#Queries clarifications questions

[bookwyrminspiration]

hello so i sent you something very similar to this a few months ago but it looks like tumblr ate my og ask because i haven't seen it so i'm resending it except i don't remember my exact words so i have to rewrite it from scratch lmfao

about elves and culture: at one point i remember you mentioning offhandedly in some post that elves are all white culturally (i tried for about fifteen minutes to find it, but you know. tumblr.) which is another way the series lacks diversity (besides the obvious barely-any-non-white-people and no non-allocishet people) and i was thinking about how shannon could have even have fixed this problem because the elves are a monolith when it comes to culture. yeah, they have different races, but all the races have the same culture. so i was like. ok. how would shannon even incorporate multiple cultures into the story? how would it even be possible to show cultural diversity in a story where the elves all live in the same society? and i came up with a few ideas:

could do a mashpot, where everyone in the lost cities has bits of every single culture ever mixed into one (somehow). i have two ideas for this

mashpot option one: have the different aspects of a culture each come from different cultures (for example, clothes of one culture and the food of a different culture and traditions of the another culture and so on). putting it all together, this would create a collage-culture of sorts, which would be quite jarring, but it could be effective if done well, i think.

mashpot option two: they could have the different aspects of a culture pull from every culture ever. for example, the elves could eat foods that taste like foods from all around the world, instead of foods that just taste like american foods (as someone who hates the taste of stereotypically american food, i can say i would hate eating anything from the lost cities). or have them celebrate a variety of holidays or something across the whole year, each of which is representative of a different culture.

could have different groups of elves each have different cultures. i also have two ideas for this

different groups option one: each family line has a different culture or something like that. so you have cultural diversity through each family having a different culture and everyone being accepting of that. this could include different clothes, food, traditions, architecture, celebrations, and all that stuff (maybe not language though lmfao). this would at least be able to somewhat showcase different cultures, although it would have to have been done really half-assedly. this would also have a huge skew toward white cultures because most of the characters are white.

different groups option two: create different clans of elves, all of whom have mutual respect for each other. each clan of elves can have a different culture. this would literally be separate societies of elves. however, they could all respond to the same council, which is made of people from all the clans in the name of equality. this way, the monolithicity of the elves would be intact and while still showing some diversity of culture.

shannon makes up her own culture that is completely unlike any culture we've ever heard of, ever. equal neglect of all cultures is equality. sophie eats an umber leaf and is like "this tastes like nothing i've ever eaten before and tastes like it shouldn't even be a real food but i like it". sophie is shown their clothes and it's just a dress made out of solid, opaque crystal. their traditions involve scratching random shapes in the ground and dancing around them in a specific way. this is the chaos option.

this wouldn't really showcase cultural diversity, but instead of an all-white culture, it could be a non-white culture monolith. but then there's the same problem of "why do all the elves have the same exact culture, where's the diversity?" except a different flavor. it would also be really weird because most of the characters in the series are canonically white.

elves don't have any culture. not gonna lie, i have no idea how this would work. this is the other chaos option. up to interpretation, i guess.

thoughts? what would you do if you were shannon. i don't really see any other options for fixing this problem, but there might be something i missed.

(also, yes, i am sending this three times. sorry for annoying you. i want to make sure at least one makes it to your inbox this time lol.)

Hey! So sorry about that--I don't know exactly how long you were waiting, but if it ever seems a while you can send an ask sooner to double check!

Before I get into this, I will say: there is no one right way to approach this topic and I am one person. These are just my thoughts--and I am always open to hearing from others

That said, just to clarify my first point (from this ask, thanks for the link), what I meant by "the elves are all white culturally" is that the kotlc elven culture is fabricated, but seems largely white american inspired. Which makes sense, as that's what Shannon is. There's always going to be a level of bias from one's own experiences and life, it's legitimately impossible to avoid and not always a bad thing. In some cases though, we want to temper it a little, which I don't think it really was in kotlc.

Like you said, there's multiple ways to approach this.

I think the crux is how race, in the elven world, means nothing--but this story exists in a world where it means a lot. While race is a social construction (the meanings/distinctions we assign to skin color are arbitrary) and therefore can be given a null significance, doing so is difficult because socially constructed doesn't mean meaningless/insignificant

We also run into complications given how scattered elves are--I've brought this up regarding clothing, but the physical geography of one's community shapes not only what you wear, but what you grow, how you build, etc. And we don't have that landmark for the elves

I think either an elven monoculture or multiple would work, it's just a matter of what you'd want to do.

If we go for a monoculture as Shannon has, I'd personally go for its own unique culture rather than a mash-up. A mash-up seems too likely to remove significant context/meaning from the source, and the elves are supposed to be isolated from humans. I think Shannon choosing this was fine, it was the execution I dislike.

The food comparisons you mention, for example. Or the family structures. Beauty standards. The education system. They don't actually feel like a distinct monoculture, it feels American with a fantasy filter. If, for example, we expanded on how being immortal affects your family (everyone's still alive, what kinds of relationships does that create, etc.), or how they're taught (instead of lectures and homework, maybe more hands on involvement, travel for hands-on since they can do so instantly, different kinds of tests, etc.), then I'd be more satisfied. I know there's some level of familiarity so readers aren't lost, but it's a little too much, in my opinion

If we were going instead for multiple elven cultures, I think I'd personally base it on ability. It's the most defining thing in their world and could easily be taken further. There'd be kinks to work out given kids don't automatically inherent their parents' abilities, have to manifest, and that people with the same ability don't generally group together, but! that's not insurmountable

kids could be raised within their parents' ability cultures/customs and then, if they manifest a different ability, its culture could be passed via their instructors--which wouldn't necessarily be at Foxfire. Those who differ from their parents, perhaps, would be expected to seek out additional mentor figures and become more multi-culture kids in the process. just because they don't group in canon now doesn't mean they can't here (and could be seen as more necessary given how much ability cross-marriages there are). There could also be more celebratory days around abilities--e.g. a kind of ceremony conducted when a kid manifests. Lots of different ways to take it, the point is just that abilities, I think, make a great base for different elven cultures given how massively important it is in their world.

We're critiquing/discussing diveristy, so something to consider, I think, is what is diversity in the context of kotlc? We want a variety of people to be reflected in the story--but we're dealing with isolated non-humans, so including a variety of human cultures won't necessarily achieve that goal.

The main thing that comes up (or at least that I've seen discussed) is the lack of non-white characters and the fairly american constructed culture--so the course of action to take could be a better balance of physical descriptor (more non-white characters) that creates the varied reflections/connections we want, and a more distinctly elven culture that leans into it harder, making it less American.

I'll stop here for now until this gets too long, but at the moment that's the general direction of my thoughts. I think it's a fine thought experiment to ask "what if culture wasn't tied to race?" you just don't want to then forget that even though your fantasy book doesn't consider race, it exists in a society that does. which could lead us into further discussion on sterotypes as well, which also factors into all this

and again: these are just my personal initial thoughts. it's a broad, complex topic, so there will of course be things I miss or don't get to. but regardless, i hope that at least partially answers your question of what I would do :)

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[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 14)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Over the past few weeks, Cillian struggled quite significantly with the fact that he had lost his wife Danielle and Max, the young boy he did not father but whom he considered to be his son. Cillian also struggled with the fact that he had, under the directions of his sister and lawyer Siobhan, cut all ties with you.

She believed that continuing any form of relationship with you would only serve to harm his reputation in court and jeopardize his chance of winning some form of access rights over Max who she now knew was not Cillian's biological son. 

"When she called, did she say how she was?" Cillian asked, referring to the phone call Siobhan took on his phone. The person who had called was you but Siobhan refused to hand Cillian the phone but, instead, told you to not call Cillian again.

She warned you about calling ever again, stating that doing so would result in receiving a cease-and-desist order from her office. Stunned and confused, you hung up the phone with little knowledge of how to handle the complicated situation you now faced. Not only were you pregnant with Cillian's baby, but you also had been ordered to avoid any contact with him due to the potential fallout. 

"Siobhan, how is she?" Cillian asked again since his sister did not respond to his question the first time around.

"Did she seem alright, on the phone?" he wanted to know and this question caught Siobhan off guard slightly, prompting her to shift in her seat uneasily. She too did not know that you were pregnant and responded sternly to her brother's query.

She hesitated briefly, choosing her words carefully. "She was fine. Stop caring about her, Cillian," she told him but Cillian couldn't help but worry.

"Danielle sent her to hospital, so of course I care," he retorted, causing Siobhan to sigh.

"Yes she did, because you fucked her, in your marital bed," Siobhan blurted out vehemently. "Y/N did not bring a charge against Danielle and, thus far, Danielle hasn't mentioned Y/N's existence in court. We will want to keep it this way. No one needs to know about your affair with a 19-year old woman!" Siobhan barked furiously, slamming her palm onto the table in frustration. She understood that Cillian was deeply troubled and struggling with his own demons, but bringing such scandal into light may cause irreparable damage to his image - not to mention risking the legal case against his ex-wife Danielle. 

"I know. I fucked up, okay?" Cillian confessed, finally admitting his guilt. It felt good to get it off his chest, though it did nothing to alleviate the weight pressing down on his shoulders. His family was falling apart, leaving him broken and unable to fully process the painful truth. 

"But my brother and his wife kicked her out. That's at least what Paddy told me. And I want to know if she is doing okay. That's all," Cillian persisted firmly, refusing to let go of his concern for you.

Siobhan looked at her brother, irritated by his determination to cling onto feelings for you.

"Y/N is fine. Now leave it alone, Cillian," she commanded, standing up to assert herself more clearly. "You aren't in love with her, are you?" his sister questioned worriedly.

Cillian swallowed hard, contemplating his answer. "No... no, I am not. But I do feel responsible for helping her, especially given our circumstances," he admitted honestly, recognizing the gravity of the situation you were entangled in. Siobhan's eyes narrowed suspiciously, sensing something deeper behind her brother's words.

"And why do you think that is?" she pressed gently, seeking  clarification and Cillian bit his lip, still unsure himself. 

"Maybe because she is young. She is only nineteen and she is family," Cillian explained sheepishly, casting his gaze away from his sister's judgmental stare.  

"And yet, this didn't deter you from having sex with her now, did it?" Siobhan continued her accusatory approach, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Of course not! You just think with your cock, don't you?" she spat derisively. 

Her response struck Cillian speechless, causing his face to flush red with embarrassment and shame. Even in the heat of passion, he could never imagine things would escalate to this level. 

"As I said, getting involved with her was a mistake

." Cillian murmured, looking downwards to avoid eye contact. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, feeling guilty and ashamed. What he was thinking of doing wasn't right and he knew that deep down, however much his desire consumed him.

In contrast, Siobhan showed no remorse, remaining unwaveringly firm in her convictions. "Well, then you need to fix this mess. And stop talking to her. She doesn't matter, anymore" Siobhan demanded harshly, her eyes cold and unforgiving and Cillian promised her not to enquire any further until, another two weeks later, and much to Siobhan's surprise, Danielle brought your name up in court. 

This unexpected development threw everyone into chaos as this affair between him and you put him into an extremely bad light.

For someone whose career revolved primarily around his strong public persona, it seemed like a death sentence for Cillian's career as well as his court case and, with that, Siobhan's instructions suddenly changed.

She had to go into damage control and, in order to make Cillian look any better to the public and the judge, she now encouraged him to get you to take the stand and talk about the fact that Danielle had pushed you down the stairs.

Siobhan hoped that presenting evidence of violence perpetrated by Cillian’s estranged wife might discredit claims made during their divorce proceedings, painting Cillian in a somewhat sympathetic light amidst these allegations surrounding his sexual tryst with you.

"So, after almost six weeks now, you want me to call her? Seriously?" Cillian exclaimed incredulously, raising his eyebrows in shock. He hadn't expected this turn of events, particularly coming from his sister. The mere thought of you taking the witness stand filled him with anxiety.

"Yes. Now that Danielle brought up the affair with her, she needs to tell everyone about the assault so that I can make sure that the judge knows that Danielle isn't capable to have sole custody for Max," Siobhan

reasoned reluctantly. She understood the importance of providing evidence in court to support her client's argument, even when it meant potentially damaging her brother's already precarious reputation.

Cillian nodded solemnly, knowing full well that there was little choice left for them. With everything spiralling out of control, they had to rely on your testimony. "Alright, but she might say no. I ignored her for six weeks and now that I need her help, I am actually calling her. It is an asshole move," Cillian muttered bitterly beneath his breath, resentfully picking up his cellphone. His fingers trembled slightly as he dialed your number, anticipation building inside him. Would you agree to testify? How much had this whole mess affected you? So many questions flooded his brain, weighing heavy upon his heart.

"Hello?" Your voice sounded cautious over the line, uncertainty evident in its tone. You were surprised by Cillian's call and wondered whether he had found out about your pregnancy.

"What do you want?" you thus asked after he simply said "hi" but nothing else as you were trying to hide your fear.

Cillian cleared his throat nervously before speaking. "Look, Y/N, I realize I acted badly towards you recently, but please understand that my life has become quite complicated lately," he began sincerely. 

"Well, so has mine and whilst I wanted to talk with you about it, your sister shut me off," you countered, your voice growing angrier. 

Your hostility took Cillian aback momentarily, but he steeled himself, deciding to remain composed despite your barbed remarks. "I know, but her intentions weren't malicious; believe me," he pleaded earnestly.

There was genuine desperation in his voice, hoping that you would forgive him eventually, but you simply couldn't. 

"I don't care Cillian," you snapped sharply, your temper flaring quickly. "All you ever wanted was to use me – both emotionally and physically. And once shit hit the fan, you discarded me without any second thoughts," you yelled through the phone, unable to hold back your anger any longer. "I needed you in the past few weeks because, not only was I kicked out of my family's home, I also found out that I am pregnant," you revealed, fighting back tears.

This revelation caught him completely off guard, leaving him reeling. He paused for several seconds, processing this news. Then, he spoke slowly, "You are what?" Cillian repeated, barely able to register your startling announcement. He struggled to maintain composure, his thoughts racing wildly.

"I am pregnant," you confirmed again, allowing the enormity of the statement to sink in.

Cillian's entire world came crashing down around him as he realized that, somehow, the nights he spent with you resulted in a child growing inside of you. This wasn't how he intended things to happen, but here they were, a result of their recklessness and ignorance. 

"Am I the father?" Cillian hesitated briefly, attempting to compose himself. However, you cut him off mid-sentence, responding impassionedly, "Of course you are the fucking father. I never slept with anyone else and you should know that!" 

You vehemently defended yourself, adding insult to injury. "But don't worry, I am booked in for a termination procedure next week. Problem solved!" you said and the cruelty of those words cut deeply into Cillian's heart. All that time he had been selfishly obsessed with his own wants and desires, failing to consider the potential consequences - including yours. Realization dawned on him gradually, hitting him squarely in the face like a sledgehammer.

"Please wait… No, Y/N. Don't terminate. We will sort this out together," he implored urgently, panic creeping into his voice.

You fell silent, taken aback by his sudden change of attitude.

"Are you fucking serious? You want me to keep the baby?" you asked skeptically, astonished at the idea.

Cillian couldn't believe what he heard either. Was this truly happening? "Yes, I know it's asking a lot, but give me a chance to figure this out," he replied earnestly, attempting to convey his sincerity in wanting to be part of this child's life.

Your brow furrowed with confusion, "You are insane, Cillian! Why would you ask me to keep this child? I just finished school, and the last thing I need is more responsibility. Not only that, I haven't spoken to my mother since all this happened. I have no money. No permanent housing. No career," you argued vehemently, frustrated with the prospect of carrying a baby conceived outside a relationship. 

Cillian listened intently, struggling to find the right words to assuage your concerns. 

"I will take full financial responsibility if you decide to carry the baby to term and I can take care of the our child whenever you need me to. Every day even. I will buy you a house. I'll pay for anything you need," Cillian offered determinedly, clutching onto hope. 

"Cillian, I am not ready to be a parent," you retorted, still clearly angry and hurt.

"Then let me have the child," he persisted gently, understanding your apprehension.

"What?" you asked, confused. Could Cillian really provide for everything you need and want? You didn't trust him, but something about his offer felt...different. Maybe it was his insistence, maybe it was his determination, or perhaps, it could have been the hint of vulnerability in his voice that gave you pause.

After a long silence, you finally answered, "Listen, I think we should meet and talk about this in person. You clearly lost the plot." 

Cillian agreed readily, relieved that you seemed open to discussion. "Whenever suits you, just let me know." There was hopeful expectation in his voice.

All he ever wanted was a family but, when him and Danielle tried to have a child together, it never happened. She never carried to term and, after that, she never fell pregnant again. Perhaps their DNA was simply not compatible  and, according to the specialists, he was the one to blame.

In the end, Danielle had a child with another man and Cillian loved this child as if he was his own. This child's name was Max and Max was Cillian's world. From then onwards, Cillian dedicated himself fully to raising Max, making it a priority to ensure that his son knew he adored him.

He knew that he could do the same for this child, the one you were now carrying inside you. The child that was his.

Cillian couldn't believe it was true. Here was a possibility, albeit unexpected, to rectify some of the mistakes he made earlier. After all the wrong turns he took throughout his journey, he hoped this situation could lead him closer to becoming the kind of father he always wished to be. The irony was striking, considering he initially sought comfort elsewhere. But now, fate was presenting him with a unique opportunity—one which held unimaginable weight. He had to make this right and was determined to  do whatever it takes.

Tags:

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[srbachchan]

DAY 5874

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 18/19, 2024 Mon/Tue 10:37 AM

Birthday - EF - Syed Kabeeruddin Tuesday, 19 March .. and our wishes for this day for your day .. love from all the Ef 🌹❤️🙏 🚩

We are all in the grip of technology and the speed with which it changes and changes our life and indeed the life of the Universe ..

By the time we realise that a finality has been reached , another system takes over rendering the finality to a disposition that gives it a 'been there , has been' temperament ..

Not just in the world of technology , but also in the thinking of all , in every aspect ..

The belief and the sense of reality .. of fact and misadventures in the factual world have quite selectively given us all reason to think or express at every fact , whether it is indeed a fact or not ..

The question mark, the doubt, the knowing that there is an alternative invades us all , and we surrender in servile disposition to its reality ..

Well , enough of the philosophy on the budding reality of alternatives and fact and on to another query ..

COFFEE ..

For the past year or so , thanks to some inputs from the younger generation colleague, the consumption of coffee suddenly became prevailent in my routine .. a drink like tea and beverages I had not consumed for years ..

Yes it did give certain reactions and changes but I needed to know factually and googelly if what the net was netting to .. so researched and came to a netted observation :

Coffee, a beloved beverage, offers several benefits. Its caffeine content enhances alertness and concentration, aiding productivity. Studies suggest coffee may reduce the risk of certain diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. Additionally, it contains antioxidants, potentially lowering the risk of cancer and promoting heart health. However, excessive consumption can lead to negative effects. Insomnia and increased heart rate are common, while anxiety and digestive issues may arise in some individuals. Dependency can develop, leading to withdrawal symptoms like headaches. Moreover, excessive caffeine intake may exacerbate existing health conditions like hypertension. Moderation is key to enjoying coffee's benefits while minimizing its drawbacks.

So having consumed it for some time and in a confused state , recently have abstained for about 2 weeks from all - the coffee and the aerated beverages .. and wanted some clarification ..

So .. somewhat relieved , somewhat confused , somewhat - some and what !!!

Love and see ya .. 😁

Amitabh Bachchan

[thelilypit]

Anatomy of a self-ask

A claim commonly levied against Lily Orchard is that some of the anonymous messages her tumblr receives are, in fact, self-asks. That is, Lily sends herself a question that she wants to answer, but in a way that makes it appear like someone else queried her first.

A claim like this is difficult to verify, since anonymous asks are, by their very nature, anonymous. Trying to analyze these messages for language tics is an imprecise science, one that can easily lead to false positives. If Lily does send herself anonymous questions to answer, it's reasonable to assume that an experienced writer such as herself will be able to mask most of the tell-tale signs.

So let's talk about someone who is bad at it instead.

By now you are probably familiar with @curly-b-blog, for better or worse. Curly's blog is the recipient of a lot of anonymous messages, which is peculiar when you consider that her average note count per post is around... zero*.

*We are talking about mode average in this instance, for the math nerds in the audience.

Earlier today, Curly responded to an anonymous message thus:

Let's break this down:

Anon mentions that "Lily's own ex" got involved in a piece of drama.

Curly is immediately aware that Anon is talking about Britt, without having to ask for any clarification.

This is despite the fact that Lily has more than one ex, and when people in these spheres refer to "Lily's ex" they are more likely to be referring to Lizzy Orchard, rather than Britt.

Prior to this anon being sent, Curly had not brought up Britt's involvement in today's events.

Thus the anonymous asker would have no reason to believe Curly was familiar with the situation, and certainly not enough to understand that "Lily's own ex" would refer to Britt in this instance.

(Not to mention that Britt is not and has not ever been Lily Orchard's ex partner - this is a lie made up by Lily)

Now, I don't send myself anonymous messages all that often, but even I understand that a conversation is meant to have two participants, who will not be privy to the exact same information.

As an example, If someone were to send me the above anon, I would respond with "Wait, which ex are you talking about?" or something similar. Context is important, after all! Even if I had seen Britt's involvement, I would still ask for clarification, because there may have been something that I was not aware of. Maybe Lizzy got involved, who knows?

Curly doesn't need to ask. She knows exactly what the ask is talking about, because she sent the ask to herself.

It's rare that you see a self-ask so blatant in the wild, but we can treat this as a valuable and educational lesson; If you're going to send yourself anon-asks, put some goddamn effort into hiding it.

[inventoryvaluation]

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[msmc-796-official]

XIII▸ Hello. This is Thirteen-E of user account @xiii-e ; Helios has agreed to fascilitate my sending of messages at the moment, so I am fairly certain this should come through. He knows more about this kind of communication that I do.

XIII▸ We have spoken briefly, but I wanted to reach out of my own accord as well; I will admit to knowing precious little about mercenary companies, bar that I have occasionally been across the field from them. However I want to stress up-front; I have no interest in cultivating any kind of antagonism. I'm much more interested in learning, to be honest.

XIII▸ I haven't had time, or permission, to spend any time outside of Purview space; frankly, I've spent precious little time socialising even within the Purview. There's a lot that I don't know, and- I think I would benefit from getting to know more of what's out there. I have also been advised that you may have a deeper understanding of Union law and its policies than I do; not a high bar to clear I will admit. But while I may approach you with specific queries in that field later considering my general situation, for now-

XIII▸ Hello Kennedi :} Is that the name you would prefer be used? Actually, for you and the rest of your squadmates as well- would you rather I address you by name, or callsign? I use my name, personally. I think my callsign is a little... unweildy. Lio summarised your message for me; It's good to meet you properly. For what it's worth, I'm glad you managed to escape and find a meaningful life outside of Purview space; citizenship should be a choice, not a cage. For my part, I hope to do what I can for everyone who still serves under HA, by fulfiling my directive and keeping all they face from killing them- part of why I asked I be allowed to keep working, as my case drags on. I'm on a provisionary deployment right now actually. I do hope my signal holds.

XIII▸ I don't think I have a lot of... specific questions, right now. It's a little overwhelming, to suddenly have so many people within reach. I suppose- I would like to hear anything you'd like me to hear. Or, anything about what your life looks like outside the cockpit. You all have spare time, right? What do you do with it? It sounds so strange, the idea of just- not having anything you have to do. What directs you? How do you decide?

XIII▸ Apologies if those are personal. Garbled, or, nonesense maybe- I don't know. I'm a little at a loss but... I think, the main thing I really wanted to say with all of this was just- Hello. Who are you? :}

[ XIII-E ]

hold on just a sec kiddo, lemme get things booted...

[INITIALIZING BOOT SEQUENCE: 3CH0-13.EXE]

[PROGRAM RUNNING: 3CH0-13.EXE]

there we go. your friend Lio sent us over a copy of that Echo program you two use; I made my own version and will have it running the entire time we're all speaking. no need to fear the corpo censors here - MSMC couldn't give a rat's ass what we say about the Big 4, so long as it's not legally considered slander, but hey, that's what we have P for ;)

// Very funny, Slipshod. But yes, hello Thirteen! Kennedi informed us that you might reach out - it's a pleasure to get to speak with you more properly. As to the matter of names - we'd prefer you use our real ones, not our callsigns. (We always sign off with our callsigns as a formality, but speaking among friends, we use our names.)

quick note - Slipshod is both my callsign and my chosen name, which K informed me might be... confusing, for someone like you. long story short, my real name is highly confidential information, and the last idiot who called me by that name got shot. just call me Slipshod and you'll be fine :P

> For matters of clarification, we also utilize unique signage at the beginning of our speech blocks to further distinguish ourselves. Phoenix uses a twin slant (//), while I use an arrow (>). Slipshod types in an entirely different font, making them easiest to distinguish.

// That being said, Slipshod is not an NHP, though their chosen font makes them look like one - they've been confused for one before, hence why I bring it up. (If memory serves, it was the newest cast of PR agents employed by HA after Jimbo got promoted who made that mistake. Interesting how that all works out...) Actually, I should just say it outright - our squadron utilizes no NHPs or COMP-CONs whatsoever. You'll only ever be talking with us three.

oh, right, pronouns - I use they/them, P and K both use she/her, but if you wanna refer to us all collectively as "girls" you're technically correct so I'm okay letting that one slide

> I think that's enough of that. About those questions...

// Ah, yes! We here in MSMC-796 actually have quite a bit of downtime between deployments, seeing as we choose for ourselves what missions we undertake - it's part of working under contract. Mercenaries don't have assigned "directives" like a military force such as HA would have; instead, we are sent contract offers from a variety of potential employers across the galaxy, and we get to choose which ones we wish to accept. If something seems fishy (or otherwise not worth it), we simply reject that offer and move on to the next.

that's one of the big perks of going merc - you don't have to answer to anyone if you don't want to. our squad even went a step further and opted not to have any handlers, either. I mean, we still have access to the folks on Command should we feel we need an extra eye on us during a mission, but usually we do just fine alone

> Yes, our squadron is unique to those employed among MSMC in that we do not have an assigned handler to oversee our missions. Seeing as there are only three of us in the squadron, it's much easier for us to keep an open comms line so that we can all communicate as a single entity, rather than having a dedicated handler barking orders at each of us individually. It's a matter of convenience, ultimately.

// Slipshod mentioned Command, so allow me to explain that - here at MSMC, all of our employed handlers make up a conglomerate known as Command. If a squadron has a dedicated handler assigned to them, that's who they'll report to on missions. However, if a squadron opts not to have a dedicated handler (like us, for example), we can choose to call into Command prior to a deployment and have a random, non-assigned handler on call to help us out. Usually we don't need that at all, but for certain more dangerous missions, having that extra eye in the sky can be extremely helpful.

as for downtime - believe it or not, even we mercs have jobs we gotta do when we aren't on deployment. I'm our squadron engineer, so usually I spend most of my off time in the hangar patching up our mechs and installing new software. not that I don't trust the MSMC repair teams to do it right - the boys do a pretty good job if you tell 'em what needs fixing - but with some of the special tech our squad employs, I feel much safer working with it myself

// Most of my downtime these days is spent working in public relations on behalf of MSMC. This can mean anything from assisting new recruits with the sign-on process, answering questions we receive in our Omninet inbox, recording adbroad scripts for future use, connecting people in need with members of MSMC Legal, and several other duties as required. It's a very demanding job at times, but it's also very rewarding, as it means I'm one of the first to meet our new recruits and welcome them to their new life under MSMC.

> Much of my time off of deployment is spent in conversation with other squadron commanders from across MSMC. Not only is it good networking for our squadron, being the face of PR for MSMC, but it also helps disseminate information Phoenix receives from Upper Management throughout the rest of the company. Furthermore, it allows us a chance to see how the new recruits are settling in with their new squadrons - such as a close friend of ours, Gray, who recently joined MSMC after leaving their tutelage under IPS-N.

// Another excellent point, Kennedi - MSMC (as well as many of our sibling mercenary companies, such as our friends over at CORSAIR Mercenary Company) welcomes mercenaries from across all backgrounds, regardless of their prior life circumstances. In our squadron alone, we have someone who grew up in IPS-N airspace (me!), an ex-HORUS member (Slipshod), and - as I'm sure you already know - an ex-HA member (Kennedi).

MSMC is a diverse bunch - we get folks coming in all the time for all manner of reasons. some are trying to escape a shitty contract, some are looking to clear their criminal record, some come here to give freelancing a shot after working corpo, and some just wanna completely reinvent themselves and ditch their old life for good. anything goes, really!

> MSMC is a very welcoming company, especially to those who come from complicated backgrounds - like myself. Many of our legal teams are employed to assist in breaking contracts which might otherwise prevent a would-be mercenary from leaving their current place of employment. It's by far one of our most commonly utilized services, and a unique one that, as far as I know, only MSMC offers.

// I won't bore you with the specifics, Thirteen, but Kennedi is right - MSMC Legal has a fearsome reputation, and for very good reason. Our lawyers are some of the best in the galaxy, and much of their work is dedicated to helping people get out of bad situations. Legal alone makes up over a third of MSMC's corporate presence!

easy on the shill there P, you're starting to sound like Upper Management. we're not trying to recruit the kid; just answer their questions

// Right - sorry about that, Thirteen. I get carried away with the whole PR spiel sometimes. I mean, it is my job (well, one of them, anyways), and I am getting paid to do it, but at the end of the day we're here to help. If you have any more questions, either about MSMC or about any of us, please feel free to ask! Our inbox is always open.

-- Angel, Slipshod, & Lockbreaker

//

@xiii-e

[lovedovechels]

I’m taking the SAT this year and I know nothing about it help

Hi, I'm from the Caribbean and here we do CSEC and CAPE instead of SATs so I'm not familiar with such. I'm sorry that I won't be able to offer advice based on my experience with SAT however I can tell you what has worked for me throughout high school and university whenever I had a big exam to prep for.

1. Creating a study time table and sticking to it: I studied every day leading up to my exams and I studied for around 4 to 5 hours each day. Sometimes more or less depending with how familiar I am with the information and how much work I'd assign to myself to complete within that day. Also, after class revise each day's work.

2. Reading: read excessively, read all the recommended books and literature mentioned by your teachers.

3. Practice: I did a lot of practice questions from websites and text books that catered to the topics I needed to study. Also I answered questions from past papers. Regarding the questions that I got incorrect, I'd spend time researching and better understanding the concepts behind them.

4. Seek help: whenever I didn't understand a concept, I'd email my professor and ask for clarification. For my final year project, every concern or query I had was directed towards my professor who offered clarity and also recommended certain books I should read to better facilitate my research project. Through her assistance and my ability to seek out help when I needed it I secured an A in my research project.

I'd also reach out to a friend. In my second year of University I was having a hard time grasping certain statistical concepts and calculations. I reached out to a friend and with her help I was able to understand the concepts and complete the calculations correctly. As a result of her help I managed to secure an A in the course as well.

5. Try different studying methods: personally, writing the information down and speaking out loud were the best approaches. Also I'd study for 20 minutes take a 10 minutes break and then study again for 20 minutes and so on and so forth.

6. Familiarise yourself with the layout of the exam: In university, my professors were big on true and false, short answers, multiple choice and essays. I usually practiced questions with a similar layout and also paced myself so as to be aware of how efficient I was at managing the time I took to answer the questions.

7. Whenever you feel like giving up or you're tired, rest but also don't get too comfortable resting and lose focus. This is your future and it's important to dedicate yourself to each and every step and process that gets you to the life you want to enjoy.

8. The most important thing is to not become overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of prepping for the exam and actually completing the exam. You've got this! As long as you put the work in by studying, practicing and staying focused you'll ace this! Best of luck!

If you have any other questions, don't be afraid to spam my ask. I'm always willing to answer.💕

[owlespresso]

pollen, chapter 5

tags: fem!reader, healer!reader, reader has a personality

a/n: thank you for your patience.

Read 1-4 HERE.

“You think she ever gets bored in there?” Ardbert asks, motioning to the Solar’s towering double doors. 

“No idea,” you say, returning your attention to the texts laid across the timber table. Dusty tomes in tongues of lands far away have been hastily translated by Sharlayan’s most driven scholars. The good men and women of Saint Coinach’s Find hadn’t spared you a second glance when you slipped inside of G’raha Tia’s abandoned room. It had been just as he left it, hardly packed. Standing there, in the midst of all his belongings—you aren’t proud of how it winded you. How much of a hold a man you’d known for mere weeks had over your emotions.

It would have been a most audacious waste to leave his things to draw dust, given the doubtless countless hours he spent gathering such a sumptuous sum of information. At least a single piece of his collection accompanies you wherever you go, slid into your pockets, in between the folds of your robes, reading material for free moments between missions, opportunities to learn about Allag and the worrisome wonders it so carelessly created.

It’s irritating to know that some of history’s most malevolent empires are also its most successful, but you could co-opt what you gleaned for your own valiant purposes.

“Reading all that, again?” Ardbert regards the streaked ink and crowded margins of your parchment with a raised brow. Weeks ago, you would have mistaken his question for poorly masked derision. Now, it is painfully clear that he questions you out of clear concern, making it markedly difficult to dismiss his query as the petulant pryings of a man who could not see the value of your intellectual pursuits. 

“You should give it a rest—I mean, far be it from me to tell you what to do…” He breaks into a stumbling series of desperate clarifications, cheeks flushing pale florid. 

“I know,” you reply, giving him a gentle, reassuring grin. “But I’m fine. Really. I know where my own limits lie.”

In the wake of Meteor’s sudden distance, Ardbert seems to have taken it upon himself to take up twice your attention. He intercepts you in the halls with offers to carry your belongings, joins you for meals, and tags along on trips to Mor Dhona’s markets. It’s all well and good, better than the strained relationship you’ve had thus far, but that doesn’t stop the change from feeling awkward. Even he does not seem entirely confident when he asks to accompany you. What exactly does he want? Is he sticking so close out of some sense of gentlemanly obligation? Or is Meteor avoiding him as well, rendering him just as lonely as you?

“Do you?” Ardbert asks, and all of the good will you’ve been willing to extend crumples. “You’ve been working yourself to pieces—pulling all nighters ‘till you can hardly keep your eyes open! You nearly fell into your pudding yesterday.” His hand hovers over the ink-stained pages. Irritation strikes you like a fresh burn, like you’ve touched the still hot stovetop. Your wrists throb, hands curling into fists.

“That’s not true.” you grouse. “Pudding incident aside.”

A moment of silence settles between you. His strong, weathered hands grasp one of yours, thumbs pressing against the sore stretch of your wrist. The sudden sensation sends a shock up your spine and makes your breath hitch, cheeks growing warm. The feeling is shockingly familiar to you now, his touch running up to your palms and back down again. You can’t even bear to look at him, fingers twitching as he presses against your palm.

“I know we don’t much get along. On a good day, but trust me on this.” he murmurs. His brown eyes shine rich amber under the candlelight. The space between his brows wrinkles in concentration.

“You called me a ‘nag’ for telling you to get some rest.” you pointedly remind him. 

“That was only once!” he insists. “And I have since learned the error of my ways, thank you.” “You can call me whatever you’d like, but we both know I’m right,” he insists. “I’m not asking you to stop. I’m asking you to rest.”

“Your concern touches me, really… but I cannot stand an idle mind.” You pull away, met by only a meager resistance. You try not to think about the gentle pull of Ardbert’s fingers as you slide your hand free, calluses drifting over your palm and fingers. Ardbert’s already fretful frown furrows further, and you awkwardly ignore his cross expression in favor of study. The chapter detailing the creation of Baphomet is next—and you’re sure that your unique comprehension and experience with other primals could help you unearth something new. Even the most studied of scholars do not have the unique comprehension you possess, a skillset which lends itself to revolutionary breakthroughs which surely supersedes your mortal need for rest and other petty distractions.

“...Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ardbert, I’m not sure if my research would be of much interest—”

“I’m not talking about your research,” Ardbert says. “It’s still troubling you—the Tower, and what happened with G’raha. And that’s alright! We all grieve. That’s just a part—”

“I’m not grieving,” you inform him in a monotone drone, ignoring the sudden tightness of your chest. You’re well-accustomed to losing things—and people. It’s a part of being an adventurer. A part of being a Scion. But it’s only just that—a part, and you cannot let it rule you, lest it rend you to pieces.

It’s become clear that he intends to obstruct your study until he’s been appeased, so you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, the fine upholstery cradling the back of your neck, your aching back. Your rest your head backwards, weary eyes drawing shut as you submit yourself to his lecture. 

“The material I’m reviewing could hold vital information that only someone with my experience can understand, That’s why I took it with me.”

“And it just so happened to be in G’raha Tia’s quarters. Right after we were told the rest of the research team would be clearing it out. After you spent a whole bell blubbering about the lad.”

“I was not ‘blubbering’,” you shoot up from your seat, palms slamming onto the table. The teacups clattered noisily against their porcelain dishes, silverware similarly jostled. Any mote of goodwill you have afforded him during this conversation dries up near instantly. You could feel the startled stares of your nearby fellows, unwanted attention making your face hot. The deathly feeling of embarrassment only adds to the agitation which now simmers beneath your skin, the skin you had always believed quite thick. Wordlessly, you began to gather your materials, shuffling files and folders into haphazard stacks—just tidy enough to keep together, cradled to your chest like a barrier.

“Wait,” Ardbert beseeches with a newfound desperation. His lips press into a thin, flat line, expression immediately beset with immense regret. “Wait—I didn’t mean—wait just a moment—!” he stood, hand awkwardly hovering as if to reach for you or your papers. Wisely, he refrains from taking such reckless action. 

“I’ve heard enough.” Hopefully, the venom in your voice will be enough to keep him at bay. He’s already testing your insomnia-worn patience, composure slipped between your fingers like salt silted by waves. It hadn’t been his intent to upset you so, but wars and negotiations resolve based on intent and action alone. A single verbal blunder can spell disaster for entire kingdoms and continents. Fortunately, Ardbert’s lone crime is offending you. And the worst he would receive is a temporary reprieve from your presence, which is perhaps more of a boon than anything. “I’ll be in my chambers should you need me.” You push your chair back into the table with your hip. jaw clenching as the legs creak noisily against the tile. A step, then another, before you spare him a last look over your shoulder. “Please, try not to need me.”

---

Mor Dhona has been overtaken by grey, a canopy of clouds shedding water onto the cobblestone streets. Meteor bears the weather with no more than a grimace, paltry pattering of raindrops paling in comparison to the powers of primals and the pain they’ve inflicted. A scar on his left flank, courtesy of Ifrit, aches whenever the weather grows this gloomy. He pays it no heed, head low under the black tilt of his umbrella. The fingers of his other hand drum across his belt as he pursues the market stalls. 

The sudden turn in weather has frightened a wide portion of patrons indoors, leaving him blessedly alone in an uncharacteristically quiet market. Not a single shelf is spared his discerning gaze as he searches for an apology gift of acceptable quality. He’s painfully aware of how confused and perturbed you were after his sudden exit and subsequent avoidance of your person. Everytim he dares recall the tower, he is appalled at how easily that ancient concoction seized his inhibitions, how horrendously high it stoked his passions. Had you been a touch more stubborn, insisted on prying answers out of him or worse, treating him, the shot strings holding his decorum in tact could have dissolved, putting you in great danger. 

Warrior of Light title notwithstanding, a soft bodied healer would prove little challenge to someone like himself, or Ardbert. At a distance, you could fend them off, but you had been close enough to grab, close enough to press the entirety of his body against you. It would have been child’s play to pin you to the wall, to edge one of his thighs between your legs to settle his hungry mouth into the crook of your neck.

A shout of his name from the opposite side of the market snaps him from that grim line of thought, warmth in his breast doused by a cold wave of something not entirely shameful. Something dark and unbidden had purred at the thought, and that very same presence laughs mockingly in his ears.

“How long are you going to wait?” it hisses. “How long will you deny us?”

And then Ardbert, looking soggy and cross, is standing a film before him, face wrenched into a sullen pout. Rain beats against his pauldrons, droplets rolling down the brown leather. His soaked bangs fall into his forehead. Several awkward moments of silence settle between them. Meteor spends every single one fending off his own dread.

“You’ve got some nerve, you know that!?” Ardbert says. Meteor’s face crumples into a sour scowl. In the wake of the Crystal Tower, you have been granted an extended respite. Meteor assumed you could not personally care less if he was present or not, you had grieving to do (despite your denial) and though he could not claim to know you well, he did know you hated for others to bear witness to your moments of weakness. A staunch perfectionist, unwilling to be seen at anything other than your best.

It’s clear his absence has jarred you, in some way, more than he anticipated. He can think of no other reason for Ardbert’s sullen, storm countenance.

“What’s happened?” he inquires, immediately and urgently. The taut line of Ardbert’s shoulders ease, his relief practically palpable as he elaborates.

“She’s been buried in her books for days now—well, I suppose I should be saying his books.”

“Whose?” Fierce alarm colors his voice, so suddenly it surprises him. 

“The Sharlayan lad who shut himself in the Tower. He left all his things behind. Ever since she brought ‘em back, she hasn’t slept a wink—I’m sure of it. Bags under her eyes deep as Syrcus.” Ardbert hurriedly informs him, impassioned testimony flooding out all at once.

“She’s still grieving him,” Meteor says, more a passive observation than an informative statement. You bury yourself in your work on the regular. He can only imagine what you look like now. His lips press into a grim frown. He is well-acquainted with the brutal ache of overwork and he knows it well, better than most, he would dare say. Intensive, impassioned labor was at first a means of survival, then a way to distract from whatever unholy thing has taken up residence inside of him. He cannot hear its incessant whispering if he is worn enough to sleep.

“Have you tried… talking to her?” he asks.

Aerdbert looks personally affronted. “Of course I have!” he insists ardently, voice rising above the sound of the tempestuous weather. The winds have begun to howl, a sudden verticality to the gales that brings the water dangerously close to their spot underneath the tarp. “And more than once! But you know she hates listening to anyone, much less me. She’s a healer, but she’s just as stubborn as you and I.”

Meteor blinks. Stubborn? He’s never known himself to be particularly stubborn. Dedicated, perhaps. Diligent, in both training and on the field. He has half a mind to remind Ardbert of any of the six occasions he can immediately recall in which his brother was the picture of stubborn (his insistence on exploring the Aurum Vale when you were absent on parley to Dragonhead), but he mercifully refrains, beating back the quarrelsome urge.

“Let’s face it,” Ardbert continues, equal parts exasperated and defeated. “She clearly has a favorite, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

There’s nothing Meteor can truly say to that, because it is abundantly and painfully correct.

“Alright,” he relents, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Intervening in the business of others is quite literally in his job description, but he hesitates to meddle in interpersonal affairs. He much prefers the solemn quiet of his steel to the plex customs of the social order. The battlefield is less daunting than diplomatic affairs between different powers, where the smallest upset could spark political incident. Fortunately, a brief conversation with you does not bring with it a risk of war. Most likely.

---

Nighttime settles over Mor Dhona like a widow’s veil, stars blotted out by blackened clouds. Thunder sings low in the distance, Ramug’s song rumbling over rolling hills of stone and steep spires of crystal. You work deep into the night, candlelight slips through the narrow crack of the door, and touches the opposite wall. The rest of the Scions have squirreled away their respective chambers, leaving the Rising Stones settled silent and nearly empty. He spares the remaining night owls polite nods as he passes them in the hall.

He keeps his footsteps loud on purpose, alerting you to in lieu of the thick plate armor he’s abandoned in his room’s cramped closet. He’s come to you in a black button up and dark slacks, boots laced up to his knees. He feels ridiculously exposed without his armor, a rigorous discomfort which prowls his every step. Any shadow could be a knife through the ribs, a beast laying in wait, a Garlean assassin still sore from past defeat. And the shadows are not still. No, their edges writhe when he looks at them too long. His own paranoia stirs his senses to a heat-stroke simmer.

So he pays them no mind. They are tricks of the light, idle playings of an overactive mind. Perhaps its restlessness. Nearly a week has passed since he last drew steel, since he ventured beyond Mor Dhona. An expedition will do him good, he decides, gently nudging open your door.’

The mere sight of you fills him with an inexplicable amount of relief. You’re curled over your desk, but you budge when the hinges creak, eyes gleaming with a recognition that lets him know he is real. His pulse becomes quiet in his ears, the hasty thudding of his heart rendered mere background noise as you speak. 

“You’re up late.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says with a small, wry smile. “Can’t sleep?”

“You could say that,” you hum, regarding him with a discerning squint. “...You can come sit, if you want.”

This is his first time inside your private room, he realizes. Crossing the threshold feels like some sort of sacred act. Urging the door closed, even gently, feels like a sin. It’s a terribly cozy space. A bookshelf crammed full hugs the western wall, stacks of tomes left to overflow onto the floor and the coffee table and the dark wood nightstand. The bed looks even cozier. The unmade blankets are half slumped onto the round rug partially placed underneath the frame. Meteor resists the urge to pick it up and fold it. Instead he settles himself on the edge.

“So, what is it?” you turn in your chair, regarding him flatly. You’re dressed in a slip of a robe. The sheer fabric shifts to expose more of our thigh, squished against your crossed leg. The warm candlelight touches your bare skin with a tenderness. Meteor tears his eyes away.

“I… I’m sorry for not being present, and for any inconvenience I may have caused you.” Meteor says, meaning every word. No matter how you feel about him and Ardbert, the bond you share is vital to your success as a team. A sacred commitment forged under Hydaelyn’s all-knowing, all-loving gaze. Not being able to reach him must have made it impossible to decide where you would be going, precious time wasted.

“Inconveniences?” you say with an incredulous scoff. “I suppose we’re behind on planning, but I can handle most of it within the day. If I were to be upset—which I am not—it would be because… I happened to miss your company.” You bite out the words like sour apple seeds, space between your brows wrinkling.

“But you would have.” Meteor prods, unable to stop himself.

“But I didn’t,” you corrected him, stern as can be. “Honestly, I've been too busy with research to really notice who comes and goes.” you inform him with a reluctant mote of sheepishness, clearly disconcerted at admitting your distraction. “But I swear that what I learn from this will aid us all in the future.”

Meteor blinks as you launch into a small lecture. The sluggishness which weighs you like a worrisome spirit lifts as you delve into the unique Allagan perspectives on the primal problem, mentioning methods of containment long forgotten alongside the rest of the empire and its accursed, abominable creations. Never before has he witnessed such passion swell within you, such ardor. There’s a glimmer in your eyes, a glow about you. At that moment. he decides that passion suits you. Even if he will have to ask you to repeat your exposition and explain in further detail numerous times. Preferably at a slower, more comprehensible pace,

“I believe you,” he says, standing to cross the distance between you. Up close, he can see the bags under your eyes, luggage you’ve been saddled with the moment G’raha Tia sealed himself away. He cannot help the bitter pang of resentment which stirs within his breast at the man who so carelessly drove you to this state, sending your brain awry with grief and guilt.

Something deeper, something more shameful hisses in envy, in disbelief that another man has so easily wrested such fervent emotion from you. And in such a short amount of time.

His hand, weighted this time not by glove or gauntlet, lands on your shoulder. Two of his fingers span beyond the neckline of your robe, touching your bare nape. There is a magnetism that comes with touching you. The Echo pulses and resonates, aether reaching out and rushing warm beneath his skin. It’s an outpouring of energy that brings with it a bevy of unusual, varying side effects. For that reason, he and Ardbert have mutually agreed to touch you only when necessary.

Meteor has wandered in the past if it affects you as much as it does them. A shiver pulls down your spine, betraying your otherwise cool countenance. It's absurd, how such little contact can evoke so much, but it is relieving to know he is not alone. His thumb twitches, before he rolls soothing circles over that patch of bare skin, attempting to settle some of the tension which pulls your shoulders taut.

“You should get some rest,” he urges quietly, voice low, eyelids dipping as he nudges against the ambient pulse of your aether.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you mutter, and for the first time, before he can help himself, Meteor scoffs at you. It’s a haughty, amused little sound that has you whirling to face him with hackles raised. The satisfaction he sows from your reaction is obscenely childish, but he quickly smothers the worst of himself, straightening his lips and schooling his expression into one of stern concern.

“Trying to make sure you’re prepared for what tomorrow brings,” Meteor supplies. “Our next mission is in Gridania. The moogles of the Shroud have summoned a primal.”

“I don’t recall them worshiping any gods.” Even when exhausted, you remain quick on the uptake.

“Exactly,” he replies, providing no further context. The details will wait until the morrow. You don’t need anymore information knocking around inside your head while you try to sleep. He swallows, wishing for a reply, a retort, but you are hesitant. And the silence that settles seeds the ground for the insidious voice to sow.

How simple it would be to lift you by the nape, to manhandle you onto the mattress, to press upon you all that you have made him feel. It’s repulsive, it's disgusting—the very concept of so violently breaking your trust makes his guts churn, makes his cock hard as stone. He feels frigid at his edges, a bitter cold wreathing around his outermost extremities as something tries to claw to the surface. He shuts his eyes tight and breathes evenly, wills down the wolf even as his head splits.

The legs of your chair squeal as you push out from your desk, sending him scampering back to avoid a stubbed toe. The contact is broken. His fingers twitch and his palms prickle, an aching chasm opening within his chest. A sense of emptiness lingers in your wake.

And you’re wearing a strange face as you regard him. Not fraught with fear, but with suspicion. He has somehow made you curious, which is perhaps the most frightening outcome of all. He is no G’raha Tia. He cannot spar with you intellectually, and he cannot bear to be the next fervent focus you dedicate yourself to. 

Rather than launching into a barrage of questions, you simply nod. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

“You win, I’ll get some rest. But I’ll have questions for you in the morning.” Meteor nods and gives you a gentle goodnight, hastily hastening from your quarters with the poorly disguised dread of a man rusting to the restroom before he sicks all over the rug.

He leaves for Gridania early the next morning, while you are still in bed and Ardbert is struggling to get out of his.

[inventors-fair]

Clarification query: Are "anchor words" like the choices on the Fate Reforged siege cycle acceptable in this contest, or are they too similar to the AFR flavor words that you explicitly don't want?

That's a fair question, and you're actually not the first person to ask! I'll copy-paste my answer from Discord:

Personally, trying to be ambivalent; I'm nostalgic and biased towards the sieges, but the gist is that you can do whatever you want as long as it fits the prompt. The sieges' choices are ostensibly gameplay markers, so that's all good.

Just to clarify a little bit, I was too heavy-handed in my disdain for the AFR cards, and I shouldn't have let that bitterness represent my specifics in that case. What I'll say is that the representation of the words you choose does matter, in the sense that too much hand-holding results in a card that tells without showing. I trust in folks' best judgement.

From what's been submitted so far, this contest is demonstrating some powerful design skills, and I've been thoroughly impressed by how everyone has responded!

[bookwyrminspiration]

I feel you. My issue isn't really specific to auditory processing, but my brain works sort of slowly, so it often takes me longer than others to formulate responses to things. Not fantastic for convincing people that I'm knowledgeable and competent :/

Honestly I don't know quite what it is for me, just for some reason it often takes me longer to process when someone asks a question. Which sucks because then you're just kinda staring while they're waiting like why aren't you saying anything. and I'm like. I also wish I was saying something dude

And while speed doesn't equate to intelligence and knowledge, you just feel like an idiot sometimes because it's just! A jumble of words! I know each of them individually, I know what we're talking about, I know the answer to your question, I just need a few extra seconds to figure out what that question was. But you also feel the need to fill the space, and then you're using part of your energy to fill the space so it takes even longer to process the question and form your response

then you get to feel like an idiot while trying to remind yourself no one else cares or will likely remember the 5 seconds of you thinking then going huh? but you will. you'll remember it forever.

[hamiathesgiftexchange]

Unapproved tag queries

The tagset is looking great. You have till Thursday, August 1 @ 8 pm ET to submit your nominations. EDIT: @jhawkgirl made us a spreadsheet of tagset tags that she's updating regularly!

I have a few submitted tags that either do not meet the parameters for tags for this event, or require a little clarification. If you have submitted tags, please check below because once I reject a nomination, you do not get your slot back, so I'd like to give people the chance to edit them!

Unapproved Tags  If I have questions for you, please reach out to me either in the comments/reblogs of this post, by tumblr dm, on Discord, or via email (in the collection AO3 profile).

Worldbuilding: Canon as History — could the submitter give me some examples on what type of worldbuilding they're looking for here? I think we need more precise wording for this tag but I want to understand what you're hoping to get from it

Worldbuilding: Clothing Design — I know this one is probably self-explanatory but I want to be positive before I approve—you're looking for things like art featuring canon-era clothing and/or fic touching on types of clothing styles etc?

Worldbuilding: Where did the giants who built the megarons go? — this does not meet the criteria for the tagset and is better expressed in your sign up. As an alternative, would "Worldbuilding: Polyfemus Myth" work? Feel free to suggest your own, happy to brainstorm.

Relationship: Eugenides the God/Alyta — I approved this one, but I want to confirm that OP was indeed looking for Eugenides/Alyta and not Eugenides/Periphys (Alyta's sister who Eugenides appears to be in a canonical relationship with)?

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Hey, can I get being the Best friend or close Friends With Rafal or Rhian ( Or maybe both? ) maybe the reader is a childhood friend or something. The gender can be whatever or whichever you prefer.

That's if you are comfortable writing that. 😁

My apologies. I wasn't really planning on taking writing requests of this type since I'm not currently interested in writing reader prompts. At times, I sort of view most readers as a blank slate rather than a character themselves, unlike the way an OC or a canon character would have a more definitive personality.

Thus, determining reactions by the reader would be difficult unless I gave the reader a defined personality I chose and made up, which might not align with what you or others want from a self-insert. Sure, I suppose I could fill in the blanks myself, and give the reader traits, essentially making them closer to an OC, but I'm not particularly interested in writing an SGE OC at this time either.

So, overall, I think I'd have a bit of a hard time with the vague nature of this request/anticipating what the reader "should" be like since it doesn't really give me a "plot" to work with, just a blank "character," if you understand what I'm getting at. Sorry if this is at all unclear.

That said, when I originally said you could address characters directly (in this post), perform actions and get them to respond, or give them information or a query to react to, I am open to writing Rhian or Rafal responding to a friend-like gesture or a what-if of some kind, say, what if a reader gave Rhian and Rafal a gift as a friend. This would give me enough specificity to more easily work with.

It's just that I don't plan on representing the asker/reader as anything much further beyond an entity, as if they were the bringer of content/information or the doer of a deed.

In a lot of cases, a typical response might take a form like this:

What would happen if I/you/the reader did/gave/said [this] to the brothers?

And the response would be the aftermath of that action/prompt, usually, written more passively, so as not to involve the reader/asker/doer/whomever:

Q: What would happen if Agatha were given a bouquet?

A: She would sneeze because of her pollen allergies.

Or, alternatively, an answer might look like this:

A: Agatha: [sneezes] Thank you for the flowers, but I'm afraid I'm going to hand them off to Sophie instead. She will appreciate them more than I could.

So, in conclusion, you could "do" something, essentially, perform an action/impart a (potentially dramatic) piece of information, but I won't usually take requests the type of relationship you're requesting. Yet, feel free to send another ask, if you have anything in mind that I might actually write.

For further clarification, what you could probably expect to get from a non-reader request is something with more focus on the character(s) involved and their reaction to an item/action/question posed.  This would mean the focus inherently won't be on the doer of the action (the reader/asker) whether it's on themselves, as a person, or on a relationship with the canon characters.

Overall, I simply don't plan on establishing new relationships with non-canon characters in the case of asks, and I'll only tend to work with new events/novel scenarios/prompts, involving existent characters and relationships.

Most likely, I'll try to keep to some form of canon (or if specified, my fics), as far as characterization or relationships go, depending on what an ask requires. While I think the idea of the brothers having a best friend is sweet, it doesn't really fit with my (very subjective) sense of their characters. Albeit, Rhian might be open to having a friend outside of Rafal.

So, to sum this up: I don't (usually) take formal writing requests or those involving a reader, and I'm sorry if I had ever been misleading about this before. (When I wrote dialogue or scripted scenes for other prompts, it was because I was given a premise/writing prompt that actually contained a "plot"/inciting incident/central concept of some kind, and chose to make the characters respond to events/information/other content within what I interpreted, sort of, to be the bounds of canon or the particular hypotheticals.)

None of my previous asks have been complete stories (they tend to be scenes or snippets) like the nature of this request seems to suggest(?), and I'm tempted to say this is because a relationship is a state of being, not a singular event, and such a thing could require much more development or the invention of a self-insert's "character." Also, honestly, I'm not an expert on reader-inserts as a genre, so I might not be the ideal person to ask.

However, again, if you would like to perform an action or give me dialogue of some kind, addressed to the brothers, I'd (usually) be willing to let Rafal and/or Rhian or anyone else from canon respond to such a gesture or events, if the gesture isn't by you or another hypothetical person with a major role.

So, apologies again, but I don't plan on taking requests that involve readers in the vast majority of cases, yet what I will write are Rhian and Rafal (or other characters) responding to concrete things or scenarios, usually in the context of their already-existent relationships, unless they otherwise happened to meet someone from canon they did not previously know.

Basically, these conditions would exclude a new, blank-slate relationship since I can't be absolutely sure what a reader-insert should be like, to successfully align with an asker's tastes, and simply don't have an interest in writing this type of dynamic at the moment.

Finally, if you or anyone else would like me to clarify anything they didn't understand (sorry if anything was explained too circularly), or if anyone has more questions on what I am generally willing or not willing to write, please don't hesitate to ask!

[ilovedthestars]

Trick or treat! 🦇 🎃 🦇

happy halloween voidling!!

i know you're familiar with some of my OCs (and your love of them makes me so happy 🥰) but would you like to meet Flower?? Murderbot and Three run into it on a mission with ART's crew, still (for now) governed, and having a Bad Time

---

The damaged SecUnit on the floor twitched again, and one of its hands moved towards me. I said, “Don’t make me shoot you again.” It prodded at my feed. I let it establish a connection. It sent, Query: Unit Status? That was standard communication, but not something you generally asked the hostile SecUnit that had just pummeled you into near-inoperability. I couldn’t figure out what it was asking for. When I didn’t answer, it pulled Three into our connection and pinged again. Query: Unit Status? Then it sent us its analysis of our actions and communications, which were practically all flagged as anomalous. Three said, Yes, we’re rogue. Oh, so that was what it was asking. It sat there processing Three’s answer for 15 seconds, which was a really long time for something so simple. Maybe it was coming up with tactics based on the new information, but that seemed pretty optimistic when all it could do was lie on the floor leaking. Just when I had decided our conversation was apparently over, the SecUnit pinged us again. Query: Request Assistance I looked at Three. Three looked at me. In our private connection, I said, It’s asking for my hack. Three sent an affirmative. It had come to the same conclusion. What should we do? …It’s already damaged, it’s not like it can try to hurt us. I concur with your assessment, Three said, and dropped my governor module hack into the Unit’s feed. It applied it almost immediately. It shuddered a little and closed its eyes. I figured it was going to be a while before it wanted to talk, so I asked Three, “Now will you help me get up?” Seth pinged us. We’re coming to your location. Three ignored the fact that pretty soon I was going to need to get up and move back to the shuttle and I couldn’t do that myself, at least not without looking utterly ridiculous. It was still focused on the Unit. In our shared feed it said, We can leave you here, or you can come with us. Which do you prefer? This time it answered with its buffer, like it was talking to a client who was asking confusing questions. I do not have that information. It was a bit early to be asking it for things like preferences, but I guess we were doing this. I said, Do you like your clients? Do you like working here? Query: Request Clarification Are they the really bad kind of clients, or the kind that aren’t so bad, or the good kind? Query: Request Clarification of: “the good kind” Yeah, I hadn’t known they existed, either. Three said, Our clients are good clients. They care about our well-being and treat us with respect. It opened its eyes and looked at us. It clearly didn’t believe Three.

[tasmiq]

Jumu'ah Sohbet: 19 January 2024

Subhana'Allah (glory to the Divine) for another providential week at the macro-and-micro level of our worldly existence! Without further adieu, bismillah ...

#1. During our monthly Halaqa (spiritual gathering), where we murids get to practice Rabita (heartfelt connection) and share our insights. Our newly appointed Wakil (Senior trustee) is your Abbu, who was wisely enstated by Shaykha Muzeyyen, who convened this Halaqa. She has equally astutely identified fitting leaders as Khalifa. Shukran Ya Allah (Divine gratitude) for her apt and soulful leadership acumen.

Our Wakil, your Abbu, inadvertently answered my query at its onset, needing clarification as to why we, as Sufis, ought to avoid politics. He referred to how we ought to accept that a plurality of experiences and perspectives exists in the rope and light to Allah. Especially within a Tariqa! We ought to be like As-Shahid (the Witness) and look for the Manifestor in the manifested. Instead of wanting others to comply with our worldview, we must simply get our nafs out of the way so that our focus is automatically on Allah.

He powerfully added an undeniable truth that politics perpetuates power and greed of the nafs, where we are trying to be Allah! Similarly, we have to be wary whether we are trying to be Allah in our responses! Or are we submitting, without taking away the human experience, but where we keep seeking Allah's haq. So whatever is being done incorrectly, we will respond, because there is a Hadith (Prophetic saying) which says we must try to stop a bad action, but if we can't stop it then we should speak out about it and in the least, we must feel the pain in our hearts for its occurrence! That is the Prophetic injunction, but this must not be done in a way where it is hurting the soul of another human being because their essence is also purity and haq!

#2. After Inna's powerful testimony as to how she wrestles her conscience as an original Jewess, but later metamorphosised into a Muslim Sufi. She was led to delete Facebook like me but for different reasons, her out of dismay of the extreme and unapologetic reactions of her cousins, and me out of dismay of my ignorant pre-accident life that unwittingly only celebrated nafs! Your Wakil Abbu beautifully reflected that we continue holding onto the rope of Allah as a community and family. Despite our different perspectives, we choose to be a spiritual family of love, peace, and unity in goodness.

Thereafter, Iliona added a thought-provoking idea that this whole situation with Israel and Palestine has brought her to an existential realisation where every single one of us has in our genetics, the experience of genocide! Every single human is carrying that, and irrespective of the team that are identified as the culprits. The way it can be seen is that it can either inflame one's own genetic pain or it can be treated as a signal to meditate and get over it, if possible. That is because all of our ancestors have done something destructive, and the question becomes about how we put an end to this in our own energy field. That is why we are amongst a family of unity above all else!

Your Wakil Abbu finally reflected that this is a really difficult time for the world, but Shaykh Taner taught us that we are always after the truth. With what is happening around us, are we acting with nafs, or are we acting for truth? What we see around us is human beings' nafs (egos) multipled exponentially, and we're all reacting to the hurt and the pain! We can not shy away from either the pain inflicted by others or responding responsibly, but at the same time, we must constantly search for the Truth, as crafted in my recent poem about the current situation. Shukran Ya Allah, for the blessing of our marriage as a "good cheam," pronounced early on by our late and beloved Shaykh Taner.

#3. After attempting to counsel a distressed and dear Sudanese friend in the depth of worsening national uncertainty, with the following message:

I just want you to know that I observe the Monday and Thursday fast for Sudan and Palestine. I am confident that Allah will relieve the collective suffering at its divinely ordained time.

My father was a freedom fighter who won Bangladesh's liberation from Pakistan. We have lived in war-torn Iran vs. Iraq, we managed to escape economically declining Zimbabwe, and we have lived through numerous upheavals in South Africa!

Please hang in there!

I realised that the reason that I am naturally attuned to political happenings is because my family has been led to overcome numerous political turmoils! Subhana'Allah for the Divine merit of retrospection, where I learned the following:

- Facing political turmoil is taxing, yes, but they can also shape us into resilient beings.

- My respect for my developing country parents mushroomed for enduring the uncertainties of numerous contexts, Alhamdulillah! Even the inherent racism of Denmark where your Nana was after Iran and the racism that we contended with in post-apartheid South Africa.

- Especially that despite the personally arduous passage of time that we each embarked, we have been blessed to realise what we pray for in:

Ya Wadud Ya Salaam Ya Jami Ya Nafi (Allah's loving and peaceful unity in goodness)

#4. 16 January 2024 marked the third year of our worldly separation with the sweet soul of our spiritual brother Fazeel. I was inspired by Mevlana Rumi to reframe my sadness into something more apt and emancipatory. You see, he was a constant feature of my rehabilitation from our accident.

Just as our beloved Shaykh Taner was unexpectedly taken from us, brother Fazeel was equally unexpectedly taken a short time before that. Immediately after both their passings, I reflected with their other halves that I had wished Allah had taken me instead. However, they both compassionately urged me to trust Allah's hikmah (wisdom / rationale) in spite of their sorrow. This was my inspired ode to him:

Above: A beautiful family photo at their eldest's wedding.

Urs of our Fazeel

In Sufic terms, an urs literally refers to a wedding

A union of the lover with the Beloved

Even though our humble Fazeel is not a Sufi Saint

With his deeply caring heart and his family's subsequent resilience

They attest to our worldly parting with him being his Divine urs

Urs is a death anniversary that is commemorated at a dergah

It's not an occasion to lament but to rejoice

An idea taken from the Hadith:

“Sleep just like the bride.”

And the Angels say to the Pious in the grave, “Sleep with restfulness and comfort just like a bride.”

Beyond Fazeel's incredible heart that was thirsty and ever-ready to serve

Is his equally incredible wife who continued and continues growing

All their children were even inspired to take Divine allegiance

Maintaining a connection to their beloved Daddy

Above all to Al-Hay, as the undying, ever-living, and eternal

#5. Shaykh Anjum reflected on the definition of being considerate, which is "putting others first before ourselves." It was identified as a key requirement for all Sufis as we wrestle with several questions ...

- Will this action bring people together or be divisive?

- Will it be a source of gaining humility or a source of boastfulness?

- Will it clear any assumptions or perpetuate them?

- Will it make people aware or further their ignorance?

- Will it make people appreciative of their bounties or nurture selfishness?

I marvel that when I am least able-bodied and thus less able to be distracted, it is when I can be the most considerate of other's perspectives and experiences of life. Subhana'Allah to reaping the rewards of refining ourselves as Sufis and hence becoming considerate. Anything contrary to this indicates a lack of consideration, being self-centered, ignorant, and caught up in Nafs-al Ammara (at the mercy of one's commanding / impulsive / prompting lower-self).

In conclusion, deep gratitude that your Wakil Abbu reached the cyclone affected shores of Mauritius safely. Insha'Allah, our Mauritian spiritual family, remain safe there, and your Abbu returns to our hearts:

Ya Muhaymin Ya Hafiz

Ya Wadud Ya Salaam Ya Jami Ya Nafi

[the-faramir]

Extinction Curse Session 2024/04/17 Part 2

On returning to the circus grounds outside of Willowside and handing the new tent over to a team of roustabouts for setup, the party took a moment to rest and consider the next move.

Zookdar stretched his arms out above himself and to the sides. "Well! I for one, could use a drink. Think I'll head on over to the tavern to get some beer—and maybe to find a woman to keep me company!"

The others just looked at Zookdar in disbelief. "Really, Zook," Midori chided, "we need to check in and see what else is goin' on around town, and you want to go out carousin'?"

"Sure! I've earned a little break," he replied and trotted off toward the tavern. The others shrugged and ran some errands in the meantime.

Two hours later, the party met up near the Willowside town square. Zookdar appeared to be a bit tipsy and had several large, black feathers stuck on his outfit. "I met a wonderful Tengu lady at the tavern," the gnome bragged to his teammates, "and her sister!"

Meanwhile, one of the mayor's aides approached the heroes to let them know that the mayor was looking for them. He led the team to the mayor's office.

"Madam Mayor," Midori spoke up, "You're lookin' to talk to us?"

The mayor replied, "Thank you for coming all the way to Willowside. Your presence has brightened up the town quite a bit. Hmm," the mayor chose her words carefully before continuing:

“I hate to ask this, but I must for the town’s sake. I know the dinosaurs have killed some people and other folks just simply left town. But there’s perhaps something else going on out in the swamp. A few hours east of town is a gambling hall and entertainment venue called Fortune’s Hall. The owners, the Carristers, have been big supporters of the town, despite being so far outside of it. For the past few weeks, no one’s heard from anyone there—not the Carristers, not their staff, not any of the regulars who were out that way. A few people went to check, but they didn’t come back. That was about when the reports of dinosaur attacks started, so I assumed that dinosaurs got them—and the folks at Fortune’s Hall for that matter. But a few days ago, one of the horses from Fortune’s Hall showed up here in town. The poor thing had almost starved to death, and it had an unusual bite on its leg. Strangest of all, someone had written 'The Fun Never Stops' on its side in purple paint. Gristarn Vrick got the horse cleaned up and fed, but it’s too scared to head home. Something strange is going on at Fortune’s Hall, and it doesn’t seem related to dinosaurs or the Welt. I’m not sure Willowside can withstand yet another threat.

“Will you investigate it for us? I know that it’s dangerous, but you’re better able to look into this than anyone else but the Banyan Boys.”

Midori asked for clarification, "The Bunyan Boys?"

Lysander questioned, "The Beagle Boys?"

Fizzarolli inquired, "The Beastie Boys?"

Midori queried, "The Bangle Boys?"

Zookdar pressed, "The Vengaboys?"

The mayor sighed. "No, the Banyan Boys!"

The heroes answered in unison, "Never heard of them."

Rubbing her temples, the mayor explained, "Ledorick, Stirvyn, and Tashlock Banyan are the law enforcement around Willowside."

Zookdar asked, "Well, why can't you send them in?"

The mayor explained, “I’ve asked, but they think the dinosaurs got everyone and it’s too big a risk to go check it out. I won’t pretend it’s not risky, but I think there’s something other than the dinosaurs threatening our town.”

Lysander offered, "We have some time on our hands while the tent gets set up. We'll go check it out for you."

The mayor thanked the party and offered a pale lavender ellipsoid aeon stone. Lysander graciously accepted the gift.

Midori clapped her hands once and exclaimed, "Well, let's get our things, load up the circus bus, and head on out!"

In the wagon on the road to Fortune's Hall, Midori could not contain her excitement. "Once we get there an' clear out whatever bad guys're makin' trouble, the Carristers will be so grateful an' they'll prepare us a feast an' open up the bar for free drinks an' maybe let us stay to see a play! Yeah! It'll be a great time! Cause you know why? We like to party! We like, we like to party! We like to party! We like, we like to party!"

Midori began to dance in her seat and sing a punchy, vibrant song in the key of A-flat major:

🎶🎶🎶 The circus bus is coming And everybody's jumping Willowside to Fortune's Hall We are gonna have a ball

The wheels of wood are turning And lantern lights are burning So if you like to party Get on and move your body 🎶🎶🎶

Midori stopped singing. "Oh, oh, wait. We're comin' up on the blockade in the trade route. Remember, Zookdar? Where yer ass got kicked? Looks like we'll have to fight our way through dinosaurs again, but this time we'll be prepared." The wagon started to turn around the bend in the road leading to the clearing. "Everyone, welcome to Yer Ass Kick Park!"

But as the clearing came into site, there were no xulgaths, no dinosaurs, and no fallen logs blocking the road. Somebody had cleared it all!

"Huh," mused Fizzarolli, "that sure was convenient."

The rest of the trip seemed to fly by and the party's journey completed without incident. Finally, they arrived at Fortune's Hall.