#converging dialogues

[maaarine]

Peggy O'Donnell Heffington:

"In medieval and early modern Europe, in early America, they would have known of lots of herbs and plants that could end a pregnancy at least some of the time, and women used them.

They didn't really think about them as abortions.

They talked about them as "female regulating substances", they were things that would restore menstruations.

Your period is irregular, it's gone away, you drink this tea and restore menstruation.

By 1880 it was illegal in every state. There was a very fast change from this woman thing that we don't really talk about, to it being a felony — and it is against federal law, not just state law.

There is this whole soup of factors. One factor is an increasing desire to control female sexuality.

You have a move towards urbanization, people are moving to cities, and this creates a situation where there are young unmarried women living outside of family homes in large numbers, because they're working in mills, or factories, or as servants.

So there's a generalized anxiety about what's going to happen to their sexuality.

In the 1840s in New York there is a trial of an abortion provider, and one journalist put in the paper that providing an abortion was not her real crime.

Her real crime was showing your wife that she could commit adulteries all day and get away with it.

There was this idea that pregnancy is a thing that controls female sexuality, because they can't hide the fact that they've been out there having sex. (…)

Another factor in the 19th century was the increasing professionalization of medicine as a field.

Doctors see alternative practitioners like abortion providers and midwives as competition.

So there's a concerted effort to make those alternative practitioners seem dirty, dangerous, untrained. They're pushing to make those herbal methods illegal. Midwives get caught up in this too.

It's about trying to capture and control a market.

It rapidly means that ending pregnancy becomes not just the business of the woman who is doing it quietly, but there are all kinds of stakeholders who are feeling like they want to control it."

Source: Converging Dialogues: #227 - Without Children: A Dialogue with Peggy O'Donnell Heffington

[dearorpheus]

'I want you,' [Salome] says, 'to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.' Herodias had mentioned the head, but not the platter. The platter constitutes the one object that belongs exclusively to Salome. If there is something in the [gospel of Mark] that justifies Salome's reputation, it must be this platter. There is nothing else. The platter, indeed, is the one detail everyone remembers. [...] At the beginning of the twentieth century, art is almost synonymous with Salome's platter. The idea is scandalous, decadent, so barbarously crude that it is refined; it is the quintessence of fin de siècle estheticism. Being made of metal, like the executioner's sword, the platter stresses the cold cruelty of the two women's desire. [...] By having John's head brought in on a platter, Salome causes the ultimate nightmare to materialize. The bodies of his victims represent to the murderer the scandal* that tears him apart. Because it is more portable and manageable, the severed head provides a better representation, and this same head on a platter a better one still. The platter turns the head into an object offered to all, one of the dishes circulating among the guests at Herod's banquet. One recognizes here something of the fascination that the head of the antagonist, a member of some neighboring tribe ritually designated by the cultural order as the enemy, exercises on certain primitives. Primitives sometimes subject these heads to a treatment that renders them incorruptible and diminishes their size, transforming them into a type of fetish. This refinement is analogous to Salome's horrible desire.

— René Girard, All Desire is a Desire for Being

*the evangelical notion of 'scandal'; skadzein in Greek, signifies 'to limp'; skandalon designates the obstacle which repels and attracts simultaneously, the stumbling block

[northwest-by-a-train]

One of my most deeply-held beliefs on culture is that somewhere out there there is a 27yo with a crinkled non-binary flag in the corner of their room, more mugs and dirty plates in their sink than bricks in the tower of Babel, less than 70 of god's own dollars in their bank account to finish the month and five dying plants on the windowsill, crusty stuff in the corner of their eyes, who has crafted a world of aching beauty Tolkien and Homer could only ever dream of, a vision that honours all that is noble and raw in the heart of Man, a vindication of existence and a balm to suffering, all for the benefit of a half-dozen harem pants wearers on a server named "Bingus' Grotto"

[thekimspoblog]

take a drink every time an indie horror game has Subterranean Flesh Tunnels

[workingforitallthetime]

.

[hoyotunes]

Im Anfang war das Wort from The Flapper Sinthome (Part 2) Fan, HOYO-MiX

[ahb-writes]

Comics Review: ‘Kings of Nowhere’ #2

Kings of Nowhere, Vol. 2 by Soroush Barazesh My rating: 4 of 5 stars The social and ethical dilemmas facing the hybrid animal folk of the Kings of Nowhere comics leap forward, as repeated sparks of gang violence threaten to burn away more than the usual foolhardy thug. In this world, life is only easy if someone much stronger than you is in a position to make life easier for you. Otherwise, you scratch and you save and you keep your wits and you pay your dues. For an old mechanic and his impulsive grandkid, the truth of this conceit runs deep. KINGS OF NOWHERE v2 makes good on the comic's larger themes of witnessing the many ways urban violence tends to converge and coalesce the lives of innocent or unrelated parties. Kiyoshi is an old dude known for running an honest body shop. He has to fend off the occasional idiot from the Tundra Renegade group, a local gang, but otherwise, he's a solid businessman. His grandson, Dante, age 11, follows suit, but would honestly rather take up a sword in defense. Both nudge their way through life, despite their troubles. Neither expect a run-of-the-mill customer, a monkey named Bass, to bust a thug's nose, drive the guy's face through a coffee table, and challenge the senior leadership of the Tundra Renegade group to a brawl. But then again, that's the kind of world these characters live in. The enduring irony of urban gangsters extorting small businesses for protection money, only to require a bit of protection themselves when circumstances shift, has been tread many times over. For readers interested in where this comic book differs, then one need only consider the author's integration of extraordinarily well-drawn fight scenes, affection for back-biting and sarcastic character dialogue, and knack for the fundamentals of plotting. On the surface, readers may not see much new in KINGS OF NOWHERE v2, but they'll find plenty storytelling that's fun and engaging. The previous volume of the comics series is a vibrant primer. The current volume kicks things up a notch. Bass is a guy with a dark past. He tries to avoid trouble. But his temper often catches up with him. And he's not so foolish as to ignore the consequences of his actions. It also helps that he's a ridiculously skilled fighter who knows how to put his body on the line, if need be. The book focuses on characters whose actions or behaviors stand as representative vanities of violence as it moves, shakes, and unmakes the urban environment. Bass is quiet and ruthless and doesn't like talking to idiots, but he'll admit when he's made a mistake. Giovanni, a foot soldier of the Tundra Renegade group, is an incompetent dreamer who reasons bigger guns are better because that's always worked for him before. Stone, a rockhopper penguin hybrid guy, adores alcohol, adores things that explode, and rarely hesitates to kiss up to his gang leader; his nonchalance is both humorous and unsettling. And Dante wants cold-hearted revenge, despite his lack of experience, lack of knowledge, and lack of strength. Few of these characters get what they want out of life, much less what they expect. But all of them have forged some passable relationship with violence that enables them to scrape by for yet another day. KINGS OF NOWHERE v2 is written and drawn exactly how action comics are meant to be written and drawn: the point of view shifts reader attention to details that factor into play (e.g., bloody nose, dropped weapon, glass of milk); weapons are only as functional as their operators are competent (e.g., wine bottles, ice grenades, katana swords); and the best fights make use of everything imaginable (e.g., lane-changing cars on the highway, comically weak thugs who pass out, a vantage point for the Shakespearean chorus to provide running commentary). It's no surprise the best martial arts films of the past decades have integrated these features as well; good action storytelling with engaging fight scenes requires extraordinary attention to detail and an ardent affection for characters with more to lose than they care to admit. In KINGS OF NOWHERE v2, Bass's 20-page fight scene with Jo, an arctic hare with telekinetic abilities (and a misguided sense of fatalism), is a fight that's all kinds of insane; it's also incredibly fun. KINGS OF NOWHERE v2 is the type of comic book that's a blast to read because it's all parts chaotic and clever and ridiculous. The current volume is more subtle in its moralizing of the limits of human resilience in the face of urban decay, but with characters who deliver on these conceits on every page, the book's pulse refuses to fade until the final panel.

Comics Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[mischiefmagpie]

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game for a multitude of reasons:

It doesn't allow you to butt heads with your companions over *anything*. It doesn't allow you to even converse with your companions outside of scripted scenes — you can't just approach them and open a dialogue wheel until they want to talk to Rook; you'll just get one-liners Rook can't respond to and passive NPC-exclusive interactions that Rook happens to overhear.

It doesn't allow you to ask about/discuss the world, culture, organizations, or its history (i.e. any previous installments, or your character's selected backstory). It never references any game outside of Inquisition, and barely references Inquisition despite being a direct sequel to it. None of your previous games decisions are imported or considered. There isn't even a proper "canon" they present, the past is just a void.

There's no small side stories, barely any ambient/passing npc talk, nor many side quests, (let alone complex or fulfilling ones just filler for large scale plot), there are companion Loyalty Quests that all converge to the main story that ends in a Suicide Mission.

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game, because it plays like a Mass Effect game.

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Every author has their preferred genres. I love fantasy and sci-fi, but began with historical fiction. I hated all the research that historical fiction demands and thought, if I build my own world, no research required.

Boy, was I wrong.

So to anyone dipping their toe into fantasy/sci-fi, here’s seven things I wish I knew about the genres before I committed to writing for them.

1. You still have to research. Everything.

If you want any of your fantasy battle sequences, or your space ships, or your droids and robots, or your fictional government and fictional politics to read at all believable.

In sci-fi, you research astronomy, robotics, politics, political science, history, engineering, anthropology. In fantasy, you have to research historical battle tactics, geography, real-world mythology, folklore, and fairytales, and much of it overlaps with science fiction.

I say you *have to* assuming you want your work to be original and unique and stand out from the crowd. Fanfic writers put in the research for a 30k word smut fic, you can and will have to research for your original work.

2. Naming everything gets exhausting

I hate coming up with new names, especially when I write worlds and places divorced from Earthly customs and can’t rely on Earthly naming conventions. You have to name all your characters, all your towns, villages, cities, realms, kingdoms, planets, galaxies, star systems.

You have to name your rebel faction, your imperial government, significant battles. Your spaceships, your fantasy companies and organizations, your magic system, made-up MacGuffins, androids, computer programs. The list goes on and on and on.

And you have to do it all without it sounding and reading ridiculous and unpronounceable, or racist. Your fantasy realms have to have believable naming patterns. It. Gets. Exhausting.

3. It will never read like you’re watching a movie

Do you know how fast movies can cut between scenes? Movies can balance five plotlines at once all converging with rapid edits, without losing their audience. Sometimes single lines of dialogue, or single wordless shots are all a scene gets before it cuts. If you try to replicate that by head-hopping around, you will make a mess.

It’s perfectly fine to write like you’re watching a movie, but you can’t rely on visual tricks to get your point across when all you have is text on a page – like slow mo, lens flares, epically lit cinematic shots, or the aforementioned rapid edits.

It doesn’t have to, nor should it, look like a movie. Books existed long before film, so don’t let yourself get caught up in how ~cinematic~ it may or may not look.

4. Your space opera will be compared to Star Wars and Star Trek

And your fairy epic will be compared to Tinkerbell, your vampires to Twilight, your zombies to The Walking Dead, Shaun of the Dead, World War Z. Your wizards and witches and any whisper of a fantasy school for fantasy children will be compared to Harry Potter. Your high fantasy adventure will be compared to Lord of the Rings.

You can’t avoid it, but you can avoid doing it to yourself. When people ask about your book, let them say “oh, you mean like Star Wars” to which you then can say, kind of, except XYZ happens in my book. These IPs will never fade from the public consciousness, not while you exist to read this post, at least, but Harry Potter isn’t the only urban fantasy out there. Lord of the Rings isn’t the only high fantasy. Star Wars isn’t the only space opera.

Yours will be on the shelves right next to them, soon enough, and who knows? You might dethrone them.

5. Your world-building is an iceberg, and your book is the tip

I don’t pay for any of those programs that help you organize your book and mythos. I write exclusively on Apple Notes, MS Word, and Google Suite (and all are free to me). I have folders on Apple Notes with more words inside them than the books they’re written for.

If you try to cram an entire college textbook’s worth of content into your novel, you will have left zero room for actual story. The same goes for all the research you did, all the hours slaving away for just a few details and strings of dialogue.

There’s a balance, no matter how dense your story is. If you really want to include all those extra details, slap some appendices at the end. Commission some maps.

6. The gatekeeping for fantasy and sci-fi is still very real

Pen names and pseudonyms exist for a reason. A female author writing fantasy that isn’t just a backdrop for romance? You have a harder battle ahead of you than your male counterparts, at least in the US. And even then, your female protagonist will be scrutinized and torn apart.

She’ll either be too girly or not girly enough, too sexy, or not sexy enough. She’ll be called a Mary Sue, a radical feminist mouthpiece, some woke propaganda. Every action she takes will be criticized as unrealistic and if she has fans who are girls, they will be mocked, too.

If you have queer characters, characters of color, they won’t be good enough, they won’t please everyone, and someone will still call you a bigot. A lot of someones will still call you a bigot.

Do your due diligence and hire your army of sensitivity readers and listen to them, but you cannot please everyone, so might as well write to please yourself. You’re the one who will have to read it a thousand times until it’s published.

7. Your “original” idea has been done before, and that’s okay

Stories have been told since before language evolved. The sum of the parts of your novel may be original, but even then, it’s colored by the media you’ve consumed. And that’s okay!

How many Cinderella stories are there? How many high fantasies? How many books about werewolves and witches and vampires? Gods and goddesses and celestial beings? Fairies and dragons and trolls? Aliens, robots, alien robots? Romeo and Juliette? Superheroes and mutants?

Zombies may be the avenue through which you tell your story, but it’s not *just* about zombies, is it? It’s about the characters who battle them, the endurance of the human spirit, or the end of an era, the death of a nation. So don’t get discouraged, everyone before you and everyone after will have written someone on the backs of what came before and it still feels new.

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: CLOSE QUARTERS

paige x azzi

word count: 6.2k

A/N: This is one of the prompts from my lovely 🍉 anon. It’s honestly just filled with dialogue and cute shit. 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

March 2022

The hotel buzzed with the quiet tension that only March Madness could bring DI athletes. Players from multiple teams staying there had settled into their rooms, preparing in their own ways for whatever laid ahead for them. For Paige Bueckers, it was another day of carrying UConn’s storied legacy on her back. She leaned back against the headboard of her bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, the blue glow casting a soft light across her face. Her headphones rested around her neck, music still playing faintly as she debated whether she should head down to practice early or steal a few more minutes to herself.

A few floors below, Azzi Fudd slipped on her slides, her focus already drifting toward being on court. Maryland’s hopes rested on her shoulders, and she thrived on that pressure. She stood off her bed, stretching her arms over her head, then grabbed her practice bag and slung it over one shoulder. The team had a meeting soon then practice right after, but Azzi wanted a moment to herself in the conference room before it started.

Paige glanced at the clock on the nightstand and sighed.. She slid off her bed, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. At the same time, Azzi locked her room behind her and made her way to the elevator. Neither knew that their paths were about to converge in a way that would change everything.

Paige stepped into the elevator, grateful to see it was empty. She loved her fans—truly—but riding with a group of them in a cramped space often felt more awkward than endearing. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder before leaning against the back wall, pulling out her phone to read some messages while the doors slid shut.

The elevator hummed as it descended, and Paige took the rare moment of quiet to breathe. After three floors, though, it slowed to a stop. She glanced up as the doors slid open to reveal none other than Azzi Fudd waiting to step in.

Paige chuckled lightly, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Wassup,” she said, leaning casually against the elevator wall.

Azzi gave her a polite smile as she stepped inside. “Hi. How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Great.”

With that, the conversation fell into silence. Neither one seemed eager to strike up a conversation with the other tean’s star they’d face on the court the next day. The only sound was the soft hum of the elevator as it resumed its descent.

Until it didn’t.

A loud, rough jerk rattled the small space, and the elevator shuddered to a halt. Paige grabbed the handrail instinctively, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Across from her, Azzi shifted her stance, her hand pressing against the wall to steady herself as the lights flickered off, plunging the elevator into near-darkness. Only the faint, dim glow of the emergency light remained.

“Oh god,” Azzi muttered, breaking the silence.

Paige groaned, running a hand through her hair before stepping forward. She sighed, leaning toward the control panel. She pressed the emergency button firmly and waited. Nothing. She pressed it again. Still nothing.

The two of them stood quietly, waiting, hoping, for the elevator to lurch back to life. But as the seconds stretched into minutes with no sign of movement, both sighed in unison.

Azzi pulled her phone out of her pocket, holding it to see if she had a signal. Predictably, there was none. She glanced over at Paige, who had already taken her bag off and slid down the elevator wall, settling on the floor with her knees bent and her head tilted back against the metal.

“You have service?” Azzi asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Nope,” Paige replied immediately, not even bothering to reach for her phone.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even check.”

Paige cracked a small smile, tilting her head to look at her. “We’re in a faraday cage elevator. There's no point.”

Azzi blinked, confused. “A what?”

Paige laughed, waving a hand toward the walls. “All four walls are metal, meaning electromagnetic radiation is blocked from going in or out. I.e., phone signals. Whole lot of words meaning you might as well get comfortable.”

Azzi stared at her for a moment, then let out a light laugh as she slid down the wall, settling on the floor. “I didn’t know I was stuck in the elevator with Einstein instead of a basketball player.”

Paige laughed, running a hand through her hair. “I had a construction phase when I was a kid. Needed to know which kind of elevator I’d need in my mansion to still have service.”

That earned her a louder laugh from Azzi. “Your mansion, huh?”

“Dream big,” Paige said with a shrug, her grin widening.

Their laughter faded, leaving them in a silence.

The faint hum of the emergency light is the only sound in the small space. Neither of them really knew what to say. Azzi, who wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, didn’t mind the quiet. She leaned her head back against the wall, content to let the moment pass with her eyes closed.

But Paige? Not so much.

“Alright,” Paige blurted out, her voice cutting through the stillness. “I can’t be quiet for this long.”

Azzi turned her head to look at her, raising an eyebrow, chuckling saying, “It’s been like 5 minutes.”

Paige clearly not deterred states “That’s a long time to just sit in silence with a stranger.”

Azzi chuckles, clearly expecting her to continue. When she doesn’t Azzi says “Well?” The smallest hint of amusement in her voice. "Go ahead."

Paige adjusted her position, sitting up a little straighter as a grin tugged at her lips. “Alright,” she said, breaking the silence. “You excited for the game tomorrow?”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not talking to you about the game.”

Paige’s smirked, a cocky glint in her eye. “Why not? Don’t wanna talk about losing?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, I don’t trust you. You seem sneaky.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Me? Sneaky?”

Azzi nodded, a teasing edge to her tone. “Yes, you seem sneaky. Like the type to try to smooth talk some answers out of me or something.”

Paige laughed, leaning back against the wall. “Fair point,” she admitted, the grin never leaving her face. “Just to be clear though, I don’t need mind tricks to win.” She raised her finger in the air as if to emphasize her point, her tone playful.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “Whatever.”

Paige tilted her head. “Alright, you pick something since you don’t wanna talk about the game.”

Azzi thought for a moment before shrugging. “Fine. What’s your favorite color?”

Paige blinked, giving her a skeptical look. “Really?”

Azzi shrugged again, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Alright, fine,” Paige said, relenting. “Purple.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Paige frowned slightly. “Why not?”

“You don’t seem like the purple type,” Azzi said casually, leaning her head back against the wall.

Paige squinted at her, a teasing glint in her eye for some reason. “You keep saying I seem or don’t seem like something. First it was me being sneaky, now it’s my favorite color. Didn’t know you thought about me that much.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her. “I don’t.”

Paige grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Seems like it.”

Azzi immediately shook her head. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Okay, so what gives you the impression that I’m not the purple type?” Paige asked, folding her arms. “Or that I seem sneaky?”

Azzi gave her a flat look. “You’re all over social media sports pages. It’s hard not to have some sort of impression.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “Sports pages don’t hint at what my favorite color should be.”

Azzi groaned, pressing her head back against the elevator wall. “Why am I being interrogated right now?”

Paige smirked, sitting up straighter. “Because your answers suck, and now I’m curious.”

Azzi threw her hands up, clearly frustrated. “Alright, fine. You’re always trending on Twitter. That has to mean something about you.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Twitter? Are you serious? Thought I would be trending for my highlights and not my favorite color.”

Azzi huffed. “Well, yes, but you’re always posting about the games, your interviews—people make impressions from that kind of thing.”

Paige shrugged. “Okay, but I still don’t see how you connect that to purple, or why I seem sneaky.”

Azzi thought for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I’ve read some articles about you. Like, your play style and stuff. Coaches mention your ‘quick sneaky moves’ sometimes. I don’t know... it just adds up.”

Paige shook her head. “Rightt so these articles you’re supposedly reading. What do they tell you about what color I should like?

Azzi groaned again, rubbing her temples. “Oh my god, fine, what do you want from me? It’s just... hard not to form some kind of opinion when you're everywhere.”

Paige sat back for a moment, narrowing her eyes as she just stared at Azzi.

Azzi groaned again, rubbing her temples. “Fine, I’ve seen videos that mention it.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “You’ve seen videos?”

Azzi just sighed, resigned. “Yup, videos.”

Paige squinted at her, studying her carefully. After a moment, her smirk broke out into a wide grin. “I’m on your TikTok feed aren’t I.”

Azzi’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh my god, no you aren’t.”

Paige didn’t buy it, leaning forward with a look. “Oh I definitely am. That’s why you’ve got all these impressions of me. They make some crazy edits so I’m sure you have quite the impression.”

Azzi’s posture stiffened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “No, you’re really not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh really? You’re denying it now, huh?” Her smirk grew. “Which edits are your favorite?”

Azzi froze for a moment, her cheeks tingling slightly, and she quickly looked away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

Paige leaned back, satisfied. “I knew it.

Azzi rolled her eyes, muttering, “You’re annoying.”

Paige grinned, her smirk never fading. “Sure, I am.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes twinkling. “So, what other impressions do you have of me, Azzi?”

Azzi shot her a glare. “None Paige.”

Paige burst out laughing, clearly enjoying Azzi's discomfort. “Really? None? Not one?”

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine, I don’t know. The whole... superstar thing. You seem to love the spotlight and all of the attention.”

Paige nodded, still smirking. “The videos are definitely entertaining. Most of them aren’t accurate, though.”

Azzi shrugged, still a little defensive. “I don’t know what video’s you’re talking about.”

Paige just laughed again, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Okay, let’s play 21 questions then. I’ll give you some real answers.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “21 questions? Really?”

Paige grinned. “Yup. You can figure out which ‘impressions’ you have are valid, and I can learn some things about you.”

Azzi, not ready to give in so easily, crossed her arms. “Why do you want to learn about me?”

Paige shrugged, leaning back casually. “It’s only fair that I even the playing field. Seems like you already know a few things about me even though you won’t admit it.”

Azzi groaned, clearly frustrated, as Paige’s smirk grew wider. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

Paige just laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Nope.”

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Alright, fine. But I’m starting. What’s one thing about you that people would never guess just by looking at you?”

Paige thought for a moment before saying. “Most people think I let the attention and all that get to my head and I act all big, but I’m actually really chill.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You’re chill?” she asked, clearly not convinced.

Paige chuckled, leaning back against the wall of the elevator. “Yeah, for real. I mean, I get it. People see the spotlight and think I’m all about the attention, but nah, for the most part I like keeping things low-key when I can. Especially my private life.”

Azzi nodded slowly as if processing this new piece of information. “Alright, I can see that,” she murmured.

Paige’s smile grew as she shot a playful glance at Azzi. “So what about you? If you had to pick one song to describe your life right now, what would it be?”

Azzi groaned, letting her head fall back against the wall dramatically. “Okay, first thing you’ll learn about me is I’m too indecisive for questions like that. We’ll be here all day waiting for me to answer something like that.”

Paige chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep it simple. What’s your favorite color?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Pink,” she said quickly, as if she’d already had the answer ready.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Pink? Really?”

Azzi shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? It’s a good color.”

Paige shook her head, grinning. “Fair enough.”

Azzi shifted the focus back to Paige. “Okay, your turn. What’s your biggest fear?”

Paige chuckled, leaning against the elevator wall, a bit taken aback. “Oh, we’re diving deep already?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Paige shrugged. “Nah, it’s cool.” She paused for a second, her eyes flicking downward as she gathered her thoughts. “Probably failure.”

Azzi nodded. “That’s a very surface-level answer for a non-surface-level question.”

Paige looked at Azzi, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before continuing. “I mean I’ve always wanted to be the greatest I can be, so of course, I hated failing. But with all the attention and everything now, it’s turned more into a fear. It’s not just about not liking failure anymore. It’s like I’m scared to let people down.”

Azzi listened, her eyes attentive to Paige. “I see.

Paige, sensing the heavy moment starting to settle in, tried to shift the tone. “Alright, so... who’s your celebrity crush? I got Zendaya.”

Azzi immediately shook her head, a look of defiance crossing her face. “Nope, not happening.”

Paige protested immediately, her grin widening. “Come on, you can’t just skip the question.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall, her expression stubborn. She wasn’t about to budge.

Paige’s grin only grew wider as she zeroed in on Azzi’s reaction. “You’re totally thinking about it right now. Come on, just one name.”

“Nope.” As she said this Azzi didn’t even glance at her. It didn’t take long before Paige pieced it together from Azzi’s behavior. Azzi’s eyes had immediately darted away, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink as she stared straight ahead. Paige raised an eyebrow, her suspicions raising.

With Paige’s undivided attention, Azzi let out a groan and buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “Oh my god... this is the worst day of my life.”

Paige couldn’t suppress her smirk as she watched Azzi, the realization finally dawning on her. “Ohhh I see.” She was trying to hold back her laughter, but the satisfaction was clear in her tone.

Azzi peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Please, stop looking at me like that.”

Paige leaned in, her smirk widening. “Like what? I’m just trying to help you out here since you won’t answer. You got a thing for me, don’t you?”

Azzi froze, her face going an even deeper shade. The playful teasing in Paige’s eyes made it impossible to deny, and Azzi let out a defeated sigh. “This is so embarrassing.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah don’t be. I’m flattered, really.”

Azzi grumbled, burying her head in her hands. “We’re moving on.”

Paige chuckled but let her drop the topic—for now. “If you say so…”

Azzi took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Alright, let’s get back on track. What’s one thing that’s on your bucket list that you haven’t done yet?”

Paige looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “Umm selfish answer, I want to win a natty and be National Player of the Year again. Unselfish answer, I wanna build a free grocery store.”

Azzi looked at her for a second before raising an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re giving me PR trained Paige answers.”

Paige laughed at this. “Nah, I’m deadass.”

Azzi crossed her arms, giving Paige an unimpressed look. “So, you’re just perfect in every aspect?”

Paige’s smirk faltered for a moment, her tone a little more serious. “Nah, I’m far from perfect. We’re all human.”

Azzi tilted her head, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Okay, what’s the worst thing you’ve done then?”

Paige hesitated for a second, her mind flicking through memories. She didn’t want to get too deep, but the question lingered. Finally, she sighed and spoke. “I cheated once.”

Azzi blinked, visibly shocked. “Recently?”

Paige shook her head, her voice softer now. “Nah. Like freshman year. It was a lot going on and I got a little too drunk one night.”

Azzi’s expression softened, but there was a hint of surprise in her voice. “Wow.”

Paige shrugged, a small laugh escaping her. “See? Not perfect.”

Azzi looked at her, studying her face, sensing the weight behind the confession. “I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s bad for sure, but not the worst.” She emphasized the word worst, as though trying to comfort her.

Paige chuckled a little. “I felt like the worst person on the planet.”

Azzi’s voice was soft, but there was still a curiosity beneath it. “Why’d you cheat?”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Azzi continued, her gaze never leaving Paige. “Yeah, you were drunk, but what else was going on?”

Paige let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping slightly at the memory. She glanced down for a moment, before looking back up at Azzi. “We’d been arguing a lot. She was my high school girlfriend so you know how that is. We barely saw each other because she stayed in Minnesota and I was getting hella attention just from playing at UConn, and she didn’t like it. Like every other day she was accusing me of cheating, so we were just arguing all the time… and then I don’t know, it kind of just happened from there.”

Azzi listened, her expression softening as she absorbed Paige’s words. There was a silence between them now, as Azzi processed what Paige had shared.

Paige shifted, her fingers brushing against her phone in her lap. “I definitely didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did… it was a stupid mistake.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her voice soft. “I get it. We all make em.”

Paige quickly sat up, her eyes earnest. “I’m not like that anymore, though.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Oh, so you’re the perfect girlfriend now?”

Paige chuckled, the tension easing as she leaned back against the wall. “Well, I don’t have a girlfriend, but you know… I’ve grown. So I’ll be good for the next one.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Confident, aren’t you?”

Paige smirked, her playful tone returning fully. “Just telling the truth.”

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she asked, “Why are you single then?”

Paige shrugged, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Told myself I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t understand the spotlight, but… that comes with its own issues so here I am.”

Azzi nodded. “Fair. So… what’s your type?”

Paige licked her lips, glancing up at Azzi with a small smirk. “Never really thought about it.”

Azzi laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone has a type, though.”

Paige was about to answer before she realized something and gave her a look. “I feel like you’ve asked me a million questions in a row. It’s my turn.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Paige grinned mischievously. “What’s your type?”

Azzi groaned, shaking her head. “Really?”

Paige leaned forward slightly, mockingly adding, “Everyone has one, right?”

Azzi glanced at Paige for a moment before deciding to be a little forward. “I tend to go for athletes, blonde… pretty eyes.”

Paige smirked, her expression smug. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Interesting?”

Paige nodded, her smirk widening.

Azzi tilted her head slightly. “Why is it interesting?”

Paige shrugged casually, her eyes flickering over Azzi. “Sounds familiar, is all.”

Azzi hummed softly at this, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Are you going to finally tell me your type, or is that the one thing you’re refusing to answer today?”

Paige’s gaze lingered on Azzi, her eyes tracing her features for a moment before she finally spoke. “I usually go for someone with curly hair… pretty lips—”

Azzi cut her off, raising an eyebrow. “Lips?”

Paige licked her own, leaning back slightly with a faint smile. “Yeah. That’s important.”

Azzi blinked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Why?”

Paige smirked. “Why you wanna know?”

Azzi leaned back, feigning disinterest as she crossed her arms. “I’m not curious, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”

Paige smirked, her eyes lighting up at Azzi’s obvious deflection. “Rightt, totally clear.” Her tone was clearly laced with sarcasm as she leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her hand while watching Azzi.

Azzi rolled her eyes, doing her best to look unaffected. “You’re kinda annoying.”

Paige chuckled. “Am I? You sure seem to be spending a lot of time thinking about me for someone who claims I’m annoying.”

Azzi shook her head with a laugh, trying to play it off, but the faint pink blush on her cheeks betrayed her. Paige noticed, of course, so she just smiled at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Azzi asked, her tone more defensive than she intended.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replied, leaning in just a bit more, her voice dropping slightly. “You’re just… really easy to fluster.”

Azzi let out a nervous laugh, holding up her hand. “Nope. Nope. We’re not doing this.”

Paige tilted her head innocently, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Doing what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Do you flirt with everyone who seems remotely interested in you, or is this just a special service you offer me?”

Paige laughed at that, leaning back slightly to give Azzi some space—but her smirk stayed. “Nope, this is new. Just the curly-haired ones that play at Maryland, apparently.”

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking up at Paige with an exasperated expression. “You’re full of yourself.”

Paige laughed, the sound bouncing off the metal walls of the elevator. “I’ve been told.” She leaned casually against the wall, her shoulder brushing Azzi’s as the space between them seemed to shrink. “But you seem to be enjoying it more than most.”

Azzi gave her a flat look, though the faint flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You’re so ridiculous.”

Paige shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re gonna be stuck in an elevator with someone, it might as well be me.”

Azzi groaned, leaning her head back against the cold metal wall of the elevator. “I swear, this is the universe’s way of punishing me for being gay.”

Paige laughed at that, the sound light. “Most people wouldn’t see it as a punishment. More like an opportunity.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, turning her head to look at Paige. “An opportunity for what?”

Paige’s lips curved into a grin. “Not many people get this much uninterrupted time with me.”

Azzi blinked at her, her mouth falling open in disbelief before she let out a dry laugh. “Oh, so I’m lucky now?”

Paige shrugged, her expression as confident as ever. “You can be—only if you make the most of the situation though.”

Azzi let out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”

Paige tilted her head, her grin growing. “Now that’s up to you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, maybe,” Paige shot back. She shifted slightly, the small movement bringing her closer to Azzi, their shoulders almost brushing.

Azzi glanced at the narrowing space between them but didn’t move. “Do you always talk like this, or is it just when you’ve got someone cornered with nowhere else to go?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” Paige said, her voice light but her eyes locked on Azzi’s.

Azzi tried to hold her gaze but faltered, her cheeks warming under Paige’s stare. “I don’t like you,” she muttered, trying to deflect.

Paige laughed softly, leaning her head against the wall and turning to face her more fully. “Yet, here you are. Stuck in an elevator with me. What are the odds?”

Azzi groaned again, a reluctant smile breaking through her exasperation. “Like I said clearly, the universe has a sense of humor.”

Paige tilted her head, smirking. “Or it’s trying to give you an opportunity.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her expression guarded for a moment as if debating whether to keep deflecting. But then, with a small sigh, she settled into herself, her shoulders relaxing. “You know what? You’re right.”

Without another word, Azzi scooted closer to Paige on the elevator floor.

Paige’s smile widened, a mixture of surprise and amusement lighting up her face. “Ahh, there we go.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at Paige’s reaction, though a small smirk betrayed her. “Don’t make this a big thing.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Paige said, holding up her hands as if innocent. But her grin said otherwise.

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi muttered, leaning back against the elevator wall, her knee just barely brushing Paige’s.

Paige glanced down at the small point of contact before looking back up at Azzi. “You’re getting comfortable now, huh?”

Azzi gave her a sidelong look. “Don’t push it.”

After that time passed slowly, the soft hum of the elevator filling the quiet moments between their conversation. They’d moved past the teasing and into lighter territory—sharing random stories, laughing softly, and letting the space settle into something much more comfortable.

Paige now had her stretched out in front of her, glancing at the small display panel that was still blank. “It’s been like, what—45 minutes now?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall, letting out a dramatic sigh. “With you, it feels more like an eternity.”

Paige let out a sarcastic laugh, leaning back slightly as she shot Azzi a teasing glance. “Haha, very funny.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow looking at her phone. “Probably more like an hour, to be honest.”

They sat there in quiet for a moment before Paige’s eyes lit up suddenly, an idea popping into her head. “You should make a TikTok with me.”

Azzi immediately shot back, “Nope. We don’t have a signal, remember?”

Paige’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t matter. We can still film it, I just can’t upload it until later.”

Azzi looked like she was about to protest some more, but Paige was already up and scrolling on her phone, clearly having made up her mind. With a grumble, Azzi stood.

As Paige continued to scroll through her app, the unmistakable sound of Thuggish Ruggish Bone blared from her phone’s speaker, cutting through the quiet of the elevator as she propped it up to the best of her ability.

Azzi groaned, “This is probably the worst way to pass time.”

Paige, already in her element, said. “It’ll be fun I swear.”

Azzi reluctantly pressed record, and Paige wasted no time, guiding her through the first TikTok with surprising ease. The first two took only a couple of tries before Paige was satisfied. But the third? That one took forever.

“Azzi, come on bro! You gotta go to the right first then the left” Paige said as Azzi threw her hands up in frustration after yet another failed take.

“I hate TikTok,” Azzi muttered, but her tone was amused despite her irritation.

Paige laughed. “You’re just mad because I’m better at it than you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but laugh at how relentless Paige was, forcing her into a third, fourth, and fifth take. At this point, Azzi had completely given in to the ridiculousness of it all, much to Paige’s delight.

Just as Paige hit record on yet another attempt, the elevator jerked, throwing both of them off balance. They shared a quick glance, and the low rumbling echoed before, to their relief, the elevator started moving down again.

After a few moments the doors opened with a soft ding, revealing a group of firefighters and several of their respective team members standing in the lobby, waiting. The sudden change in scenery caught both Paige and Azzi off guard, and they stood there for a moment, unsure of how to act. It felt strange to just walk away after spending almost an hour and a half together, trapped in the elevator with nothing but each other for company. That short time had somehow changed both of them a little.

Leaning down to grab their bags, they exchanged a quick glance and a small smile before starting to walk in opposite directions. Paige made it a few steps before she stopped, her competitive nature—and maybe something else—getting the better of her.

“Aye, Azzi,” Paige’s voice carried across the lobby, making a few heads turn, including Azzi’s teammates.

Azzi stopped mid-step, her brow arching slightly as she turned back around. Paige stood there, her bag slung over her shoulder, her expression somewhere between cocky and amused. She licked her lips, smirking just enough to send a jolt of heat up Azzi’s spine.

“Let me get your number,” Paige said, her tone casual but her intent clearly anything but that.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to her teammates, who were already watching intently, then back to Paige. A small amused smile tugged at her lips as she walked back toward her, stopping just a step too close.

“Why do you want it?” Azzi said, tilting her head slightly as if daring Paige to explain.

Paige smirked wider, leaning a little closer. “You never told me who your crush was,” she fired back smoothly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the faint blush creeping up her neck didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, but the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her words. Reaching out, her hand brushed lightly against Paige’s as she grabbed her phone. Their fingers touched for a brief moment, sending a spark of awareness through both of them.

Azzi typed her number quickly, glancing up at Paige once or twice, before handing the phone back. “Here you go,” she said with a small smile, her voice softer now.

Paige glanced at the screen before she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, her smirk turning into something more genuine. “I’ll text you,” she said confidently, holding Azzi’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Azzi started walking backward toward her teammates, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. “I look forward to it,” she said, her smile still in place as she turned back around.

Paige stood there, watching her go, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face.

…

The arena still buzzed with excitement as Paige made her way to the side of the court for the post-game interview. UConn’s win over Maryland was still fresh in the air. Her teammates were still scattered around, chatting about the game and cheering about the Final Four, but Paige was still zoned in, ready to speak to the media before relaxing.

A reporter stepped forward, microphone in hand, eager to ask the first question. “Paige, first of all congratulations on the big win.”

Paige smiles down at her saying “Thank you, it feels great. Maryland played an amazing game.”

The reporter smiles before continuing to speak. Before we begin with the game questions we have the state farm fan question and someone asks ‘what's been one of your best memories off the court during the tournament so far?’”

Paige leaned back slightly, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she thought about the events of the previous day. She glanced at the gathered reporters, some still watching her closely, others making notes for their stories.

“Well, yesterday was pretty memorable," she said, her voice light but laced with amusement. "I got stuck in an elevator at the hotel for like an hour and a half.” She paused for a second, thinking about if she wanted to say anything else before continuing with a grin. "That was pretty fun, honestly.”

Her eyes flickered briefly, but she didn’t give anything away. There was no mention of who she’d been stuck with, but the faintest smirk on her face made it clear she wasn’t talking about any ordinary elevator mishap.

The reporter laughs at this saying “Oh wow, that’s definitely an answer I’m sure they weren’t expecting.”

“Yeah, definitely not the usual pre-game prep,” Paige added with a shrug, her grin widening as she looked back at the reporters.

As they moved to the next question, Paige couldn’t help but replay the elevator incident in her mind, her smile lingering as she continued with questions about the game.

…

Later that night Paige lounged on her hotel bed scrolling through social media. After she got bored enough though she switched to her messaging app typing in Azzi’s name before typing out a simple message:

“Hey.”

She hit send and tossed the phone onto the bed beside her, not expecting a quick response. But her phone vibrated almost immediately, making her raise an eyebrow.

“Who is this?”

Paige laughed quietly to herself, shaking her head as she grabbed her phone again. She quickly typed back:

“Paige.”

The typing bubbles popped up almost immediately, and Paige smirked, leaning back against the pillows as she waited for Azzi’s reply.

“I’m not talking to you yet. You just beat me.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she typed back:

"You’re going viral."

She attached a link to the TikTok she posted, one of the three they had filmed during their time stuck in the elevator. The video had already racked up a few million likes and thousands of comments, many of which were trying to piece together the details behind the mysterious elevator mishap.

Azzi saw the link come through, and after a moment, curiosity got the better of her. She clicked on it and watched the TikTok, her face scrunching slightly at the memories of how Paige had roped her into it. Then, as she scrolled through the comments, she noticed some of them speculating about Paige’s interview and this being the “favorite memory” she had mentioned. Intrigued, Azzi did a quick search and found the interview clip before responding.

A smirk tugged at her lips as she texted back:

"I heard this was your favorite memory off the court."

Paige rolled her eyes, chuckling softly as she typed her response:

"Spending time with a pretty girl is pretty fun."

It took Azzi a moment to respond, her reply brief and teasing:

"Stop flirting."

Paige grinned, tapping out another message:

"No. Wyd?"

Azzi’s reply came quickly this time:

"Nothing now."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

"Let’s chill."

There was a pause before Azzi finally texted back:

"Fine, but I’m not taking the elevator."

Paige laughed out loud, shaking her head as she typed:

"Bet. I’ll meet you downstairs."

She tossed her phone onto the bed and got up, already grabbing her hoodie and slipping on her slides.

…

Paige and Azzi would always argue about who made the first move that night. It became a playful back-and-forth between them over the years, one neither could resist bringing up whenever the opportunity came up.

Azzi swore it was Paige who crossed the line first. “You were trying to come back to my room,” she’d claim, her voice dropping with mock exasperation. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

But Paige never let the accusation slide. “Excuse me? You asked me to walk you back. I was just being polite.”

Azzi would laugh at that, shaking her head as if Paige’s logic was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Polite? Right. And then you just happened to stay. Sounds like you made the first move to me.”

But Paige always had her trump card ready. “Okay, but who took my jacket so they had an excuse to see me again? You. So, technically, you started it.”

The truth didn’t matter, not really. The moment they were together that night, the rest was history as they talked for hours about everything and nothing. The elevator was just the beginning of a story neither of them would have seen coming—a story full of late-night texts, unexpected flights, and stolen moments that would lead to them finding the love of their life..

Whatever happened in that elevator didn’t just leave them stuck in a cramped space together. It set them on a path neither could walk away from, a connection born out of shared teasing and undeniable chemistry.

And honestly, they both wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[maaarine]

Andy Clark:

"When you think about perception as being structured by prediction, perception of our own body is structured exactly in the same way.

So the way my body feels, my pain, my tingles, they're all just percepts that are constructed in exactly the same way as all the other percepts.

They're constructed by bringing predictions, most of them unconscious, together with sensory information, in a way that's balanced by precision weighting.

For instance, I quite often get phantom phone vibrations, where I feel my phone going off in my trousers, and actually it isn't.

What seems to be going on there is that overactive expectations are kind of swamping bits of otherwise innocent sensory information.

So under the strong expectation that my phone might ring, small fluctuations in my bodily state can be treated as good evidence of an incoming call, so I sense a buzzing.

This is predictive processing 101: if your expectations are strong enough, then that's how you're going to experience the world. (…)

Something like this seems to be going on in different degrees in chronic pains.

In nearly all cases of chronic pain, what seems to have gone wrong is in the pain signaling system.

The bodily problem is no longer sufficient to account for the pain, the pain is just persisting.

A sort of over-weighted expectation of pain can become ingrained is that kind of way.

So you move really quickly into stuff that looks much more like psychiatric issues.

If you think about that balance enacted in other domains, imagine that you constantly over-weigh the incoming sensory evidence.

Now ask yourself what your life might be like.

Under the predictive processing framework, you can see that that could easily be one aspect of autism spectrum condition: sensory information is over-weighted, at least by neurotypical standards.

So that makes it hard to spot certain kinds of patterns in noisy environments.

Subtle patterns might involve how other people are feeling right here, right now.

The primary issue is an enhanced sensory world. They're seeing the world brighter than we are, if you like.

What's the right balance between sensory information and expectation? There's no good answer.

It's easy to imagine worlds where having the balance one way is better, other worlds where having the balance another way is better.

If you happen to be in a world structured by people who have their balance one way, then you're inhabiting an artificial world where your balance might not be useful, or might be problematic.

There are systematic attempts to look at different psychiatric ways of being, like having PTSD for example, that try to make sense of them by thinking about these different checks and balances in a predictive system.

Maybe if that works out, we'll end up with a kind of taxonomy of different ways of experiencing our world, where we can slot things in according to the level of precision weighting.

That would certainly be a step on the road to having the causal picture that might enable one day better intervention."

Source: Converging Dialogues: #224 - Brains As Prediction Machines: A Dialogue with Andy Clark

[vorestarr]

i love when Astarion is mean, and i mean like genuinely mean, saying shitty things and lashing out specifically to hurt someone or push them away. i think it really says so much about him and about the specific situations when he feels the need to lash out. i love seeing it with Durge/Tav, but i'm playing a Karlach origin to romance him right now and he's so mean during his first romance scene when he can't even kiss Karlach.

after playing it, i went to look at the parsed dialogue for that scene because i wanted to see if there were any dev notes, and oh boy are there dev notes. walk with me here while i go through them all. (i didn't add alt text to the images below, but i did transcribe the lines i'm referencing in the images below, so all the important information is in the text of the post itself.)

it's the typical Astarion scene, but after his "i've been waiting to taste you" line, he diverges with: "Although your condition means tasting you could be a risky proposition. You're quite the forbidden fruit, aren't you?"

the player (as Karlach) has a few choices in reply at that point, but as long as they pick one that progresses the scene (i.e., not the one where you reject him last minute), he goes down the same dialogue tree. this tree starts with:

Astarion: All denied to us because of what Zariel did to you. [devnote: subtext, thinking about Cazador]

so right off the bat he's upset because Karlach's situation is reminding him of his own with Cazador.

but then his next line is:

Astarion: I - you know, I have no idea what to do with you now. [devnote: Astarion's mask as the flippant libertine is cracking a bit here. He's frustrated but vulnerable here. Because he can't physically seduce or touch Karlach, his usual means of interacting with a person is punctured. He's faced with the reality that he might not know how to handle a situation where he can't bite or seduce his way to the finish line.]

wow. that's a lot in that dev note.

at this point, the player has the option of a few responses, but two options to continue the encounter. the choices to continue it are: "You don't have to 'do' anything. We can just be." or "After the life you've led, I'm not surprised."

if you choose the first option, Astarion is frustrated but less mean. he says:

Astarion: 'Just be' what, exactly? Frustrated? Bored? What do we do, if not... that?

if you choose the second option, he's a little meaner. understandably so, since the player just poked at his painful past:

Astarion: You think you know the life I've led? The experiences I've had? You've no idea the stories I could tell, sweet Karlach. But you - you're just -

then, both the paths converge to the same final statement, which is mean no matter what Karlach has said to this point:

Astarion: Urgh! Why is this so difficult? I'd have already bedded you twice if you were normal.

importantly, there are dev notes for all of his lines here, but the notes are all the same:

devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.

again, at this point the player has two choices to continue the encounter, and one to end it. i'll go down each continue path separately, since they can diverge quite a bit.

path 1

the first choice is to say: "Twice in this short space of time? Doesn't sound very satisfying."

he gets mad. and mean.

Astarion: Karlach! You know what I mean. [devnote: Frustrated] Astarion: Or maybe you don't. Astarion: There may be an inferno in you, Karlach, but at the end of the day you've been frigid for a decade, isn't that right? [devnote: Being mean-spirited in an attempt to drive Karlach away, even though he doesn't actually want to do that.]

the player again has two response options to continue the encounter, and one to end it.

the first choice to continue the encounter is: "You want to try that again? Without being a jackass, maybe?"

in response he says:

Astarion: This is impossible - you're impossible! [devnote: Masking defensiveness with offensiveness. In truth he really does want what Karlach is offering (to just hang out without having sex) but now that it's within grasp he's floundering.]

(at this point, the path diverts to merge with the dialogue tree from the previous branch where Astarion complains about Karlach not being normal. so we'll pause here, and continue down that dialogue tree with the path 2 header below.)

the second choice to continue the encounter after Astarion says that Karlach has been frigid for a decade is to say: "What's really going on here, Astarion? Suddenly you're so vicious."

he replies:

Astarion: Suddenly? Darling, you haven't been paying attention. [devnote: Seething and mean.] Astarion: Listen, it's just - ... I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you want?

again, at this point, he diverts to the same shared dialogue tree as the other response option. that merges with path 2, so we'll continue there:

path 2

to go BACK to the previous branch we went down, where Astarion said he would have bedded Karlach twice already if she was just normal, the other response option for the player is: "I am normal. 'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy."

instead of being mean, Astarion immediately apologizes:

Astarion: Oh no - don't you tar me with your 'normal' brush. My demons keep me extraordinary. [devnote: Karlach has punctured Astarion's bad mood with a joke.]

and then he apologizes, like he does in the other paths, saying he doesn't know what to do without being able to touch her.

Astarion: I - ...I'm sorry, Karlach. It's just, not being able to touch you - having to slow down, it's... I'm just not used to it. [devnote: subtext here is on the slowing down. That IS what he wants. But it's hard for him to see that clearly.]

Astarion: So, can you -... I don't know. Help? Show me what to do? [devnote: First breakthrough. He's asking for help knowing what to do when you can't jump into bed with someone.]

again, at this point, the player has two options to continue the encounter or one to end it.

for the first response to continue, the player can say: "We can just talk. As long as we want. Then we can sleep. Near, but not too near."

Astarion responds to this one pretty positively. he's still a little mean, but it's in his fond teasing way, and not his biting, cruel way:

Astarion: Karlach, champion of the Hells, wants to talk and then fall asleep? [devnote: Incredulous] My dear, you're much more boring than I gave you credit for. [devnote: Teasing] All right, Karlach. Let's try it your way. [devnote: Gently. He's feeling vulnerable, but sees that this might be a chance to feel safe.]

the second response option from the player is: "I don't know either. This is all just as new for me as it is for you."

he doesn't respond quite as well to this one, and goes back to being mean:

Astarion: Well. To quote you: 'Fuck.' Astarion: Why don't we put ourselves out of this misery and just sleep? If I can at least look at you, I won't have wasted my whole evening. [devnote: Peak of Astarion sexy toxicity.]

then, the scene fades to black and it transitions to the morning-after scene with Astarion, where the player first sees his scars.

i also think as a whole, this scene is just so representative of Astarion's early-game state of mind. he's following a comfortable script with all his interactions, but when he's confronted with something new, he flounders.

especially when it comes to sex, which is a touchy subject for him, his first reaction to any vulnerability is to lash out and hurt people. in this scene:

if Karlach brings up his past experiences, he lashes out. ("You think you know the life I've led?")

he blames Karlach for the situation because that's easier than addressing that he doesn't know what to do without his script. ("if you were normal")

if Karlach jokes about him ("Doesn't sound very satisfying") he lashes out even further, calling her frigid and impossible and then even doubling down if she calls him out ("you haven't been paying attention").

but if Karlach jokes about HERSELF ("'Fucked up' is the height of normalcy"), it snaps him out of his toxic bullshit and he's able to take a step back and apologize to her.

then regardless, he's also able to recognize that this is an opportunity to get what he wants without having sex, and recognize that he wants that too.

and then to me, Astarion being mean in that last response choice ("I don't know either") makes perfect sense, given the context of his other lashing out earlier in the conversation. even if the player didn't make those previous choices where he lashed out at them, he can still get mean and toxic on this choice.

crucially, with this choice, he's taken that step of hopeful vulnerability where he recognizes that maybe he does want to just spend time with Karlach without having sex, but he doesn't know how to do it. he asks for help.

if the player says they don't know how to do that either, he immediately puts those defensive walls back up. he doesn't want to flounder around, he wants an answer. he wants to know that it's actually possible to have a positive experience with someone without the script he's always used. the player saying they don't have that answer just pisses him off.

wow okay this post got really long, but i really vibed with the dev notes for this scene, and i think you can see exactly these toxic behaviors from Astarion in other scenes and in romances with other characters as well, but it's just so so clear with the Karlach scene and the dev notes just really highlight that.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Supreme Empress

Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: The dark side chose you. They pried you out of the rebel camps and dragged you from the ashes and the corpses of your family. The dark side chose you to strengthen the force, to be the vessel for their plans, to be the bride of the Supreme Leader's pupil, to bear Kylo Ren's seed and ensure the might of their divine wrath.

Word Count: 11k+ 🧍‍♀️💀

Warnings: fem!Reader, slow burn, forced marriage AU, themes of stockholm syndrome/gaslighting/brain washing, mentions/depictions of violence, enemies to lovers?, smut (scratching, marking, ?manipulating?, fingering, vaginal penetration, cock warming), fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this fucking ai chat man. fuck that shit MINORS DNI honestly. its my fault for making a plot. i just wanted to write smut fml. i hate it here. i couldn't even finish it cos now i cant write the smut dafaq? anyway im sure i got typos so you must forgive me. i have not gone through this yet and i need to brush my teeth and pull myself together bye Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I fell to my knees. I was in tears, in dust, in blood, and in pain. My wrists were bound behind me and my clothes were tattered and torn.

This was it. This was the day I die. I felt it in my bones. This was the reckoning.

And then my deliverer, my executioner, came before me. And then I felt the Force in him echo in the room and ripple through me like a blade through my chest.

It was him. The phantom that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. He was the nightmare in my sleep, and the damning voice in my head in the morning. The dark warrior, death given form, the murmuring voice of the shadows.

The Sith Lord.

Here he is, crossing this bridge from the entrance of this cursed compound.

The place is busy, busy with its plans of destruction. I heave at the grandness of it all. It was terrifying to see it up close, especially since I was evidently at the top, and it was a very long drop down.

I crane my neck up at him, face stained with tears. I was exhausted but I put on my last show. I bared my last look of defiance before he kills me, before he finally completes this cycle of torment he has been inflicting onto me.

I close my eyes and await his judgement.

I feel him come before me, but he instead walks past, and I hear someone choke from behind.

"Did I not instruct that she be left unharmed?" his voice barks through his dark mask.

My heart pounds as I hear straining from behind me. I steal a look from over my shoulder and instantly regret it when I see the two stormtroopers that dragged me here get thrown down the side of the bridge. I shudder. Like I said, it's a long drop down.

I look straight when he returns to me. I feel him undo my shackles with his Force, and then... he clutches my arm to help me stand.

I look up at him. I see my reflection on his helmet. I clench my jaw, "what do you want from me?"

"My empress-"

My stomach rolls.

"-I have finally retrieved you from your sullied camp to bring you to your rightful place next to me. To claim you as my own."

A shiver runs down my spine.

No, this can't be real.

My breathing strains. I grip my hands and I begin to step back.

It electrocutes me, this searing cold voice in my brain. It was a suddenly as if I remembered the dialogue in the horrors of my slumber that I so hardly tried to suppress. It was replaying now, the voice of the malevolent, the voice of the creature ruling my nightmares. "I give you to my pupil. With your Force converged with his, the purest of warriors will be borne. And my power will know no bounds."

"You remember now, bride," my captor iterated, "that voice in your head right now-- that is the Supreme Leader; that is Snoke."

I step back, "bride?" my breath hitches.

I was his b--

My knees almost give in, but again, his hold on my arm keeps me upright.

I feel my eyes begin to water.

Please, please, let this be another horrible, horrible nightmare.

"Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, my lord," two voices call out from behind me.

"Good," he says, and I released, "I will watch as you prepare her. I will not allow her be injured further."

I was--

I was here to be sacrificed to the darkness.

I was here to answer to the calls that have been plaguing me for so long, ever since that day my home planet was invaded, ever since everything I knew was reduced to atoms.

I let out a loud yelp when I am splashed with cold water. I let out a breathy curse and the servant who had done it, who had profusely apologized, is suddenly being choked.

It is only now I am cognizant again. It was now that I was aware I am in the bathroom, stripped naked in a tub, and my captor has his servant in a chokehold from across the room. I gasp and cover my bare chest, looking over my shoulder as he hisses, "you could not have made the water warmer? How would you like to be dunked in a pool of ice water?"

My breath hitches, "let her go!"

His voice buzzes behind his helmet as he curls his hand further with his outstretched arm, "she has one task, one simple task, and if she cannot perform it, then she is no use to me."

I panic as I see the servant's eyes water. I jolt when the other servant grabs my shoulder and begins to wash my skin as though nothing was awry. I turn from the servant back to him, "LET HER GO!"

He does nothing.

"LET. HER. GO!"

He seems to be debating my words.

I panic and quip breathlessly, "let her go!"

I sigh in relief when the servant is dropped.

A shiver runs down my spine when he goes at ease by the door. He clutches his hands before him and announces, "thank your empress for her mercy."

Immediately, before she can even catch her breath, the servant responds, "th-ank you, empress." The woman quickly begins to attend to me again.

I am far beyond perturbed.

I don't know what to do with myself, not when I was being bathed by strangers, not when I naked in the tub, not when he was there, watching me.

Why the fuck did that sicko have to watch like a bird in a fucking cage?

Careful, bride.

I stiffen in my place. The servants working on my body halt their work and ask me if their touch was too rough.

Lest you forget I have also been in your dreams. You ought to honor me even in your thoughts, baby bird.

"... my empress?" one servant calls.

"She is fine," he answers for me, "you may proceed."

And then, I'm being dragged out of the tub and patted down in front of a huge mirror. I don't know what to cover, and I can feel him looking. Never mind my naked form in and of itself, but my cuts and bruises from ripping and screaming at the stormtroopers that pried me into their ship. It was loathsome sight to see.

"Must you watch me?" I ask accusingly yet under my breath.

"Yes," he replies, as if it makes anything better, as if it was actually a question, as if he didn't know what I meant with my words. And then he clarifies, as if it helped, "your physical state does not bother me. It does not make you any less than you are, my bride."

My eyes twitch as I am finally handed undergarments to wear. I find my voice again, finally, "that's not the-"

"My pretty bride."

I cease my movements. What the fuck is he saying?

I don't have time to ponder those words as the servants urge me to dress and then quickly begin to fasten me with bandages, namely on my thigh where I had a cut and on my bicep that had a burn.

And though I so badly wanted to whine in protest and dramatic spite, I do my best to contain them. After all, the servants were helping me, they don't need to be Force choked for doing a job they were tasked to accomplish by their malignant master.

The next moment, I was being put into an elaborate garment and then they started painting on my face. Suddenly, I was.... turning into something else. I looked at the mirror and everything was so very real and unimaginable all at once. This was all happening to me. This wasn't a nightmare, not a fever dream, and there was no escape.

And then they told him- my groom- that I was done and I stared at my reflection, unable to recognize myself.

Who in the world were you?

"Come," he says, raising his hand up to me, "we must not delay any further."

I look at his reflection from the mirror. I look at his hand, hid behind his glove, his body, hid behind his cloak, and his face, hid behind his mask. I was going to me wed to this stranger, hidden in darkness?

I stare at him. I clench my jaw. I tell him I'm not going but utter not a single word. I sear it in his brain with my eyes. I scream it, blare it out as loudly as I could.

And yet he only watches me. He watches me with an urging dark hand.

My heart pounds in my ribs. I expect him to begin to lash out at one point, to choke me next, but he doesn't. He stands there, just stands there, reaching out to me.

Was this his twisted way of making me feel like I was willingly going to him? His way of telling me he was the only route in my life now?

My nostrils flare and I gather my skirt. I stare at him as I walk past him. My body was rigid and I had no idea where I was going, but I walked. And then he opened the doors for me.

My hand twitched when he took it, as he was suddenly beside me. I gasp at the unexpected and uninvited touch and I turn to him in surprise, but it is arduous with this ridiculous headpiece on me. His hand is massive and burning hot against my freezing clammy one. He tugs me toward him, "it's this way."

So, we when go this way.

We tread the halls, and I swear I could feel people following after us, more and more each moment, but I couldn't look back, literally, the fucking headpiece was in the way.

And then the atmosphere started to get darker, and it was like it was suddenly so much harder to breathe. It was clear to me we were heading for that large door, and that whatever was behind there was not good. It was not good at all.

He waved his hands once and the doors opened.

There was a great and terrible rush of Force that knocked into me. It was so strong and terrifying, I tighten my grip on my captor, and I cling onto him for safety. My breath is knocked out of my lungs, and all at once I am facing this large entity, this massive body of darkness, the literal flesh form of all my worst nightmares.

I was reeling back in fear. My stomach was in my chest and my heart was in my mouth.

I was in front of him. The Supreme Leader. Snoke.

And he was looking at me, looking right at me with contempt, with impatience, with exasperation.

My feet were stuck on the floor and my fingers were digging into arm of the man by my side. I couldn't do anything but feel my eyes water.

I snap to look my side when my name is called out. I turn to my groom as suddenly he is pacifying me, comforting me even, "the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave."

I don't know how I feel about his words, I don't know how I feel about how he takes my chin in his fingers and makes me turn my body to him. I don't know how I feel when he steadies my stupid headpiece when it knocks onto his shoulder. I don't know how I feel when I follow him mindlessly, when he and I head towards his gargantuan master.

Snoke speaks the moment we are in front of him. His voice rings, it reverberates, in the hall, in my ears, in my thorax, and in the dark corner of my mind that shudders at the recognition, "you have done well, my pupil. Very well."

My eyes lock with Snoke. I evade his stare and abruptly pull away from the man on my right. He stares at me for a moment when I do so, then looks back at Snoke, "thank you, master."

Snoke grumbles, "well, remove that ridiculous thing on your head and let us begin."

I don't know whether it is because I am fearful of the evil-king before me or because I am anticipative of the face of the man behind the mask, but I turn to him with a desperation. I turn to him when he removes his helmet and my breath catches in my throat.

He tucks his helmet under his arm and looks at me with his brown eyes that glistened with something sinister behind them. He parted his lips and I noticed the scar by its side that started by his brow went far past his cheek and collar. His hair was somehow perfectly tousled even after staying inside his face cage for so long. I don't know how I felt after seeing him face to face like this.

I suck in a sharp breath when he takes my hand. He promptly begins to speak.

"I-" he turns to our joined hands as he lifts them chest level, "Kylo Ren," his eyes dart back to me, "take you-"

My skin pricks at how he whispers my name. He says it as if it were a secret, as if he meant it with reverence, as if it was solemn.

"-to be my wife."

My empress.

I suck in a sharp breath at his voice in my head. My breath picks up. My stomach rolls. Get out.

Kylo Ren rubs my knuckles, "To protect you, to honor you, to venerate you until my last breath, or even beyond."

And then he looks at me. He stares at me. He bores into my being and plunges into my soul. I feel my hands begin to shake in his hold.

Kylo Ren looks in silence and I look in fear.

I start at the harsh call of the Supreme Leader to our side, "SPEAK YOUR VOWS, GIRL!"

I screw my eyes shut and gulp. I have to get out of here. Get me out of here! My breath strains now more than ever.

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice in my head. Suddenly, I dare to open my eyes and I see a disconcerting softness in my groom's expression.

Shhhhhhh.

He hushes me in my mind. He repeats his words from earlier.

The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.

I open my mouth and huff helplessly. I repeat my groom's words and tears begin to fall from my eyes.

Snoke leans back in his throne and tents his hands together, "good, good. Then by the power of the darkness, the power vested in me, The Supreme Leader, the ruler of the galaxies and all peoples," he nods his head, "two have now become one."

My shoulders rise and my heart pounds at the explosion of loud exclamations. I look around the hall and only now realize that there were hundreds of individuals, looking down at us from the balconies above.

"Long live the Emperor and Empress!"

I am at a loss for what to do next. I don't know if I want to run away or drop dead. I find myself looking to Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, whose brows slightly furrow in his seriousness. Kylo Ren who looks up to his people and raises his hand that is clutching his helm, inspiring them to cheer even more. Kylo Ren, who then looks down at me and firmly grips my hands before leading me out of the room.

I don't know what happens after that.

I think I'm having a panic attack.

Am I having a panic attack?

Can someone even think if they're having a panic attack?

I'm not having a panic attack.

I'm not having a panic attack.

"Enough," he speaks, turning to me, clutching my cheek. Kylo Ren looks at me with knit brows while his gloved hands make me face him. My neck strains because of the weight of my headpiece. He blinks at me and slips the thing off my head. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. Very suddenly, I think I'd have preferred if he removed my head altogether. He uses his Force to bring the object away. I watch as it floats off to a dresser, beside his helmet that was already there.

All at once, I realize I was in a bedroom. I look back at Kylo in horror. Oh, fuck, I was in a bedroom.

He huffs through his nostrils, "your thoughts are as loud as sirens."

I clutch my skirt tightly and slowly begin to move back.

Kylo watches me. He tilts his head down slightly and narrows his eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat, "so what?" I shudder, "you're going to force an heir in me now?"

He raises his nose and tilts his head to the side, "it is my duty to sire an heir."

I gulp. My breathing begins to get shorter and shorter.

I start when he steps forward. I put more distance between us.

I shiver when he calls out my name.

"Don't," I point, "don't come any closer."

Kylo Ren offers me the courtesy of stopping in his place.

I catch my breath and watch him as he brings his hands behind him. Goosebumps form on my skin when he speaks, "I have just vowed to protect you, to honor you, and to venerate you." He brings his hands to the clasp of his cloak, "I will not force you to do anything with me that you don't want."

I scoff, tightening my grip on my clothes, "and you think I wanted to marry you?!"

I tense when Kylo unfastens his cloak and folds it in front of him. I freeze in my spot in anticipation of what he's going to do next. He looks at his cloak then looks at me, "you do not understand it now, but you are the key to securing the strength the Sith, securing the Order."

A shiver runs down my spine. How can he say that so plainly?

I cannot comprehend how utterly indoctrinated this ideation is in his being. It is shocking honestly, to see up close and personal that he believes so much in his cause, that he genuinely does not see fault in this, in forcing me to marry him, in taking me by force, in destroying my camp, in laying waste to my people, on wreaking their ill-judgement to the stars.

I shake my head, "do you honestly believe I will eventually come to you with- with open arms?!"

Kylo Ren straightens his posture. I nearly trip when he walks over to me as I attempt to rush back. He raises two fingers and keeps me upright with his Force. He keeps me in place and stands before me. He leans his face close to mine, then barely opens his mouth to speak, "I do."

And then, he releases me and walks away.

I watch him as he exits the room and leaves me. The sound of the door closing is all that's left.

I begin to pant. I begin to heave in anger, in loss, in panic, in desperation. I have to get o-

I slap my hands on my mouth. I screw my eyes shut and shudder.

Silent. I have to be silent.

The next day he asked me to accompany him while he ate.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he said, I should join him, so that we would both grow accustomed to each other's company during such intimate moments, and that we would also get to know each other more.

I scoffed at the idea, so much for not forcing me to do anything I don't want.

"I am not forcing you, wife," Kylo calls across the expanse of the long table.

My eyes that were idly watching my fork swirl the unknown delicacy on my plate dart to him. My shoulders tense as Kylo Ren grabs his glass and drinks from it.

I huff, "do you mind getting out of my head?" I ask though it wasn't really a question, it was a threat, as much of a threat a captive could give.

Kylo sets the object down and taps his finger on it, "if you don't want to join me..." he thinks for a moment, "you don't have to."

I straighten in my seat. I silently look out to him in challenge.

I stiffen when the pitcher begins to float and water is then poured in my cup. I clench my jaw, turning back to Kylo, finding his raised finger.

"I would prefer if you dined with me though," he says, putting the pitched back down.

I turn to my food, idly pushing it around again, "I would prefer if I dined by myself... in my-" our "-room."

I hear him exhale. I hear the contact of his cutlery on his plate, "a disappointing conclusion."

I slowly avert my eyes from my food to him. He is now focused on his own plate. He mumbles, "but I will allow it."

The next day, I am woken to eat breakfast and urged to get out of bed. I explain to servant I was allowed to eat in my room and that I don't want to eat yet. I scoff in disbelief when I am told I am meant to tour the place with the master, with that damned Kylo Ren, and is thus advised to get ready.

And so I did. I got ready and went into the dining room and interrupted his breakfast. If I can't have peace, neither can he.

Kylo turns to me and nods, "wife."

I clench my teeth, "tour me now," I huff, "I'm not hungry, so tour me now."

He turns back to his food and seemingly debates my words for a moment. He then stands from his seat and puts on his helmet, leading me out of the room. If I could burn holes onto his back with my eyes, he'd have been nothing but charcoal.

I suppose I should have given more attention to his tour than I did because knowing the place would surely benefit me when I make my attempt to esc-

"Are you certain you're not hungry?" Kylo Ren asks out of the blue as he leads me down the weapons room, "you're quite snippy and demanding. I would assume that's because you're hungry, baby bird."

I can't help but scoff at his mockery, "or, this is just how I am," I mumble, "so don't act like you know me." I aimlessly look at all the weapons on display, weapons meant to destroy others like me.

But I do know you.

I avert my gaze to him. I stiffen as I glare.

"I have been in your mind and seen the depths of your soul," he mutters, "and I know you're irritable because you're hungry."

And then he conjures up a tin-wrapped object in front of me.

"Here," he gives me the item using his Force, "you can eat this while we walk back to our chambers."

My lips curl in disgust, "is this meant to be enticing?"

He tilts his helmet clad head, "it's meant to be my lunch for later," he grabs the floating object, then my wrist, placing the silver thing on my palm.

I tense in his touch and I am glad he doesn't linger long there. I look at his would-have-been lunch then turn back to him, seeing my scowling reflection on his dumb helmet, "what an honor to know I won't be poisoned since this is apparently yours."

"It is mine," he rebuts rather impatiently.

I roll my eyes and shove it into his chest, "if you want me to be less irritable, let me go back to my chambers." I catch myself when I say this. It sounds like I want to be in that damned cage, instead of outside of this compound. I correct myself, "or better yet, let me go."

Kylo Ren places his lunch in pocket that I didn't know he had, "We will continue this tour tomorrow."

And so we did. This time, he made sure to have someone come to me after I ate.

I must say, perhaps he was partially correct in the fact I was irritable because I was hungry. I did find him more bearable today, as far as forced husbands and captors go. But then again perhaps it was because he was touring me in the biggest library I have ever seen.

I couldn't even feign disinterest as he motioned to each area of the place and explained they were arranged by planet of origin.

I was far too busy craning my neck up to see how high the bookshelves reached that I bump into one. Or at least I thought it was a bookshelf and not fucking Kylo Ren. I jolt when I look at him, firstly because we had a collision, secondly because he magically didn't have his helmet on anymore.

I reel back as he looks down at me, on I think a more figurative sense if anything.

I am immediately uncomfortable under his gaze. I mutter, "sorry."

"You have questions," he mutters. He turns to me and lifts his chin, "ask them."

I evade his stare. Don't tell me what to do.

"I'm not telling you what to do," Kylo Ren retorts after hearing my thought.

I turn back to him. I snort and grumble, "stay out of my head."

He looks up at the shelves and then looks down at me with his eyes, "a hundred layers."

I pull my head back and scoff in disbelief, "the shelves have a hundred layers?" I look over my shoulder haphazardly, "seems unnecessary hard to manage."

"Well," he brings his head down, "it hosts knowledge from peoples across over the stars. It must be capable of securing the vastness."

When I look back at him, I tense when I see he has come far too close to me. It would have been wise to pull away, perhaps to even shove him off to get my point across, but somehow, I find his proximity as a challenge. I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at him, "undoubtedly stolen, plucked from the rubble of your destruction."

A chill rushes up my spine when he smirks at me. It remains lopsided and smug as he whispers "I don't feel the need to preserve artifacts from a race that is unable to see the glory of my purpose."

That's it. I begin to slowly step away from him.

"Do you want to know how these shelves are managed?"

"No, I really-"

I make a sound when he grabs me and locks me against his chest. Before I can even begin to fight back, I find my feet get lifted off the ground along with him. Next thing I know, I'm gasping and clinging onto him for dear life.

"Put me down," I gasp against his chest as I seal my arm tightly against him.

He chuckles as we continue to float up. He tightens his grip on me as I feel myself begin to slip. He flexes his feet and pushes them beneath mine. I look up at him as I step on his boots.

"This is how you manage them," he iterated, then motioning to his side, "or you use the ladder."

I scoff in disbelief, grabbing onto his collar, "put me down, Kylo."

He blinks at me, lips curing into a bigger smile, "alright."

He slowly bringing me down and I tense when he clutches my waist and speaks out my name.

I look away from him and watch as the floor nears. By the time it was close enough, I jump off him and walk away.

Kylo Ren watches and chuckles, "the exit is the other, baby bird."

I stop in my tracks and glare at him. He does not waste time and walks up to me. My breath hitches when he does, reeling over the look on his face. He moves past me and walks away.

I watch him as he does so, and then an idea strikes me. I debate my chances on living here and convincing the servants to get me food... a bucket-

"Don't be ridiculous. I will throw you over my shoulder if you will not follow," Kylo Ren announces. He stops in his tracks and looks over to me, "you are my empress, not my captive, even though you feel that way."

I watch him as he raises his hand to me, reaching out to me again like on the day of our wedding, except this time, I could see his eyes and is pouty lips. I huff through my nostrils and grip my fists. I walk over to him glaring at him all the way until I move past him.

Kylo watches, a glint in his eye as he does.

I hear him chuckle.

The next day, I woke up, realizing I was allowed to sleep in. That got me tremendously excited, and so I quickly began to ready myself to begin my attempts at an esca-

I slap my hand on my mouth and release a deep breath from my nostrils.

I take a few more moments and ready to exit my chambers.

The moment I'm about to exit though, I am faced with a servant. I tense at the sight of her but offer her a pinched smile, "Rezba."

Rezba nods and walks in with a tray of food, "please eat before you leave. I will be scolded if I am found to failed to feed you."

Dammit, Rezba.

I sigh, turning to my feet. I watch the woman as she walks off and sets the table. She was one of the servants that helped prepare me on my... wedding day, the one that didn't get choked. As for the one that was, I have not seen or heard from her ever since.

My conscience presses on me every time I think of this. I sigh, walking over to her. I sit down on the chair by the table and smile, "thank you, Rezba. You can go now."

Rezba nods, "as you wish, empress."

I wipe my face as he walked away. I quickly stuff my face with the food. I mean, after all, if I manage what I do, I'll need all the food I can get.

The moment I was done, I exit my chambers and head outside with purpose. I nod at the personnel that greet me and make sure to keep my mask of confidence as I make it to the launch pad.

I practically beam when I see a ship ready for the picking. But then I feel a force surge through me.

"Fuck."

My bride.

I turn over my shoulder in horror. Lo behold, the dark mask of my groom, strutting over to me with troops behind him.

"Come to visit me?" he muffles out behind his helmet.

I clench my jaw and turn to him, doing my best not to roll my eyes.

Somehow, I can see his smirk underneath as he speaks, "you didn't even change out of your nightclothes."

I let out a strangled sound as I turn to the two people behind Kylo. One had red hair and one was as clad in uniform as the Supreme Lord.

"This is General Hux and Captain Phasma," Kylo motions to the two of them.

I hum, "yes... hello," I smile without meeting my eyes, "well, now that I've... seen my husband, I'm... I'm going back to my chambers."

The two behind Kylo nod at me. I try not be so annoyed as I walk away.

Next time you plan to escape, you should probably change into something that would protect you from the harshness of space.

I grit my teeth and snap over my shoulder, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

General Hux recoils at my voice. Kylo Ren chuckles under his breath.

The next day, I have no such luck of escaping at all.

"Don't you have some-" I quip over my shoulder as Kylo tails me like the dark shadow he was, "-I don't know... planet to blow up," my voice gets increasingly smaller as I say this and hear myself.

Kylo Ren, in one of the rare occurrences he did not have his helmet on, stops to look at me. He presses his lips together, "do you have a pla-"

"No!" I raise hands, "forget that I said that... please."

I turn away from him and begin to tread deeper into the halls of the library.

I hear him snort behind me, "I don't want you to continue to delude yourself into thinking escaping is an option. It would just be a waste of both our time if you do so."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "and I don't want to delude you in thinking that I would ever stop trying to escape you."

I actually stop in my tracks when I hear him laugh out loud. I turn over to him in great offence as he then turns to me with bright eyes.

I seethe with venom, "I'm glad one of us finds this funny."

He straightens himself up and crosses his arms, "it's funny how you fail to see how alike we are."

My face drops in horror. I march over to him and point a finger at him, "we are nothing alike!"

I jolt when he grabs my wrist and pushes my hand down. The amusement in his face falters and shifts into something else, "aren't we, my empress?"

My heart begins to pound. I pull away from him and recoil.

My breathing begins to pick up as I rub my wrist.

Kylo watches me and makes up for the space between us by walking forward, "did that hurt you?"

"Does it matter if it did?" I quip.

His face softens yet his brows tighten, "it does."

I scoff.

"I am not the monster you make me out to be."

I scoff again as I continue to walk back, "oh yeah, then what ar-" I gasp when I hit something. I panic and turn, seeing it was the step ladder. I have no choice but to halt as Kylo presses nearer. I swallow the lump on my throat as I look at his face.

I will myself not to be so affected by his presence.

I clench my jaw.

My willpower is not very effective.

"I am your husband," he mutters.

I freeze when he brings his hands to my side, though he does not touch me. His eyes dart to my hands that I clutch to my chest. He releases a breath, "I want to bring order to the galaxy."

A shiver runs down my spine, "Kylo..."

His eyes lock on mine. I even my breathing.

I shake my head and knit my brows, "do you genuinely think," I speak softly with no hint of malice, "that killing billions is order?"

His jaw tightens. He drops his hands to his side, "it is an necessary stake for the greater good-"

"Greater good?!" I quip under my breath, grabbing onto his cheeks. I look at him with wide eyes as he looks at me with a similar shocked expression, "you believe razing through the stars is the greater good?"

My whole body pricks when he takes my wrists in his hands and whispers, "my love."

I suck in a sharp breath.

"You do not understand it now," he explains, shaking his head, "but everything that I am, everything that I do," his voice becomes really quiet, "is for us."

My expression drops where his softens.

"For our future," he whispers, "for our next generation and after."

"Kylo-"

"I do it because I believe in our cause," he cuts me off, "I do it because without us, the galaxy will never know anything but chaos."

My breath begins to strain.

He releases one wrist and reaches out for my face, "I will do all it takes, and give you all the time to understand this."

Mu face burns at the feel of his gloved hand. I shake my head, "why?"

"Because you are my star, my burning destiny," he mutters, "the Force brought you to me. I felt you that day on your home planet, you were so strong, you were so strong and so misguided. I tried to kill you that day, but you got away."

My eyes begin to water. I begin to relive that day in my head.

"Then I dreamt about you, I dreamt about how you escaped me and how I hated that you did. Snoke saw it. He saw you in my head. He saw your drive. He saw your weakness. He saw what you could become. And then, he said I burned because you were meant to be mine. He said our Forces were calling for each other, which was why I could not stop dreaming about you."

I begin to tremble against him.

He clutches my face with both hands, "don't be afraid. It took me a while to understand it as well, but-"

"Kylo-" I shudder, "you don't dream of me because I'm your bride, you dream of me because of him!"

He stills.

"Don't you see?" I pant, "he's manipulating you. The dark side is mani-"

"If anyone has been manipulated, it is you, baby bird," he grunts, "you were indoctrinated with beliefs that are short sighted and weak. I would not-"

He doesn't finish and turns his head to the side when a voice of a stormtrooper buzzes through the hall, "apologies for the interruption, my lord. I was tasked to escort you to the throne room, the Supreme Leader is summoning you."

Kylo Ren turns to face him. I suck in a breath as suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me with him as we walk past the stormtrooper, "an escort won't be necessary."

If I wasn't shaking a while ago, I surely was now, and Kylo Ren could feel it. Kylo stole looks over his shoulder. I did nothing but try to even my breath as we tread the hall.

I could feel him holding onto me with his Force, trying to contain me almost... trying to comfort me.

I tense when he releases my hand in lieu of draping his arm over my shoulder, "he will not touch you. He will not harm you," he mutters as I look up at him. He stares straight as we continue walking, "I will make it a point to keep this brief. You have nothing to worry about."

I wanted his words to comfort me, I wanted him to be able to comfort me so badly. And yet when I was face to face with his master, I couldn't even muster the courage to put my faux brave face on. He pulled away from me and pushed me behind him as he greeted the being.

"Why do you continue to disappoint me so, Kylo Ren?" Snoke inquires with a voice of disdain.

This had something to do about me, I am sure of it.

"I am doing everything you asked me," Kylo retorts rather simply.

"And I gave you a bride, yet still you have no efforts for an heir!" he accuses, "must I teach you even in the ways of the flesh, boy?!"

Kylo clenches his fist, he mumbles, "no."

"THEN DO YOUR DUTY!"

"I am making sure everything is perfect for her. She cannot bear me and heir if she is damaged or scared," Kylo retorts.

Snoke tilts his head, "and are you trying to say that has something to do with me?"

"I am SAYING-" Kylo Ren starts, raising his voice as he did. In my shock, I pull back at his cloak, not wanting to feel the wrath of his master. Not now, not ever, especially not in my dreams, not again.

Kylo holds himself back. He huffs, "I will do my duties as her husband. This isn't something for you to meddle with."

"Meddle?" Snoke scoffs but then laughs. He, in fact, laughs so hard, it echoes in the room. He catches his breath then sighs, "Fine." Snoke raises a finger and suddenly, Kylo's boots skid on the floor as he is moved away to reveal me from behind him.

I turn to Snoke, feeling my heart quicken in my ribcage.

Kylo steps back in front of me. I take his arm and hold onto it for dear life.

Snoke stares at his protégé. He tilts his head, "I expect this to change, soon. Her belly should never not be carrying an heir."

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

Her belly should never not be carrying an heir.

"Enough!" Kylo snaps me out of my trance. I turn to him, eyes wide, body trembling. We weren't in the throne room any more, we were in our chambers, soaked in dark retreat of it all. I had no idea when we got here. All I know was I was here with Kylo, who was clutching my face so tightly. He looks at me with something of annoyance, something of concern, "don't think about him anymore, think about me. Just think about me."

I shake my head in sheer disbelief. I push his hands away, "is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Kylo straightens.

"You," I start, "want me here for the same reason he does!"

His expression hardens.

"You and him had plagued me with nightmares for as long as I can remember," I shake my head, "the only reason, I think, I don't have them anymore is because I actually get to live my nightmares out in real life."

"So?" he quips, "what do you mean to say?"

I bite my lip, "just-" I feel my eyes water, "take what you want and... and-"

I hold my breath when Kylo grabs my chin and tilts my head up to look at him. He brings his face close to mine. His nose is barely brushing my own. I feel his hot breath on my face as he enunciates one word, "want."

I blink rapidly at the sound of his voice.

"Shhh," he hushes, "if it's Snoke you worry about, don't. I have been planning something for him, long before you even came to me. He is the least of your worries," he explains. "But do you know what I want, bride?" he asks, as though to taunt me.

I shudder. I think of replying, but I don't.

"I know what you want," he mutters. He begins to move forward, and so I have no choice but to move back as he pushes me in the direction he wants, "you want to run away from me, baby bird. You think you can break free."

His hand only leaves my chin when my calves hit the foot of the bed and I fall back, heart hammering, breath clawing at my throat. He drones, "but what I want?"

Kylo Ren undoes his gloves and undoes his belt as he towers over me.

I want to strangle your light. I want to break you so badly. I want to fucking burn you from the inside until you can only hear yourself screaming from how good it feels to finally have your wet, little c-

I slap my hands to my mouth I hear the thoughts running through his head.

Kylo stills. He tilts his head then chuckles, "so... you heard that?"

I sigh deeply, attempting to even my breath as I back away from him. I squeak when he lunges and traps me beneath him. He crushes me against his chest and pins my wrists by my head. I turn away from him as he whispers hotly against my ear, "it would be so easy to have you like this, right?"

My screw my eyes shut. Tears lace my lashes.

"You won't even fight me off, you couldn't."

I shudder when he releases one of my wrists and brings his free hand down to my thighs. I feel my body burn and tingle at his slow caress.

He kisses my jaw and my skin there is set ablaze, "you don't want to fight me off," he chuckles, "you could at least do something with your hand to save face."

When I finally remember where my free hand is, Kylo takes it back in his and lifts his head, "too late." He pushes himself up, "look at me."

I clench my jaw.

"You'll know never to make me ask for the same thing twice."

I give a shallow huff and open my eyes, looking up at him.

"I want you to beg me," he whispers, "I want you to be so desperate to finally," he begins to further pull away, "finally, take you," he knits his brows, "to make you my wife that you get on your knees and weep for it."

A shiver runs down my spine as I watch him get up from the bed and grab his gloves, "until then," he reaches his hand out and uses his Force to cover me with the sheets, "you belong to yourself."

He haunts me in my dreams that night. Not as a figure of darkness, not as a ghost, but as a man, as starving entity, ready to consume me, eager to take me.

He haunts me every night after. And every night his intentions are made clearer and clearer until I wake up and think he and I wake up and I'm shocked he's not actually there.

It became hard to look at him, especially when my stomach began to flip and my thighs involuntarily pressed together. I was turning sick.

And then one day, the news spreads like wildfire. Snoke is dead, Kylo Ren is the Supreme Leader, and I, his Supreme Empress.

It was weird. I was called Empress before and he was called Emperor before, but now, now it was real. Now I was parading with Kylo Ren in the capital, looking at citizens waving at us and throwing flowers our way. And then I was shaking strangers' hands and Kylo snarled at whomever dared embrace me a second too long.

But what really cemented our reign and the realness of it all, was when someone tried to attack me. Kylo felt the assailant before he got too close though and choked him dead in the middle of the crowd. I watched as the man's weapon fell to the ground, as he withered in pain, as he eventually stopped moving. He suffered. I knew Kylo wanted him to. The festivities were long over after that, and I was then I was reminded of who he truly was.

He was a brute. A beast. The shadow in my mind. He was-

I turn over my left as a blanket is draped over my shoulder. Kylo Ren sits beside me on the bed and offers me glass of water, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

I huff at the sound of his apology. I wrap my blanket tighter on me.

He sighs and brings the glass to the table using his Force, "I would do it again, though. You should know. I would not hesitate even a second."

I curl my legs up into my chest, "am I supposed to be grateful?"

"I would prefer if you were," he mutters.

"Kylo..."

I suck in a breath when he says his name.

"I'm- I'm too tired to argue. I want to go to sleep," I mutter, moving on the bed until I was laid down. Kylo watches me as I do this, then stands.

"Wait," I call out, surprising even myself.

Kylo stills.

No turning back now. "I... I don't want to be alone... not after that... even though you did it."

Kylo waits.

He debates my words.

I hide behind my blanket, "nevermi-"

The next thing I know, I feel him move next to me. And there, he lies.

I feel him next to me. We're under the same blanket. I feel myself begin to grow warm.

"I can get a separate blanket if you're so uncomfortable."

"Get out of my fucking thoughts."

"... ... I don't want to."

I grunt and wrap myself tightly under the blanket, surely yanking however much was on Kylo off.

"Your mind is an oasis to me."

I say nothing.

"My mind is a dessert, you are my oasis."

I huff through the sheets, "don't talk to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

"I'm telling you what-"

"I'm done with this conversation."

I close my eyes and tighten my embrace on myself. I release a breath and try to clear my mind.

"Are you that cold?" Kylo murmers

"I'm not cold."

"I know."

"Then why did you ask?" I quip turning to him.

I freeze when I do so, instantly regretting my decision. He was lying on his side, looking at me, his face was right in front of mine and his arms were wrapped around himself. He blinks slowly as he looks at me, "I know you want to be held."

I huff through my slightly agape mouth, then I clench my jaw tightly. I move back from him cautiously, retreating into my covers, into myself.

"I can hold you," he mutters softly.

I turn away from him, feeling my body ignite.

"I want to hold you," he whispers even softer. Let me hold you.

Shut up, get out of my head.

He takes a moment before speaking again. He releases a breath, "am I that terrifying to you, baby bird?"

Yes.

"Then why do you mutter my name while you sleep?"

I tighten my arms around myself. Stop trying to get into my head.

"I'm already in your head," he retorts, voice closer now, "and in your heart."

"Shut up," I whimper.

I hear high-pitched laugh in my head. His voice surrounds me through the Force. It makes my skin raise. I'm only telling you the truth.

"Face me," he mutters, "coward."

I scoff. I heave, feeling my insides curdle. I clench my jaw then hiss, "at least I'm not a killer with no remorse."

He laughs, "you're making it seem like I should have let him attack you."

"You didn't have to kill him!" I snap, turning back to him, pushing myself up on my palms, "you could have given him a prison sentence."

"For what?!" he barks back, unravelling his crossed arms, lifting face up slightly, "so he could plan to attack you again, but next time when I'm not around to defend you?!"

"He only wanted to attack me because I'm married to you!" I hiss, sitting up from my spot.

Kylo sits up too and shakes his head, "he wanted to attack you because he thinks you're my weakness."

"Because I am your weakness!" I quip, "I'm your docile bride!"

He scoffs, grabbing my jaw, "you made yourself into this, little girl," he leans towards me. My pulse quickens as he pushes my head back, hand coming to the side of my face, fingers digging into my hair, "you where the rebel that fought against my troops and managed to escape me. The Force is strong with you," he places his other hand on the other side of my face, "that is why you are my bride."

When Kylo Ren pulls away and lies down, my insides begin to burn, to fume, and rage at his words. I watch him and I slowly begin to see red. And yet, he closes his eyes and acts like this whole conversation didn't happen. He prepares to sleep like there's nothing wrong.

This is my final straw.

I lunge at him. I dart my claws out and growl. I jump on him and press down on his throat. I straddle him and lean all my weight all my strength onto his airways. His eyes shoot open. His hands dart to my wrists. He begins to choke. I put all my anger into my grip. I force against him, knowing full well if I lost the upper hand, I'd be dead.

Except he doesn't make an move beyond clutching my wrists. I wait for him to attempt to overpower me, I wait for him to throw me off him the way I knew he could, and end all of this, and, in turn, kill me instead, but he doesn't.

He doesn't fight back.

Instead he looks up at me as his air leaves him as his face begin to turn maroon, as his veins begin to stress, as his final breaths escape his lips. And then I realize what I was doing and I pull back.

I pull back and heave in horror, wrists breaking free of his hold, hovering by my chest as I looked down at him while he caught his breath. He closes his eyes as his palms land on my thighs. My eyes water, the same way tears laced his lashes.

Why didn't he fight back?

Why isn't he fighting back?

He wanted me to kill him?

He wanted me to kill him?

I watch as his chest rises and falls beneath me. I am then suddenly aware of our position. I feel a tinge burn in my cheeks and my core. It's inexplicable, whether I am embarrassed over the fact I tried to kill him or the fact I was straddling him beneath me.

Before I can get off him though, he finally overpowers me and traps me beneath him. Easily. Swiftly. I was nothing against him. And this fact was amplified as he pins my wrists down on the pillows overhead with just one hand. He presses himself against me, heaving heavily, as if he was doing something with great restraint. It makes my stomach drop.

"That's the difference between you and I," he pants, as his one hand comes up to my neck, "if I wanted you dead, my love..." he begins to press down on my throat.

I begin to panic and thrash beneath him.

Shhhhhh.

He steadies me still in his place. I am overcome by him, unsure if it was just his physical prowess or if he was using his Force as he pushes down on me. I get a semblance of an answer when the pressure on my throat remains and I unable to move my wrists though both his hands go to the sides of my thighs.

I gulp as he leaves hot kisses all over my skin. I huff sharply when I am released of my Force bounds. My hands dart to his torso, gripping at his clothes as I try to push him away.

I would never damage you.

I let out a sound when he releases his chokehold.

Not unless you want me to.

Kylo then begins to bring his face close to mine, pressing our cheeks together for a moment. My stomach rolls and my breath hitches when his hot lips meet my mine. My heart is racing. He undoubtedly could feel it against him.

My panic rises. I quickly manage in between kisses, "Kylo-"

"Beg me," he pulls away and breathes against my ear, "beg me..." he kisses the pulse on my neck, "to get off you-- to leave you alone, to shoot myself into the sun-"

Kylo begins to rub himself between my open legs. Slowly. Roughly. I whimper. He freezes. I feel blood rise up my face. I begin to push him back harder.

He tightens his hold on me, repelling my actions by pressing his weight further onto me, "beg me to finally make you live out your fantasies," his voice loudens, "to make you mine."

I grit my teeth tightly.

"Beg me," he groans, "beg."

I whine, nails digging into his sides as I push against him.

He kisses my jaw, hands leaving my thighs, grabbing my wrists, pushing them down on my sides, "use your words. Hark to me, my baby bird."

My breath hitches, "Kylo, please."

Kylo pulls his face back, nose just above mine, looking down at me with hooded eyes. He waits for me to continue, breath straining as he did. My lips part and my feel my pulse echo in every inch of my body.

I gulp and ready to speak... but I can't. I don't. My mouth goes dry and all I could think about was how his dark locks were framing his face, and how his lips were moving as he heaved arduously, and how I wanted to find where the scar on his face ended.

Then I am ripped out of my incredulous thoughts.

"Please what?" his breath his hot against my face as he coaxes.

I close my lips and catch my breath that was leaving me, "please... stop."

"Stop what, darling?" he utters. I close my eyes when he leans his forehead against mine. He releases my wrists, hands coming to my sides, nails scratching down me until his large hands ended up on my thighs again. I squeak when his hips buck into mine with more intent.

My hands come to Kylo's neck, fingers digging into the roots of his hair.

He shifts atop me, pulling his head back up, weight all on my core, making me moan at the pressure. His nose brushes against mine. He breathes out my name. My eyes shoot open because of it.

I find his eyes are screwed shut, a line between his brows. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare as he steadies his breathing.

"Kylo-"

"Yes," he speaks before I even finish saying his name.

His eyelids slowly part when I tug his face towards me, legs tightening around his waist, crossing over his back. He lets out a huff that bounces from my face to his. His hands rub down to my butt and there his grip tightens.

Right when our lips brush against each other, he lifts his head ever so slightly and whispers, "beg me to make you mine."

My throat tightens.

"I need to hear it," his voice is soft.

I suck in a breath and call out his name.

He releases a sharp one as he says mine.

I call out his name.

He responds with mine.

I hesitate.

He rubs his nose against mine then says quietly, "make me yours please."

I suck in a breath. My stomach explodes with butterflies. "Make... me yours," I mumble, relaxing against him, hands rubbing down his neck to his shoulders. I close my eyes and sigh, "please."

He nods, "louder."

"Kylo-"

"Louder," he mutters with a tight breath, "one last time."

"Make me yours, please."

Kylo hisses then connects his lips to mine. He moans, amplifying the hungriness of the kiss. His hands are quick and desperate as they grip at my clothing. He pushes off me and begins to strip me of all the hindrances on my being

I whimper as he eagerly does his work. One by one, he rips my clothes off. He does so with such impatience, I hear the tears and the strains of my clothes.

He sits me down as he removes each piece off me until I'm left in my panties. I wrap my arms around my bare chest. Kylo leans in, hands rubbing my bare thighs. My skin pricks because of the contact. He mutters, "your turn, my dear."

He kisses me as he grabs my hands. He pries them off my chest and ends our kiss, placing my palms at the hem of his top. He lifts his hands, eyes not leaving mine, wordlessly urging me to strip him.

I shift on my knees and pull his top off, discarding it along with the rest of my clothing that he threw on the floor. My hands instinctively come to his pants, fiddling the belt on his waist band.

He gets on his knees and grabs my face. He pulls me in for a kiss, moving closer until I'm pressed against the headboard. He guides my hands as they push his pants down.

We keep kissing until he breaks away to strip all together. I don't have time to react cause when he does, he pushes me down using his Force, and brings my legs together as to rid me of the last thing keeping me modest. I screw my eyes shut as he snatches my underwear.

Before I could feel too conscious about being naked in front of the man that was my husband, about to consummate our marriage, I let out a shaky sound as my legs are grabbed and pushed apart.

I suck in a breath as my arms fly again to my chest. They only stay there for a moment. Even that, Kylo pulls apart as he presses against me. He presses my arms down on the pillows by the sides of my head.

I am unable to conceal my cries at the feel of his hot body pressing against mine. I feel his taut stomach press against my core. It drew out another sound I could not keep in. I feel my pulse against him. I feel my wetness smear on his skin. His hands leave my arms to grab onto my thighs.

When I finally dared to open my eyes, I caught the moment Kylo sank his head onto my chest and began to suckle at the skin on my sternum.

I whimper then I bite my lip tightly. Kylo looks up at me as he takes my left breast and nips at it. He begins to rub against me.

I fist his hair into my hands. I press my head back against the pillows. Kylo's hands travel to my hipbones and digs in his fingers into me. He releases my breast and checks on his work, appreciating the mark he left of my skin before continuing to attend to my breast with his mouth.

I tighten my legs around his waist as he continues to grind down on me. I feel my heart racket behind my ribs as Kylo moves to my other breast.

"Kylo," I whimper, as my nails dig into his scalp.

He moans and releases my flesh, whispering hotly against my skin, "yes, my empress?"

I exhale through my open mouth and look at him with a dazed expression. I clutch his cheeks, "I want you-- need you-" I sigh.

Kylo lifts his body slightly, one hand releasing my hip. "To what?" he murmurs, "-need to hear you say it."

His fingers roughly draw a line from my side to my core. I gasp when he touches my aching nub. I lift my head, looking out at his hand as he looks down on me. His two digits dote on the wet heat between my legs. He slowly rubs circles on my flesh, teasing my entrance.

He holds my hips in place as a squirm beneath him. Then his hands hook by the curve of my thigh and pushes one leg up to my chest. He leans in and says, "need to what, my bride?"

I whine as my hands brush down to his shoulders. I claw at him, pulling him closer to me, "need to..." whimper, "to be made yours."

He exhales loudly. He heaves heavily as he sinks two fingers into my sopping core, slowly and firmly rubbing into me, stretching my flesh deliciously. I whine like a wraith.

"You have no idea how long I've imagined touching you like this," he admits as he toys my entrance with his fingers.

"Kylo."

He pulls his hand away and grabs my other thigh, pushing it up by my ribs.

I look at him as he brings his face close and lifts his hips. He digs his fingers into the bend of my knees and my toes curl when I feel him press against me, hard and pulsing.

I lick my lips and break into a whine when he slowly sheathes himself into me, releasing a hot breath by the crown of my head as he did so.

I whimper at the feel of him sinking in all the way. I tighten my legs around him and reach out to the sheets by my sides and rip at them.

Kylo slowly begins to rock into me, groaning as he does so, "so warm, wet and soft," he grabs my hands and places it on his back, "so soft and-" he licks my skin and bites down.

I choke on my breath as he does this. His pace thrusts hasten. He hands grab my knees and push them into my chest, "mine. All mine."

He lifts himself up and ruts into me with vigor.

Soon enough I feel my mind blur while my voice lets out incoherences at the snapping of Kylo's hips.

I claw at his back with little regard for how much it may hurt him.

Kylo howls in response, quickening his pace even more, adjusting his hold on me until his position was perfect and my head was knocking slightly into the board.

"Fill you up with me," he grunts, "fill you until you're a mess, mark you until you're tender, repeat until you're sore."

I don't respond. I don't know what to. I don't have much of a brain to speak anything anyway.

Kylo thrusts into me at such a strong and steady pace, it's not long until I feel a flurry in my stomach and a tingle in my chest.

I whine out his name. I pull him into me. He leans in and huffs against my cheek, "feels good, right? I can make you feel good."

I catch his lips into my teeth. He rip away only to kiss me as he breaks me.

We pull away to breathe yet Kylo does lose his tempo. I feel my eyes water and my mouth dry over my continuous jaw dropped cries.

"Just want to make you feel good," he whispers heavily, "want to make you mine."

"Feel so good," I mindlessly mutter, "so - Kylo."

In that next moment, I feel my insides shatter around him. I let out a loud cry of relief. My fingers curl into his back as I tighten and convulse around him. My toes curl as I lock my legs around him. Instantaneously, I feel a sharp heat splatter into me and it magnifies my delirium.

I hear him curse and whine against my ear. I feel him tighten his hold on me as he continues the work with his hips, still as quick as before.

And as I ride out my high and tighten around him, only then does Kylo's actions find some irregularity. My head no longer hits the board, though my body very much still moves up and down with Kylo's movements.

As the final ripples of my pleasure calm down, so does the knocking of our hips.

When he is satisfied, he releases my hips and grabs my face. He kisses me and catches his breath in between.

"Do you want me to get off you?" he asks.

I quickly shake my head in disagreement and wrap my arms around him.

"Good," he rests his head beside mine and slowly relaxes on top of me. He sighs and brushes his nose against my head, "I want to stay in you forever."

I bite my lip and lean my face into his.

"I will write your name in the stars," he whispers, "I will give you everything in the galaxy. All you have to do is be mine."

I gulp and sigh heavily, yet I internally find myself agreeing.

His hand rubs my side, "I hope you don't get pregnant too quickly," he kisses my head, "there's so much I have to do with you first."

[mywitchyblog]

Trauma and Reality Shifting: Neurobiological Boundaries and the Prevention of Cross-Reality Psychological Impact

Imagine having the ability to consciously shift your existence from your everyday life to an alternate reality, experiencing different scenarios and outcomes. This phenomenon, known as reality shifting, has garnered significant attention, particularly within online communities. As individuals explore the depths of shifting, a compelling question arises: Can trauma experienced in a Desired Reality (DR) follow you back to your Current Reality (CR)? Understanding the interplay between trauma and reality shifting is crucial for both mental health and the integrity of shifting practices.

Reality shifting refers to the deliberate transition of one's consciousness from their Current Reality (CR) to a Desired Reality (DR), where different experiences and circumstances unfold. Trauma, in this context, is defined as a profound neurobiological response to distressing or life-altering events, such as abuse, accidents, or natural disasters. Trauma induces significant changes in the brain and body, affecting neural circuits, hormonal balances, and overall physiological functioning. The convergence of these two concepts—reality shifting and trauma—raises important questions about the nature of psychological resilience and the boundaries between different states of existence.

The significance of exploring whether trauma can traverse realities lies in its implications for personal well-being and the ethical considerations of shifting practices. As reality shifting becomes more popular, particularly among young individuals seeking escape or personal growth, understanding the potential psychological impacts is essential. This inquiry not only addresses fears and misconceptions surrounding shifting but also empowers individuals to engage in these practices safely, ensuring that their mental health remains uncompromised across different dimensions.

This essay is structured into two main parts. Part I: "Trauma Explained – What It Is and How It Affects the Brain," which includes two subparts: "Defining Trauma" and "The Physical Impact of Trauma on the Brain." These sections lay the groundwork for understanding trauma as a tangible, physical process. Part II: "Trauma and Reality Shifting – Exploring the Boundaries," comprises two subparts: "Why DR Trauma Doesn’t Cross the 'Reality Boundary'" and "DR Memories as Context-Specific and Emotionally Detached." This section examines the relationship between trauma and reality shifting, addressing whether trauma can transcend different realities.

By dissecting the relationship between trauma and reality shifting, this essay aims to provide a comprehensive understanding of how individuals can navigate multiple realities without compromising their mental health, ultimately affirming that trauma remains tethered to its original reality.

Disclaimers (Please Read):

This essay comprises approximately 7,000 words and is likely the most extensive paper I have written on the subject of reality shifting. If you identify any information that is incorrect or outdated, please inform me so I can make the necessary revisions.

I encourage thoughtful debates and discussions. If you disagree with any points, kindly explain why, as I am eager to engage in further dialogue. However, please be aware of my boundaries: disrespectful insults and logical fallacies such as ad hominem attacks, straw man arguments, and hasty generalizations will not be tolerated. Such behavior will result in immediate removal from the discussion. As in imma block your ass.

As i know my word and opinion is in no way shape or form law or absolute truth. This is simply my perspective on the matter based on research, logical observations and personal experiences.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.

P.S : This shit took me weeks to write i hope the message came across well if not do not hesitate to ask me questions i shall answer them asap

Taglist of the people i think would be interested by the essay or that i want their opinion/commentary/feedback on it :

@sunnirayss Because i really appreciate your content and your knowledge and i saw we were mutuals and as you have said in your boundaries : "Feel free to ask me for advice or my perspectives on things. As long as you're respectful and clear with your question, I'll probably answer it."

@carlyshifts111 Because i saw your video where you if i am not mistaken (please confirm it to me thank you) you see to disgaree with the statement "i scripted that i cant bring back trauma". A statement in which through the essay i respecfully disagree.

@shiftinghoesblog Bestie your are like my shifting sis so def tagging u in everything lol.

@lizzy4president We seem to get along quite well in the sense that we share the same takes/opinions about shifting.

Part I: Trauma Explained – What It Is and How It Affects the Brain

Subpart 1: Defining Trauma

1.1 : What is trauma?

Trauma transcends the simplistic notion of personal weakness or mere inability to manage stress. It represents a deeply ingrained neurobiological and psychological response to events that fundamentally destabilize an individual's sense of safety, agency, or normalcy. These responses are not voluntary but arise from external circumstances, such as interpersonal violence, life-threatening accidents, or large-scale disasters. Far from being confined to subjective emotional disturbances, trauma triggers quantifiable changes within neural circuits, hormonal systems, and the broader autonomic nervous system. These alterations propel the body into a sustained state of hypervigilance and defensive readiness, often with lasting repercussions.

Trauma is not monolithic; its manifestations vary widely depending on context and exposure.

Acute trauma typically results from a single, overwhelming incident, such as a violent assault or a natural catastrophe.

Chronic trauma, on the other hand, emerges from enduring exposure to harmful or abusive conditions over time, such as repeated domestic violence or systemic oppression.

Complex trauma constitutes an intricate constellation of psychological wounds arising from prolonged and compounded exposure to severe adversity, often rooted in early developmental periods. Such trauma intertwines with personal history and environmental factors, creating unique and often profound impacts on individuals.

Critically, these forms of trauma are not reflections of personal fragility but are biologically embedded responses to extreme stressors that overwhelm existing coping mechanisms.

The physiological adaptations initiated by trauma include a spectrum of survival-oriented behaviors and states. These are often categorized under the "fight, flight, freeze, or fawn" responses. Each of these reflects a distinct strategy for managing perceived threats. For example:

the fight response manifests as aggression or confrontational behavior.

the flight response entails avoidance or physical withdrawal from danger.

The freeze response is characterized by immobilization and dissociation, a state in which individuals may feel emotionally numb or disconnected from their environment.

The fawn response, though less commonly discussed, involves appeasement and compliance as strategies to defuse perceived threats.

While these responses serve adaptive purposes during traumatic events, their persistence in the absence of actual danger often leads to maladaptive patterns, such as hypervigilance, intrusive memories, and disrupted emotional regulation.

The biological underpinnings of trauma are well-documented and highlight its tangible effects on brain architecture. :

The amygdala, a critical node in the brain’s fear-processing network, becomes hyperactive following trauma, resulting in heightened threat detection and exaggerated emotional responses.

Simultaneously, the hippocampus, responsible for contextualizing and integrating memories, often exhibits volume reduction, impairing the individual’s ability to distinguish between past traumatic events and present safety.

The prefrontal cortex—central to executive functions such as decision-making and emotion regulation—experiences functional suppression, further compounding difficulties in managing stress and regulating behavior.

These interconnected neural disruptions illustrate the profound ways in which trauma is encoded within the brain, far beyond the realm of conscious awareness.

Recognizing trauma as a biologically driven process demands a shift from stigmatized interpretations to a nuanced understanding of its pervasive impacts. Trauma reshapes an individual’s cognitive, emotional, and relational frameworks, influencing their interactions with the world and their perception of safety. By addressing the physical and psychological realities of trauma, scholars and practitioners can develop more precise and effective interventions, facilitating recovery and resilience.

Trauma, therefore, is not an ephemeral or subjective condition but a profound reconfiguration of the body’s and brain’s adaptive systems in response to extraordinary stress.

1.2 : Types of trauma responses

Trauma engages the body’s most primal survival mechanisms, activating automatic responses that bypass conscious thought. These responses—fight, flight, freeze, and fawn—arise from the nervous system’s attempts to protect the individual in the face of perceived danger. Understanding these patterns highlights the physiological and behavioral imprint trauma leaves long after the initiating event has ended.

The fight response manifests as heightened aggression and a readiness to confront the threat directly. Individuals may respond with anger, physical outbursts, or confrontational behavior, reflecting the body’s preparation to eliminate the perceived danger. This reaction, while adaptive in threatening situations, often persists as disproportionate irritability or hostility in non-threatening environments.

The flight response propels the individual to escape perceived danger. This can take the form of physical avoidance—such as steering clear of certain locations or social settings—or adopting behaviors that provide a sense of safety, like constant vigilance or seeking isolation. While the instinct to flee ensures survival in acute situations, its chronic activation can lead to avoidance behaviors that disrupt daily functioning.

The freeze response immobilizes the individual, akin to the well-known "deer in headlights" phenomenon. This reaction stems from the body’s attempt to evade detection by remaining still, often accompanied by feelings of numbness or dissociation. Those experiencing the freeze response may struggle to react to their surroundings or articulate their needs, creating barriers to effective communication and problem-solving.

The fawn response involves prioritizing the needs of others to de-escalate perceived threats. Individuals may engage in appeasing behaviors, suppressing their own desires or boundaries to maintain a sense of safety. While adaptive in abusive or manipulative environments, the fawn response can lead to an erosion of self-identity and a pattern of unhealthy relationships.

These survival responses, while beneficial in the context of immediate danger, frequently extend their influence into daily life, resulting in a range of secondary effects.

For instance, hypervigilance—a hallmark of trauma—leaves individuals perpetually on edge, misinterpreting benign stimuli as potential threats. This heightened state of awareness often triggers flashbacks, wherein sensory fragments of traumatic memories intrude upon the present.

Flashbacks are vivid and fragmented, involving intense visual, auditory, or emotional recollections that bypass conscious control. Similarly, dissociation—a state of detachment from one’s surroundings or self—serves as a psychological escape, yet may disrupt the individual’s ability to engage meaningfully with reality.

These trauma responses, deeply rooted in neurobiology, underscore the enduring impact of trauma on both behavior and cognition. Recognizing them as automatic, physiological processes rather than conscious choices provides a framework for addressing their effects in therapeutic contexts. By situating these responses within the context of survival, it becomes possible to approach trauma recovery with greater empathy and scientific understanding.

1.3 : Why Trauma is Often Misunderstood

Trauma remains one of the most misunderstood phenomena in mental health, primarily due to pervasive societal stigma and the oversimplification of its nature. A significant portion of the public reduces trauma to an emotional weakness or an exaggerated reaction, perpetuating harmful stereotypes. This oversimplification not only undermines the legitimacy of trauma but also marginalizes those who experience it, leaving them to contend with the dual burden of their condition and societal judgment.

The societal stigma surrounding mental health often equates trauma with personal failure or fragility, fostering an environment where individuals feel compelled to suppress their experiences. Trauma is frequently perceived as a purely emotional reaction—an individual failing rather than a neurobiological condition. This perspective ignores the tangible physiological effects of trauma, such as structural brain changes and hormonal dysregulation. Consequently, trauma survivors are often dismissed as overreacting or dramatizing their symptoms, a misconception that overlooks the profound and measurable impact trauma has on neural pathways, stress response systems, and overall functioning.

Another critical misunderstanding stems from the tendency to view trauma as an exclusively mental or psychological phenomenon. While trauma indeed affects emotional regulation and cognition, its origins are deeply rooted in the physical processes of the brain and body.

Neuroimaging studies have consistently shown that trauma induces heightened activity in the amygdala, impairs the hippocampus’s ability to process and store memories, and suppresses the prefrontal cortex’s capacity for rational thought and emotional regulation.

These biological disruptions challenge the oversimplified notion that trauma survivors can merely "move on" through willpower or emotional resilience alone.

Furthermore, the limited public discourse on trauma has reinforced reductive stereotypes. Media portrayals often depict trauma survivors as permanently damaged or excessively fragile, feeding into a culture that glorifies stoicism while pathologizing vulnerability. Educational systems and workplaces rarely prioritize comprehensive mental health literacy, allowing misconceptions about trauma to persist unchallenged. This lack of understanding perpetuates the stigmatization of trauma survivors and deters meaningful conversations about its complex nature.

Compounding this issue is the narrow definition of trauma that many hold. The general population often associates trauma exclusively with catastrophic events, such as war, natural disasters, or severe accidents. While such events can indeed cause trauma, this perspective ignores the equally profound impact of chronic stressors like emotional neglect, prolonged abuse, or systemic discrimination.

Research shows that these subtler forms of trauma can result in neurobiological changes indistinguishable from those caused by acute trauma. However, survivors of these experiences often face invalidation due to the societal expectation that trauma must be linked to a dramatic, singular event.

In conclusion, trauma is frequently misunderstood because it is perceived as an emotional failing rather than a physical condition rooted in neurobiology.

This misunderstanding is perpetuated by stigma, lack of education, and a narrow, event-centric view of trauma. Recognizing trauma as a biological response to stress, rather than a character defect, is essential for dismantling harmful stereotypes and fostering a more informed and empathetic approach to mental health.

Subpart 2: The Physical Impact of Trauma on the Brain

2.1 : Neurobiological Changes Caused by Trauma

Trauma doesn’t linger in an abstract psychological space; it rewires the brain at a structural and functional level. Among the most notable changes, trauma disrupts the amygdala, hippocampus, and prefrontal cortex, creating a cascade of dysfunctions that alter perception, memory, and behavior.

The amygdala, the brain’s alarm system, becomes hyperactive in response to trauma. This small, almond-shaped cluster of neurons flags threats—real or perceived—at hyperspeed. Under normal conditions, the amygdala activates appropriately to warn of danger. Post-trauma, however, it’s perpetually on high alert, interpreting harmless stimuli as potential threats. This hypervigilance results in exaggerated fear responses, persistent anxiety, and difficulty distinguishing between safe and unsafe situations. Such overactivation not only exhausts mental and emotional resources but also intensifies the stress cycle, trapping individuals in a state of relentless fight-or-flight reactivity.

The hippocampus, essential for memory formation and contextual processing, also bears the brunt of trauma. Research shows that trauma reduces the hippocampus’s volume, impairing its ability to differentiate past events from present experiences. Memories associated with trauma often resurface as fragmented, sensory-laden flashbacks devoid of temporal context. These fragments, unanchored to a timeline, can feel as immediate as the original event. This dysfunction contributes to a loop where individuals relive their trauma without the cognitive tools to process or resolve it.

Simultaneously, the prefrontal cortex—responsible for executive functions such as rational decision-making, emotional regulation, and impulse control—experiences diminished activity. Trauma suppresses this region, undermining its ability to override emotional reactions triggered by the amygdala. As a result, individuals may struggle with planning, managing stress, and interpreting events with clarity. The prefrontal cortex’s reduced functionality leaves emotional responses unchecked, leading to impulsivity, difficulty concentrating, and heightened vulnerability to stressors.

These neural disruptions do not operate in isolation; they occur within a dysregulated stress-response system. Trauma triggers chronic overproduction of cortisol, the body’s primary stress hormone. This hormonal imbalance exacerbates the neural damage, contributing to systemic issues such as poor sleep, mood instability, and weakened immune function. Over time, the cumulative effects of heightened cortisol levels and neural restructuring manifest in both mental health disorders, such as PTSD, and physical ailments, including cardiovascular disease.

Brain imaging studies corroborate these findings, providing visual evidence of trauma-induced changes. Functional MRI (fMRI) and PET scans consistently reveal heightened amygdala activity, reduced hippocampal volume, and diminished prefrontal cortex engagement in individuals with trauma histories. These alterations underscore the tangible, physical nature of trauma, dismantling misconceptions that trauma is “just emotional” or a matter of willpower.

In essence, trauma is a physiological phenomenon. Its effects penetrate the brain’s core systems, warping its architecture and leaving long-lasting marks on cognition, emotion, and behavior. Trauma is not an abstract adversary; it is a biological force that demands recognition and intervention.

2.2 : The Physical Impact of Trauma on the Brain

Trauma fundamentally alters the brain’s architecture, creating maladaptive neural pathways that prioritize fear and hypervigilance. This process reconfigures the brain's responses to prioritize survival, often at the expense of flexibility and emotional regulation. Neural circuits become wired to perceive everyday stimuli as potential threats, leading to persistent states of anxiety and avoidance.

Trauma memories are typically stored as fragmented sensory imprints—disconnected sights, sounds, or physical sensations—rather than coherent narratives. These fragmented memories are easily triggered, leading to flashbacks or distressing physiological reactions that are difficult to contextualize. This disorganization results from trauma’s disruption of the hippocampus, the brain region responsible for integrating sensory information into structured memories. Consequently, trauma survivors often struggle to differentiate past experiences from present reality, perpetuating cycles of fear and distress.

Maladaptive neural pathways formed during traumatic experiences reinforce survival-oriented behaviors, such as avoidance. Avoidance becomes a coping mechanism, convincing the individual that evasion equates to safety. Over time, this pattern solidifies, limiting behavioral responses and emotional resilience. The brain defaults to fear-based reactions, reducing the capacity to engage with new challenges or relationships meaningfully.

Trauma also impacts the brain’s reward systems, diminishing the capacity for pleasure or relaxation. Hyperactivation of the amygdala the brain's fear center keeps the individual in a constant state of alertness, while reduced activity in the prefrontal cortex impairs rational decision-making and emotional regulation. Chronic stress leads to an overproduction of cortisol, the primary stress hormone, further entrenching trauma-induced neural patterns. This biochemical cascade perpetuates hypervigilance and emotional exhaustion, leaving the individual trapped in a survival state.

Social functioning is similarly affected by trauma-induced changes in neural wiring. Trust and emotional connection often become compromised as the brain perceives interpersonal closeness as a risk. Survivors may experience emotional numbness, detachment, or difficulty interpreting social cues, which can lead to isolation and strained relationships. This relational disconnect exacerbates the individual’s sense of vulnerability and reinforces the trauma-driven neural patterns.

The cumulative effect of these changes underscores the enduring nature of trauma's impact on the brain. Without targeted intervention, the maladaptive wiring established during trauma persists, dictating future responses and limiting psychological growth. The brain becomes trapped in outdated survival scripts, unable to fully engage with the present or adapt to new circumstances. This reprogramming reflects not a failure of character but the brain’s natural biological response to extraordinary stress.

Trauma’s reprogramming reshapes the individual’s mental and emotional landscape, narrowing their perspective and constraining their ability to navigate life effectively. Understanding this process highlights the importance of addressing trauma at the neurological level to restore balance and adaptability in the brain’s functioning.

2.3 : The Physical Impact of Trauma on the Brain

Empirical evidence strongly supports the argument that trauma induces measurable physiological changes within the brain and body. Advances in neuroimaging technologies, hormonal studies, and biochemical analyses illustrate that trauma is not merely an emotional or psychological phenomenon—it is a tangible alteration of biological systems.

Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) and Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scans consistently reveal structural and functional changes in the brains of individuals exposed to trauma. For instance, the amygdala, the brain's primary center for fear and threat detection, shows heightened activity in trauma survivors, reflecting a state of persistent hypervigilance.

Simultaneously, the hippocampus, responsible for memory processing and contextualizing experiences, often exhibits significant shrinkage in volume. Studies suggest this reduction compromises the ability to regulate emotional responses and distinguish between past and present threats.

Furthermore, the prefrontal cortex—the region critical for executive function and emotion regulation—shows diminished activity, impairing the brain’s capacity to modulate fear responses. These observable changes underscore the biological footprint trauma leaves on neural architecture.

Trauma also disrupts endocrine function, particularly involving cortisol, a stress hormone central to the body’s fight-or-flight response. In trauma survivors, cortisol levels frequently deviate from normal patterns, manifesting as chronic hypersecretion or suppression. Elevated cortisol levels contribute to disrupted circadian rhythms, mood instability, and heightened anxiety. Prolonged exposure to abnormal cortisol levels exacerbates the brain’s structural vulnerabilities, particularly in the hippocampus, further embedding trauma’s physiological impact. This dysregulation extends beyond the brain, affecting metabolic and immune systems, illustrating the systemic nature of trauma’s influence.

Trauma’s effects extend into cellular and molecular domains, where chronic stress triggers an inflammatory cascade. Inflammation disrupts neural connectivity, impairing cognitive function and emotional regulation. At the cellular level, oxidative stress emerges as a response to trauma-induced biochemical imbalance. This process involves the accumulation of reactive oxygen species (ROS), which damage cells and tissues, including neurons. These disruptions highlight trauma’s ability to undermine homeostatic mechanisms, perpetuating long-term physiological dysfunction.

Decades of research corroborate trauma’s biological reality. Neuroimaging studies confirm trauma-related structural changes, while hormonal assays and biochemical analyses provide additional layers of evidence. These findings dismantle misconceptions that trauma is solely a psychological phenomenon or a subjective exaggeration. Instead, they reinforce the understanding that trauma imprints itself onto the body and brain in ways that are both observable and quantifiable.

Trauma’s effects do not dissipate when the distressing event ends. Neural pathways shaped by trauma continue to trigger maladaptive responses long after immediate threats subside. Hormonal imbalances persist, maintaining a state of heightened alertness that no longer aligns with current circumstances. The inflammatory processes and oxidative damage initiated by trauma further entrench these physiological patterns, creating a lasting legacy of altered functioning.

In conclusion, trauma manifests as a multifaceted physiological event, supported by robust scientific evidence. Imaging technologies, hormonal data, and biochemical markers provide incontrovertible proof of trauma’s biological foundation. These findings affirm that trauma is not an abstract emotional state but a profound disruption of the brain and body’s structure and function. Trauma, therefore, must be understood as a condition that bridges psychological and physiological domains, demanding acknowledgment of its tangible reality.

Part II: Trauma Stays Where It Belongs – Why DR Trauma Doesn’t Follow You to the CR

Subpart 1: Shifting Creates a Clean Slate Between Realities

1.1 : The separation of DR and CR experiences

The delineation between Desired Reality (DR) and Current Reality (CR) serves as a foundational concept in understanding the dynamics of reality shifting, particularly concerning the transference of trauma. Contrary to popular misconceptions, trauma experienced within a DR does not permeate into the CR. This separation is rooted in the fundamental differences in neural engagement and physiological responses between the two states of existence.

Primarily, trauma remains confined to the DR because the individual's Ordinary Reality (OR) brain does not physically experience the traumatic events occurring within the DR. During the process of shifting, the consciousness transitions, but the OR brain remains inactive and unexposed to the distressing stimuli present in the DR. As a result, the neurobiological impact of trauma—such as neural rewiring or hormonal imbalances—is localized exclusively within the DR. Upon returning to the CR, the OR brain has not undergone any alterations; it retains its pre-shifted state, free from the stress-induced changes that characterize trauma.

The notion that trauma could transcend the boundaries between realities misconstrues the biological underpinnings of traumatic experiences. Trauma is intrinsically linked to the physical state of the brain and body that directly experiences the distressing event. In the context of reality shifting, since the DR persona endures the trauma, the OR self remains unaffected. The lack of neural activation and hormonal response in the CR brain ensures that traumatic experiences do not carry over. Consequently, the OR neurons do not develop new fear-based circuits, and there is no elevation in cortisol levels, which are typically associated with stress responses.

Moreover, the concept of a "reality boundary" further solidifies the separation between DR and CR experiences. This boundary acts as a psychological and physiological barrier that prevents the transfer of trauma. When an individual shifts back to the CR, their emotional and physical baselines are automatically reset. This reset mechanism ensures that any emotional disturbances or physiological stress responses encountered in the DR do not persist in the CR. Essentially, the CR functions under its own biological rules, independent of the experiences that transpired in the DR.

Additionally, memories of events in the DR may persist; however, these recollections are context-specific and emotionally detached from the traumatic experiences. Similar to how one might remember a vivid dream without experiencing lingering emotional distress, DR memories do not evoke the same biochemical responses in the CR. The OR nervous system does not encode DR events as real threats, thus preventing the manifestation of trauma symptoms such as anxiety or hypervigilance in the CR. This detachment underscores the resilience of the CR self, which remains insulated from the psychological ramifications of DR experiences.

The separation is further emphasized by the absence of biochemical signatures that typically accompany trauma. In the CR, the heart rate remains stable, and the nervous system does not register DR experiences as immediate threats. The hippocampus, responsible for memory formation and stress regulation, remains unaffected by DR-induced stressors. Consequently, the CR self continues its existence without the burden of trauma that is confined to the DR.

In summary, the separation of DR and CR experiences is maintained through distinct neural and physiological processes that prevent the transference of trauma. The OR brain's inactivity during DR experiences ensures that trauma does not impact the CR, preserving the individual's mental and physical well-being upon their return. This clear boundary affirms that trauma remains tethered to its original reality, allowing individuals to navigate multiple realities without compromising their mental health.

1.2 : Why DR Trauma Doesn’t Cross the “Reality Boundary”

Trauma, as a profound neurobiological response to distressing or life-altering events, is inherently tied to the physical brain that experiences it. Within the framework of reality shifting, where an individual transitions from their Current Reality (CR) to a Desired Reality (DR), the concept of trauma traversing the “reality boundary” warrants rigorous examination. The premise that trauma from a DR could impact the CR is fundamentally flawed due to the distinct physiological and neurological separations between these realities.

Firstly, trauma is a condition that necessitates the direct involvement of the brain’s physical structures. When an individual experiences trauma in a DR, the neurobiological alterations—such as changes in neural circuits, hormonal imbalances, and activation of the amygdala and hippocampus—are confined to the DR’s physiological substrate. The CR brain, which remains uninvolved during the shifting process, does not undergo these changes. For instance, if an individual encounters severe stressors like torture or betrayal in a DR, the CR brain does not process these events, resulting in no corresponding activation of stress-related neural pathways or hormonal responses in the CR.

The “reality boundary” operates as an impermeable firewall that prevents the transfer of trauma from the DR to the CR. This boundary ensures that the emotional and physical baselines of the CR are maintained independently of experiences in the DR. Upon returning to the CR, the individual’s emotional and physiological states revert to their pre-shift conditions. This automatic reset is possible because the CR brain and body were never subjected to the traumatic events occurring in the DR. Consequently, the neurobiological foundations required for trauma—such as altered dopamine receptors or disrupted cortisol systems—remain unaltered in the CR.

Moreover, memories of traumatic events in the DR do not carry the same emotional or physiological weight in the CR. These memories are context-specific and lack the neurobiological engagement that is essential for trauma formation. Drawing a parallel, recalling a vivid dream does not induce the same emotional or physical reactions as experiencing the events in reality. Similarly, DR memories exist as mere recollections without the accompanying biochemical changes that underpin traumatic responses. This detachment further reinforces the impermeability of the reality boundary, as the CR brain does not associate these memories with actual neurobiological stressors.

The separation between DR and CR is also maintained through the concept of homeostasis in the CR body. Homeostasis refers to the body’s ability to maintain stable internal conditions despite external changes. When an individual shifts back to the CR, their body’s homeostatic mechanisms ensure that any temporary emotional fluctuations experienced in the DR do not disrupt their overall physiological equilibrium. This reset mechanism is crucial in preventing any lasting impact of DR experiences on the CR’s mental and physical health.

Furthermore, the absence of physical signs of trauma upon returning to the CR underscores the non-transferability of DR-induced trauma. Physical manifestations of trauma, such as changes in heart rate, cortisol levels, and neural activity, are absent in the CR because these physiological responses were never triggered in the first place. The CR body remains unaffected by the DR’s traumatic events, maintaining its original state of equilibrium.

In conclusion, the delineation between DR and CR ensures that trauma remains confined within its originating reality. The neurobiological prerequisites for trauma—direct brain involvement and physiological changes—are not met in the CR during shifts to the DR. The reality boundary effectively isolates traumatic experiences, preserving the mental and physical integrity of the CR. This separation is essential for maintaining psychological resilience and safeguarding the individual’s well-being across different states of existence. As such, trauma experienced in a DR does not traverse the reality boundary to impact the CR, affirming the distinct and independent nature of each reality within the context of reality shifting.

1.3 : DR Memories as Context-Specific and Emotionally Detached

Memories originating from a Desired Reality (DR) may persist within an individual’s consciousness; however, they inherently lack the emotional and physical weight that accompanies such recollections in the Current Reality (CR). This phenomenon can be analogized to the experience of recalling a dream—vivid in detail yet detached from the sensory and emotional intensity of the original event. Trauma, by its very nature, necessitates a comprehensive context that includes biochemical processes and physical states, elements that DR memories do not possess when recalled within the CR framework.

In the CR, individuals may vividly remember events from the DR, such as traumatic experiences, yet these memories do not engender the same profound emotional responses. This dissociation occurs because the DR’s neurobiological context, which facilitates the emotional depth of trauma, remains confined to the DR itself. Consequently, when these memories are accessed in the CR, they are experienced without the accompanying neurobiological changes that are essential for trauma to take root. The absence of factors such as altered neural circuits, hormonal imbalances, and physiological responses renders these memories inert in terms of their potential to induce trauma.

Trauma in the CR results in tangible and lasting effects that permeate an individual’s entire being, influencing neural pathways, hormonal balances, and overall physiological functioning. In contrast, DR memories function as mental snapshots devoid of the original biological context. The assumption that recollection equates to the retention of trauma fails to account for the necessity of an active neurobiological framework. Trauma requires the engagement of the nervous system, including the release of stress hormones and the activation of fear circuits, processes that are not triggered when DR memories are recalled in the CR. Without these biological responses, the memories remain harmless and do not contribute to lasting psychological distress.

The processing of dreams provides a pertinent parallel. Individuals often recall intense dream scenarios, such as falling or experiencing loss, yet these do not result in enduring trauma upon waking. Similarly, DR memories emerge in the CR as vivid yet emotionally detached recollections. Statements reflecting on DR experiences, such as “That was intense,” indicate a superficial engagement devoid of the physiological reactions necessary for trauma. The CR maintains physiological stability—heart rate remains steady, motor functions are controlled, and cortisol levels do not spike—thereby preventing the establishment of trauma.

Misconceptions frequently arise regarding the impact of intense DR events, with some individuals erroneously believing that such experiences can inflict lasting trauma in the CR. However, genuine trauma requires the persistent activation of altered neural circuits, a process absent in the CR brain when recalling DR events. DR memories resemble narratives one might encounter in literature or interactive media; they are engaging and contextually significant within the DR but do not alter the individual’s psychological state in the CR. Without the requisite biological involvement, these memories lack the capacity to trigger authentic trauma responses, functioning instead as mere informational data.

Furthermore, DR memories retain context-specific details, including sequences of events, sensory information, and narrative structures, yet they do not carry the biochemical signatures essential for trauma. Significant events within the DR, such as the death of a friend or a natural disaster, are remembered without evoking the same emotional and physiological responses as real-life traumatic experiences. The CR nervous system interprets these memories as informational rather than as sources of trauma, allowing individuals to retain memories without enduring the associated psychological scars.

In conclusion, DR memories are intrinsically context-specific and emotionally detached, encompassing detailed narratives devoid of the underlying neurobiological mechanisms required for trauma. Individuals can engage with and reflect upon their DR experiences without the risk of enduring trauma, as these memories do not activate the necessary physiological responses. This distinction underscores the importance of understanding the boundaries between different states of existence, ensuring that the exploration of alternate realities does not compromise mental health in the CR.

Subpart 2: Scripting and Personal Control Over Trauma

2.1 : Shifting Grants Individuals Control Over Transference of Experiences

The practice of reality shifting empowers individuals to regulate the nature of experiences they retain upon returning to their Current Reality (CR). Central to this control is the technique of explicit scripting, which ensures that only desired outcomes and positive insights are carried back from the Desired Reality (DR), thereby preventing any adverse emotional or physical effects from influencing the CR. For instance, an individual may affirm, “I will return with only positive lessons, leaving all emotional and physical effects behind,” thereby establishing a clear boundary between the two realities.

Traumatic experiences within the CR typically arise from uncontrollable external events, leading to involuntary neurobiological responses. In contrast, reality shifting offers a mechanism for individuals to define the parameters of their DR experiences proactively. By scripting the conditions of their shifts, individuals can ensure that negative experiences remain confined to the DR, thereby safeguarding their mental and emotional well-being in the CR. This deliberate structuring of experiences allows for the exclusion of traumatic elements, as the individual asserts control over what is permitted to affect their CR consciousness.

Scripting serves as a practical tool for maintaining the integrity of the CR by delineating the scope of what is transferred from the DR. For example, an individual might declare, “I return to the CR calm, stable, and free from emotional harm,” thereby reinforcing the separation between realities. This assertion is effective because the cognitive frameworks established during shifting operations under the individual's predefined rules.

Consequently, the DR functions as a self-contained environment (as in they exitst separatly from this reality) where experiences, including those that might be distressing, do not impose lasting effects on the CR. This approach mirrors the psychological detachment one experiences when recalling dreams—memories remain, but the emotional intensity dissipates upon awakening.

Moreover, scripting enables individuals to curate their personal narratives across realities. In the DR, one might encounter chaotic or high-stakes scenarios, such as battling adversaries or facing personal loss. However, upon returning to the CR, the individual consciously chooses to discard the emotional weight associated with these events. This selective retention of experiences ensures that only beneficial insights and strengths are integrated into the CR consciousness. For instance, an affirmation such as, “After returning, I feel only a sense of accomplishment and gain confidence, not trauma,” establishes a definitive psychological boundary that prevents traumatic residues from permeating the CR.

The efficacy of scripting lies in its ability to function as a mental filter, permitting the transfer of only those experiences that align with the individual's desired outcomes. Unlike trauma in the CR, which necessitates an involuntary engagement of the nervous system, trauma within the DR remains isolated due to the absence of direct neurobiological impact on the CR brain. By reinforcing the separation through explicit scripting, individuals ensure that their CR remains unaffected by the potentially destabilizing experiences encountered in the DR. This methodical approach to reality shifting underscores the importance of personal agency in maintaining mental health across different states of existence.

In summary, the practice of scripting within reality shifting provides individuals with a structured means to control the transference of experiences between realities. By establishing clear boundaries and intentional affirmations, individuals can ensure that only positive and empowering insights are carried back to the CR, thereby preventing the encroachment of trauma and maintaining psychological resilience. This deliberate separation not only preserves the integrity of the CR but also enhances the overall safety and efficacy of reality shifting practices.

2.2 : High-stakes DRs as cathartic but non-damaging experiences

Experiencing trauma within a Desired Reality (DR), such as battling zombies or losing allies, can be likened to emotional role-play—intense and immersive in the moment (as you are living through them when in your CR) but ultimately non-permanent. This analogy serves to elucidate the nature of trauma within the context of reality shifting, where the experiences in the DR areauthentically felt by the individual.

The premise of reality shifting posits that process of shifting is mental and not physical therefore you cannot bring physical things across realities. However, upon returning to the Current Reality (CR), the metaphors of role-playing and narrative experiences become pertinent in understanding why trauma does not transfer between realities.

Trauma is fundamentally a biological response to genuine threats that impact the nervous system, resulting in lasting neurobiological changes. In contrast, DR scenarios, despite their apparent intensity—such as engaging in life-threatening missions or enduring emotional losses—are meticulously structured within a controlled environment (as in they are scripted either in our out as per the shifters will). These experiences function similarly to engaging with a high-stakes video game or an emotionally charged narrative, where the shifter undergoes significant emotional engagement without enduring real physiological harm in the CR. The separation between DR and CR ensures that the neurobiological imprints of trauma remain confined to the DR, as the shifter's brain in the CR does not physically experience these events.

The concept of a "reality boundary" further reinforces why trauma does not traverse between realities. Trauma is intrinsically linked to the specific neural and hormonal changes within the brain that experiences the distressing event. Since the shifter's CR brain does not partake in the DR experiences, the trauma-induced alterations remain localized to the DR. Upon returning to the CR, the individual's emotional and physiological baselines are automatically reset, preventing any residual trauma from affecting their current state. This reset mechanism underscores the impermeability of the reality boundary, ensuring that the CR remains unaffected by the DR's traumatic events.

Moreover, memories of DR events may persist upon returning to the CR, but these memories are context-specific and lack the accompanying emotional or physical weight typically associated with genuine trauma. This detachment can be compared to recalling a vivid dream—while the experiences are remembered, the emotional intensity and sensory details do not impose lasting psychological effects. In the same vein, DR memories are retained as narrative elements without the neurobiological context necessary to sustain trauma. The emotional responses experienced in the DR, such as fear or sadness, are transient and do not result in long-term psychological consequences within the CR.

This delineation between DR and CR experiences provides significant reassurance for individuals engaging in reality shifting. By recognizing DR trauma as temporary and confined within a controlled narrative framework, shifters can partake in intense emotional experiences without the fear of lasting psychological harm. This understanding promotes the safe practice of reality shifting, allowing individuals to explore and engage with challenging scenarios for personal growth and emotional release without compromising their mental health. The analogy to role-playing and immersive storytelling serves to highlight the protective mechanisms inherent in the reality shifting process, ensuring that trauma remains tethered to its original reality and does not permeate the individual's current existence. This does not mean that we invalited the authenticity of the practise or that we proclaim that it is not real .

In summary, the controlled nature of DR experiences and the existence of a reality boundary effectively prevent trauma from crossing into the CR. The metaphor of emotional role-play aptly captures the essence of DR trauma, emphasizing its temporary and non-permanent nature. This framework not only demystifies the process of reality shifting but also affirms that individuals can navigate multiple realities without enduring lasting psychological damage. By maintaining the integrity of the reality boundary and understanding the contextual detachment of DR memories, shifters can engage in high-stakes DRs confidently, knowing that their CR remains unaffected by the emotional and physical challenges encountered in alternate realities.

2.3: Healing and Empowerment Through Desired Reality (DR) Scripting

Trauma inflicts profound and enduring scars when actual events compromise an individual's sense of safety, perpetuating cycles of fear and psychological distress. However, Desired Realities (DRs) present a unique opportunity to reconstruct personal narratives within a controlled environment, thereby mitigating the transference of trauma to the Current Reality (CR). By exercising authority over these experiences, individuals can ensure that trauma remains confined to the DR, facilitating the processing and release of past wounds without their adverse effects persisting in the CR. Through deliberate scripting of scenarios where one overcomes adversity, confronts fears, and emerges resilient, individuals can prevent trauma from impacting their Original Reality (OR) self.

Central to this process is the assertion, “I return better, not broken,” which serves as an affirmation that recalibrates one's approach to shifting. In this framework, the DR functions as a psychological workshop, allowing individuals to symbolically engage with and conquer challenges without sustaining real damage. By orchestrating events that foster resilience, individuals can cultivate growth and empowerment within the DR, ensuring that only positive insights and experiences are carried back to the CR. This method transforms the DR into a space for emotional training, analogous to how athletes train their muscles in a safe environment. In the DR, individuals simulate threats, assert their strength, and demonstrate their capacity to overcome obstacles. Upon returning to the CR, they retain a sense of accomplishment devoid of trauma, as the DR scenarios do not imprint fear into their OR neurons. The deliberate control over these scenarios guarantees that trauma does not biologically affect the individual.

This approach redefines the traditional trauma narrative by distinguishing between involuntary trauma in the OR and consensual, controlled trauma within the DR. In the OR, trauma can occur without an individual's consent, leading to lasting psychological harm. In contrast, the DR allows for the intentional experience of trauma-like events under the individual's terms, preventing such trauma from impacting the OR self. For those seeking to heal from past OR traumas, the DR serves as a stage to symbolically confront and overcome fears, facilitating a return to the CR with enhanced clarity and emotional stability. Affirmations such as, “In my DR, I face my old demons and leave them defeated. I return to the CR with strength and peace,” empower individuals to actively manage their internal narratives.

Moreover, this methodology enables the reshaping of internal experiences, rendering trauma less insurmountable by addressing and overcoming challenges within the DR. Witnessing oneself prevail in the DR not only demonstrates personal strength but also provides emotional tools that enhance well-being in the CR. The OR system recognizes that no actual trauma has occurred, as the engagement within the DR functions as a form of immersive therapy. Consequently, individuals return to the CR uplifted rather than harmed, utilizing the DR as a space for growth and healing.

Critics who fear the transference of trauma from the DR to the CR overlook the empowering potential inherent in DR scripting. They may perceive trauma as an inevitable consequence of intense experiences, failing to recognize that within the DR, individuals retain complete control. Since trauma necessitates a physical substrate—which the DR does not provide to the CR—thoughtful scripting ensures that trauma remains isolated within the DR. Instead of bearing scars, individuals retain only the lessons and strengths derived from overcoming challenges in a safe and controlled environment. This strategic approach to scripting facilitates healing and empowerment, maintaining the integrity of the CR by ensuring that trauma remains firmly anchored within the DR.

In conclusion, DR scripting offers a sophisticated mechanism for individuals to engage with and overcome trauma in a manner that preserves their mental health in the CR. By leveraging the controlled environment of the DR to rewrite traumatic narratives, individuals can achieve personal growth and resilience without the detrimental effects of trauma permeating their everyday reality. This paradigm not only enhances the safety and efficacy of reality shifting practices but also underscores the critical interplay between psychological resilience and the boundaries of alternate states of existence.

Conclusion :

In the discourse surrounding trauma and shifting realities, it's crucial to acknowledge trauma as a profound physical phenomenon that rewires the brain and body under stress. When trauma occurs, it triggers significant changes in neural circuits and hormonal responses, but these alterations remain confined to the specific reality where the trauma happens.

Shifting between the Current Reality (CR) and Desired Reality (DR) is a genuine process that maintains the integrity of each reality by ensuring no physical overlap. Trauma experienced in the DR does not affect the CR, as the nervous system in the CR remains unaffected by events in the DR. This biological separation means that trauma cannot traverse between realities.

Empowerment through control in shifting allows individuals to script their experiences in the DR, confining any negative elements to that reality and preserving the stability of the CR. By managing the narrative within the DR, individuals prevent trauma from impacting their CR, maintaining peace and well-being.

Ultimately, recognizing the distinct and non-overlapping nature of CR and DR ensures that trauma remains confined to its originating reality. Through intentional scripting and clear boundaries, individuals can use shifting as a tool for personal growth and healing while safeguarding their current reality from unintended emotional or physical repercussions.

IF YOU ARE LIKE TL:DR (TOO LONG DIDNT READ) HERE IS A VERY WATERED DOWN VERSION OF EVERYTHING I SAID :

Since it is impossible to bring physical stuff across realties and that trauma is something physical, therefore no, you cannot bring trauma to your CR.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

During a casual "Isobel is horribly underappreciated" chat, I was doing some fawning over just how impressive everything that Isobel does and quietly endures is (immediately after being pulled from the grave in a nightmare version of her own home! while everyone she ever knew and loved is either dead or an undead abomination, including, she fears, she herself!). I was reminded of the exchange with Jaheira if you find out the truth about Isobel's backstory, which ranks among my favourite little bits of writing and character moments in the game.

Player: I've been looking into Ketheric. I suspect Isobel might be his daughter. Jaheira: Do you. Well, let us not leave you in suspense, then. You are right. She is. Player: It's more than that. She was dead, and something brought her back. Jaheira: Something malign? Or some blessing of Selûne, perhaps? I do not know what restored Isobel's life to her. But I can see what she is doing with it. If she wished to see us drowned in darkness, Isobel needn't have lifted a finger. Instead, she holds out her hand. I choose to take it. I choose to trust. And not just because I have no other choice. When I find myself needing a reminder of just who Isobel Thorm is, I simply step outside and look up.

The dialogue flow features some more options:

Player: And you trust her? She's all that stands between us and the shadow curse. Jaheira: Exactly the point, wouldn't you say?

Player: You already knew. Why didn't you tell me? Jaheira: Because it isn't my tale to tell. And because, in truth, I do not know the half of it. Only this:

Which then converge into the part I adore that I quoted up top.

After this, there's a couple more responses with some gems:

Player: I'll need to speak to her myself. Jaheira: If it will help. Only remember: I bear more blame for the shadow curse than Isobel does. And she can no more control her parentage than you can that thing in your head. Player: I tried to talk to her about it. She won't tell me anything. Jaheira: Perhaps she chooses to do, rather than say.

And the closing options, with some nice on-brand Jaheira:

Player: All right, then. Trust it is. Jaheira: Then you're a stronger soul than I. I at least have had time to prepare that high-minded little speech.

Player: 'Trust'? You tried to kill me the first time we met. Jaheira: And now we are the best of friends. You see? The power of trust.

Player: Not good enough. Jaheira: Look around you. You shall have to learn to live with 'not good enough', I'm afraid.

Combining all of this with Isobel's sad little "Who would trust the next-of-kin of Ketheric Thorm?" a bit later on sure hurts!

But in conclusion, if anyone, including Isobel herself, starts piping up with some "sins of the father" type nonsense, Jaheira is putting a stop to that, and I love her for it.

[squeakygeeky]

Calling all BL academics! You should check out Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and the Pacific Issue 49, June 2023. It's devoted to Thai BL and it's Thai scholars, publishing in English, and available free. So basically everything I ever wanted.

Thai Boys Love (BL)/Y(aoi) in Literary and Media Industries: Political and Transnational Practices - This is the introductory article. One interesting takeaway is that there's a market for western M/M romance in Thailand and I'm dying to know what sort of titles have gotten Thai releases.

Chinese Historical BL by Thai Writers: The Thai BL Polysystem in the Age of Media Convergence - I didn't read this one. It's about the phenomenon of Thai writers writing danmei set in ancient China.

Authorial Revisions of Boys Love/Y Novels: The Dialogue between Activism and the Literary Industry in Thailand - This one was super intersting. It was about how the backlash to certain problematic tropes affected both revisions to Y novels and their tv adaptations. It uses Jittirain as a case study and includes passages from 2gether that were rewritten.

Boys Love (Yaoi) Fandom and Political Activism in Thailand - This article has a lot about Not Me, both about the backlash to the novle due to it being originally a GOT7 fanfic (allegedly) and the political context for the series. It also discusses a few other series related to the youth movement and marriage equality.

Heterosexual Reading vs. Queering Thai Boys' Love Dramas among Chinese and Filipino Audiences -This really only covers up to 2019 and as we all know everything is changing fast. I'll be interested in future scholarship that covers the current period. Basically expands on some of Baudinette's work.

Provincialising Thai Boys Love: Queer Desire and the Aesthetics of Rural Cosmopolitanism -I just skimmed this since I'm not familiar with either series mentioned or the rural culture of Isan.