Revelation, Rev 20:14. However, despite the rigidity of this concept, there are alternative interpretations that view hell not only as a place of suffering but also as a space for reflection and transformation. A place where souls are not eternally condemned but are guided toward understanding their mistakes, eventually moving towards paradise.

An Alternative Theological View: Hell as Purification While the concept of purgatory in Catholic doctrine offers an idea of an intermediate space between damnation and salvation, the notion that hell itself could function as a process of redemption is less explored. However, it is interesting to note that some biblical passages might suggest a less rigid view of divine justice. For instance, in 1 Timothy 2:4, it states that God "wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth." This could imply that divine will is to offer all souls a chance for redemption, even beyond death, through a process of understanding and repentance.

Additionally, some Christian theologians and mystics, such as Origen, have discussed the idea of apocatastasis, or the final restoration of all things, including sinners, to communion with God. Although this doctrine is not officially accepted by the Church, it provides an intriguing perspective that hell could be a temporary place, destined for redemption rather than eternal punishment.

Hell in TV Series: From "Lucifer" to "Hazbin Hotel" The traditional view of hell as a place of pure torture has been challenged in various contemporary TV series, where hell is reinterpreted as a place of care rather than final punishment. In Lucifer, for example, the ruler of hell, played by Tom Ellis, faces the issue of hell not as a prison where souls are tormented but as a space where they remain trapped by themselves, unable to forgive themselves and move on. It is not a place governed by absolute evil but a sort of psychological space where souls must confront their inner demons. The key phrase that resonates in the series is, "Hell doesn’t need a king, but a curator." Thus, redemption becomes a real possibility, not an illusion. In Hazbin Hotel, an animated series with dark and humorous tones, a similar concept is explored: hell is populated by damned souls, but the main idea of the protagonist, Charlie, is to create a rehabilitation center, a hotel for souls where they can redeem themselves and earn their way back to paradise. Here too, the vision of hell drastically changes: it is no longer a place of eternal damnation but of transition, where souls, through love and understanding, can rediscover their goodness and achieve a new form of salvation.

Other Series with Similar Themes Beyond Lucifer and Hazbin Hotel, other TV series have explored themes of redemption through hell or post-mortem worlds.

In The Good Place, a series that tackles the issues of morality, good, and evil, we see a completely overturned concept of paradise and hell. Souls that end up in the "bad place" (hell) are not destined to stay there forever. As the series progresses, the idea emerges that the system for evaluating souls is flawed, and that even the most damned soul can improve and redeem themselves through learning, growth, and collaboration with others. The Good Place is a great example of how even hell can transform into an opportunity for transformation, where suffering is not an end in itself but part of a process of moral and personal evolution.

The series Supernatural also touches on these themes on several occasions, exploring the nature of hell and the possibility of redemption. Various characters, including demons and evil spirits, seek and find forms of redemption throughout the series. The idea that "lost" entities can change their nature deeply touches on the theme of divine forgiveness and overcoming evil.

Theories on the Third Season of Good Omens: A Realm Uniting Good and Evil In Good Omens, the series based on the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, we already see an ironic and subversive twist on traditional religious themes. Crowley and Aziraphale, respectively a demon and an angel, form an unlikely alliance that challenges the very notion of absolute good and evil. Although there are no confirmations yet regarding the plot of the third season, one possible theory is that the two protagonists might create a realm where good and evil coexist, not as opposing forces but as complementary parts of a larger divine plan. In this place, souls are neither punished nor rewarded based on a rigid moral dichotomy but find a space to do good, learn, and grow, guided by a deeper understanding of their purpose.

Conclusion: A New Way of Seeing Hell and Redemption Modern TV shows like Lucifer, Hazbin Hotel, The Good Place, and Good Omens portray hell as more than just a realm of suffering. Instead, it's a space for self-reflection and growth, where souls confront their mistakes and seek redemption.

This shift offers a fresh take on divine justice, suggesting that redemption isn't limited to a select few but is a journey open to all, even those who've committed the gravest sins. The emphasis on learning and transformation over eternal punishment mirrors a more compassionate, nuanced view of good, evil, and spiritual balance.

Hell, then, may not be an end but a stage of growth and awareness on the path to salvation.

[transgenderer]

i know enough electromagnetics to mostly understand clever electrical stuff but little enough that it still has the magic charm

Mechanically, the cavity magnetron consists of a large, solid cylinder of metal with a hole drilled through the centre of the circular face. A wire acting as the cathode is run down the center of this hole, and the metal block itself forms the anode. Around this hole, known as the "interaction space", are a number of similar holes ("resonators") drilled parallel to the interaction space, connected to the interaction space by a short channel. The resulting block looks something like the cylinder on a revolver, with a somewhat larger central hole. Early models were cut using Colt pistol jigs.[11] Remembering that in an AC circuit the electrons travel along the surface, not the core, of the conductor, the parallel sides of the slot act as a capacitor while the round holes form an inductor: an LC circuit made of solid copper, with the resonant frequency defined entirely by its dimensions.

The magnetic field is set to a value well below the critical, so the electrons follow curved paths towards the anode. When they strike the anode, they cause it to become negatively charged in that region. As this process is random, some areas will become more or less charged than the areas around them. The anode is constructed of a highly conductive material, almost always copper, so these differences in voltage cause currents to appear to even them out. Since the current has to flow around the outside of the cavity, this process takes time. During that time additional electrons will avoid the hot spots and be deposited further along the anode, as the additional current flowing around it arrives too. This causes an oscillating current to form as the current tries to equalize one spot, then another.[12]

The oscillating currents flowing around the cavities, and their effect on the electron flow within the tube, cause large amounts of microwave radiofrequency energy to be generated in the cavities. The cavities are open on one end, so the entire mechanism forms a single, larger, microwave oscillator. A "tap", normally a wire formed into a loop, extracts microwave energy from one of the cavities. In some systems the tap wire is replaced by an open hole, which allows the microwaves to flow into a waveguide.

Cause of skin effect. A main current I flowing through a conductor induces a magnetic field H. If the current increases, as in this figure, the resulting increase in H induces separate, circulating eddy currents IW which partially cancel the current flow in the center and reinforce it near the skin.

Twin lead (in the specific sense of ribbon cable) is a form of parallel wire balanced transmission line. The separation between the two wires in twin-lead is small compared to the wavelength of the radio frequency (RF) signal carried on the wire.[2](p 24⸗1) The RFcurrent in one wire is equal in magnitude and opposite in direction to the RF current in the other wire. Therefore, in the far field region far from the transmission line, the radio waves radiated by one wire are equal in magnitude but opposite in phase (180° out of phase) to the waves radiated by the other wire, so the overlapping opposite waves cancel each other out.[2](pp 24⸗16–24⸗17) The result is that almost no net radio energy is radiated by the line.

twin leads especially are sort of obvious but also sort of magical. like. where does the energy go. i mean, back into the wire i guess. but what pushes the energy back...

[melisnonstop]

𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂

↳ 📱𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚞 (4/)

TikTok Video – Alex’s 2nd Chance Review of *Brideshead Revisited*

@acd.chronicles

(Video opens with Alex sitting on his couch with the book in hand, this time marked with tabs and notes. He smirks a little, clearly referencing his earlier statements)

Alex

"Okay, so last time I talked about *Brideshead Revisited*, I... wasn’t exactly kind to it.

(He chuckles softly, flipping through the book’s worn pages)

Alex

“I said it was a story of rich people being sad in castles, and honestly, I stand by a lot of what I said.

"But—Henry, you got me. I reread it, and yeah, I noticed more this time. I have... thoughts."

Alex

"So first off, I’ll admit, Waugh’s ability to write emotional nuance, especially between two men, is something I didn’t appreciate as much the first time around.

“There’s something undeniably beautiful about how Waugh captures queerness through subtext.

(He opens the book to an annotated page)

Alex

"'Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond languages scrawled on the walls of caves.'

“And honestly, it’s kind of... heartbreaking, seeing how much is left unsaid because it had to be, for so many reasons."

(Alex pauses, nodding as if considering the layers more)

Alex

"But here’s the thing—while I can appreciate the beauty and complexity of these relationships, I still stand by what I said in my first video.

“We do need to look at these stories critically, especially classics that were written in a different time. *Brideshead* unequivocally centers on the lives of wealthy, white, privileged characters.

“We can appreciate the artistry while also recognizing the limits of who gets to tell these kinds of stories and why they’re still held up as ‘the best we’ve got.’

“It’s important we keep pushing back on this idea that classics should be held up without critique.”

(Alex sets the book aside and smiles, wrapping up on a lighter note)

Alex

"Anyway, shoutout to Henry for making me rethink things, and I’ll admit, this second read gave me a lot to think about. Peace and love, y’all.”

↳ 📱

TikTok Video – Henry’s Review of *The City We Became* by N.K. Jemisin

@SonnetAndSpice

(The video opens with Henry sitting in a cozy setting, soft lighting, with a cup of tea steaming beside him. He smiles warmly at the camera, adjusting the book on his lap before glancing back up with a calm but enthusiastic expression)

Henry

“Hello, everyone. Welcome back to *Fox and Folio*—though today, we’re taking a bit of a detour into the future. And by ‘future,’ I mean N.K. Jemisin’s *The City We Became,* which… well, Alex might’ve just introduced me to a new all-time favorite.

(Henry chuckles softly, holding up the book with an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes, his expression like he’s still processing how much the story resonated with him)

Henry

“So, for those who haven’t read it yet, *The City We Became* is this brilliant mashup of urban fantasy, science fiction, and social commentary. It’s—well—it’s a lot of things, but most of all, it’s alive.

“It’s about New York City becoming alive—literally—and how each borough has its own avatar, these human embodiments that represent the city’s diversity, its grit, and honestly, its soul.

“The way Jemisin creates this rich, living tapestry of New York, while also exploring themes like gentrification, systemic racism, and community—it’s nothing short of genius. It feels… urgent, you know?”

(He takes a thoughtful sip of his tea, as though collecting his thoughts for a moment, then continues with a softer tone)

Henry

“The characters aren’t just representing the city—they’re *fighting* for their boroughs, for the identity of their communities. There’s this brilliant quote in the book: ‘Cities are not people, but something else altogether: cities are alive.’

"And what Jemisin does, beautifully, is show us that cities are made of the people who care for them. The ones who’ve been here the longest, the ones whose voices we need to hear most. That idea just… stuck with me."

(He runs a hand over the book's cover, a brief pause as he looks down, processing the weight of the subject)

Henry

“I’ve only been here a short while, but every day I’m more aware of how the city’s history, and its people, shape it into what it is. How painful it must be to see it change—forcefully, and sometimes, without care.

“And to be honest, it’s something I think about constantly. I’m… aware that I’m part of that problem, just by being here.”

(His voice grows a bit quieter, more introspective, as he acknowledges the weight of his own role in the city)

Henry

“This book doesn’t try to tell you how to feel, but it does ask you to *see*—to see what’s really happening, and to be mindful of your place in it.

"Jemisin doesn’t preach—she just opens your eyes. And... I think that’s the kind of narrative we need more of."

(He leans back slightly, his usual calm demeanor returning, though there’s an undeniable intensity behind his words. His passion is clear, but it’s delivered with a gentle grace)

Henry

“I genuinely think *The City We Became* is one of the most exciting, thought-provoking books I’ve read in years. If you live in New York—or even if you don’t—it’ll change the way you look at cities, at communities, and at identity itself. It’s just... something I can’t recommend enough.”

(Henry shifts slightly, a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he continues, making sure to credit Alex)

Henry

“Of course, credit where credit’s due—thank you, Alex, for pushing me to read this. I don’t think I’d have picked it up on my own, but I’m *so* glad I did.”

(He smiles softly, a bit sheepish but sincere, his gratitude genuine)

Henry

“And thank you, N.K. Jemisin, for writing a story that feels so deeply resonant. You’ve truly created something remarkable.

“As always, let me know if you’ve read it—and what you thought. I’d love to hear your perspectives on this one.

"Until next time—happy reading, and cheers."

(The video ends with Henry leaning forward slightly, giving the camera a final, knowing smile)