#and just because it ticks wrong boxes doesn't mean it's bad

[manikas-whims]

hi lovely, first of all i wanna wish u a good day and i hope everything is going good!

i was cooking in the background but got to a block here, and i would like to know ur opinion on this:

lets say sylus (pre - relationship) somehow messes up bad with reader, to the point they distance themselves from onychinus. how do you think he would react and make up? I feel like he would observe from afar and then go ahead try to talk to them, but i have no clue what he would say, whats ur perspective?

tysm for ur work and im so proud to see u grow as a writer ❤️ byebye lovely!

Hiii! I've been wanting to respond to this for so long.. I'm just so tired by the time I'm home these days 😭

And I'm glad you think I've grown a little as a writer 🥺 means so much to me ♡ so sorry it took so long..🙏

As for the ask itself..

If Pre-relationship Sylus messes up,

then you'll definitely distance yourself from him and Onychinus itself because you still don't know him that well. He did abduct you from the auction and held you in captivity in his base. So of course it's quite difficult for you to give him the benefit of the doubt.

And Sylus seems to be the kind of person who doesn't easily takes offense to people judging him based on his line of work. But he'll definitely get mad because you aren't just some random person to him. He'll be disappointed because all it took was one mistake for you to judge him so harshly? Instead of treating him like every other person and giving him a chance?! He'd think you're just like the rest of the people who form an assumption of him based on his appearance itself. To think, he even bothered making an effort..

Thus, there's no communication between the two of you for at least 2–3 days..Not even Mephisto cawing and poking his cute, lil mechanical beak at your window 😞

And this leads to you getting even more angry at Sylus cause LOOK AT THE AUDACITY OF THIS MAN!!! He made a mistake and now doesn't even bother explaining himself!? Doesn't even try to fix this mess!? Yeah..you should've known..he truly is like every other person from N109. It's your fault for being foolish enough to believe he might have any humanity behind those glowing crimson eyes.

But after the passage of those 2–3 days, you finally begin to sort through your thoughts and feelings.

You also start seeing some familiar faces around your apartment. Luke and Keiran do drop a bunch of packages full of clothes, accessories and other luxurious items you could barely afford on your Hunter's paycheck. Nevertheless you reject them all, and even yell at them. “Tell your stupid Boss he can't simply buy my forgiveness!”

There are moments when you just consider forgetting everything and make up but you resist the urge because that would only encourage him. He'll think he can get away with anything if you're so lenient. And so you suffer his absence for the entire week, slowly coming to believe that you weren't important to him at all..

But Sylus is a mature guy despite whatever his reputation suggests. He'll be mad for a while and put off but he'll come to terms with the fact that he made a mistake. And now after giving you ample amount of time and space to sort through your own feelings, he'll finally decide to randomly show up one day at your door, completely shocking you when you answer the door.

Before you can yell at him or push him to leave, he mumbles in a gruff tone. “I’m sorry.”

To say that you are shocked would be an understatement for it's not everyday that the dreaded leader of Onichynus utters an apology to someone. Men like him are used to making people bend their knees and grovel. Used to exacting apologies out of others instead.

You blink several times before asking. “What did you just say? I didn't quite catch it.”

His brow narrows and he scrunches his nose in that way he does whenever met with an obstacle. Sighing, he repeats his words. “I said I'm sorry..for what I did. For giving you a wrong impression and ticking off all the boxes of suspicions in your head. For showing you something that I'm not.” He pockets his hands– a sure sign of awkwardness– and cocks his head to the side. “And I vow to make it up to you.”

Out of nowhere, Mephisto comes flying, perches upon his shoulder and croaks loudly in support of his master.

You try your best to hide the smile threatening to burst upon your face. You'd forgiven him on his first apology itself because one glance at him made you realize how much you'd actually been missing him and his stupidly handsome face.

Still, in an effort to tease him a little, you tilt your head and say. “Hmm..I'll consider forgiving you if you repeat your words once more. On your knees.”

There is a brief pause in which you almost believe he will do it. His expression seems as if he is actually considering it. Then, he scoffs at you and flicks your forehead.

“Don't push your luck, sweetie.”

And you laugh in delight, punching his abdomen lightly. “Fine fine, let's start again.”

You smile and offer him a hand. He looks at it, his crimson eyes roving up to gaze at you, then he accepts your hand, and shakes it. “As you say, sweetie.”

hope you liked this lil piece ♡

» MASTERLIST «

[spotlightlowlife]

Unpopular opinion, at this point, Blitzø is an issue.

Not because he's in the wrong, his situations suck more than him, so do some of those around him (*cough*Stolas *cough*Loona), he sucks because he's becoming more and more of an outlet for writers to play out power and sex fantasies with whilst being edgy and always quick enough to have a remark ready for others, always managing to be the centre of attention but will always be the victim too.

In every conceivable way, he's being wronged or he's punching up.

The arrangementship with Stolas is a case of him being a victim but for those who don't see it this way, Stolas x Blitzø is a chance at happiness, pauper being picked, even though their union was and will always be an inappropriate power imbalance which has now been the case since childhood, back where Blitzø was a victim of his dad, yet a few years later he somehow developed feelings for his friend who seemed like a sibling to him, but he seemed to envy him too? Either way we are too root for his unrequited 'love lost' that we can blame on a fire accidentally caused by none other than Blitzø, but we can also push blame others for this accident too.

Fizz and Barbie may be victims of his recklessness, but he means/meant no harm and he had it just as bad as them, hence the 'sorry but..' he offered Fizz.

Substance abuse got to be something Blitzø endulged in before we met Barbie who we had already been informed is an addict, Blitzø got to be both a boss and a victim during his binge which had even the sin of gluttony beat and concerned, yet when we meet Barbie, she is composed, working and has some success in being able to freely travel, having a human disguise and being able to easily manipulate others, which could have all been good, a change of tone from yet another downtrodden character and a change from a sloppy addict that may have expected, only, we had to be told Barbie was in rehab and recently so, we had to be informed that Blitzø looks out for her and is worried even though we never had never saw him track her progress previously. We meet her, there's nothing to indicate that they have spoken since Blitzø's fall out with Fizz, Barbie is pretty much work a similar job to her brother of causing destruction on Earth, yet morals come into play for just one of them? Neurotic, antisocial and traumatised, comes to earth as an assassin, excellent, no content yet and seems well put together but we have been told is an addict, comes to earth the deal, scum.

Barbie made Blitzø sad by not listening to him and washing her hands of him (again, when did they last speak? Has there been nearly 20 years of the same conversation?), which yet again has us pouring sympathy into him.

Then there's the clearly hurt and robbed Verosika, who's upset is totally glossed over because 'she's so iconic'.

The power dynamics are entirely power play, because there are too many characters supposedly of much higher standing who Blitzø easily rubs shoulders with, stands out to and crosses to no consequence, all for no particular reason, the dismissal of what he says and does is reminiscent of a movie where a ghost doesn't know they're dead or a character doesn't realise their friend is imaginary. All excluding Stolas of course but this but this is where the power play sex fantasy is.

Why are they together? Answer, Blitzø's desperation to have his business work, the whole plot to the show.

Like Hazbin, the pilot started out rather strong, it ticked every box mentioned in one episode, they were a wicked bunch but morally grey, the trip to hospital being a prime example, we met humans, we saw Earth, Stolas was a intimidating and regal, Blitzø was reckless with money and decision making, the advert on a low rating station being the prime example, along with blind nepotism.

How is it that this series hasn't had the time to return to its roots since half way through season one?

When does Blitzø get a break from all this trauma dumping and actually get to have other things going on in his life?

Realistically, someone who works has work to talk about, it is a major part of their life. Someone who runs a business tends to put in more hours than your average worker. Work gives you something to talk about, creates new experiences and problems to solve, has you mixing with other and takes up a lot of your time. Where is any of this?

Until it returns to the plot where he is a business owner actually running his business, having interactions with customers and victims, travelling to Earth more regularly, facing actual threats from those who don't care about how sad he is and are actually bothered by his obnoxious ways, I have a questions.

Where are the common teething issues business tend to have, like budget, landlords, tax, inflation, lack of exposure?

How do they pay their day to day expenses, especially since they have so much time on their hands?

Why aren't they out advertising?

How do I.M.P catch the eye of those who just died and how do these sinners pay?

When was the last time we saw a sinner?

Blitzø's direction gives the impression that he's being written for the chronically online people who wish this was them, that they were more feisty, outgoing and desirable whilst others just got them and felt their misery, something that can easily be done as a viewer, throw in the tried and tested powerful and dangerous royalty that worked so well for Twilight and 50 Shades and we have a character who can be vicariously lived through, basically the classic fairytale default damsel who people also want to criticize. It's like he's being reduced to an clownish caricature, looks the vibrant and animated character we were introduced to but that's all just in paper now, he barely stands out in any recent episodes because his presence wasn't nessessary and when he was relevant, it's for his ship or drama from his past.

While waiting to see him with his coworkers who he voyers on because he's sad and lonely, his rude and violent adult adopted daughter, or learn about the trauma surrounding his mother, or whatever is going on with his user dad, or when we will next see his troubled sister who is mad at him, his bitter ex, his best friend/ex friend/rival/friend who lives the life he should be living who he sexually harasses since reconciliation, or his transactionship, or whatever else is pushed on him and there no doubt will be more. What about his present? What about his daily life outside the misery forever sent his way for us?

He should be encountering strangers and a massive variety of situations he can't entirely control on the regular, having to draw upon his smarts, experiences and group dynamic to get out of binds or be efficient, his trauma, sadness and his sass could be a force of good.

How much of his likability is nostalgia, maybe from outside of show? Outside of the pity and sex jokes, what is being done with him?

This may all be harsh and funny enough I actually like this character, but never have I known a series where the solution to making a main character more deep was is a simple case of

'Let them get on with it!

Let them do their job!

Stick to the story!'

Well I do know one other case...

[one-and-a-half-yikes]

Im gonna be honest i think we need to understand how oswald's and fanny's relationship REALLY was, because its clear that they both describe it with still personal very very strong feelings and they do run head first into that Unreliable narrator territory often enough to make me belive theres something big missing a invisible elephant in the room if you will

Fanny says oswald betrayed her

While oswald says she was extremly toxic and wants her away (yet he still pulled all that shit at the dance like bro she was litellary just having fun at an even that you just so happened to be at Then you walked up to her asked her for a dance and acted like she was the devil and started accusing her)

And while both these things could be true in sense we need to know HOW, how was fanny toxic? How did oswald betray her? We have a silloute of a picture but not the frame or the pieces

Also I do seriously wonder how was fanny toxic to oswald? It all was very very long ago and while fanny's personality could be mirroring her now but She didnt have all the experience she has now she had to be diffrent from how she's now

(Also I truly belive oswald definitley fucked up in some way too and we don't know it yet like she had multiple boyfriends but oswald stucks out and not only that but even the thought of him angers her, it could be because if we look at the timeline he could be her first boyfriend or alternativley her ticked out of bad home life like you said but I do think there has to be more to it especialy since again we don't know that much about how he was all that time ago...but we do know fanny likes to ignore neon red flags)

Sorry for the long ask oh my i didnt mean to write it so long I hope you don't mind my mid analisis in your ask box but you did say you wanna talk more about fanny so

ヾ (‘∀ `*)

Honestly I don't mind people hitting my askbox up with analyses or their own takes on certain parts of IM I live for this and I WOULD like to interact with the Inky Mystery fandom more on tumblr cause most of the time I'm hanging out with everyone on discord, but it's nice to talk on here too lol

I'm gonna guess you're asking for my opinion on this?

I don't know if I would describe them as both being unreliable narrators, because from my knowledge Oswald has never divulged to anyone about his relationship with Fanny so we don't really know what his whole perspective on the matter actually is. We don't know if he thinks he was innocent throughout the relationship or if he acknowledges that they were both toxic and bad for each other. What we know is that Oswald was the one who dumped Fanny not the other way around and that means something to me at least.

Fanny on the other hand...I would definitely call her an unreliable narrator when this is how she's describing the breakup:

If you were to only hear from Fanny's side of things you could be convinced that Oz was having an affair with Ortensia on the side during his relationship with Fanny. But this isn't the case, and there's nothing from Fanny's side to provide evidence that this was the case. Not to mention that she's implying that Ortensia seduced Oz into breaking up with her so she could replace her. Calling her an unreliable narrator here doesn't even cut it she's just outright lying about two people who haven't really done her wrong.

But this isn't the first time either. In another chapter she makes a bunch of accusations against Oswald again.

Accusations, that again, are not proven to be true. We got Oswald's perspective during the Far Far West arc and anything pertaining to Fanny never came up. He never talked to anyone about it. He never talked to Cuphead about it. Hell, he didn't even talk to Cuphead at the group date either.

We've only had Oswald make one real accusation against Fanny from when they were together and it was in response to an accusation that Fanny made about him. We have no idea whether Oz is telling the truth or not, but I also have no reason to see why he'd lie. I don't think Fanny is lying to cover up anything, I think she's so bitter about the break up it doesn't occur to her that Oz breaking up with her wasn't to spite her or anything. Yes it hurt and it sucks the way her life turned out after the break, but that's not Oz's fault. He's not responsible for that.

All in all, I think it's good to have an open mind about their relationship, but we also have to look at the facts and the facts show that it's not on equal ground. One person is spreading rumors or fabrications and the other hasn't said a word about the situation to anyone.

Hell, even at the group date situation, Oz approached Fanny to call her out on her behavior but he could have just as easily gone straight to Cuphead and warned him about Fanny and her past. Oswald keeps what happened between them to himself and those he knows best. Fanny has openly talked shit about both Ortensia and Ozzy in front of other people casually without consideration for privacy.

The whole thing regarding why Oswald angers her so much whenever she thinks about him. I have ideas, and I feel like I'm right on the money but I want to wait and see before making a big meta post about their relationship. M shared something juicy on the discord and I am very excited when we get to see it!!!

Also THANK YOU for the ask!! This was nice I'm glad I got to gush about these two some more because I often don't lol

[thegamingcatmom]

So .. i'm sorry if i did this wrong but this is really just my first time doing this and english is not my first language so i apologized.

Btw i really love your denalis unholy trinity post and story so much!! And I just want to ask for feral denali or the school denali if the MC knows calisthenics and has that type of like muscle body?? But it's small .. sorry I'm really bad at this omg😞 you can make a search of it and hope you will understand from there , sorry. But anyway my ask is what if MC just likes .. maybe she does that exercise where she lifts her body by the pole and it looks so dang hot you know??? Like so hot hot HOT lol.. i kind of try to go back to my body shape so i have been doing quite a lot of exercise or work out lately so.. just want to read something that can gain my confidence and my will to do it more you know? So yeah (i'm so awkward sorry)

- from the awkward anon

I have an awkward anon?? That's SO dope! 😤

Honestly though, you're a sweetie and your ask made my day. 🫶

(Btw: English ain't my first language either. ;3)

First off: I think it's amazing you're trying to get back in shape. Setting yourself a goal can do wonders for morale, especially one that nourishes both body and soul. You go, (awkward) nonny! 💪

(Remember to stay hydrated, though! ☝️💧)

As for MC's body type: That's not something I plan on addressing much in my story, actually - if at all. It's still a reader-insert, which means that, physically, MC can be whoever you want her to be. 😊

With that said-

If you want MC to have that type of body, then that's absolutely valid. ✅

maybe she does that exercise where she lifts her body by the pole

I'm not sure if you mean a "pole" as in doing pull-ups or like an actual pole, like-

I'm assuming it's the latter (?), lol.

Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter how MC's using that pole. All that matters is that she does. Because you can bet your ass that, no matter the universe, our ladies will very much appreciate it.

...

They're foaming at the mouth, to be frank with ya. (Irina's a bit better at hiding it though.) 🙃

Tanya

Clearly, she must've done something right during her human era to get sent straight to heaven. Girl's euphoric, lemme tell ya. So much so that those around her actually start worrying a lil bit. (Well, MC's more on the "freaked out" side of the spectrum, lol.)

MC, still hanging off the pole: "Uhh-" Kate, snorting: "I think you broke her." Irina, scoffing: "That ship has long sailed..." Eleazar, trusty notebook in hand: "Interesting..." Carmen, most concerned: "Querida??" Tanya: *incomprehensible gibberish* (Kate: *secretly celebrating her sister's mental breakdown cause it makes her look even hotter in comparison*)

Kate

The middle sister would never openly admit it (also cause she doesn't need to cause everyone's painfully aware of it), but she's always been a sucker for hard-working, teeth-showing, sweat-producing mortals. Especially the sweat. Clinging to them. Making their skin glow. In fact, she finds them almost resembling her kind in that state.

New kink unlocked.

Well, needless to say: MC's ticking all those boxes right in this moment. In every moment, actually. (Yet another thing you won't ever catch Kate the Great admitting to. Also cause...well, y'know the drill: Girl is as subtle as a sledgehammer.) ✅

MC, clinging to that pole for dear life: "CARMEEEEN!" Carmen, in the distance: "Mi amor?!" Tanya, in the distance: "Katrina!" Kate: *entirely unfazed (probably for the first time in her and Carmen's shared existence) cause her attention rests on different matters entirely* Kate, staring up at her meal future bride: "Those hands look terribly sweaty, little rabbit. But don't worry, I'll catch you..." MC: *girly scream* Carmen: *comes barging through the door, closely followed by a livid Tanya* Carmen, hurrying towards a trembling MC still clinging to that pole for dear life: "Oh my- What is the meaning of this??" Tanya: *has to do a double take at her future bride hanging there in all her ravishing, sweaty glory-* ... Tanya: *lunges at Kate cause she knows exactly what the meaning of this is* Eleazar: *strolls through the door to find his wife cooing at a traumatized-looking MC as chaos unfolds in the background - a sight he's well used to by now, a sight that would have left him rather unfazed...under normal circumstances* The pole: *exists* ... Eleazar, slowly lifting his notebook: "Interesting..."

A few seconds later...

Irina: *walks past the entrance to hell-* ... Irina: *peers around the doorframe to make sure her eyes weren’t betraying her the first time around (yes, that's the only reason)* Tanya & Kate: *wrestling in the background* Eleazar: *feverishly scribbling away in that stupid trusty notebook of his* Carmen: *cooing up at the mortal, who's looking her usual traumatized...sweaty self* ... MC: *still hanging there, looking rather sweaty indeed in her surprisingly...revealing outfit* ... ... ... Irina: *turns to leave cause there ain't no way she's dealing with that BS tod-* ... Irina: *turns back around...just in case Carmen needs saving (yes, that's the only reason)*

Irina

I think I covered most of it in Kate's part actually, whoopsie! 🙃

With that said, the Ice Queen does have her moments. (Don't we all?) However, unlike her lecherous sisters, she knows how to keep it in her pants. Or well, she knows how to appear as though she is, lol.

With Irina, we gotta separate cleanly between romance and...literally everything else. 🙃

When it comes to romance? Splendid. Irina's your woman. She has no problem admitting/showing when she truly fancies someone. On the contrary: If she chooses you as her forever, she'll spend (MC's) every waking moment proving it. If only to show her sisters how it's done. (Especially to show her sisters how it's done.) 😎

When it comes to more...primal things, though? Listen-

Some things just aren't meant for the public, aight? Tanya & Kate certainly beg to differ. In fact, most things aren't, if one asks Irina. So, unless it includes declaring her undying love and affection for her chosen one, you won't see her mask slipping (...much). 🤷🏻‍♀️

...But some days she's struggling, lemme tell ya. 💀

.

.

.

Welp. Her Majesty isn't overly fond of people stealing her spotlight. Especially if "people" is Kate, lol.

Oh well, she'll live (haha). This ask was totally Kate-coded though, so I have zero regrets. 😌

Thanks a lot for your ask & your lovely words! 💋💋💋

[sonobeunitsarecool]

Milgram LINE stickers - Amane

arma bianca LINE stickers

...mood whiplash. I have three slides (I'm just doing this in google slides) for the stickers from The Purge March, because the flags have text on them. Plus the little * things will be in two bits, because some of the words used in the songs are... kind of funny in their childishness?

* In Japan, it's common for a circle (O) to mean the same as a tick mark in English. It just means "correct", and the X is the same thing for both languages. What Amane is doing is holding her arms up to make an O, to show that she is correct in her answer (kind of like a gameshow, and she is the host). In the second image her arms are still in the O, but her answer was wrong, so the X is on the little stand in front of her, as well as behind her (like she's in a gameshow, but as a contestant). The one that I've captioned as "No, bad girl!" has めっだよ on it, which is kind of like... when you go, "hey!" to a kid or a pet that's doing something wrong. It's a warning/reprimand. Amane is either treating herself like a small child, or like a pet that needs training. "It is indeed" is... kind of a poor translation. The text is ですよ, with です used as "it is". So, at the end of sentences like "I'm happy", "It's a box", that kind of thing. よ sort of... is like "y'know". A better translation here would be "(and ---), is that!".

* It's captioned as "'Tis ordained", because that's what the English subtitles say when it's said. However I am not entirely sure what it means here, probably something along the lines of listing, or saying that these are the "first" things you should consider? “Doubtlessly, clearly, absolutely, unequivocally, beyond any doubt, GUILTY” is just... "(absolutely 5x) unforgivable" in Japanese. I think the subtitles give the right feeling, and also I just think it's more interesting that way. Imagine if it was "very, very, very, very, very GUILTY". That's no fun! The flags... Pink: 人は運命を生きよ/"Thou shall follow thine destiny" More directly: One should live their destiny Blue: 人は卑きを捨てよ/"Thou shall discard vulgarity" More directly: One should renounce what is despicable Yellow: 信じたものに納めよ/"Thou shall deliver unto those thou believest in" More directly: Give back to those you believe in Green: 道を外れずに果てよ/"Thou shall follow thine course, then perish" More directly: Do not stray from your path, and make it to the end Yeah, it's not exactly such "old-timey" words, in the Japanese, but they all still read as "commandments", of a sort. Same kind of thing... but maybe a little less ominous...?

Wow that's a lot. One more! (has nothing to do with the stickers) In The Purge March, the part where Amane goes, "You're sorry? I don't care!" is 謝ったって、べーだ！ in Japanese. The first part is the same, but べーだ！ doesn't quite mean "I don't care" in Japanese. It's the sound made when pulling down your eyelid and poking out your tongue, a childish and mocking act. It's kind of like putting your hands near your face, wiggling your fingers, and blowing a raspberry. ...I guess that means "I don't care!", but the whole thing is just so childish and petty. I love it. Amane is so very "I'm not a kid! (at least when you're watching me)", but also "Doubtlessly, clearly, absolutely, unequivocally, beyond any doubt, PETTY" and I love her for it.

[valictini]

What i find funny about my post about Etoiles' obsession with saying that the codes who attacked the eggs were from the Feds is that... so many ppl seem to romantize the shit out of Etoiles on this issue.

It's awesome to read these takes, it ticks all the boxes for a very good story... but I really don't see it that way lmao

Like, all the analysises I read seem to hinge on the assumption that this obstination is a rp thing, but I'm pretty sure that this is a cc!Etoiles thing.

He's just convinced he's right, despite all the clues, 1) because lbr, he's not the most attentive when given instructions/clues and consistently gets things wrong because he just rushes when reading stuff... and 2) because he reads a lot of dumbass takes in his chat, which means that nowadays he just assumes his chat is wrong or writing fanfictions whenever they try to argue about this specific theory lmao

Also, I think he lets himself be stubborn about it because, ultimately, even if he's wrong? it doesn't really change anything. He already knows the resistance is shady.

Learning that they attacked the eggs in the past won't stop him from still working with them and won't change the fact that the second the resistance fucks up, he's out. He'd be surprised and disapointed to be wrong but yeah, he'd shrug it off easily.

He really doesn't have an unwavering loyalty towards the code at all. He just loves them because they've been fun to fight and have given him a good challenge.

Sure, he'd love to have 100% trust towards them, and he does feel a warrior's bond with them. He was DELIGHTED when he got the confirmation that they were working against the Feds... but he also knows they're just tools. Tools that obey to their weilder. So if the weilder is bad, the code will be bad. And he doesn't mind that! He understands that the codes are all different!

I think his only concern is to make sure that they never completely fall into bad hands, and for now, he'd rather the resistance (gray area) have them than the feds (confirmed bad guys).

Again, so fun to see everyone giving him the "lonely misunderstood warrior clinging to someone who's Like Him" treatment... but i can't help thinking that it's not that deep.

Idk, maybe I'm being too meta about it, maybe etoiles is actually cooking up a codetoiles slow burn lmao

[britannia0]

MONSTERVERSE

x

MURDER DRONES

==============

MECHAGODZILLA - PART 2

note: I've decided to make N's text blue to avoid confusion (and maybe a bit of symbolism). limitations of mobile tumblr, amiright?

-------------------------------------------

[Fwoosh-]

[Slam!]

"Thanks."

"No problem!"

Ugh. Those idiots make me sick. Just why do I deal with this?

..no use complaining. Nothing I can do but follow along.

like always.

"Hey, idiots! Let's get going."

"Bite me! I'm on it."

-

...I don't know what i expected when I followed Uzi down here.

It definitely wasn't..this.

Not..uhm, all of this tech.

I was expecting a JCJenson logo- or anything to signify this was ours.

..we only found something labelled "Apex".

..I think I have a bad feeling about this.

I mean- yeah, sure. What could go wrong? In a..place like this.

[gulp.]

..stay positive, N. Stay positive..

---

3 drones; 2 with installed disassembly and one of hosting nigh-cosmic absolution.

Optics scan all surrounding locality, though not without the caution- the slowness of alert systems.

Sensory data extrapolating a layout by the tick, plausible exits and entrances arranged upon CPU through visor, like clockwork.

"Looks reeeeal maintained. How?" Suspicion seeps by indifference. A tilt of the neck and she's facing upward, studying incremental detail and fine-polished metals which make up their overhang.

"..maybe worker's have been visiting?"

"Doubt it. This place is in the middle of nowhere. No worker's coming, let alone to clean of all things. It would of been scrubbed clean by now, not have so much stuff in it." Emphasis proceeds through a leg that strikes a steel box on it's side softly, sound reverberating; almost painful to hear compared to former silence.

Uzi is once again staring at coated metal and refined black, multitudes of questions laying dormant- yet where would I get the answers? Before the gaze travels downward.

A hint of apprehension when her optics register.

"Found a way forward, guys."

"Finally." "Oh! Good work, Uzi."

Footfall makes it's way down silver-lined halls- barring a level of resistance in the structure despite it's years, considered admirable.

For a wall, that is.

"This place looks advanced. We sure none of us didn't stumble into a secret science project?"

"Wouldn't put it past humans.."

"Come on now, it can't be that bad, right?"

"Oh, to live in your mind.."

"Hey! he's just being optimistic."

"Optimistic 'til shutdown, right?"

"Ugh, do you ever shut up?" Anger coils around digits, constricting openness to fists.

"Only if I have to."

"Urgh!- whatever! We need to go, so shut it and follow me. Can you do that?"

"Y-" [Sigh.] "Fine."

Silence permeates space, forceful tension infiltrating effector processors- No doubt due to her.

..

The sound of boots hitting steel is what Uzi decides to focus on.

The way sound waves impact then register, the way fabric twists and adjusts with each micro-movement, the way she doesn't have to pay attention to her almost-tangible thoughts.

It helps, it really helps. Though, she wouldn't usually just say that.

What's gotten into me?

Though- as much as she'd like to focus on that thought, the wall something-meters ahead is giving 50 different warnings that she really can't be bothered to read right now.

All because I hit a tree last time? Seriously?

So, purple regrettably turns left.

Ugh.

--

PART 2 - FINISHED

AFTER NOTES:

next chapter is gonna be the main meat of interaction (because they’re gonna meet mg)

accidentally posted this but i kinda wrote myself into a corner at the end so it’s fine and i can continue like nothing happened next part

[naamahdarling]

To start with the genetic code of that species, not a different species. I think that is what people expect, and are complaining about. And that's my problem with it, too.

What these are is a really, really, really cool recreation. A replica made with some authentic materials.

Don't get me wrong. This is potentially a very useful technique to artificially create genetic diversity, as the article says they have done with red wolves. It could maybe help break a species out of a bottleneck. But it isn't a dire wolf in origin. It's a gray wolf with edited genes.

It isn't being picky, I think. I think it's a viewpoint that is coming at it from a different angle than you are, and that viewpoint is scientifically strict, because this is above anything else science, and these people (or at least the article) is making scientific claims using words with specific meanings in that context. And I think that is completely fair.

I could go on about what species means, chimeras, hybrids, mosaicsism, breeds, crossbreeds, all of that, but it's quicker to sum up: if you look at the definitions, the best scientific description of these guys is genetically modified gray wolves.

You can call them dire wolves and think of them like that if that's what you prefer. Some people prefer a more poetic relationship with nature, even if it doesn't match the view of the situation as seen through a scientific lens. Nature, animals, have meaning to us beyond science. And certainly it's really emotional to think we brought something so charismatic back from so far in the past -- but if this was a flatworm you'd never heard of until now, would you be as emotionally invested as you clearly are? No, really. Would you?

Not properly acknowledging the nature of a scientific achievement like this cheapens it, and actively misrepresenting it, as the article atrociously did, and as the company seems like it might be doing, is bad.

Also, what does bringing a species back really mean? You ask why, if this is 99% authentic, it can't just be called a dire wolf, and do you expect us to go back in time and grab actual animals to work from? Honestly? Kinda, yeah. Or at least use the animal's genetic code as a base, as complete as we can get it, not using an animal from a different genus. It's fine to have incredibly strict scientific requirements for something to be considered "brought back" as opposed to nearly perfectly recreated. This is a marvel. They're still wolves.

I'm not going to call them dire wolves, not because I don't want there to be dire wolves, but because despite not really getting along with the idea of bringing ancient species back, I do emotionally want them to exist again, and the difference between what used to be and what these guys are is meaningful to me. And these don't tick the boxes.

this company is so frustratingly misleading. They did not bring back the direwolf (Aenocyon dirus). They modified a modern grey wolf (Canis lupus) into having some direwolf morphology. There has been no de-extinction. This is pure hype slop. As a friend said "these are dire wolves the same way La Croix is a fruit".

[stoookes]

Just caught up with Omegaverse, and ch 5 was all I hoped for and more!

Boy, I loved Stu slowly and tentatively getting accepted in Jimmy and Ali's friend group! Yay Ali for being so perceptive that Stu isn't really happy hanging around with Kevin and his friends. And boo Kevin for starting drama between Jimmy and Stu, by telling him to hit on Ali as a way of testing Jimmy 🙄😤 Just when things were looking up too, and Jimmy was warming up to Stu 😡

Also, jealous Jimmy unfff!!! ❤️‍🔥But I felt so bad for Stu in that scerréene man, Jimmy get off my baby boy! Don't threaten him like that! You have no idea how hard all this is for him! I can't wait for Jimmy to find out Stu's an omega, and how it impacts their relationship. Also, same for Ali, although I feel like Ali might suspect that there's more to Stu than meets the eye, but is keeping his mouth shut about it because he isn't sure/in case he might be wrong.

And then the Stu/Fred scene was so hot too! And Fred knowing Stu's secret all along ahhh.... 🤌🏻✨😩 I have a hunch as to how Fred knows about Antarax and therefore Stu must be omega, but I'm gonna keep shut 😏🤐

Also, really appreciate the Joey mention (Ali's omega whose name begins with a J... Stu might not have put the pieces together, but I certainly did 😉), and this makes me think, are omegas in county/domestic cricket more common? Like, domestic cricket might sign on a player knowing he's omega, but international boards won't do that? Or were omegas forced to keep their secondary gender hidden, even in domestic and club level cricket, and it's only now, after VK's debut, that they have been empowered enough to come out, and cricket boards have become slightly more open-minded and allow some exceptions to their no-omega rule?

Ahh yay! So glad you enjoyed it :D

Yeah, Ali and, as a by product, Jimmy are really trying with Stu, but if feels like every step forwards for them Kevin comes in and forces it to be two steps back. That totally won't be a recurring theme...

I might have to write some more jealous Jimmy... He's fun 😏 Ahaha, the perils of knowing more than the characters - I think, for me, although Jimmy trusts Alastair like no one else, any other alphas flitting around makes him nervous. I mean, just take a look at some of the other England alphas. Jimmy doesn't trust them to respect Ali and his relationship, and with Stuart having spent so much time with those alphas he is a byproduct of that mistrust.

Ali and Jim will find out. It's... Yeah, you'll have to wait and read 😉 (hope that was cryptic enough to have you worried 😜)

Yup, Freddie has known since that very first encounter - it was more poignant than Stuart might think. We've got a few theories on how Freddie knows, they get explored a bit at the top of Ch6.

It poses an interesting question - about domestic/county teams - because we know everyone has to declare (Stuart does in Ch1 when he joins Leicester). Not really something I thought about until writing this chapter and honestly this is only a year after VK and Tim make their international debuts so our omega here will have already have to have been in the team. It's much easier to lie to counties because it's a tick a box situation, no tests done, but our omega is out (as Ali knows) so they will have declared honestly. ECB don't really have anything directly to do with the counties bar using them as talent pools, so I guess they let the domestic teams chose for themselves.

This is something I'll probably explore a bit more when we get to other player's fics :)

Thanks for the comment! I'm really glad you're enjoying it 🥰

[vetometo]

Here goes...

Running, running

It's incredible, the constant stream of tactics and anti-tactics your brain can cook up when you get pulled so far into your escapist habits you start escaping the part of you that's scrambling for a way out.

There was a time I thought noticing it would make all the difference. I wasn't necessarily wrong, either - it's just that real progress prefers winding paths and does its best to wriggle out of your grasp at the first chance it gets. Sometimes it succeeds. Then it's a matter of how long it'll take for you to catch up, because you will, in the end. It'll tire itself out in the same way you can succumb to exhaustion. There will be times you tire before it does, and sit down on the dirt as you watch it gleefully put more distance between you, wondering if this is the last time, now.

Eventually it'll turn around - when the novelty wears off, you'll hear the sigh, see it standing still, waiting for you to follow. You can take the invitation then. You'll be allowed to approach, feel better as you close some of that yawning distance, before the chase begins again. Not in earnest, though. Not for a while. You might notice it stumbling more often (just a little too exaggerated to believe), or huffing and puffing (loudly, audibly) as it complains about the terrain you know for a fact it can fly across in its sleep. So take the mercy for what it is, and pick up the pace.

Or you can stare back, blinking heavy eyes, waiting right alongside it to see which will break first. Then you might see it hesitate, shifting on its feet, before it takes a tentative step in the forbidden direction of back to you. Each of these steps will be a gentle push, though. Back on the path you collapsed on. You'll feel the drag as the first step calls to you, begging to never have been taken at all. So you must take a step too - on you hands and knees if need be, just forward, toward the concerned dignity being laid down before you. You might feel a tug as it takes you by the hand and coaxes you back onto your feet, checking over you all too indiscreetly. No words are spoken, but you think you read what almost looks like an apology in its eyes, sorry, I thought you could keep up, I didn't see the tremble in your steps. You'll be led forward then, gently, in the right direction. You'll recover the distance you lost, flatter terrain now that it's known to you. You'll take back the lead without realising it. Then it might start all over again, but not yet. For now, it'll be an eager hand you hold instead of a slippery wrist.

Be careful with this option, though. That first step might not be towards you if you're unlucky enough. If you sat and waited too long before. If it sees you lose resolve too many times in a row.

Then you might really be left in the company of the enclosing walls.

I haven't felt the biting chill of the lonely draft yet, thankfully. But it's an impending thing. It looms, just out of sight, as a reminder of what's at stake. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

It doesn't mean it can't get suffocating at times.

So can the compulsion to drop it and run, though. Into the numbness I find respite in, into all hours of the night, eyes burning and ears ringing. It's not incentive I lack, but that begs the question of what, then? so I dutifully (dumbly) ignore it, gaze flitting over words and images and characters and stories that only silence my mind for as long as I have my eyes on them. So I have my eyes on them a lot. I shove the ticking clock out of earshot, and the ticking clock shoves back. A boxing match always ongoing in the back of my mind. My bets were and still are on the timer. The blind beast has held on much longer than I assumed.

Maybe I need a more solid grasp on what reality is. Seems obvious but is it, really, when I can live vicariously through snippets I absorb through pages or a screen? What will tether me long enough to lay out the future I've been making a mad dash towards? Because things are only going to get harder from here, and here I am, trying to type out my frustrations because the alternative is an embarassing breakdown that'll do more harm than good.

It's the little moments, I think. What makes it real. Not the plot points or the major twists or the big, emotional minutes that brand themselves into the forefront of your memory, but the insignificant ones you file away as routine. The aimless walks and peeling potatoes with mom and getting up every hour because you need something to keep your mouth busy, damn it, or you'll go insane with restless energy. The menial tasks. The parts you don't include in a story that's told and not lived because they're a given and your brain fills in those gaps on autopilot but they have weight when you realise, when you're conscious of hey, I'm in one now, a little part of being alive. Those motions you go through even on days you're not fully there. Because they're anchor points.

Maybe if I have more of those. Anchor points.

This may have been a half-decent idea after all.

I'll see you in a standalone moment.

[voicesunified]

"Is that not his choice though?" Uriel replied, tilting his head at Lucid. It was a fair thing to point out, he honestly thought that it was up to Michael if he wanted to do that or not. If their elder brother had truly been against the idea of teaching Lucid the power of creation, he would have just said so. And unfortunately, aside from Lucifer himself? Michael was the only other Archangel with the power of creation. He was Lucid's only option, since they certainly weren't going to allow him down into Hell to take lessons from the literal devil.

"Besides, according to Michael himself? The only way for you to get home is to be able to control your own magic. On top of that, the next time this happens? If you don't have control? You could put yourself in a much more dangerous situation." For example, he could have dropped himself in Hell, in the middle of the River of Lava, with no way of getting himself out. He would have, worst case scenario, simply perished.

Which isn't what any of them wanted and was part of Michael's argument for Lucid needing to learn control over himself.

"Also, and I don't mean for this to upset you." Uriel leaned back in his chair and lowered his hands into his lap. He held Lucid's gaze when he spoke this time, ensuring that his point was gotten across. "There is the very real reality that an uncontrolled angel, no matter the kind, is an incredibly dangerous angel. Not having control over yourself makes you practically a ticking time bomb. The one moment you screw up to bad? You could become a danger to yourself and everyone around you. You could have hurt many people with that little display in the middle of Heaven. Do you actually understand that? You could have destroyed all of our Heaven if it simply didn't just pop you out."

Which was why Michael had been so upset. While it was good that nothing actually happened? There was the reality that something could have. And that was what had worried their brother so much. To Michael, Lucid was a reckless untrained angel who needed to learn both control and discipline before they allowed him to attempt to go home. It wasn't unreasonable for Michael to want that either. Just as Lucid should want to learn that control so that he doesn't hurt other people. It was in an angels base nature to be protective, Uriel knows he doesn't want to be an uncontrolled wild ticking bomb just waiting for the wrong moment to go off.

Uriel leaned forward again and lowered his voice a bit, attempting to seem as comforting as possible. The last thing he wanted was to make Lucid uncomfortable or feel like he was attacking him. He knows that's not fair to him.

"The only thing you should truly want in your current state? Is to learn control. If someone is willing to teach you? You should jump at the opportunity to. Michael is hard to work with, he's a very difficult person to understand and he won't hold your hand or baby you." A light shrug, they've all dealt with this throughout their entire lives. Their brother was the hardest teacher when it came to training them. He had high expectations and he held them accountable for every single mistake they made. But he was even harder on himself. Michael never expected anything from them that he wouldn't expect from himself. And he would teach Lucid the same exact way.

"But I am telling you, that by the time you do leave here? You will know every single inch of your magic and how to control it. Because Michael won't let you fail, and he won't let you out of here until your not a danger to yourself and everyone around you. And that's either a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it."

Uriel leaned back and pushed his chair away from the table, standing up and collecting the box of cookies from the desk. "Until then, you at least have a home here. Even if it is partly a prison too I suppose." It wasn't as if Michael was going to let Lucid leave here. But he had a roof over his house and people who would treat him kindly.

Uriel’s first question about his world made the angel sit up a little straighter, his laid back nature subtly becoming more tense. It was not that Lucid was surprised or not expecting such a question to arise eventually, oh nonono. In any Heavenly world, surely the topic of Lucifer would be brought up. His blue hues focused on the broken cookie in Uriel’s hand, understanding the representation and how Michael, Lucifer’s twin, was now no longer truly whole. Who would not be damaged with permanent scars upon their soul from such a traumatic loss?

It was the part that he would frighten Michael like Zadkiel that took him aback. His gaze flicked between the two archangels, listening attentively as to how one’s view of their eldest brother was interpreted as spite towards himself, and the other explaining that it was because the younger was just like Lucifer.” Lucid felt an ache in his heart for Zadkiel. He too could relate to believing his own Michael despised him. Oh it was no question with his own twin however. There was a level of malice in that angel, an ancient rage that recognized the source that sparked it now residing within Lucid.

“…So I am not just a danger physically to your Heaven with my unchecked powers…but…potentially a threat to Michael’s mental state.” Musing aloud, just above a whisper, Lucid cast his gaze downward at his mug of half drunken cocoa. Somehow it felt cold now to him, the warmth sapped away as his own temperature rose with stress. After a several tense seconds, he replied. “Yes. The Lucifer and Michael of my world are also twins. Crafted from the same stardust and star. And like this world, Lucifer was cast from Heaven for his actions and Pride by my Michael. And for a very long time, it remained as Michael the soul half of that star.”

Now Lucid had reached an impasse, a fork in the metaphorical road. All that was asked was if his Michael and Lucifer were twins. He owned no other answers, nothing about what happened after or how he himself came to possess the ability to create. It was then that the borage of haunting warnings flooded back to him. How he was never to interact with the Winner’s, for if they saw his face they may see the Devil. That he was limited to what abilities he was deemed allowed to use and the ones he was forbidden from. How he was reminded time and again that he was created to fill the empty seat left by the fallen traitor, but was equally at risk of meeting the same fate. The warnings to never become like Lucifer and keep the dreams to remain only dreams and illusions. Anything more, he risked serious discipline or even punishment depending on the severity of his disobedience.

Frozen in place, staring blankly into the cup he’s begun to clutch tighter to where his knuckles turned white, the sound of ceramic clinking the countertop as his hands began to shake drawing him out of the state at last. He released his hold on the mug, drawing his hands back into his lap and fidgeting. “…Michael should not teach me Creation Magic. Just because I have the gift, it doesn’t mean I should use it. Ever. I mustn’t. I’m not…I’m not supposed to use it beyond illusions and dreams. And coming here from m-my own world has clearly demonstrated that it is too dangerous for me to ever dabble with again and I promise I won’t use it.” Tension weighted itself upon his chest, like his soul was returning to the gilded cage that he’d forced his way out of. No, he had to subdue these curiosities, these dangerous yearnings. Eyes closed shut, all Lucid could see and hear was his own twin. His Brother’s Keeper. The half that existed not to compliment their opposites, but instead suppress it.

Outwardly, the seraphim trembled lightly in his seat, the halo above his head humming with an anxious pitch. Like the dream realm where he conducts and creates to whisk the subconsciousness away, the angel began to disappear within himself and clam up. The less he said and did, the less trouble we would bring to any and all around him. He’d do what Lucifer couldn’t: accept the limits and obey what was commanded of him.

[reina-royale]

Will Du: Can't, or Can? (Redux)

Starting off with a fun fact: Will's original concept was Ken Du, who was just as capable as Kim. They had a rivalry with each other, but also a bit of a romance. Concept art had him looking just like Hirotaka.

So, honestly, the idea of Kim having an actual rival in saving the world is so interesting. Unfortunately, Will doesn't measure up to Kim.

Or, he's not supposed to.

But he's the top agent at Global Justice for a reason, so there's probably more to his mistakes on the mission than being incompetent.

Let's review:

The first thing we learn about Will is that he doesn't want to work with an amateur. He finds it insulting that he's being asked.

Instead of it being snobbery or an insult to Kim's abilities, it could just as easily be that he wanted to get the job done without having to teach someone else to do it, and was insulted that they wanted to waste his time by making him teach someone to do the job.

I mean, I don't know how it works in the world of espionage, but in every job I had, if someone of high rank was being asked to work with a new recruit or potential recruit, it's because they were expected to teach them or determine if they'd be good for the job.

(Also, Kim needs to not take being called an amateur so personally. She never even fought an actual bad guy until "Tick-Tick-Tick", which was less than two months ago at this point. She is definitely skilled, but she is technically an amateur.)

And Kim is someone who said, to Dr. Director's face, that she's wrong about why someone would kidnap Professor Green because "you can learn everything he knows at the library."

(Honestly, odds are that wasn't true. This is the era where computers were still boxes, Wikileaks didn't exist yet, and only nerds spent a lot of time online anyways. There were still projects from WWII that were classified, so it's doubtful that everything Professor Green worked on was declassified.)

Will Du and Global Justice assume Professor Green had been kidnapped for his weapons knowledge. Even if that wasn't why he was kidnapped, they still have an interest in making sure none of his weapons knowledge got out anyways.

But Kim keeps insisting that the trained professionals who do this for a living are wrong.

It must be really frustrating for Will.

(Just because Kim was right doesn't mean she has to be a know-it-all.)

There's also the fact that Global Justice had only asked Kim on the mission, but she brought Ron and Rufus along anyways, meaning in addition to ensuring Kim's safety, Will also has to ensure the safety of a civilian and his pet, who should not have been there in the first place.

Despite Will having an entire database of verified information on his wrist, Kim insists on going to a den of criminal activity to talk to some crime boss for information, despite being unable to prove the information would be correct or helpful.

(And does not tell Will ahead of time where they're going, denying him any ability to refuse to go or offer an alternative.)

Sure, it got the job done, but Will no doubt has procedures, rules, and regulations to follow, along with a list of things that he shouldn't do, and using unverified, known-criminal sources for information is probably one of them.

In summary:

Will has to ensure the safety of an amateur that charges into things without talking to others, and the civilian and rodent she dragged along who shouldn't be there.

Will has to follow rules and procedures that Kim doesn't think about and likely wouldn't respect anyways.

Will has a database of useful and verified information, but Kim insists on using sources like Big Daddy Brotherson.

Kim went into the mission with an "I know better" attitude, already believing she was better than the professionals who do this for a living.

So, while Will is probably actually extremely competent, he was also off of his game because his style doesn’t mesh well with Kim’s at all.

And he would have been an interesting recurring character, but the creators decided not to give Kim an actual rival in saving the world, for some reason, so we never see Will again.

(I like to imagine he specifically requested to never work with Kim again, so Global Justice only contacts Kim for things that Kim would be better suited for, or when they were studying The Ron Factor.)

So, Will could have been a very interesting character, someone to serve as an actual rival to Kim when it comes to saving the world.

Sadly, his potential was wasted by turning him into a seemingly incompetent agent.

And that's just sad.

Bonus Thoughts:

Will doesn't seem to be very experienced with combat. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, it just leads me to a certain conclusion about him:

He wasn't trained for combat.

Global Justice's top agent would be very skilled at whatever they needed him to be good at, but combat doesn't seem to be one of his skills.

So it's very likely Global Justice probably didn't need him for combat. His skills probably lie more in intelligence gathering and espionage, which requires more stealth and diplomacy than fighting

And it certainly never involved fighting villains like Kim's.

Thus, Will is not incompetent, he's just not suited for combat against supervillains with gimmicks.

[ghostaholics]

ᴇɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Warning(s): age-gap (reader probably in mid 20s or so); angst A/N: Because I'm too lazy to write a full fic so here's literally a short piece of what I'm sure would've been something if I had the motivation

JOEL ALWAYS SAID THIS ABOUT YOU – born young enough to grow up in a world that had nothing to offer; you didn’t watch it decay like he did where it used to be half-decent and you could find your place in life before everything went to shit – had grown into something inhospitable and terrible and bitter to the core. No, to you, it was just rotten from the very beginning: broken dreams and scattered ashes littering the filthy ground, a bunch of "what-ifs" and "maybes" and no room for shades of gray when it came to seeing things in black and white because the darkness won out and snuffed out the rest of all that was light and good as the sickness descended like the goddamn Rapture; it wasn’t just the infected that remained – the only people left navigating the wreckage were those with cruel hearts and nasty intentions.

"Well, it's not all that awful," you say, murmuring into the opening of your thermos as you stare fixedly at the last the last few remnants of stew at the bottom. "You're here. I guess that sorta makes up for it."

His figure is hunched over the fire he recently smothered. Even though his back is facing you, the tension in his body is apparent. Rigid – the same way he stiffens up when danger's nearby. "Don't say that kinda stuff." (And it sounds just as serious as “Stay behind me,” or “Run,” whenever hell’s at your both of your guys' heels.)

But you keep on rambling anyways – Pandora's box cracked wide open like a gaping maw that spills secrets, ones that should have never been let out – won’t fucking shut up about it even if you can help it now. And maybe it's not fair to put this kind of burden on him; maybe it's selfish of you to tell him, no matter how wrong it is, but each day could be your last and getting this off your chest might mean one less stupid problem to worry about. It's not like he doesn't know. Not after what happened back in Colorado, anyways. That had made it clear as day if it wasn't already obvious before. "After everything we've been through, I bet you still think of me as that same kid that got under your skin when we first met," you say absentmindedly. It doesn't come out in an accusatory tone, just an observation.

The stress leaches into his voice, washing over every word. Joel's on guard. Walls up. He shakes his head slowly, like a warning. "You've got no idea what you're talking about."

You lean back, transferring your weight into your wrists. "So I'm not right, then?" you ask it innocently enough.

He's moving around, double-checking that all the gear's in place. Of course, he's avoiding any eye contact. "We've got to head out in ten. Now's not the time for this kind of conversation."

"Almost a thousand miles left. All we really have is time. Look, Joel whatever you've got to say, I can handle it. You don't need to spare my feelings.”

He’s fidgeting with his watch as if the strap’s suddenly too tight – a habit he doesn't indulge in often, but one that you've noticed once in a blue moon. Maybe he developed it because of you. Always so sure of himself, but you're the one person who's managed to upend everything. "Get your —"

" —guns are in my pack," you finish for him. It's routine at this point. He's predictable. You know what to expect. "Is it because—"

He cuts you off too. "It's a bad idea." There's a finality to his voice.

So he's thought about this before.

"We've had worse ones."

“People like you don’t end up with people like me,” he says. "Shouldn't."

And you’re taken aback because out of everything that you expected it most certainly wasn’t that.

The ticking of a secondhand, booming – can’t be his watch because that’s been shattered for years – off-rhythm, way too fast; it’s your heart thrashing violently behind the cage of your chest. You reach for him, fingers curling around his wrist. Your thumb meets his pulse point and you feel the constellation of tiny scars across the expanse of his weathered skin. He’s warm. Alive. “That’s not — Joel, c’mon, you don’t seriously believe that—”

His eyes flickers down to where the two of you are joined before dragging back up to meet your gaze. "I’m not infected like the rest of ‘em, but this disease turns men into monsters, corrupts them until they're the most twisted versions of themselves. I've done things that I'll never be able to come back from, and when we’re done here, you’re better off finding something else.”

As if you could ever. That's next to impossible. "I've seen all of the ugliest and messiest parts of you and it doesn't change a single thing. I still want you just as bad."

[samueldays]

Lebanon is very interesting! I figure you're asking about views on the system rather than specific laws when you say "politics" here: it's unusual, I like it, it seems to be performing above replacement, it's creaking because of demographic change.

I think you are broadly correct about the basic concern.

The nuance is that Lebanon designed their particularist policies for staving off sectarian unrest; whereas American left-wing particularist policies are partly "un-designed", and partly designed for other goals they don't know how to achieve such as closing the race gap.

You might have seen this flag:

The drift in the pride flag is a visual case of "un-design". I don't have a precise word for this, I think the illustration is striking, I shall try to explain in words.

The original six color stripes were meant to represent and include all kinds of people. Some people felt that that they weren't represented enough, they wanted extra representation and got more stripes added. Some people proposed other additions like a red sex worker sign. That one didn't catch on, but the intersex circle did. I don't know why, I can't see who's calling the shots here, it seems to be a deeply informal and opaque process.

That can work well for internal matters of cultural tradition, but for external matters of policy and social order and negotiating with outsiders, it's a bad approach. Outsiders would really like some clarity in what their obligations are and who they take complaints to.

Gay symbolism aside, let's talk about a specific particularist policy. Recently there was a fuss about the fact that Zohran Kwame Mamdani, mayoral candidate in New York, had falsely ticked the "Black or African-American" race box when applying to Columbia university, and this box gives racial preference in admissions.

Columbia's explanation of what this box means and who should check it describes a racial-ethnic group, which Mamdani does not belong to because he's of (dot) Indian blood.

Stock leftist explanations of why there ought to be such a box and preference talk about compensation to the descendants of slaves for the legacy of slavery (and segregation and so on) in America, but Mamdani was born abroad and only came to America in 1998.

On both counts, he was wrong to check the box. Yet I see leftists confidently defending him by saying he was born in Africa, that makes him African-American, and this is a non-story. (I doubt these people would say the same for Elon Musk, who is also a lightskin born in Africa.)

Outgroup homogeneity bias is at work in my telling of this story, I figure, but even granting different types of leftists, their parties/factions are being informal and opaque in working out how this is supposed to go. This is "un-design", and it's bad for staving off sectarian unrest when the sects can't settle on who is owed what, or even what the rule is by which judges should be determining who is owed what.

NRx has a view of formalism, which extra doesn't like this. I shall paraphrase Moldbug very briefly here in summarizing formalism: much human conflict derives from the double uncertainty of who owns a thing, and whether I could become the owner by taking the thing. To minimize conflict, figure out who owns what, formalize that in an open and honest way, and pin down and enforce the rules by which ownership can legally change.

This makes NRx broadly supportive of Lebanon, which established "ownership" of such things as the Prime Ministership (belongs to the Sunni Muslims) which are frequently fought over in other countries. But they whiffed a bit on the changing ownership part, so now Lebanon is having trouble with demographic change undermining what used to be the basis of their old agreement. Formalists would also wish for universities to be open and honest about just what it is black applicants "own" in affirmative action admits, also figure out who exactly owns and administers that.

(I've heard criticism that formalism is close to trivial, "be clear about what the law is", and I think owning a Prime Ministership and affirmative action admissions are examples of nontriviality. Moldbug also says to avoid arguments about who should own what in favor of observing who does own what and formalizing that.)

Lebanese confessionalism was primarily a pact between Muslims and Christians there, with colorful footnotes about groups like the Druze and interruptions by the PLO. The major sects, and I generalize broadly here, both have a traditional basis on which to respect the agreement handed down to them from their fathers even if they're not personally in favor of it; whereas the American Left has more "why the fuck should I obey some dead white male?" objections.

While the Left has more of this than the Right in America, America also has more of this problem in general than Lebanon. Americans love to think of themselves as a nation of freethinking individuals, and call their enemies "bootlickers", mocking each other for "spouting the party line". But the opposite POV on this is that Americans are disloyal and rebellious at scale; it is very difficult for an American party leader to make binding agreements on behalf of his followers if they won't repeat the party line. America has the problem I called "un-design" at the top, because Americans won't commit to a design and won't stick to a sect to anywhere near the same extent as Lebanese.

Back to the university application story for a moment, another problem was that everyone was competing for the same admissions slots, which means one cheat becomes everyone's problem. Lebanon has had much stronger religious-legal separation where two Christians fighting wouldn't get the Muslims involved, and two Orthodox Christians fighting wouldn't even get the Catholics involved. Religious communities in Lebanon have a degree of autonomy vaguely similar to American states, with their own courts. One's "rights" in Lebanon are partly determined by which religious group one belongs to. I don't like the word "segregation" because a lot of people have a kneejerk reaction to the word and think of stereotypes not applicable to Lebanon, but the allocations by religious group (sometimes verging on ethno-religious) are in some ways similar. The Shia Muslims in Lebanon are competing only with other Shia Muslims for some of the goods in Lebanon, which changes the nature of the competition, especially when their judge is also going to be a Shia Muslim. In other ways it's like a microcosm of the Westphalian system, but that's another tangent.

Lebanon's National Pact had headline distribution of positions like this:

The President of the Republic and the Commander of the Lebanese Armed Forces must be Maronite Catholic. The Prime Minister of the Republic must be a Sunni Muslim. The Speaker of the Parliament must be a Shia Muslim. The Deputy Speaker of the Parliament and the Deputy Prime Minister must be Greek Orthodox Christian. The Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces must be a Druze.

Personally, I love it for the novelty.

Politically, the ways in which this helps stave off sectarian unrest seem to me immediate and obvious. Each major sect is guaranteed a high position, and also guaranteed that their worst enemy can't nab a majority of them. The distribution forms a Schelling point after existing for a while; any one sect agitating for more invites everyone else to form a coalition and tell that sect "be happy with what you have". The explicit distribution makes it simple to check whether parties are abiding by the agreement. The obligations are relatively simple to abide by. There's similar quotas on parliamentary seats, too.

America does not do this. Not nationally, not partisanly, not at state level. Sometimes a judge will order the gerrymandering creation of a black-majority congressional district to ensure black representation, which is a little similar but not much and results in gerrymandering problems and other side-effects. Americans dislike tokenism, and Lebanon has tokenism as a basis for government.

Left-wing particularist policy in America, I think, is structurally unable to do this because of asymmetrical markedness.

Lebanon has no majority denomination; the Sunni+Shia+Druze add up to a small majority of "Muslims" but the first two don't cooperate and the third barely counts as Muslim. Every sect in Lebanon's confessional political system is aware that it's a sect, and dealing with other sects, and the system needs to be somewhat symmetrical about sects. Every sect is a minority. The biggest sect, Maronite Catholics, is allocated 34 of 128 seats in Lebanon's parliament.

By contrast, American leftism is more focused on the 13% blacks, the 3% gays, the <1% trans, and other minorities contrasted against a majority. Minorities such as blacks are marked while whites are unmarked (this may change if whites cease being a majority), so to leftists black preference in admissions and hiring feel like a very different thing from white preference. This background shapes policy and policy design. Asymmetric design is hard to balance.

In closing, Lebanon has fascinating politics with a lot to learn from, but I think a lot of its lessons are either inapplicable to America (unmarked and "nondenominational" church issues), or so close to segregation as to be coup-complete.

Question for some of the NRx(-adj) guys on here, e.g. @mitigatedchaos and @arcticdementor:

What are your views on Lebanese politics?

The common refrain I hear in your circles is, in broad strokes, concern that left-wing particularist policies vis-à-vis minority groups will lead to social chaos of some kind. There are many different instantiations of this general prototype but I think it's safe to say (correct me if I'm wrong) that this is the basic, recurrent concern. Lebanon is one of many examples of a place where particularist policies towards different social groups were implemented principally to stave off sectarian unrest. And Lebanon is a particularly extreme case in which this represents the core of the political system itself.

I don't have any particularly strong views here; I think Lebanon's strategy is one among many for handling the potential conflicts that come with a pluralistic society, and I suppose the most I can say is I hope it works out for them.

But if your primary set of concerns are as the NRx(-adj) ones seem to be, it seems to me that you probably want to be thinking hard about Lebanon.

[acourtofsnakes]

The Absence Of Sound - Freefall, Chapter 3 || The Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader

Summary: The Batch catch a lead of where you might be, but is it too good to be true? And a certain angsty clone realises he doesn't have a heart of ice after all.

Warnings: nicknamed reader (Ghost), sleazy guy who cant say no, unwanted touch (a hand on the neck), swearing, canon weapons, The Boys being hot, Reader being a badass, arguing, tension of the spicy kind, mention of slight panic

A/N: The chapters in this series are split into sections, Before and After. The before chapters are set during the Clone Wars, before TBB, with a slight AU. Just a little heads up in advance for chapter 4... You have been warned. 🥲

Words: 5.8k+

Tags: @arctrooper69

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Now

“Well, I gotta say boys, I’ve seen scum in the depths of prisons look happier than you.” Cid strolled into the parlour, dropping a box of credits on the table, payment for their latest mission. 

None of them answered her, barely even acknowledged her, or the credits. As it had been for the past four months, the table was covered in maps, scraps of information, datapads old and new, bounty pucks, everything. Any hint of information, any part of anything that could be relevant. 

For four months now, in every spare second they had, The Bad Batch were searching. Hunting. 

Seeking out their lost companion, their fallen partner. 

You were more than just a member of their tight-knit, rag-tag collection. 

You were a part of them. 

And they couldn’t leave another behind, not again. 

“There seems to have been a lot of activity across these three systems,” Tech flicked through the information on his data pad, the holo in the middle of the table reflecting the same data, “Activity that would not be explained by our usual kind of enemies. Unexplained attacks at any given point of time, surges of energy that people cannot explain, sightings of someone that no-one can quite remember.” He adjusted his goggles, rolling his shoulders a little.

Echo was poring over a collection of bounty pucks, brow furrowed in concentration, “Would she have been that obvious though? I mean, we know her. We know how she operates, how she thinks… She’s our Ghost, if she’s in hiding, why is she letting herself be seen?” The answer already hung there in his words, but it felt like a curse to bring it to light, to snuff out a possibility before it even had the chance to be real.

“Because she knows we’re looking for her. She’s ready to be found. She’s telling us where she is so we can go and rip apart whoever is keeping her.” Wrecker growled a little, thumping on fist into the plan of the other hand, his grey eye smouldering.

��Hunter? What do you think?” Tech turned his attention to his brother, his sergeant, the one he looked up to. 

Hunter was staring at the scattered research across the table, rubbing his fingertips along his jaw over and over again, those senses of his telling him something, telling him this wasn’t right. He shook his head, “No…” It was a soft murmur, before he realised Tech had spoken to him, “No. Something about this isn’t right.”

Tech looked down at the data, ticking it over, “If we leave now, we will be at Moraband in less than two rotations. I can get us through jump points that limit the amount of time we waste. We can go to the planet and inspect for ourselves, what is going on.” 

Wrecker’s head followed the conversation, turning to each brother in turn before he rose from his seat, rolling his neck, “I say we do it. If she’s there, we find her. If not, we bust some heads until someone tells us where she is.” 

Hunter sighed heavily through his nose, skin prickling again but he nodded once, “Get everything you need, we leave in ten.” He just couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong about his.

Before

You had to hand it to yourself - you’d managed to make something out of the mess your life might have handed up being. 

That’s not to say your time in the Jedi Temple was unpleasant or unhappy, it wasn’t. They were some of the happiest memories you ever had, learning how to harness the Force and wield the legendary weapons you’d always dreamed of touching. 

Of course, you did come to the Temple under more devastating circumstances. An attack on your home planet when you were young caused chaos and destruction, turning your once peaceful surroundings into that of fire and blood. 

You vividly remember the moment it all happened, the moment the world turned in on its head and your parents ran with you through the wreckage of the town square, trying to make sure you didn’t look too closely at the scarlet staining the pretty cobblestones like oil.  

Running, running, running. 

Endless running until another explosion rocked the very ground beneath you, throwing you off your feet and ripping you away from your parents. Something pushed into you when you tried to stand, some kind of invisible, weightless energy that kept you down, hidden, seconds before a wave of those awful creatures tore through the plaza, gunning down everything in their path. 

There was so much dust, so much smoke. 

So much screaming and pain. 

When it cleared, the silence was terrifying, like all the life had been sucked out of the world… because it had. 

Your parents had drawn the attention of the monsters so they wouldn’t find you, clutching each other's hands in the growing pool of blood painting the floor. 

Such agony and rage and confusion, all shooting through your body, grief, helplessness - a whirling torment growing wilder and wilder, like the churning sky of a storm before it snapped and that same energy had burst out of you. 

It blew everything away in a ten-foot radius, leaving you in the centre, sobbing and clawing at the ruins of your home world. 

That was how the Jedi had found you when they came to help survivors. Sitting in the centre of a storm, near passed out from exhaustion and grief.

They took you back to the Temple, running a few tests on your Midichlorian count, and to see if you were okay. 

And everything went from there. 

You became part of Anakin Skywalker’s little unit, becoming best friends with his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, and causing just as much mischief for General Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

The four of you were inseparable, working together in a beautiful, coalescent unit, and you even became close with Anakin’s Clone unit, the 501st, led by Captain Rex. 

Ah, how you adored Rex. His easy way of looking at the world, the endless calm that flowed out of him like water whenever you reached out with the Force. 

He commanded his men more like brothers, worked side-by-side with Anakin as though they shared the same blood too. 

Not to mention, he always had a soft spot for you and Ahsoka, and he was one of the first people to notice that you processed the world differently, after Ani mentioned it. 

Perhaps it was this difference that he saw, this unsettled, frantic energy thrumming consistently through your blood that made Rex suggest something. 

That something happened to be by way of a unit of five, Clone Force 99. 

The Bad Batch. 

A group of ‘defective’ clones born and bred for their differences and altered skills, who were efficient and always successful, even if their methods looked like one of Anakin’s mission plans. 

They owned the fact that they didn’t fit it, accepting their differences and turning them into their strengths and pride. 

Rex begged for help on the mission on Anaxes, considering you were the only one who believed his theories about Echo without hesitation.  

And it was there that you slotted in like the sixth puzzle piece. 

The boys were fascinated by you, and you were in turn fascinated by them. 

You weren’t as uptight as other Jedi Commanders they’d met. You felt things and expressed them in ways they’d never seen before. 

You laughed brightly, teasing them with a mouth that could have shocked some of the General’s they’d seen. 

You fought like a whirlwind, your grace and skill honed until you became a blur of light on the battlefield, leaving the Batch staring after you with wide eyes and parted lips. 

They witnessed your anger at the state of Echo, your friend, watched you tear through the enemy with your sabers flashing like bolts of lightning, your fury threatening to rumble the skies. 

Hunter marvelled at your efficiency, something they’d seen only in the brief time they’d known Anakin, but there you were, burning as fiercely as he did yet eyes skipped over you when it mattered. 

A storm, he called you. Always feeling and thinking so intensely, crackling with life yet no one knew when you were going to explode into light next.  

It was after that mission, when you were watching Echo choose to stay with the boys that you realised how right things felt with them, how you didn’t have to mask the fact that you saw the world through an altered lens. You didn’t have to master the emotions that sometimes bubbled over with no warning and dragged you through the undertow. 

Rex must have seen it too, must already have known and spoken to Hunter, because he took you aside and suggested that you stay right where you are, with them. With people who you burn brightly with and not be dimmed. 

And although you missed your friends, missed this family that had held you back from the precipice of oblivion… 

This felt right. 

This felt like home. 

They felt like home. 

The sounds of the cantina were a pleasant hum in the background, dulling your senses and providing a sort of blanket to dissociate into. 

It was another successful mission under your belts, another tally to add to your repertoires. 

The Marauder was being refuelled, so Hunter suggested you all do the same - considering Wrecker had again eaten through everyone’s ration packs… Again.

All the boys were seated at a table, relaxing after the mission but still with that keen alertness. 

It was your round of drinks, and you’d slipped through the crowd to the bar, ordering from the droid and just listening to the hum of everything around you. 

You watched the droid potter around preparing your drinks, toying with your credits on the bartop, flipping them in and out of your fingers absently, just to offset a bit of that lingering energy leftover from escaping possibly another near death experience.

Really, it was like being back with Anakin and the others, there was a remarkable similarity with plans having to be changed right at the almost moment for some reason or another.

The thought brought a faint smile to your lips, how you’d gotten a similar family yet one completely different, one that you fit snugly into and wouldn’t change for the world. 

“Now, there’s a smile I could get used to seeing.” An unfamiliar voice broke your haze, your sensitivity alerting you too late that someone was next to you, bordering on too close. 

Clearly, you’d disassociated harder than you meant to, since you were usually so aware of your surroundings and space, hating it when people you didn’t trust came too close.

Exhaling softly through your nose, you turned your head to the side, examining the male that had bothered you. 

He was human, older by the looks of his greying stubble and the flecks through his hair which was swept back with careless abandon but clearly styled as an attempt to look rumpled. 

He had pale green eyes which lingered on you with too much curiosity, too much weight that didn’t sit well on your skin. 

“Ah, well. Unfortunately for you, this will be the first and only time you get to see it.” You turned to face the droid again, senses now in complete focus but you put off reading his signature yet, not wanting to know what lived in his head before you gave him the chance to walk away. 

The man frowned a little, letting his head fall to one side against his shoulder, elbow resting on the bar with his chest open to you - a cliche sign of dominance if ever you saw it. “Aw, cmon now don’t be like that, I’m just playing.” He ducked his head further, that ridiculous smile on his lips that reminded you of a slimy beast.  

Patience. Calm. That’s what we’re practising right now. 

“I’m only going to say this one more time, and I’ll make it super clear for you.” You didn’t even look at him, instead nodding thanks to the droid as your drinks were placed in front of you, “You will not be leaving this place with me hanging off your arm like another trophy to add to your collection. You’ll be leaving on your own, okay?” 

The man visibly bristled from the corner of your eye, rising up to his full height and he sidled even closer, so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath, the stale sweat clinging to his clothes as they brushed your armour, “Is it because of those boys you’re runnin’ with? Those clones?” He scoffed, looking over at your boys and then back at you, “You realise they’re expendable, right? They’re all the same. You’re never gonna get anythin’ different. Whereas with me,” he actually gestured to himself, “You’ll have somethin’ you’ll never forget.” Then, as if he had bantha dung for brains, he rested his hand on the back of your neck. 

Every muscle in your body wanted to jump and rip his hand off you, to snarl in his face and laugh when he realised what he’d done.

But such anger isn’t the Jedi way, is it, Ghost? We shouldn’t be giving into such feelings of darkness. 

You rolled your eyes internally at yourself and then gazed at your unwanted friend with a stare that Ani and Rex used to say made Hoth look like the sands of Tatooine, “Are you really that dim, or are you just planning on losing a hand tonight?”

Your boys would make a meal out of him. 

Come to think of it, you’d make a meal out of him whilst they watched.

His hand flexed on the back of your neck, making your skin crawl, your stomach roil and you visibly saw the cogs turning over in his mind, trying to work out how to play this at an angle that you supposed would have you falling to your knees for him. 

The feeling of your skin crawling was suddenly soothed, senses pinging and alerting you to a familiar presence. A deadly one. 

The feel of howling winds and low burning fury, the cold crackle of something waiting to be unleashed. 

“I suggest you remove your hand from the Commander’s neck. She isn’t known for her patience.” The cool, liquid rasp of Crosshair emerged from thin air, arm extended and unwavering as he almost delicately pushed the muzzle of his blaster into the cheek of your ‘admirer’.

Despite the position he now found himself in, this guy still seemed determined to stick to his stupidity, “You think I’m afraid of a little girl? What are you, her bodyguard?”

Your body was suddenly washed over by the crackle of fires, of strength as hard as durasteel, the creeping awareness of another type of predator in your midst. And beneath that? A fierce protectiveness and loyalty. 

Hunter prowled over from the table, pausing just a few feet away. He was all broad shoulders and glinting eyes, one hand occupied with the casual flip of his knife, “You’re not all that smart, are you?” He moved between you and the older man, weight settled in one hip.

Said man in question scoffed again, hands held up in surrender as the tangy taste of fear began to spill at the edges of your senses, “Like I said, you think I’m afraid of you? You’re just some kinda jumped experiment, hard to be afraid of something with no life.”

Crosshair laughed softly, the velvet hum of a knife on steel, “I can’t wait to see how this ends.”  

His amber eyes flicked over to you, silently checking you were okay, that no harm had come to you. He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it. 

Hunter had that predator's gaze locked firmly on the man’s, pinning him with that smokey stare, just daring him to move, “Oh, we’re not the ones you should be afraid of.” He jerked his head backward, motioning to where you sat behind him at the bar still, head resting on your fist now, “It’s her you need to watch out for.” 

A smirk crossed your lips as Hunter mimicked exactly what you’d thought earlier, and you merely shrugged at the man with no attempt at disagreeing, sipping your drink as you watched the scene play out in front of you, “He’s not wrong there.” You slipped the edge of your cloak back, revealing just a small percentage of the glittering weapons strapped to your body, not to mention the sabers hanging at your hips. 

The man paled, his cheeks hollowing and skin turning sallow, “You - you’re a Jedi.” He opened his mouth, swallowed. Swallowed again. Then he licked his lips, a bead of sweat tracking down his temple, “I didn’t realise.” 

You were still for a moment, then slowly swivelled your chair round before hopping lightly to the floor, stalking toward him on footsteps that were silent, even though the bar was now quiet, bated, “So, you only would have stopped if you knew I was a Jedi?” You reached Hunter’s shoulder and he moved back a pace, allowing you in front of him without a single hesitation, “You're saying if I weren’t a Jedi, you wouldn’t have cared if I said no?” 

Crosshair hummed, pushing the muzzle of the blazer deeper into the flesh of the man’s cheek, cocking his head, “I’d be careful. You’re digging yourself into a hole you most certainly won’t be climbing out of now.”

He sputtered, opened his mouth, closed it again, trembling head to know now as he met that stormy, ice cold look, “I- I didn’t - I wouldn’t-“ He broke off with a noise, casting a glance around for someone to help him. 

But no one would. The other patrons of the bar had clocked you all as soon as you’d walked in, the painted armour of the boys and yourself, Wrecker’s size, Crosshair’s predatory sweep of the room, the sabers dangling at your hips, as well as every other weapon on your body. 

They wouldn’t help this man, not now. 

You smiled at him, a smile that was all fangs and fury, the silence of the bar allowing that smoky, dark voice to be heard within you, “You, you, what?” You laughed, hand barely twitching and Hunter’s knife slipped free from his vambrace into your waiting fingers. 

Hunter didn’t even flinch, merely rolling his shoulders and allowing a smirk to cross his features when you took his knife. It was a move practised dozens of times now.

The blade glinted in the dim light as you traced the tip along the man’s jaw, “You might be thinking because I’m a Jedi, I’ll be lenient on you.” Your eyes tracked the movement of the blade before flicking to meet his, “If I could be bothered to show you, you’d see the colour blade I carry and why you’d be better off with an actual Jedi.” 

He barely breathed as you nicked the edge of his lip with the blade, probably praying to every single thing he could think of right now. 

You heaved a sigh, a soft pout, “As it stands, I just came from a particularly difficult mission and I don’t really have the energy to waste on bottom-level scum like you.” A careless shrug, “Shame really.” You dropped your hand, still holding eye contact as Hunter extended his arm, allowing you to slip the knife back into the vambrace. 

The man sagged in relief, but only a few centimetres considering Crosshair’s blaster was still jammed into the side of his face. Then he snickered softly under his breath, “Knew it. All show. Just a pretty face tha’ keeps their beds warm.” 

Your foot paused before it hit the ground, body held with perfect poise and stillness, “Cross?” The tone of your voice was so light, you could have been asking for the weather.

There was the barest whistle through the air, a solid thump of knuckles impacting flesh and then a body hitting the floor heavily. 

A soft smile graced your lips now as the three of you walked back to your seats, “I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat.” 

Wrecker’s crow of delight filled the space, sparking conversation again as if the previous moment had never happened, and as if one of the patrons wasn’t being dragged outside spitting out teeth.

Now

He became aware of the footsteps trailing him fifteen minutes ago. Whoever it was must have thought they were doing a good job, or they didn’t realise exactly who it was they were following - as if the sleek grey armour wasn’t enough.

Still, he allowed it, if only to feed the curiosity tickling the back of his mind, the thrill that he hadn’t experienced in a while. If he was being trailed by an attacker, he’d have them incapacitated and on the ground before they could even blink… But maybe he would allow them a small chance first, just for entertainment. 

Just to feel something else other than the hounding desolation and anger constantly assaulting his mind.

And that itching, nagging feeling at his skin that had shaken him from his bed, the atmosphere in the room too tight, too charged. It was pressing on his skin, reminding him of not so long ago of the way the air would feel when you were wound up, on the verge of cracking.

Three more blocks, the wall of the fallen soldiers, his brothers, coming up before him and then the uneven thump of those feet was starting to grate on his already shredded nerves, igniting the cold temper he had always been known for. He slowed under the pretence of examining the names carved into the wall, each one clanging hollowly in his skull. 

One breath, then another, then - 

He swung round, blaster aimed, arm unwavering at the hooded figure lingering behind him who raised their hands quickly, “I suggest you think of a reason for following me very quickly. I would hate to have to ruin these floor-stones with the inside of your head.” The tone of voice didn’t even change, if anything he just came across bored. Empty. 

The figure shook their head, the hood shimmering with the movement but still keeping the face in shadow, “Forgive me, sir!! I wasn’t sure when best to approach you, my employer - they said not to give this information to anyone else, but also to approach with caution as-”

He flicked the toothpick from his lips with a near silent agitated grunt, ”Spit it out, my hand is starting to get tired.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, but his grip was unwavering. He had spent hours upon hours with a target in sight, hand curled around his weapon with his finger resting on the trigger, a trigger which needed only the barest touch from him before his enemy was on the ground. Hours spent willing his body into complete stillness, ready to burst into action at a moment’s notice.

A faint whimper, a half step back, “There is a storm coming.”

Everything in him turned to stone, the ice that usually encased his heart now sending splinters through his chest.

He hadn’t heard those words ever. Not once.

He didn’t even speak, simply sheathed his weapon, the memories threatening to break free of their confinement in his head. He turned away from the messenger, not caring who sent him or why.

There was nothing inside him but a raging, snarling, howling beast, clawing at its cage.

Desperate to be free, to hurt, to protect. 

And then, Crosshair ran.

As his feet pounded on the ground, he was battered with another memory, another flash of the past where you had been so alive, so vibrant, burning through the galaxy as you should do.

Every moment, both awake and asleep, he was given memories of you, even now, even when he could feel that your life was at stake, hanging in the balance. 

He wouldn’t know peace until you were okay.

~

Then

“What’s your problem, Crosshair?”, Your voice echoed sharply around the clearing, the sunset bouncing off the hull of the Marauder, the pounding music of 79’s a soft hum in the background. 

What was supposed to be a relaxing evening off after a mission had quickly turned south, leaving you and Crosshair hissing at each other in the club until the barman asked you to take it outside. 

Gladly. 

Crosshair was leaning against it, long legs crossed over each other at the ankles as he cleaned his rifle, “Problem? Oh, I’m not the one with the problem, Shade.” His words were all poison honey, dripping and lethal. He didn’t look at you, gaze focused on his task, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth as usual. 

Shade. That nickname only he called you, ever. 

You scoffed, pausing in front of him and crossing your arms, “No? Then what was that little comment about back there, huh?” Your gaze was all crackling electricity this time, ready to spit and spark, “What was it again? Oh, yes.” You held your fingers up to make air-quotes, “I’ll just run along to the next person that tells me I’m not bad?” 

He barely glanced at you, a careless thing that he knew just riled you up even more, “Is it not true?” 

That damn unruffled drawl, it made you want to shake him. Or strangle him. 

Maybe you would. 

“No. It isn’t true. You know I am very aware of what lives inside me, I don’t need anyone to validate that. No one.” The bones of your knuckles ached with how tightly you gripped your arms, if only to stop yourself from throttling him. 

How dare he? 

Now he finally looked up, spitting out his toothpick, “No? Then why do you go running to Hunter every time you need validation that you’re good?” He spat the word out like it offended him, pushing off from the ship and taking a step forward, towering over you. 

You refused to back down, meeting his glare with one of your own, even as you tipped your head back to look up at him, “You think I need validation that I’m good?” Stars, you were so angry. It pulsed through your body, making your heart rage and your blood heat inexplicably. 

Crosshair smirked, tilting his head, amber eyes fixed on you, reading every little expression on your face that he knew so well. “I know you do, Shade. What did you did today - that is who you are. I watched you tear through those traitors without a second's hesitation, without thought.” That liquid velvet if his voice was oh so tempting, drawing you in, wrapping you in his arms and coaxing you toward the truth. 

An ache was radiating out from your jaw where you clenched it so tightly, feeling that smokey darkness prick its head at Crosshair’s words, “Enough.”

He wasn’t finished. He stepped even closer, fully blotting out your vision, your senses with that velvet voice, “You were unstoppable. Ferocious. That is who you should be. Not bound by the rules of the Jedi you no longer follow. You should be using everything you have, everything you are.” The rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was just as affected as you, “You have a beast inside you, Shade. Just like me. I’ve seen it. Time and time again. On the battle in Anaxes, when you tore through the people keeping Echo. Every mission after, I see that beast try to come out, but you deny it. Deny who you are.” With every word, his tone got snider, more sullen, more like a bite than a word. 

“I said enough!!” You growled at him, pushing your hands hard against his chest plate with a pulse of the Force, your own breathing heavier now as that beast in question shone through your eyes, seeing the world for what it was before you quelled it, stuffing it back down. “I’m not you, Crosshair.” 

You couldn’t. 

You couldn’t give in and let people get hurt again, no matter how good it felt, no matter how strong you felt. 

“No. You’re not. Because I wouldn’t have lied to myself over and over, I’d have accepted the truth.” Crosshair watched your internal struggle, watched you deny that half of your soul and he scoffed, shaking his head and stalking off to the steps of the Marauder, shoulders tense and agitation rippling off of him, “Typical. Why don’t you run along to Hunter? I’m sure he’ll pat your head and tell you it’s okay.” You’d never heard such viciousness in his tone. He knew where and how to cut you deep. 

Fury choked you for a second, along with something else, something seductive and intense and you chased after him, “The truth?! You talk of the truth, but what about you, Crosshair?!” You were right on his heels, the quiet of the ship enveloping you even as your combined emotions flooded the space. 

The walls, the chairs, everything rattled as a wave of force energy slipped from your control, butting up against him but it didn’t hurt him. As much as you wanted to strangle him right now, you didn’t want to hurt him. 

Crosshair didn’t even look over his shoulder, long legs stalking across the floor towards… anywhere, “What about me, Shade?” He even had the audacity to sound bored, like all of this was beneath him and you were just wasting his time. 

You growled at him, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I see the looks, the comments, the way you clam up when someone else comes by us.” You grabbed his arm, spinning him round to face you, glaring up at him despite the seductive heat pounding through your veins, the tension thick, heavy, “Why do you hide that you care about me, huh?” 

The muscles in his jaw rippled, his entire body turning rigid and those honey eyes hardened to pure, solid gold. “Hide?” His voice was soft, caressing the word in such a way that you felt you were staring down a Loth-wollf about to bite. 

But you had just as much of that beast inside you, didn’t you? 

And you would never back down. “Yes, Cross. You hide beneath that mask of cold indifference, like everyone is beneath you, like you don’t care.” 

Crosshair cocked his head, hands clenching into fists before he folded his arms across his chest, his forearms brushing your own, “And what makes you think I do care?” His voice was still quiet, but you didn’t need to read his presence in the Force to know he was lying through his teeth, and almost succeeding. 

But you were too similar, the same sides of the coin, the same shock of lightning. 

“Bullshit.” You cut him off again, a laugh in your throat that was anything but humorous, only serving to irritate the pair of you even more, “I can see it. I can feel it through the Force yet you still act like this. You can’t try and convince me this is real. You’re lying to yourself, not just to me.” Your words cut like the edges of blades but you didn’t care.  

There was a beat of silence, a single heartbeat. 

Then he moved, pushing you harshly against the hull of the Marauder, a hand round your throat to pin you there as his other fist banged into the metal loud enough to have it ring in your ears, “I’m not the one lying to myself, Shade. You talk about seeing?” He was breathing heavily, head tilted down to yours, caging you in tightly, your mingled fury charging and choking the air, “Well I see what you so blatantly try to ignore when you look in the mirror. I see that beast inside you that wants to tear into everyone, to make them pay for you losing everything. I see it in the way you tear down fields of enemies without a second hesitation. And that’s what scares you. That I’ve seen is and I’m not afraid. Because I’m like you.”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to speak but then his hand tightening around your throat, thumb pushing into the soft flesh underneath your jaw to keep you there. It might have cut off your air slightly, but you couldn’t hide the faint hum of fiery pleasure, knowing full well it tumbled against his palm but you were both too furious to notice. 

Besides, he wasn’t finished. 

“You could be as… ferocious, as powerful as that all the time, if you just let yourself feel it. But you don’t.” His eyes were livid gold still and he leaned in, his words dancing across your face, hitting straight to the core of you, “You let go and yet still run to Hunter and let him tell you it was okay, it was just a slip of control, you’re still good.” His chest rose and fell sharply, “I would never make you be someone you’re not.” 

Your head spun, his words echoing in your mind, fuelling that confusion, that anger and you snarled at him, lashing out with the force but he held strong, “Why do you care so much, Crosshair? Why do you care what I am, what I do?” You couldn't lean forward so you pinned him with a stare, trying to catch your breath, “Why do you care so much that I go to Hunter instead?” 

Crosshair’s head twitched a little, as if he were going to shake it, “Don’t start down this path, Shade. You aren’t going to like where it leads.” His hand tightened reflexively, making you gasp a little and his eyes dropped to your lips, drinking in that noise hungrily. 

“Backing down from a fight, Cross? That’s not like you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “You started this. You don’t get to run away just because the tables have turned on you. If you have something to say, say it.” The last two words were a hiss. 

He stared at you, then his face contorted in anger and something else you didn’t recognise, before he moved, his hand drawing into a fist and then he slammed it into the wall beside your head. The ship groaned in protest but he barely flinched, not even when he pulled that hand back and pointed at you, “I have been. But you haven’t been listening.” He held there for a moment longer, looking you up and down before he scoffed and walked away, a flash of something in his eyes… hurt? 

~

Now.

Crosshair didn’t even know where to begin unravelling what he felt around you, but he knew what he felt in this moment. What he would do.

He would tear apart every planet in the galaxy to bring you back from that monster that took you. He wouldn’t stop.

Ever. 

[horizon-verizon]

I hate it when people compare Aemond to Visenya and Daemon to Maegor the cruel ?! It's supposed to be the other way around ! Daemon is Visenya and Aemond is Maegor ! Fucking hell ! (At least if we want to compare I mean. Book or series)

Also, this delirium of saying that Aemond is an anti-hero... So these people certainly haven't read the books, but even in the series, Aemond does not tick any of the anti-hero boxes.

Aemond is a villain. That's all. Having him kill Lucerys by accident on the show doesn't change that fact, it just makes him look like a jerk.

In episode 8, we see him literally enjoying the decapitation of Vaemond, when we have never seen such an expression (of pleasure, let's not lie) on Daemon's face when he was killing people. Simply because Daemon doesn't find it funny to kill people, nor does he kill them for fun.

Also, Aemond remains, series or book, a misogine and blood purist. What Daemon, book or series is not.

So, I'd like to know how people's brains work to call Aemond an anti-hero...

There's nothing really "good" about this guy except his mother (so arguable and only if you stan or approve of her) and the fact that he rides Vhagar. And before others crow about how this is supposed to make him thematically paralleled to Visenya, may I point out that it is Daemon who has Visenya's sword, Dark Sister. Given to him when he became a knight at 16 by Jaehaerys I (yes, that misogynist prick of a King). You know....the sword that is more symbolic of familial protection than a dragon that only owes its allegiance to whoever rides it (not a bad or inferior thing, just need to point out how swords have the symbolism of political and emotional loyalty that accentuate familial love and bonds when we note their signifier of royalty and feudal protections, whilst dragons have a broader, more varied character).

And Dark Sister has a long history of loyal, loving supporters of Targ heirs and rulers: Daemon, Brynden Rivers, Baelon (after Aemond dies, in revenge mission), Visenya....come on now! Jaehaerys I even wields it when he is reclaiming his birthright. Plus, swords culturally carry so much history

Aemond is like Visenya in that he enables the wrong candidate to be/maintain being the King, but Daemon is like Visenya in that he has done and will do whatever it takes to support their person above all, through extreme violence. Daemon takes after most of the best or admirable of Visenya. (The brutality unfortunately is also inherited and shared with Aemond)

Do we remember how Visenya told Aenys I to burn down the Holy Sept? How she definitely reveled in burning Dorne after Rhaenys' death? What sort of passion for a relative/lives does Aemond canonically display? How she made a point to Aegon I about him needing a personal guard by being quick with her sword and cutting his cheek after he wouldn't listen? The same guy who didn't go to King's Landing to rescue his mother and sister after Rhaenyra took it despite saying he would?

But by being raised by Alicent (who would have despised Visenya and her "witchery" and just by being a confident, proactive woman) how the hell would Aemond care for Visenya, the figure, at all?

As for Daemon being Maegor....Maegor openly killed people who did not deserve it.

Vaemond? Deserved.

The "criminals" of KL? Dicier, admittedly. It's not like Daemon would care to take a breath to discern who is merely accused and who actually did those crimes. Mirrors how Visenya was willing to murder anyone in the Sept along with that High Septon.

Rhea Royce's death? He def would have done it, but as for did he do it? Plausible deniability (it didn't happen at all): she took 9 days to die (not his MO of quick deaths) and he was at the Stepstones for all of it. Horse riding is dangerous as hell, Rhea would be surrounded by people in her hunting retinue, servants, etc so there were witnesses, Daemon could've had her killed long ago when they were still married and even had it done through an assassin when Rhaenyra had her first period and was marriageable but didn't (instead marrying Laena, too), and if he did send an assassin why did this person leave Rhea to linger at all? Why would a good assassin just let Rhea longer for 9 days (why would Daemon not hire a good one if he were going down that route? Even if he didn't have the funds to hire a VERY good killer, if he was dedicated to having her killed, it'd have to be a proper job or he'd be accused easily, so again, he'd like to find one of the better skilled assassins, which is expensive)? And why wouldn't Daemon hire a good killer?!

Laenor? If not Corlys (and why not, but that's a separate discussion), then Rhaenys, who has known Daemon and lived close to him for years, thinks he didn't do it he didn't. Neither stupid nor unobservant, this one. Passionate about her family as well. She would have never let Daemon get away with it.

*12/15/24 EDITED* Well, Daemon had a child killed officially and some believe that he was actually gunning for either Aemond or Aegon bc Aemond killed Luke and Aegon was actually Rhaenyra's rival in the sense that he declared himself king (but after Aegon died, then Aemond might become a bigger threat, so to me it makes more sense for him to try to kill Aemond if he actually didn't intend to kill off the kids...which I think he LIKELY did, as B&C state clearly they were instructed to get the male kids of Helaena so obviously Daemon is vile (unless you're one to believe Mysaria botched the orders but why would she if she had to gain power through Daemon & Rhaenyra? bc she thought that killing off the green kids would lower the amount of rivals, idk, fishy). And either way, he is responsible for those kids' deaths.

But people also try to use this as reason to state that he would have deifnitely killed off the greens' kids if Rhaenyra had ascended as if Daemon has the same lack of restraint as Aemond. I agree on them having similar enough lack of morals, but the former has much more restraint. why does this matter? Because people who overstan Aemond tend to do the same fact-erasing they accuse Daemon stans or others--ignore facts about their fav bc they think he's attractive to them or genuinely have bigoted principles or both. And they imply daemon has a certain sort of lack of restraint that consistently endanggers or holds back Rhaenyra and their family partly bc they conflate show!Daemon with bk!Daemon. So they assume that Daemon is a dud for Rhaenyra the entire Dance bc of this one morally heinous, emotion-driven act and try to say Aemond did all of what he did during the Dance and before for his family, when that has always been Daemon, not Aemond.

Daemon does this not-so-smart plan for revenge for a pain caused to his family/murder (one of the few he makes in the small period right before and later during the entire Dance bc of said emotion leading him). Aemond murders a kid for revenge, but HE was the one endangering said kid's brother when he could have left the scene or never been down in teh dragon lairs at all or if there had been better guards--once more, Luke was defending himself, Aemond--when he killed Luke--was not and was responding to a outright claim of his lack of macsulinity from one of Borros' less pretty daughters. Again, this does not mean Daemon is the morally upstanding, this is to say the two child murders did not come from that similar motivations. Hate Daemon rightfully, just don't try to say that he had killed those kids "from nowhere" (twisted, but not "from nowhere" as if Aemond and the greens were not responsible for a great wrong to make him respond in a violent way), that Aemond is morally exempt in his motivations, or that Daemon would have gone out of his way to kill off the greens or at most tt their youngest children if Rhaenyra had more or less safely ascended and could make the rules over how those kids lived at court and beyond herself). *END OF EDIT*