#it's been rotting in a document I just recovered

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Old men aren’t always wise, Primo is well aware of that ; his own father being the most striking exemple of elder stupidity he can think of. Yet he, Primo Emeritus, humbly thinks he himself has been made wise by life. Raising three younger brothers since their idiot of a father wouldn’t...well, it definitely taught him things, and, most importantly, allowed him to form a strong bond with them.

He knows his brothers like the back of his hand ; severe, cold and bitter Secondo, who shies away from the very love he desperately craves ; flamboyant, charismatic Terzo, hidding a bottomless pit of self-hatred under pretty smiles, witty jokes and flirty comments ; sweet, kind-hearted Copia, who feels like an impostor as he battles with Sister Imperator’s clumsy, sometimes harsh and unfit motherly affection. They aren’t perfect, and neither is Primo or their relationship, but they tried, tried so hard, built trust, love and loyalty between all of them, and in the end, it’s all that matter.

Point is. Primo is wise, and he knows his brothers. Knows Terzo – no, not Terzo. Alessandro. So as he watches the scene unfolding in front of him, he knows instantly. It’s in the way his brother’s eyes linger on the rythm guitarist, not long enough for it to be obvious, but enough for Primo to notice. In the way Terzo is almost always subcounciously turning toward the quintessence ghoul as he talks and offers new ideas. In the way his face lights up when Omega praises said ideas, and add his owns. In the way the singer takes every occasions to brush against his ghoul, to adjust the position of his crooked grucifx, to pat his strong arms. How Terzo’s ears grow pink when they make eye contact for just a fraction too long.

Omega is, admitedly, harder to read, even though Primo worked with the ghoul for a time. He always liked him, sturdy, serious, as amazing a pack leader as a musician. He seems more relaxed with Terzo than he was with Primo, a tad more playful, which the older man doesn’t resent. And despite his difficulties to intrepret the quintessence ghoul’s attitude, there are signs that don’t lie. A way of angling himself so that Terzo is never out of his sight, leaning ever so slightly into Terzo’s fleeting touch, praising him with a special kind of warmth in his voice, the ocasional soft, fond chuckle at one of the singer’s joke, absent-mindedly brushing his tail against Terzo’s leg.

If all that wasn’t enough, the other ghouls’ frequent shared knowing glances would be great giveaways as well. So Primo smiles and keeps listening, keeps watching.

Once they reach the end of the practice session, Terzo saunters toward the armchair his older brother folded himself in, ever the showman, grinning.

« So, what do you think, old man ? »

Primo chuckles softly.

« I see you’ve been working hard. I must say, I’m impressed. You’ve grown, and your music with you. »

For just a moment, Primo gets a small, private smile ; Alessandro’s smile, as his little brother squeezes his bony hand in his gloved one.

« Thank you, » he whispers. Then his smile widens, turns into that cocky grin everyone knows, his voice rising again. « Had any favorite ? Ah, your growling vocals-loving hide must have liked Mummy Dust, right ? But you’re a sentimental one too. Maybe He is ? »

Primo shakes his head with a huff.

« Both are very nice, as is the rest of the album, but I have to confess, Deus In Absentia struck me the most. »

At that, Terzo’s face makes something complicated, and he looks over his shoulder, meeting Omega’s eyes from where the ghoul is packing his guitar. He stares back, tipping his head in acknowledgement. Terzo looks back at Primo with an expression just a tiniest bit more eager than he’d usually let it be.

« Really ? Omega helped me with the lyrics. I admit, it might be one of my favorites as well. »

As always, Terzo is quick to offer his arm to his older brother when Primo gets up, much less gracefully than in his youth.

« Well, it is truly a touching song, in my opinion. Both emotional and majestic. »

He leads the both of them to his rose garden in comfortable silence, and only speaks up once he’s sure they are truly alone.

« So, Omega, eh ? Somehow, I’m not even surprised. »

Terzo splutters, almost tripping over his own feet.

« Wh- what ? I don’t- »

A warm smile pulls at Primo’s lips, lightening his weathered face.

« Alessandro Terzo Emeritus, I have known you for your entire life. I know how being in love looks on you. »

For a few seconds, his little brother stares at him, before letting out a long sigh and running a hand through his hair, ears going pink again.

« He is- he’s special, Prim- Dante. He- I never felt that way before. Not that much. »

Primo huffs, gives Terzo’s arm a light squeeze.

« I am glad. I always thought he was a truly admirable ghoul. I trust he takes good care of you ? »

Terzo hums, hanging his head down, raven black locks brushing his features.

« It might sound stupid, but he makes me feel...special. Me, not Papa Emeritus the third. Like he can see right through every layers of bullshit I wrap myself in. »

Primo stops walking, turning around to face his little brother. His happy-looking, flustered little brother. Softly, gently, he presses his bony hand to Terzo’s chest, right above the heart.

« You deserve it. You deserve someone who sees you. I am so, so very happy for you. »

Terzo lights up.

« I’m thinking...I’d like him to know my name. My real name, I mean. I know he would use it wisely ; hell, he was long hesitant about calling me Terzo in public. »

Though it isn’t a question, he looks up through his lashes at Primo, in search of something. The older man pats his brother head with a raspy chuckle. Gives him the reassurance he needs ; the one their father could never give them ; the one Primo endavored to offer his brothers whenever he could.

« I’m sure he’ll be honored. A lovely ghoul indeed. » Primo takes a step back, considers, then decides that a bit of teasing cannot hurt. «  And he’s big too, isn’t he ? »

Terzo chokes on his inhale, instinctively covering his ears, either to hide the flush that can only be seen there because of the paint, or to fruitlessly try and block words he already heard.

« I- the hell ? »

With a snort, Primo smiles mischieviously.

« What ? He is, you barely reach what, his chest perhaps ? »

He waits for realization to dawn on Terzo before adding :

« But, you know. Huge down there too, I’m sure. »

His little brother splutters, before shaking his head incredulously.

« If you were Secondo, I would have kicked you, old man. »

Primo chuckles.

« I am sure that if Secondo had made such a comment, you two would be fighting like you used to as kids, rolling on the ground and all that. »

Terzo smirks.

« Well, I wouldn’t be able to pull his hair anymore. »

With a tut, Primo swats his younger brother on the back of his head.

« Low blow. But, in all seriousness. I am so very glad you are happy. »

« ...Thanks, Dante. »

[dasha-aibo]

Same Chris chan anon, I’m back. I saw your reply, and yeah, I agree on some parts. Good people can turn bad.

What I meant was that if you’re a person with strong values, you would’ve never done that stuff. It was plain sexism. A person with strong values wouldn’t do that because their actions dictate what kind of person they are.

And while I understand that you don’t SUPPORT chris chan, you can’t be like “well! Actually, women, stfu about his sexism!!! He did it because he was bullied online!!! And shut up about how he sexually harassed his female friends beforehand!!!”

Like. Think critically. This was an actual crime. With actual victims. And now he’s out of jail??? Male privilege at its finest. He should’ve NEVER gotten out of jail.

Also, rape is like, in my opinion, the only crime that can NEVER be excused. Because nobody forced you to do it??? Nobody can use it as self defense. Nobody recovers from it like a wound. It’s not simple. It’s a complex hate crime against women.

On another note, I don’t like bullying. I’ve been a bullying victim for many years. And even worse, IN REAL LIFE. But I never would’ve done that. Because plainly, I’m not sexist.

Chris Chan was porn sick. That’s it. He harassed women, did something unforgivable to his mother, and became “trans” to intimidate lesbians into dating him. That’s a straight white man if I’ve ever seen it. The internet is cruel, but it doesn’t turn men into rapists. That’s their own doing. We need to hold men accountable for what they do. We can’t coddle them or they’ll just keep doing shit. It’s never justified!!! Never!! Even the nastiest woman doesn’t deserve it because it’s a hate crime against women as a whole!

Have empathy towards the victims. We never know what they went through, and their suffering was much worse than what a brain rotted straight white man went through. Because let’s bffr, if a man I knew told me he’s a woman because he wants to bang a lesbian, draws porn of me, and then rapes his mom AND PEOPLE ONLINE DEMAND HES CALLED A WOMAN AND THAT HE DESERVES PITY??? That would be my breaking point.

He’s a whole ass villain 😭😭 why can’t y’all see that

I don't believe in perfect villains or perfect victims.

We don't need to villianize Chris to have empathy for Barbara. We don't need to gloss over Barbara being a horrible person to feel horrible for what happened to her.

It's not a black-and-white world, no matter how much Ayn Rand wanted it to be.

Chris was severely abused and neglected by his parents. Barbara specifically fostered unhealthy attachment, which absolutely did not help in this situation.

I don't think we need to state over and over again that FUCKING YOUR DEMENTIA-RIDDEN MOTHER IS WRONG. I think that's pretty obvious by itself.

But just taking a step back and looking at the whole situation in context is important.

And it's important to realize that the collective internet didn't just "bully" Chris. They manipulated and gaslighted this person for over a decade. They derailed Chris's life and any middling chance they had at becoming a normal person. They egged on their every worst instinct and broke this person's brain and will. That goes beyond regular bullying.

I think, overall, it's the internet looking at a monster we created and then refusing to accept that harassing, bullying, gaslighting and obsessively documenting a living, breathing human being for over a decade because they're "cringe" is a bad thing. So Chris has to have been a monster from the start.

Chris is out of jail, because the judges don't know WTF to do with them. You can't hold a person in jail with no trial for more than a year, rape is really hard to prove with dementia patients, who might not even remember it, incest penalties are their own can of legal worms and trying a person as severely autistic as Chris is borderline-impossible.

The best outcome for everyone would be to put Chris in an assisted living facility. But I doubt that's gonna happen.

Also, I refuse to comment on Chris's trans status. It's between them and their psychologist. I simply don't care, because it changes very little.

Yeah, I do think Chris deserves pity. Condemnation AND pity. We shouldn't just forgive their horrible actions. But we should at least have the humility to realize that we would be capable of some monstrous shit if we were ever treated like that.

YOU don't think you would've done something horrible in that situation, but you HAVE NOT been in the same situation. And thank your lucky stars for that.

[catinasink]

can you give me all the entries pleasw

ofc

ENTRY 00000000000000000000000000000000000oO0: Why Can’t I Remember?

Why can’t I remember? My brain feels fuzzy. This sword is heavy. I could just lie down here. Close my eyes… and rest…

ENTRY 1: A Door to Another World

Where am I? I stepped through the door and now I’m standing in a void? What is this place…?

ENTRY 8: Where Am I?

This place is strange. These islands float in what seems to be an endless void, and the laws of gravity do not apply in the way I know them to, if at all. And the beings that inhabit this strange realm... I must find a way to escape this place.

-OS

Entry 27

There is, SOMETHING out there, looking for me, i don't know what it is.

I can't get this damn mask off, and my arm isn't mending. Fuck, my shirt is covered in blood. What I wouldn't give for a warm bath right now... I fear for my safety, this place is strange, the laws of my world don't seem to apply here. and I can't seem to shake the feeling that I'm being watched.

There's some sort of obelisk a couple islands down, I'll start out for it in the morning, not that one can keep track of time in this cursed place…

-OS

ENTRY 30: Home Sweet Home

I found some sort of house at the foot of the obelisk, I'm sitting inside of it as I write this. Well, at least I have some shelter. My face feels weird, some kind of pressure behind my eyes, and my arm is getting worse. There're some sort of veins spreading up my bicep, and it hurts like a fucking bitch. What the fuck was in that spine?

Entry 34: Bells?

I hear chimes ringing, first non-natural sound I've heard in weeks. This building is fucking huge, gives me steampunk vibes.

Ugh, my head hurts, my arm is chalky, black and dusty. It feels like coal. I can barely write.

-OS

Entry 51: Bodies

Oh my gods, I'm gonna throw up.

They- they're- they're BODIES. Rancid, decaying, maggot infested corpses. They just showed up overnight, and they're standing there. Fucking empty eye sockets and rotted grins. It's disgusting. And the smell, I'm gonna be sick.

Entry 54: Ashes to Ashes

My arm is... Chalky, crumbly. It feels like sand.

The bodies are still there. They haven't moved. Why did I ever open that damn door...

ENTRY 68: Whispers in the WInd

The bodies are gone. They just disappeared. I looked away for 2 seconds and they were gone. Freaky.

This place isn't safe anymore. That- That THING is here. It knows where I am. I'm leaving. There's some sort of airship at the top of the mountain, I'll depart at glimmer's fade.

There are voices, too. Almost inaudible whispers, drifting on the wind.

When you see it, it sees you too.

When you hear it, it hears you too.

When you feel it, it touches you.

When it calls you, it has you.

When you feed it.

IT CLAIMS YOU.

ENTRY 78: Watcher

It followed me. I thought- I thought I got away but I didn't. It was just playing with me.

This damn mask.

My arm is doing weird things. Shifting and changing forms. It almost looks like charcoal sculpting. I don't know what's happening to me.

I know it's there. It always has been. You're there too, aren't you? I know you are. Don't lie to me. I see you. I always have seen you.

ENTRY 79: It Found Me

*unlike most of the recovered documentation, this entry is recorded on an old camcorder, the tape and camcorder are splattered in blood and a thick, inky substance*

It found me. It fucking found me. The long pale arms, it reached out and it- *makes strangling gesture* It was some sort of fucking demon. Fucking hell. It cut me, it fucking cut me!

*unintelligible mutterings, before subject shows themselves on camera. they are covered in blood and the same inky substance as before, a bright red overcoat covers their body, and a shield-shaped mask covers their face. their arm shows the decay described in previous entries.*

This place is hell. I've died and now I'm in fucking hell! Monsters, upside down bridges, and now a fucking cryptid chasing me around!?!?! What the fuck!?!?!

I need to get out of here.

*subject steps towards the camcorder, reaching out to turn it off, the last frames of video show the subject drawing a hunting knife from their overcoat*

ENTRY 92: Fuck That Box

Fuck that box.

There was fucking teeth. HUMAN TEETH. And a heart. Beating. Fucking pulsing and throbbing. There were HUNDREDS of them. The whole floor. Fuck. I should never have come here.

Where's the fucking booze.

@eternal-nyxx @shrimpysstuff

[scuderlia]

thanks for the tag jo @liamlawsonlesbian <3

star sign: aries sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising. being chill and normal was never an option.

favorite holiday: probably Halloween 💀 as someone who loves horror and is a recovering theatre kid, it's perfect. plus, i'm gay.

last meal: three twizzlers & a litre of ginger kombucha

current favorite musician: i've been listening to a lot of Wolf Alice and SASAMI recently.

last song listened to: 'No Girl So Sweet' (PJ Harvey)

(a tangent... but if any of my mutuals want to stalk each other on Spotify pls lmk...)

last movie watched: Talk to Me (2023) dir. Danny & Michael Philippou. i watched it on my flight and it was honestly a lot better than i anticipated. even though gore isn't typically my favourite, i was pleasantly surprised by how they managed to integrate it into a possession film. loved the grief-driven storylines, and the characters charmed me. rating: ☆☆☆☆

last tv show watched: Betty (HBO) !!! i have debilitating crushes on everyone from Skate Kitchen.

last book finished: Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline. it was assigned in one of my first year uni courses and i sped through it without really taking the time to read it properly. now that i have it's been rotting my brain non-stop. her use of simile is insane.

i also recently finished An Anthropologist on Mars by Oliver Sacks. one of my all-time favourite authors and academics, would highly recommend this as a foray into 'medical' non-fiction.

last book abandoned: i don't think i've ever abandoned a book in my life, but i recently had to choke down this technical document about building codes that i can't be bothered to remember the title of.

edit: just remembered the absolute chore that was reading Outlawed by Anna North. i feel cheated and lied to by the cover because i love the cover, but the book is honestly unbelievably boring. i’m tired of the evangelical horse girl narrators, i had enough of those where i grew up. i did finish this because i hate quitting, but it tested my patience and made me feel like pulling my hair out.

currently reading: Milk Fed by Melissa Broder (for like the third time). this book is sooo weird and kind of gross, in the best way. it's definitely not going to appease everyone but i have a sick fascination with it and keep coming back. i've also been having a love affair with the cover design for a while now.

last thing researched for writing/art/hyperfixation: common apartment floorplans in Italy (if anyone has this info, hmu). i'm also in an internet sinkhole of background on the 2024 F2 grid and their respective karting histories.

favorite online fandom memory: when i was 15 i had public beef with a bunch of conservatives in a politician's comment section over pipelines and green policy and then said politician blocked me on every platform. this wouldn't be fandom related if not for the fact that i used my fan account to do all of this, so [redacted] had to search my cringe username multiple times... like omg are you a fan?

favorite old fandom you wish would drag you back in/have a resurgence: the euphoria that i felt being a part of the haikyuu fandom during quarantine will never be replicated, but i think about it every day.

favorite thing you enjoy that never had an active or big fandom, but you wish it did: i'm really into the original, morbid Grimm fairytales and wish that someone would produce a proper remake of Cinderella already. let the doves pick out the step sisters' eyes, cowards.

tempting project you don't have time for: this is a trick question because i always give into temptation regardless of whether i have time for it or not. i really want to do a series of deep-dive posts about track design and the 'architects' of f1... i've been fixated on it for a while now and haven't seen a lot of discussion about it, plus it seems like it would be fun to put all the research together :)

~ all the people i would tag have already posted, but pls do it if you'd like!

[holly-fixation]

All roads lead to Nibelheim, you say?

Plushie(s). I would love to be shown the horrible awful plush road to Nibelheim. Thank you :]

Oh You're lucky with this one. You get TWO roads. Let's start with the easy path:

Zack, being the perfect puppy that he is, loved to give gifts.

Because Sephiroth's closest friends, one being Zack's mentor, left, Sephiroth was understandably lonely. More lonely than usual. What could Zack say? The Silver Soldier was more than a little introverted. Or sheltered.

Zack wanted to do something nice for him. So he bought Sephiroth a black chocobo plushie and left it on Sephiroth's desk.

Even in moments of endless paperwork and the few documents Sephiroth managed to sneak out of the data room, he found himself with one glove off, petting the soft fur of the plush. That black chocobo was the only light he had in those desolate days.

Zack, when he heard they were on the same mission, brought said plushie with them.

He had no way of knowing what Genesis would dump on the Silver Soldier, nor that information possessing Sephiroth and forcing him through every word in that dusty manor basement.

But Sephiroth wanted to be alone. What could he possibly do?

Well, Zack took a chance, opening the door to the lab as slowly as possible to not disturb his suffering friend. He slipped into the deepest chamber and left the gift on the wooden desk.

Sephiroth caught a glimpse of the intruder among the pile of open books. For a brief moment, his betrayal silenced. He lowered his current volume and lifted the small creature.

Its warmth and fluff did not reach him through the barrier of leather gloves. Of protection. He held it to his chest, allowing the faux fur to tickle his skin.

...but this was just another faux gift. Another worthless offering from the useless fans that followed and disturbed him. He had been given hundreds, a storage room in HQ dedicated to him and him alone that they denied him. Offerings from a fan club created before he could speak. Offerings from the people ignorant of their invasive nature.

The plush was just as useless as the rest of them.

He simply dropped it, the books reclaiming his attention.

Humanity offered him pointless gifts in pathetic retribution for the planet they stole.

He didn't want cheep toys.

He wanted the planet that was owed to him.

The rest is history.

The hard one? Iore...silly. Until it's not.

Genesis needed Sephiroth's cells. This wasn't up for debate. His existence depended on the success of Sephiroth's project, with or without his consent.

"You will rot."

When Sephiroth left the reactor, he was instantly ambushed by Genesis copies. A stop spell froze him just long enough for the new Transform materia to do its dirty work. Enough experimentation by Doctor Hollander led to this absolute abomination of a status effect, but it should be long enough to kidnap the Silver Soldier.

Unfortunately for their enemy, Zack recovered before Genesis was successful. Tifa and Cloud stared at him with the biggest shrugs while gesturing to the now six inch tall Demon of Wutai.

This was not your average 'mini' form. Sephiroth's head was far too large and his body was far too small. Perhaps the incorrect proportions would hinder his ability to escape until Genesis had taken him to a secure facility.

Though the form was odd and adorable, his skin, hair, clothing and even sword taking on the fuzzy nature of the plush, his mind was unaffected.

He wanted answers.

Against Sephiroth's wishes, Zack placed his new tiny body on his shoulder and guided everyone back to town.

Though the Silver Soldier still had full control over his body, his nubby hands and feet were next to useless.

With Zack's hesitant, extremely hesitant help, the new First brought him through the secret door of the manor and into the lab.

The puppy then immediately turned around, clutching the helpless soldier by his torso.

Nothing matched Sephiroth's desperate fury in that moment. His spells and body were too weak to break free. His struggles were useless.

Once at the inn, Zack called HQ and let them know all was taken care of, and that they'd be leaving the next morning.

Sephiroth managed to slip off the confining bed and hid beneath it. As fate would have it, a mouse hole in the baseboard gave him the exact escape he needed.

By the time Zack finished the call and found out Sephiroth was missing, he was long hidden in the depths of the inn. Zack's little search party moved too quickly. They didn't spot Sephiroth waiting until their return before he made a run for it. Well, as fast as he could run.

All transformation spells had a limit. He would wait it out. For once in his life, he would get the answers owed to him no matter the cost.

How long has humanity hidden the truth from him?

How many scientists decided his fate?

How many soldiers thought they knew what was good for him?

The days he spent waiting for the spell to decay attacked his thoughts with poisoned thinking.

They made this monster. They would see what it could do.

Even so, he wanted the truth. The whole truth. Then he'd follow the toxic path up the mountain and gain the final piece: who- or really what- Jenova was.

[euijoosorangeslice]

mini little psa

I’m really sorry for not uploading a lot recently, I’ve kinda been like spending most of my time bed rotting instead of writing. Like I’ve been reading fics and it inspires me but the second I open the document I all of a sudden can’t write.

I’ve also been struggling with su!c!dal and self destructive behavior recently, so I’m trying to recover from that

I just feel really bad for sort of abandoning my community, I promise as soon as I feel motivated again I will keep writing.

thank you guys

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Trials 1:40-44 part 2

And here’s the second part of the Hinterlands chapter, where they take on the rebel mages and Ava invents the microwave.  Here’s part 1 (x) and here’s the ao3 link as always :) (x).

It is unanimously decided that you will take the day to recover.  Everyone sleeps well into the afternoon anyway, only waking on the arrival of Harding.

“Glad to see you safe, Ava,” she says when you greet her groggily.  “That must have been quite a fight.”

You shrug.  You don’t really want to discuss it.  “Was it difficult to find?”

“Not at all, thanks to the directions you gave us.  The bodies are enroute to the Crossroads now for rites and burial.”  She pauses.  “I hope you don’t mind, but we’re moving the Templars’ bodies too.  I know they did terrible things, but no one felt quite right leaving them there to rot.”

The thought makes your stomach twist.  Yes, they did many terrible things.  They would have done worse if you hadn’t stopped them.  But you know a little something about being left to die alone, with no one but your killer to mark your passing.  You wouldn't wish that on anyone.  What’s more, you are not them.  You will not stoop to their level.  “That’s fine,” you say, and if it sounds forced?  Well, you’re only human.

The discussion of what to do next is postponed until dinnertime.  Wounds are checked and bandages are changed.  Harding’s scouts bring everything salvageable they found in the smoldering debris, including some half-burnt documents penned by the knight-captain’s hand.  Mary makes you sit down under a shady spot and read them with her.

“Just a bunch of bullshit rambling,” you conclude, tossing away another scrap talking about champions and justice into an increasingly large pile.

“Not quite,” Mary disagrees, scanning the note in her hand.  “This one’s got a lot to say.  See for yourself.”  She hands it to you.

You skim through it once, expecting to see more of the same.  But your brow furrows, and you read it again more thoroughly.  The knight-captain, amidst his usual raving, talks rapturously about an attack they carried out that ended in heavy rebel casualties.  From his wording, it seems that while you were preparing to attack them, they were leading their own assault on the rebel base.  Their own scouts must have discovered it, and though they failed to break through the barrier at the cave entrance, the knight-captain considered the operation a resounding success.  It resulted in the total annihilation of the rebel forces who fought, 30 dead in total.  The note makes it sound like the mages were all mad and possessed by demons, but you think there is a kernel of truth buried in the propaganda, one that Mary pointed out three days ago.  The rebel mages probably aren’t mad, but they are desperate.  And if the knight-captain’s counting skills are to be trusted, then they just lost a sizable chunk of their remaining forces.

“That’s great for us, right?” You say, handing the paper back to Mary.

She hums.  “Yes, and no.  It’s good to know that the rebs are 30 bodies shorter than when we last saw them, but it’s not as helpful as you might think.”

“Why?”

“Because we still don’t know how many are waiting on the other side of that barrier,” she points out frankly.  “There could be a hundred for all we know.”

“Didn’t you say they were hiring sellswords to bolster their ranks?”

“I said it was likely, not that it was guaranteed.  Ava, the facts are that we’re still gonna be walking into this thing blind, with no options for clever schemes or traps to make it easier.”

“So what do we do?”

She shrugs.  “There may be nothing we can do, except take the risk and hope we’re right.  And if we’re going to do that, we need time to heal up and re-supply.”

You present this information to the others over your food.  No one is happy to hear it, but they don’t argue either.

“It will be difficult to muster any more troops to fight with us,” Beatrice says, forehead wrinkled once again.  “Not without compromising the safety of the Crossroads.  There may still be some scattered Templars in the woods, to say nothing of the bandits who might raid it for supplies.”

“How long until more reinforcements arrive from Haven?” Camila asks, her face twisting with discomfort as she moves her injured arm.

“Another three days,” Lilith grumbles.  “According to Dora’s last missive.”

“Can we afford to wait that long?”

“Hard to say,” Mary answers.  “They might lower their guard in that amount of time, or they might tighten their defenses even more.”  She rubs her temple.  “If we could just find a way to see behind that damn barrier…”

“Let’s do my plan,” you suggest boldly, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Ava, we already talked about this.  The answer is no,” Mary says, giving you a quelling look.

“Well, let’s not rule out what few options we have.  What is this plan?” Camila asks, undercutting Mary’s shut-down.

“Solas thinks I should be able to phase past the barrier,” you explain, and already you can see the reactions forming.  Mary keeps shaking her head, Camila looks interested, Lilith looks vaguely uncomfortable talking about magic, and Beatrice’s worry becomes even more apparent.  “If I can, then I can deactivate it from the inside when we’re ready to charge in.  Or once I’m inside, I could just try to sneak around, get the lowdown on things, and then come right back out.”

“That sounds recklessly dangerous,” Beatrice protests, pulling out her notebook again.  “There’s no way of knowing what could be on the other side, even if you could get past it, which we don’t know that you can since we know almost nothing about this ability of yours.”  She flips hastily through the pages, confirming the suspicion you had over a week ago.  She’s been writing about you.

“I’ve been using it enough to notice some things,” you contest, pouting.  “I think I can do it deliberately with a little practice, just like with the immolation spell.”

“But that would require—” Beatrice can’t seem to finish her sentence, but the meaning comes across all the same.  Phasing requires you to use the powers gifted by your Friend.  To Beatrice, and likely everyone else here save Solas, it means giving in to the will of an entity who may or may not be a demon.  That Hope has never forced Her will upon you and indeed seems to shiver with unease at the very thought, means nothing to them.  They don’t know Her like you and Solas do.  You look to the elf for help.

He obliges.  “I understand your concerns, Beatrice, but they are unwarranted.  Ava’s Friend is a Spirit of Hope.  She would never attempt to control Ava or demand any concessions on her free will.  She will protect her, not harm her.”

“That’s if she remains a spirit, as you say, and doesn’t become a demon,” Mary points out, a flash of grief passing over her face.

“I am sorry you’ve had such difficult experiences with spirits, Mary,” Solas says, quite genuinely.  “But I assure you that exploring Ava’s new powers will not corrupt Hope.  They are expressions of Her nature, not perversions of it.”

“Are you certain you can make it to the other side?” Lilith cuts in, looking discomfited just by asking.  You know it must chafe against everything she’s ever been taught.  She was ready to disembowel you in Haven less than two weeks ago, after all.

You shrug.  “No, but it’s worth a try!  No one’s come up with any better options.”

“I have strong reasons to believe that she will be able to pass the barrier,” Solas supports.  “So yes, in the glaring absence of any alternative, it is a track worth pursuing.”

“We should vote on it!” Camila stands, placing her uninjured hand on her hip.  An air of authority settles in her shoulders, one that reminds you eerily of Mother Superion.  She looks at you first.  “Ava, you sit out.  Sorry, but if we have six votes and end in a tie, we’ll wind up going nowhere.”  

To the others, she says, “All in favor of waiting to move until more soldiers arrive from Haven, raise your hands.”  Beatrice’s hand shoots up.  Mary’s goes up more slowly but no less decisively.  Camila nods.  “Now, all in favor of trying Ava’s plan to get past the barrier and try to get more information.”  

Solas raises his hand, and Camila follows suit, gracing you with a subtle grin as she does.  Lilith doesn’t move for a long moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.  But, she raises her hand, causing Beatrice to give her a look so fierce the mighty Seeker wilts a little in her seat.  “Then it’s decided.  We’ll try Ava’s plan and see what we can do from there.”

It doesn’t happen that quickly, of course.  You aren’t ready for another (potentially) big battle so soon.  It will take at least a few hours for you to get a handle on phasing, you’re all still pretty exhausted, and Camila’s cuts need more elfroot salve to close properly and your supply is nearly out, to say nothing of needing more on standby for any new injuries that might occur.

You take the night, sleeping just as hard as you did before, and when the dawn breaks, you sit by the side of the lake with Solas, who has elected to be your teacher this time.  Beatrice continues to oppose your idea, but when you ask her to teach you anyway, she cites her lack of expertise as she declines.

“Solas knows more about this sort of thing than I do,” she says plainly, but oh, you can hear how much it rankles her to admit that.  You can’t tell if she’s worried what Solas might tell you or because she enjoyed being your teacher and doesn’t want to be replaced.  You hope it’s the latter.  You really enjoyed being her student.

Regardless of the reason, she lingers on the edge, developing an endless list of excuses to pace close to the water, keeping the two of you in sight at all times.  Her watchful gaze prickles the back of your neck, urging you to scratch until the feeling goes away.

“Pay her no mind, Ava,” Solas advises, a subtly mirthful smile gracing his mouth.  “She means well.”

You sigh.  “I know she does.  I just wish she would chill out a little.”

“I have not known Beatrice for very long, but I don’t think the term ‘chill out’ is anywhere in her lexicon.  The Circle has taught her to fear rather than to understand.  It is not an easy thing to overcome.”

You groan loudly.  “I just wish she could see that I’m fine!  I really am!  I’m not going to suddenly turn around and start mauling her in her sleep!”

He nods sagely.  “I suspect she knows that, but such ingrained anxieties are hard to dispel.  That is how the Circles contain mages, by making them fear the world and themselves above all else.”  

You sit with that notion, turning it over in your mind.  When you were in Kinloch Hold, brief though that time was, it hadn’t felt like they were trying to contain you or make you afraid.  If anything, the Enchanters had sought to reassure you, to help you see your magic as something to love rather than repress.  You remember when you first arrived there, shaken, covered in ash, with legs that suddenly didn’t work and without your mother.  Senior Enchanter Wynne had wiped the dirt and tears from your face and told you that you were safe, that you were home.  You are protected here, she said.  You don’t need to be afraid anymore.  She was wrong, but that didn’t diminish her sincerity.

"Tell me what you feel when you phase," Solas directs, switching topics.

You pick at the grass as you explain.  "It's like an instinct.  When someone tries to hit me, instead of trying to block or dodge, my body just… changes to let the hit pass through.  I feel light, almost weightless.  I'm not solid.  There’s a vague outline marking where I end and the air begins, but it's flimsy.  Like…" you struggle to think of the words.  "Like a shroud wrapped around me."

"A shroud," Solas echoes.  "Or perhaps a Veil."

Your eyes widen, realizing what he’s implying.  "What would that mean?"

"Here in the mortal world?  Nothing more than we've seen.  You can change the substance of your body at will.  That is the quality of a spirit.  I told you about how spirits can change their form almost effortlessly, especially if they have something concrete to refer to.  Here, you have a familiar, persistent shape that requires no effort to maintain.  But in places where the Veil is thin or absent, you may notice changes in both the structure and consistency of your form that are harder to reverse."

You stare at him in alarm.  "Are you saying I could lose my body?"

He shakes his head.  "That is unlikely.  It would be more accurate to say that your body is simply not as rigid as everyone else's."

"How can that be?"

He studies you, considering something with great care.  "What do you remember of your death, Ava?"

You swallow hard against a sudden tightness in your throat, one that feels like fingers.  "Nothing.  I mean, I remember being killed.  I remember Hope coming to save me.  I remember… running somewhere, away from something, toward someone.”  You shrug helplessly.  “But then I wake up in Haven.  There’s nothing in between."

"Hmm."

"Hmm what?"

He shakes his head, frowning.  "I am unsure.  I have only speculations with no evidence, not worth sharing.  If we could perhaps recover your memories, we might gain more information."

"I've tried, but nothing comes."

He purses his lips thoughtfully.  "Perhaps we can explore that together later.  Forgive my digression, let's get back to the topic at hand.  Can you imagine yourself changing, becoming non-solid as you described?"  He reaches down to the surface of the water and plucks a blood lotus flower out of it.  "Could you pass your hand through this if I held it in front of you?"

"I'll try."  You shut your eyes to do it, trying to recall how it felt when your neck slipped through the knight-captain’s grip.  That was driven by your will, a moment of furious resolution and refusal to die.  A reaction to danger.  You aren’t in any danger right now, so it’s a hard feeling to replicate.  Indeed, you can actually feel how your body resists you, unwilling to change in the absence of an urgent need.

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes.  Time for a different approach…  

You think back to your lessons with Beatrice, how she advised you to visualize the shape and effect you wanted your magic to take.  This is nothing so simple as an immolation spell, but the principle is sound.  

You try to imagine yourself as a nebulous thing, a form without substance, an impression, like a rainbow after a storm.  Rainbows are just impressions, your teachers told you once.  They are a reflection and a refraction of light on moist air.  They don’t really exist, but they do because you can see them.  You can even make them, under the right circumstances.

If you become a rainbow, something that doesn't really exist, can you then go back to existing like nothing happened?

"Focus, Ava."

Right.  Focus.  Be the rainbow, Ava.  Your Friend repeats the word in your mind with a kind of curiosity.  Rainbow.

It’s not instantaneous.  Your body stubbornly resists, but your mind is stronger.  You insist upon it, pressing non-substance into your bones and forcing your skin to refract.  You feel unbound, untethered, weightless.  Free.

“It’s working, Ava,” Solas says, sounding awed.  “Hold steady now.  Pass your hand through the flower.”

You risk opening your eyes.  When you do, you see Solas in front of you, and he holds the blood lotus up to your eye level.  You start to raise your hand, only to stop and stare at it as the breath is stolen from your lungs.  When you chose to visualize rainbows, you meant it in a figurative sense, but this is not figurative.  Your hand, your arm, your entire body is light, twisting and undulating inside the vague outline you described earlier.  Colors, innumerable, unimaginable colors shift and dance in the space where your skin, muscles, and bones should be.  There are so many, including some you’ve never seen before, but chief among them is the familiar soft gold of your Friend.

“It is beautiful.”  Solas watches you with eyes full of roiling emotions, too many to separate and catalog.  “Hold it now,” he repeats.  “And phase.”

Slowly, because you’re still enraptured by the aurora of your own hand, you reach for the flower, stretching out your fingertips to touch its petals.  The caress passes right through them, coming out on the other side.  The petals don’t even ruffle from the movement of the air.  You try it several times, waving your hand back and forth through the bloom, unable to grasp it or even brush it.

“That is excellent, Ava.  Let go now.  Allow yourself to become real again.”

You do, finding it quite easy.  Your body is beyond eager to return.  It clamors to regain substance, taking back solidity with such speed that it leaves you dizzy, like the world’s worst headrush.

“Easy,” Solas cautions, reaching out to steady you when you sway.  “We’ll take a break and try again shortly.  I imagine the feeling will become less jarring with practice.”

“But do you think it’ll work?”  You question him.  “On the barrier, I mean?”

He grins, a cunning expression bordering on mischievous.  “Oh yes, Ava.  There is no longer any doubt that it will.”

Bolstered by his confidence, you take your break and then keep going.  It takes longer than learning spells with Beatrice, and your practice continues into the afternoon, but you become more competent with each successful attempt.  You can’t phase for long, never more than about 10 seconds, but Solas speculates that this is a temporary limit.

You return to camp when it becomes obvious that your energy stores have been used up.  Your limbs feel heavy and wobbly, especially your legs, but only once do you almost fall sideways into the lake.  As always, it’s the little victories.  While you were training, the others were tending to their own work, gathering herbs and provisions and making repairs to their armor and weapons.  Camila is already looking better, moving with care but no pain.  She runs through forms with her daggers, leaving her bow aside for now.  Mary’s eye is dark purple but less swollen.  When Lilith asks, she assures that she has no loss of vision, having taken her crossbow for target practice when you left to train.  Lilith spent the day cleaning, polishing, and sharpening her gear, spending a rare few hours entirely out of armor.

At some point, Beatrice determined that staring daggers at you from across the lake was not miraculously making you reconsider your plan, so she left to inventory your supplies and organize them alphabetically and by use.  Entirely unnecessary, but Camila compliments her in the suspicious manner of an adult praising a child for their hard work, just short of patting Beatrice on the head.

Dinner is tense.  No one tries to protest the outcome of the vote, but the dissenting party makes their unhappiness known in surly silence that no increasingly strained attempts at small talk can defeat.  You all go to bed with little more than a chorus of grunted good night’s.

The next day sees no improvement in their mood.  Mary and Beatrice begrudgingly participate in the strategy meeting but no more, leaving the rest of you to your own devices until it’s time to leave.

You hike to the rebel cave in silence.  Lilith takes the lead while Solas directs her, and you reach the cave in just under an hour.  You all duck down low and take cover behind the same cluster of rocks as before, but when you peek up to survey the frozen lake, it almost seems unnecessary.

True to the knight-captain’s word, it’s obvious that a battle happened here recently.  One of the giant ice stalactites (“Stalagmites,” Beatrice corrects, seemingly out of pure instinct) has shattered and toppled, sending glittering chunks of ice far across the pond.  There are blood stains, scorch marks, and even areas where the ice is broken and the water underneath shows through.

Sell-sword sentries guard the entrance as before, but they are four bodies short of their number just a few days ago, and they all look haggard and worn.  They hold their swords in a lazy, loose sort of way, and generally look like they’ll fall asleep on their feet at any given moment.  One of them is even leaning against the wall of the cave with his eyes closed, his weapon resting in his lap.

“Pathetic,” Lilith scoffs quietly.  “Sentries sleeping on watch?  Barrier or no barrier, it’s no wonder the Templars defeated them so easily.”

“Save your performance review for when they’re dead, Lil,” Mary chastises without looking away from the scene.  “If we want to do this without raising the alarm, we should rush them, fast and hard.  We outnumber them, so if we all pick one to focus on, it should be quick.”

“I can isolate that one,” Solas says, indicating the mercenary standing on the nearby bank.  “Frozen in place, he won’t be able to help his friends or run for the barrier.”  Mary nods her blessing.

“I’ll take out Sleepyhead over there,” she says, indicating the slumbering sentry.  “One bolt through the eye, he won’t wake up.”

“That one is furthest away from the water.”  Camila points out the one she means, a man aimlessly pacing back and forth in the grass.  “I can sneak up on him while his back is turned.”

“That just leaves him,” Lilith concludes, her leonine gaze locked on the final sellsword, who stands in the center of the ice, shifting his weight from hip to hip and fidgeting absently with the leather wrap of his sword hilt.  She scoffs again, evidently unimpressed.  “Hardly worth dirtying my blade.”

So it’s decided.  You and Beatrice wait in your hiding place, staves at the ready, while the others head in.  Honestly, you needn’t have bothered, because in less than a minute all four sentries are dead, unable to utter a single peep before your friends mow them down.  You join them on the ice after they drag the bodies away.

“So what now?” Camila asks, looking quizzically at the barrier.

You shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.  “Now we see if I’m right.”  You step forward, standing in front of the cave entrance.  The swirling currents of magic that confounded you before now seem thin and flimsy.  You can just glimpse the inside of the cave behind it, but whatever object is generating the barrier isn’t visible.  “You said the activator would be close by, Solas?”

“Yes, the further away it is, the weaker the barrier will be.  It will be very close, likely just inside.  Look for any small objects that seem out of place, or perhaps a symbol on the wall or floor.  That will be the key.”

“And once the barrier is down, Lilith and I take the lead,” Mary says firmly.  You all nod, having discussed this prior.  She looks at you.  “You ready then, hotshot?”

“You bet!”  You turn back to the barrier, shut your eyes, and start to phase.

“Whoa.”

“That’s beautiful…”

“What the fuck.”

Their reactions are a chorus around you, but there is one in particular that stands out.  It’s not an exclamation or a curse but instead the shuddering, soft whoosh of someone exhaling sharply through their nose.

“You’re ready, Ava,” Solas says, cutting across the rest.  “Walk forward now.”

You do.  Walking like this is… well, strange doesn’t really cover it.  Unfathomable might be closer.  Your legs move, but you don’t feel it.  There is no tension in your muscles as they contract and relax, there is no strain from lifting your weight.  You don’t know where you’re stepping or what you might be stepping on.  You keep your eyes closed to help you focus, so you don’t even have a visual to go off of.  You just know that you move.

No one says anything as you make your way, doubtless waiting with bated breath to see if you’ll succeed.  You keep going, taking a total of five paces before you feel something weird.  It’s like walking into a waterfall of tar or maybe molasses.  It’s sticky, threatening to cling to every inch of you, to pull you in and keep you stuck forever within its grasp.  It’s also warm in an odd sort of way, and it hums a continuous, tuneless note.  The barrier.  That’s what it must be, because on your next step you are past it.  The stickiness, the warmth, and the humming go away, leaving you with silence and the smell of damp air.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and existence reclaims your body on the exhale.  You open your eyes and are greeted with dark, dank stone walls, dripping with rivulets of water.  You turn around to look back at the barrier, seeing the outside world and your friends just behind it.  You can’t stop the beaming smile that comes to your lips, and you wave wildly at them before getting to work.

No unusual objects stand out in your immediate area.  Every tiny rock looks like all the other tiny rocks, and there is nothing you would peg as a magical talisman in sight.  So, maybe a symbol then.  The entrance is pretty dim.  The sunlight from outside is filtered haphazardly through the barrier, making strange and inconsistent patterns on the stone that are of no help to you.  You bite your lip, thinking.

You conjure a handful of Veilfire to shed some light on possible solutions, holding the pale green flames up to scan the walls.  Low and high, you search, moving slowly in case the rune is small, remembering Solas’s assurance that it would be somewhere close to the opening.  You find nothing within five feet on the wall to your left, so you turn to repeat your inspection on its opposite.

The cave is not as silent as it first seemed, you note as you carry on.  Water drips constantly from the ceilings in plinks and plunks, and there is a persistent whispering echo of air currents scraping against the dimensions of the passage.  The longer you stand in it, searching for invisible runes, the louder it becomes, until it blocks out almost everything else.

This is how he gets the jump on you.  Or rather, this is how he tries to get the jump on you.  You are startled by a loud grunt and the sound of something long and solid cutting through the air.  You turn around just milliseconds before his staff collides with your face, and the next thing you register is the stomach-squishing force with which you are both propelled backward into the cave walls.  It’s the third time you’ve managed to release this energy pulse completely by accident, and the small space of the tunnel causes its force to hit you almost as hard as him.  Your back slams into the rock, knocking the wind out of you and depositing you roughly on the wet floor.  Your staff slips from your hand and spins away out of reach, leaving you defenseless.

He’s in no better shape, having dropped his own staff in his haste to get back up, but he’s faster than you, rolling onto his feet to leap at you like an animal.

“Wait, don’t!”  Whether he ignores you or just doesn’t hear, you have to brace both arms in front of you to mitigate the impact, but the force is too much, allowing him to pin you in place.

The first punch threatens to liberate your teeth from your jawbone.  The second one tries to send your right eye spinning inside your skull.

“Who are you?!”  You hear him yell.  He sounds young, like he might even be your age.  You don’t answer him, instead swinging one arm in the general direction of his face.  Your first two knuckles make contact with his cheekbone, causing pain to shoot like a lance up the length of your arm.  He cries out, but recovers quickly, grabbing you by the front of your shirt and slamming you against the wall before throwing you to the cave floor.  “How did you get past the barrier?!”

He doesn’t give you the space to answer his questions even if you wanted to.  He scrambles on top of you, slamming his knee into your stomach as he does, and tries to capture your flailing arms to hold you down.  From this angle, you get a better view of his face.  He’s human, and looks just as young as he sounds.  If he’s anything more than a few years older than you, you won’t believe it.  His skin is pale, flushed pink from exertion and red where you managed to hit him.  He has a shock of messy brown hair that just covers his ears, and his eyes are hazel and full of fear.

He manages to pin one of your wrists only for you to dig your teeth into his forearm in retaliation.  He yelps and releases you, but slams his other arm into your throat before you can get up.  You cough and splutter, redirecting your efforts to pushing him off, but he’s too heavy.  All around you, you can hear echoes of your friends outside screaming and yelling for you.  You hear the telltale hissing of magic touching magic and realize they must be trying to break the barrier the hard way to get to you.  You can’t do anything about this though, because the rebel puts his face right in front of yours.

“Who are you working for?”  He spits, his breath stinking of onions, doubtless from whatever he had just eaten.  “Are you working with them?  Did you sell your own out to the Templars?!”  He bellows these questions at you, all while the bony part of his forearm compresses your throat and stops you from speaking or even breathing.  Your legs kick out under him, trying to knock him off-balance to no avail.

When he realizes he won’t be able to extract answers from you (if he was even looking for them in the first place), he shifts, sitting up just enough to wrap his large hands around your neck.  For the second time in a week, you are about to be strangled to death.  His fingers aren’t as strong or as cold as the knight-captain’s.  In fact, they’re damp with sweat, and they shake with the effort of cutting off your air supply.  They also don’t hold you quite as tightly.  There’s a frantic hesitance in him, you realize, punctuated by him stammering, “D-don’t make me kill you!”

Regardless of his pleading, he is going to kill you if you don’t do something soon.  As with the knight-captain, when faced with the urgency of imminent death, your body is more than willing to change when you ask it to.  You become a mirage, a shining after-image, surging upwards as his fingers slip harmlessly through you.  It only lasts a moment before you grab his head in your very solid hands and use the momentum to roll him off with a yell.

Now it’s you scrambling on top of him, forcing his head down onto the ground with all your might.  Something is surging inside you, hot and relentless, and your hands start to glow gold where they press into his face.  He screams, his skin cooking underneath your fingers, and he does his best to writhe free, flailing his arms and trying to hit any part of you they can reach.  Power unlike anything you’ve ever felt before rages through your entire body, the power of your Friend.  She’s giving you Her magic, Her strength, allowing Her arms to become your arms and Her hands to become your hands.  The full, earth-shaking force of the Fade floods your every muscle and nerve, illuminating the entire cave with bright, golden light, and it races down your arms to your palms in a stunning crescendo that rises in time with the shrieks of the man beneath you.  His panic-stricken fingers find your face and scratch bloody lines around your eyes, all while the energy continues to build.  It builds and builds and builds and he just keeps shrieking.  Your own voice joins him in a scream of fury, and just when you think you’ll scream like that forever…

Something warm and gooey splatters across your entire front, splashing into your face and forcing your eyes to shut reflexively.  You lean back on your knees, panting, while you register with exaggerated slowness that there is no longer anything beneath your hands.  Instead, your fingers are soaked and sticky, and the air of the cave reeks of burning copper.  You keep your eyes shut, sucking in air hard enough to make your chest hurt.

“A… Ava?”  You can’t begin to count the seconds of silence that precede this whisper of your name.  It could be one, five, or a thousand.  It draws you though, that soft, familiar voice.  You open your eyes and look toward the entrance.  There, your five companions stand, their image no longer warped by prohibitive ripples of magic.  The barrier is gone, dispelled somehow, and there is no longer anything stopping them from charging in.  Nothing, perhaps, except you.

Their faces are a painting of shock, horror, and disgust.  Some let their jaws hang open, while others keep them sealed tight around gritted teeth.  Their eyes dart around, unable to linger on anything in particular, but they move most frequently between you and the ground directly in front of you.  You look…

Where is his head?  You’re still straddling him, your legs bracketing his ribcage, but there’s no strength left in them.  His body is similarly limp, his hands having fallen from your eyes to lay motionless next to him.  Where is his head?  His robes are torn, covered in gravel at the sleeves, and the front is dyed crimson from neckline to belt.  Where is his head?  His neck ends much sooner than it should, a bumpy red stump with wet, uneven edges and the barest glimpse of bone sticking out.  Something rolls off your chest in a lazy fashion, sliding down your stomach before dropping silently to the cave floor.  A single eyeball with strands of anchoring viscera still clinging to its surface.  It stares sightlessly up at you, its hazel iris surrounded by pink, bloodshot cornea.

Where is his head?  All over you, it seems.

“Ava?” Beatrice’s voice again, closer this time.  She kneels next to you, on the edge of the spatter, with one hand extended but seemingly unable to close the distance across the gore puddle.  “Are you—?”

Shouts in the distance, coming from deeper within the cave.  Running footsteps echoing on stone, growing closer.

“Shit!” Mary hisses.  “They’re coming!”  She rushes to get in front of you with Lilith close behind, neither caring for how their boots will stain.  They stand with weapons ready, Camila and Solas at their flanks.  Mary looks back at you, stricken.  “Beatrice, get her out of here!”

Your lips form words of protest without the voice to give them life.  You lick them instinctively, and taste blood.

“Ava, please…”

“Beatrice, go!  Now!”

“Ava, come with me, please.  It’s okay…”  Still, her hand hovers several inches away from your shoulder.  She can’t bring herself to touch you.  How filthy must you look right now?  Like something out of a charnel pit?  Like some kind of monster?

Can you bring yourself to close the gap?  You try, but when you attempt to lift your legs off of the headless corpse of a man who looked at you with so much fear, you simply fall onto your right hip.  Your legs ignore your command to move.  They lay lifeless and useless next to you, as they had for 11 years before this.  You twist and pull at them with your hands, willing them to respond, but to no avail.

“I can’t move,” you whisper, nearly going unheard under the growing cacophony of running and shouts.  “I-I can’t move my legs…”

“Maker’s balls, carry her if you have to!” Mary shouts, before the first bolt leaves her crossbow with a metallic ring.  The battle begins behind you while you can do nothing beyond staring at your legs and yanking at them with your blood-drenched hands.  But suddenly, a strong arm wraps itself around your back, tugging you into an armor-clad chest.  Beatrice pulls your legs over and braces her other arm underneath them.  She lifts you into the air with unfaltering strength and carries you away, running out of the cave and back into the sunlight.

The noise of combat grows softer the further she takes you.  She doesn’t stop until you are beyond the frozen pond and back to the rocks, setting you down so that your back is supported against them.  Your legs continue to sprawl unmoving in the grass.  Beatrice kneels next to them, and squeezes your calf with one hand.  “Can you feel my hand, Ava?” She asks, chasing your gaze until it makes contact with hers.  “Can you feel me pressing on your shin?”  You swallow harshly, but nod.  You do feel it, which means you’re at least one step up from where you were.  She nods, squeezing your calf again reassuringly.  “Then you probably just overexerted yourself.  You’ll feel better once you rest.”

“R-rest?” You repeat stupidly.  “But we can’t… Bea, the others—”

“Will be fine,” she insists.  “They will be fine.  They’ve trained for this.”

“But what about you?”

Her lips thin, but she is undeterred.  “They are more than capable of winning without me.  This is where I’m needed now.”  Needed now.  Yes, you need her, desperately, shamefully.  The brief shot of adrenaline is gone, and the weight of what just happened is pressing on you like your saturated armor.  You want to puke.  In fact, you do, rolling away from Beatrice and hurling the meager contents of your breakfast onto the grass.  The tears come while you heave, dripping on the blades like dew, shaming you further.  ‘Draste’s tits, what kind of warrior are you, crying over one dead man?  He wasn’t even the first you killed.  Maker knows how many Templars died in the fires you set.  Why is this any different?

“Ava, breathe.”  Steady hands pull you up again and set you back against the rock.  “You’re hyperventilating, Ava.  I need you to try and breathe slowly, alright?”  You didn’t realize it at first, but she’s right. Your chest rises and falls at a hummingbird pace as your body strains for air.  “Ava, look at me!”  Her tone is commanding, authoritative.  When you obey, she holds a hand against her own chest.  “Watch me, Ava.  Watch how I do it.”  With exaggerated movements, she inhales deeply and exhales slowly.  “Follow me.  Breathe with me.”  She repeats the action, maintaining the slow, sure motion.  “In, and out.  Come on, Ava.  In… and out…”

It takes time.  You aren’t sure how long, but Beatrice doesn’t waver.  She watches you and repeats her deep breathing until you do it with her.  She keeps going until it’s clear you can do it on your own.  “Good, Ava, you’ve done well.”

This affirmation sparks a new wave of tears.  You’re fucking pitiful.  The others don’t break down puking and sobbing whenever they kill someone.  They don’t need someone to teach them how to breathe normally like an imbecile.  It’s only you, useless fucking Ava, slowing everyone down again.

You can’t even feel your Friend.  You think She’s still in you somewhere, but Her warmth is distant and weak.  That must be why you can’t move your legs.  Your entire face hurts from where he hit you, so you aren’t healing either.  Is She hiding from you?  She’s never done that before, but then again you hadn’t shown Her how pathetic and weak you truly are until now.  Maybe She’s finally thinking of jumping ship, heading back to the Fade and leaving you and the awful, disgusting mortal world behind for good.  She would be right to, just like everyone else.

“You should go,” you whisper, staring down at your pile of sick.

“What was that?”

You swallow against the bitter aftertaste.  “The others, they need you.  I’ll be fine.  You should go.”

“Ava, I don’t think—”

“Go, Beatrice, leave me!  You shouldn’t… you don’t need to waste time babysitting me.”  Your hands open and close erratically, pulling up bits of grass and dirt and smearing them red.  Is that all you’ve really brought to the Hinterlands?  More blood?

Beatrice doesn’t answer you for a long time, and she doesn’t move either. She stays kneeling next to you, her hand still resting on your shin.  After a veritable eternity, she says, “I’m not leaving.”

Your mouth twists.  “Beatrice…”

“Why should I leave?”  She asks, defiant.  “I already told you, the others are more than capable of winning without me.  Why should I leave you?”

“Because this is my fault, Beatrice!” You cry, burying your fingers deep in the earth.  “This whole stupid fucking plan was my idea!  You knew it was bullshit from the start and I ignored you!”

“I didn’t like the plan,” she agrees without breaking stride.  “But not for the reasons you think.  It wasn’t a bad plan.  Given how little we had to go on, it was as good as any I could have come up with.”  She sighs, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment.  “I didn’t like the plan because…”

“Because you’re scared of me.”  And she was right to be, wasn’t she?  How many abomination horror stories had she heard in the Circle that played out just like this?  Maybe your Friend left you behind before you could turn Her into a demon.

But Beatrice only shakes her head sharply.  “No, Ava, no.”  She puts her free hand on your shoulder, uncaring for how her skin stains.  “I’m not scared of you.  I’m scared for you.”  She takes a deep breath to steady herself this time.  “I’m scared for you, because I see you going through something I can’t understand.  All of this…” she indicates to your general everything.  “I know nothing, as I told you before.  Years of Circle education have left me a novice in this sphere, less than a novice.  I don’t know what to do, Ava, but I want to help you.  I want to help you.  Believe me on that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you insist weakly.  “The others don’t need help like this.”

“You think they don’t?  You think I don’t?” She questions, raising an eyebrow.  “You haven’t known us for very long, Ava.  Before the war started, I was just a bookish Circle mage who had never used magic in combat outside of training.  When the Circle fell, I found myself thrust into a battle for my life, forced to use my magic in ways I never wanted to.”  Her lips twitch ever so slightly.  “That was actually how I met Camila and Mother Superion.  They found me after I was forced to kill one of my fellows.  I was crying and in shock.  I didn’t know what to do.  Mother Superion took me by the shoulder and shook me until I could look at her.  Then she showed me how to breathe again, and quoted the Chant to me.”

“What part?” You ask, curious despite yourself.

Beatrice actually smiles with a hint of humor.  “Trials 1: 40-44.  ‘Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light.  I shall weather the storm.  I shall endure.  What you have created, no one can tear asunder.’  It’s part of the Prayer for the Despairing, not exactly the happiest of verses.  But somehow it was exactly what I needed to hear.  Then, she made me pick up my staff and follow her out of the Tower.”

“She’s built different.”

Beatrice snorts.  “Yes, she is, though I suspect traveling with the Hero of Ferelden and fighting the Blight will do that to you.”  You know this already, having learned that tidbit from Mary when she recounted how they met.  “My point is… none of us started out as unflappable, unflinching soldiers, Ava.  Camila had never fired an arrow at a person before that day either.  And we’re not unflappable now just because we’ve been forced to grow used to it.”

A chilly wind brushes over you and makes you acutely feel the blood drying on your skin.  “I don’t want to grow used to it,” you mumble pathetically.

She sighs.  “Neither did I.  And I can’t promise that you won’t.  I fear that this is just the beginning of our trials.  But I can promise that you are not stupid or weak for reacting the same way anyone would.  And I promise that you’re not weak for needing help.”

Something in the distance catches her attention.  “I think it’s over,” she says, standing to peer over the rock.  Then she smiles, relieved.  “It’s them, Ava.  They’re coming back now.  They’re fine.”

You wish you could crawl around the rocks to see, but you don’t need to.  They come around the corner a minute later, looking harried but miraculously unharmed.  Camila carries your staff over her shoulder.

“Any issues?” Beatrice asks Mary, who shakes her head.

“Nah.  That barrier was the last thing they had going for them.  There were only 10 left, and it looked like they were on their way out.”

“They were planning to leave?”

Mary nods.  “To slink back to Redcliffe no doubt, try and reintegrate with the other rebels like they didn’t break off to go on a rampage through the woods.”  She shrugs.  “They didn’t run fast enough.”  Then her gaze moves to you, and you quickly look away.  In your peripheral vision, you see her crouch down next to you.  “Hey, kid,” she says, unexpectedly gentle.  “You alright?”

You nod, unable to say it with words.

“Are you… you?” Lilith is standing a few feet away from you.  Notably, her sword is still drawn, her grip on it tightening and loosening in an anxious rhythm.  She’s staring at you with a stony, cautious expression that doesn’t hide the nervousness permeating her frame.  “Are you in control again?”

You swallow hard.  “I always was,” you say, letting the words settle in your sensitive stomach.  “It’s just me right now.”

Lilith visibly relaxes, sheathes her sword, and steps back.  Solas takes her place.  “I know you must feel shaken by what happened, Ava, but remember what I told you.  She is still with you.”

“I can’t feel Her,” you tell him.  “And I can’t move my legs.”

“Merely a symptom of exhaustion,” he asserts calmly.  “You expended a tremendous amount of mana, enough to overwhelm the barrier.  Both you and Hope will need time to recover.”

“Is that how the barrier fell?” Camila asks, sounding awed.

Solas nods.  “Yes.  Where even a team of trained mages could not have broken the barrier without finding its rune, Ava did so entirely on her and her Friend’s power.  It was an extremely impressive feat.”

“How long do you expect this to last?” Mary asks, pointing to your legs.

“It’s hard to say for certain, but not long.  A day, at most.”  He smiles reassuringly at you.  “Once we return to camp, you can drink a lyrium potion to help the process along.”

“Then let’s go,” Lilith says.  “The sooner, the better.”

Mary is the one to carry you back to camp on her back, but Beatrice sticks close to your side the entire way.  At your insistence, they help you sit in the shallows of the lake to bathe before you reach camp and risk getting blood all over your things.  They strip you out of your armor but leave you in your clothes to soak the worst of the mess out. Even with help, it takes a while for you to feel clean enough to be carried to your tent.  Beatrice helps you get comfortable on your bedroll, uses elfroot salve and a rag to dab at the scratches around your eyes, and smiles as she promises to wake you when the lyrium potion is ready.  You curl up on your side as best you can, folding in on yourself like you used to in Aeonar.

What happened in the cave plays on repeat in your mind, but each recollection grows hazier and less nauseating as your eyes grow heavier.  You sleep dreamlessly, somehow, but the last thing you see is the man’s hazel eyes, staring at you in fear.

You get your legs back by dinnertime the next day, as Solas predicted, and all of your cuts and bruises heal, leaving the memory of pain as your only scar from the fight.  Your Friend comes back at the same time, humming sweet nonsense words in your mind and embracing you so tightly your skin glows for hours.  The others still observe this somewhat nervously, but you start crying again out of sheer relief.

The next several days pass without anything in particular happening, just continued recovery and waiting to hear back from Mother Superion.  When the hawk arrives to summon you back to Haven, you all pack up your things, perform one last check on the status of the Crossroads, and begin the long trek back.  You still tire easily and need a lot of breaks, but Lilith doesn’t make nearly as many mean comments, and Beatrice keeps pace with you, giving you tips on spellcasting and showing you some of the notes she writes along the way.

[daniel-r-h]

Most of this doesnʼt surprise me, although I didnʼt know exactly how little we had. But the part that does is

The last really full work (although it has gaps) to be added to the canon was Aristotle’s Athenaion Politeia ("Constitution of the Athenians") discovered on papyrus in 1879 (other smaller but still important finds, like fragments of Sappho, have turned up as recently as the last decade, but these are often very short fragments).

I thought we had things that had faded/rotted/whatever enough that we couldnʼt read them, but where technology is improving enough that we are starting to read some of them. Do those all turn out to be repeats, or are they the source of the short fragments because thatʼs all advanced tech has been able to recover?

Or am I just completely wrong about papyrus that canʼt be unrolled without breaking it but weʼre trying new methods to read it without doing that, or documents that have been deliberately washed off so people could re-use the paper but where weʼve been able to read traces of whatʼs beneath?

Something I think ppl who aren't used to it struggle with when it comes to ancient history is that frequently 'we do not and cannot know this' is the only truthful response a historian can give. People severely overestimate how much we actually know about Ancient Rome.

I remember talking to someone at a party once about the debate over Septimius Severus's ethnicity (whole other can of worms) and they asked if genetic testing of his remains was not a way to settle it and I was like oh. Oh okay you are under the impression we have the physical remains of Roman emperors from the second century AD alright then. (We. Do not.)

[kaoarika]

The "data migration is the reason i'm stressing and suffering" saga continues.

And I messed up something :).

I, somehow, forgot that when you upload stuff to cloud services like G00gle Drive, you cannot recover the date data from when you originally downloaded the thing. Or made it.

So... imagine having to go back to transfer ALL of that you already copied and dl'ed again, while fully knowing the movement takes around a hour to do so because you are having issues with the USBs (in a general sense) with the laptop, and you have to approach it in the more eloquent and less pressing way possible so it doesn't force you to shut it down so you can "securely eject" the USB.

While also considering AAAALLL the wasted time in uploading these same stuff in G00gle Drive :)))) (and dowloading them as well).

*long sigh*

I have been feeling regrets about all of this. It's the leftovers I still have in me over the loss of my external disk back in June. Something that I supposedly accepted and decided to move on... except I didn't expect stuff going slightly rough within my current laptop, and all over a couple of jumpscares this past week alone, lmao. But I feel like I'm wasting my time for whatsoever reason (in fact, it kinda is... because it was my initial fault where I was led to be doing this). And even more when I am still finding myself with the newer laptop and my lack of complete trust to it (I want a good luck strike and MS not making me suffer for the next month or next three years if you feel me, especially with a brand new computer, not a preowned one). Let's be real, if I didn't mess that one thing up with my external disk, I wouldn't be doing this. Perhaps I would have finished while transferring my current documents and such in use and THAT'S IT!

The thing about the USB or the USB port I have been having these past two days has been annoying the hell out of me (where, for some reason, it identifies randomly the USB I already plugged minutes before, again), and makes me wonder if I will be able to use the Intuos or another screen, and heck, even the mouse or the eventual external disk I NEED to get because I simply cannot let things to rot (?) in two different computers. Ahhh... I need the USB hub thing... but then I think about wasting money if it doesn't work OTL.

I am scared, basically. Ideas and scenarios going through my head in failing.

The other thing about G00gle Drive, is that, it's potentially a good way to leave stuff that I may not use in the close future but I don't want to lose it in any way possible (even with stuff that I "regret" making...), yet I don't want to have it "at hand" on my disk space, and "backing it up there" seems like a good option... but for that I should also do more moves I am not in the mood to do (at the moment) :/ but conveniently, saves me time and all that. Should pay for a space increase in at least one of my accounts, though, lmao (ALSO not in the mood to do that atm).

UGH, I just want to finish it all ;A;

(P.S.)

It's 8:13 PM when I am editing this and I just had that USB issue (luckily, it's just the same USB drive... as of right now)... JUUUUST in the middle of a Windows Defender customized scan? And just when I was this close to copy some vids... LUCKILY, it didn't happen when I was in the middle of a movement or smth, because, MAN wouldn't that be so fucked up? :))))

[ray-talks]

07/28/2023

this is the beginning of my digital mental health diary. there is a void that i wish to throw my thoughts into like a bottomless well.

i have developed an eating disorder, which i will thoroughly document via the ray-talks blog. as of now, i do not intend upon recovery; however, i do support the recovery of others. i have a multitude of other mental health issues i have been battling with over the years. additional documentation of this will be included as well. the purpose of the blog is mostly for venting purposes, so that i have an outlet for my emotions.

evidently, there is a clear trigger warning for those in recovery of their mental health. this blog is not for you nor anyone else. the intention of the blog is solely for my usage alone. furthermore, i am eighteen, and i would advise those under that specific age to avoid this blog too. i do not condone any of the behavior exhibited in this blog. to add on, diary entries may not be daily, either explained through smaller posts or generally out of unwillingness to write.

today was a rainy day. therefore, i couldn't take my daily walk until late in the afternoon. this frustrated me and resulted in excess anxiety. i felt tumultuously as i didn't have a way to make up for last night's dinner. luckily, the rain cleared and i was able to walk outside, despite the dampness of the air. tomorrow i will attempt to walk around 20km as a challenge for myself. i am a little excited to do this. the only obstacle is the potential of my parents being disapproving of me spending hours outside. hopefully, this won't be too big of a barrier.

i ate a few bites of a small slice of pizza and that was my intake for the day. unfortunately, i am forced to eat a little by my family each day. i hope that once i go to college, i am able to fast for several days, as i will live away from my family. i am far away from my current ugw, which will hopefully come to fruition in the upcoming months. best chances is by the end of the year. but i am getting closer to my first, yet less significant goal weights. i am too ashamed to disclose my exact numbers, but as a 180cm individual, i am bordering between average and underweight.

i saw my therapist today. we discussed ocd exposures and i was assigned a task, that i may or may not fulfill (lol). additionally, we did some adhd testing. just diagnostic materials via personal questions. i am neutral upon whether i have adhd or not. i know for a fact that i have autism, and this may be what i perceive to be adhd symptoms. or it is possible to have both!! i am a deeply interest-based person with hyperactive behavior. my inability to receive satisfactory sensory input coupled with my inattentiveness lends me to believe i may have adhd. regardless, the session went alright.

i have not discussed my disordered eating/thoughts with my therapist. aforementioned before, i do not wish to recover. i am content with unhealthy weight loss. my parents and therapist have been suspicious of me, but not enough to warrant any alarm. i have accepted that i am not a good person. as a good person would not actively lie to those they care about for their own gain. it does leave me conflicted, though. i wish sometimes that i could just be a normal person who does not seek to destroy themself at every turn. but i cannot do it. i cannot even do it for the sake of other people.

there are so many thoughts swimming through my head. i feel like it is a pipe that keeps leaking and leaking. this is why i have to do this blog, because i need somewhere for the words to stick and rot. it feels like my true intention is to eventually reach my ugw, then promptly pass away. it is difficult to imagine a future beyond this goal of mine. i do not know if people feel the same way i do. my weight loss is not just to be thinner, even though, that is a massive part of it. it is also because i so sorely despise myself. i should be punished. if hunger is my punishment, then so be it.

i do not have much more to discuss. i would say the day worsened as it went along. simply for the mere fact that i was struggling with food cravings, and that saddened me.

even so, i wish anyone who reads this a good day and to take care of themselves. cheers to the fact this is my first diary entry of my blog!

[dennisimojr]

Design for oc iterator and scug

I am bad at art but I had a cool idea for an iterator and slugcat and felt they needed some visual representation

Untamed Thicket

Untamed Thicket is a first-generation iterator who, in addition to solving the great problem, was also frequently tasked by the Ancients with surveying and clearing pieces of land so that new industrial sites, living blocks, or agricultural areas could be built there. This purpose became less relevant after the torrential rains made living on the surface nigh impossible.

After the collapse of Ancient society, they developed an interest in the documentation and categorization of wildlife, specifically the study of how this wildlife has adapted to better survive in a post-Ancients world with constant cataclysmic rainfall and enormous metal structures scattered across the planet. After capturing (either on film or more literally) all of the species surrounding their own local group, they became fascinated with the shared facility grounds of two distant iterators: Five Pebbles and Looks to the Moon, since studying this area provided a unique opportunity to analyze the behavioral impacts on local fauna of having two iterator superstructures in such close proximity.

After many failed attempts to recover overseer footage from the area, either because of overseers being lost due to environmental factors or being killed by the abundant (pre-artificer) scavenger population, Untamed Thicket decided that creating a purposed organism specifically for the journey would have the highest likelihood of success.

The Naturalist

The Naturalist is a slugcat created by Untamed Thicket with the purpose of documenting the wildlife in and around Five Pebbles and Looks to the Moon's cans. They are partially mechanical, with one of their eyes having been replaced with a sensor and camera which allows them to capture organisms on film so that the footage can later be analyzed by Untamed Thicket. They also were created with ears and a tail that resemble foliage, which allows them to camouflage as well as gain some of their energy from photosynthesis, a feature Untamed Thicket thought would help them to survive an arduous journey where food would likely be scarce.

The Naturalist's Campaign

Starts in the same spot as Spearmaster, shown to have just entered Outskirts from Outer Expanse via the one-way gate.

Starts with Mark of Communication

Earliest slugcat in the timeline, before Five Pebbles gets the Rot. Pebbles has not yet been given the information for rewriting his own genome by Seven Red Suns, and so relations between him and Moon are much less tense than in later campaigns, and Moon is still fully intact.

6 food pips are required to hibernate, with an additional 1 being able to be stored for later.

1 food pip is passively gained for every 30 seconds spent in daylight, up to 5 total per day.

Creatures are less likely to notice your presence when standing in areas with greater amounts of foliage.

Creatures can be "scanned" by hovering over them with a cursor (similar to Saint's ascension mechanic.)

The goal of the campaign is to scan every creature in the game (with the exception of weird stuff like guardians or void worms) before returning to Outer Expanse, gameplay is probably similar to Gourmand's food quest.

Since the Outer Expanse gate is locked, visiting Pebbles is required, as he will agree to open the gate for you (before locking it again behind you) after realizing you were sent by a fellow iterator on a scientific expedition.

That's all, I don't know how well this hypothetical campaign would actually fit in game since it would probably be a lot more chill story-wise and the scanning thing could get tedious, but it was just a cool character idea I had and I wanted to theorycraft about how it could work if it was real. 👍

[wilddwcrds]

the charity event still lingers overhead, not just from injuries madisyn recovers from but also the fact her already unreliable magic is now even more so. it seems everybody at the evening has been left with a dark reminder of the night. that clearly someone, or something, has it out for them all. digging through her family's life has not only become a priority to madi but an intriguing distraction. the very simple fact remains that a kennedy can put their mind to something and nothing truly stops them. madisyn's problem has never been a lack of ambition or motivation, but rather the constant changing of ideas and directions.

she struts behind the four movers with her head held proudly, in her arms an assortment of other heirlooms and memories she nimbly grabbed from agneta and olaf's attic. madisyn huffs to felix's retort, eyes rolling as she elegantly places down the small box and papers to a kitchen counter. "mmk, well. i did one better than a iddy biddy box, felix. so you are welcome." she chirps, full of smugness as she watches the men plonk down the huge leather trunks, full to the brim of the past.

she lets felix take care of the tip, more eager to share how she came into possession of all of the ghostly goodies. "well, i went to see agneta and she tried to retract ever saying i could take a box." unsurprising. "and then she had to go out somewhere." also unsurprising. "so, i went to my dad and said i left my purse and he gave me the key." the perk of oskar always trying to usher her away from his working day sits hooked around her finger which she twirls proudly with a little jingle. "so. she doesn't actually know i have these but, i doubt our old little grandma goes in the attic often. she won't even know they're gone."

her eagerness slumps as felix continues to drone, madi tilting her head in an unimpressed exhaustion. "ok well you never sign up for anything, felix, so. if i paid attention to the fact you would lit-er-ally rot if you could, nothing would get done." she states in return, attention caught by the movement of steps and a door closing. "aww, cute." madisyn coos about the belcourt, her hand cupping the side of her mouth. "hi bellsy!" she then calls, wearing a content smile as she hears the witch return the greeting. "she is like way too nice to be anywhere near this family, felix. i don't know why you even bother to drag her down." madi then says, her expression dropping as she addresses her uncle but then lifting again as she studies the trunks.

"stop being dramatic, there won't be a body. i think this will be our great great grandma's stuff. because look." madisyn grabs the pile of papers, whipping them out for felix to take. "you said greta is still alive, right? so this might be her mom's stuff. it's like a diary? hanna? she spelled her name wrong, unless it was a nickname or something. or ranstrudle's aren't all smartiepants." madisyn grins, letting felix have a flick through the documents as she kneels by the first trunk. she unbuckles it, the small of musty old leather hitting her nose and making her cough. "gross. why do old people just have gross things? like it's a rule or something." the kennedy mutters, lifting open the chest lid as it rolls back on it's worn hinges. she peers inside, an assortment of diaries, boxes and even clothes waiting for her gaze. although, madisyn is unimpressed. "is that a wedding dress? stuffed in a box?" she remarks as she peels the dress from the depths and holds it up to her frame. it's hideous but madisyn quirks her brow. "want to keep hold of it for bella?"

felix's apartment

felix ranstrom and madisyn kennedy @wilddwcrds

Felix was certain the event cast an eerie haze over everything since, a lingering sense of being watched that hung in the air like smog. His conversation with Madisyn and their plan to dig into family history had slipped his mind entirely given the events. He only remembered when his niece buzzed his apartment, her zoomed-in face plastered on the camera as he let her in. But when he opened the door, it wasn't Madisyn who greeted him.

Instead, four men wrestled with two massive trunks, each one struggling to keep a dark leather monstrosity inches from the ground. Madisyn finally appeared, trailing behind them and Felix arched an eyebrow as soon as she stepped into his home. "Did you exhume our dead relatives?" he asked with dry curiosity. "I thought you said a box." he gestured with his hands, indicating the shoebox size he had been expecting, not the two enormous trunks that looked as if they’d been plucked straight from the Titanic wreck.

"How did Agneta even let you leave with these? I've never seen them before in my life." Felix remarked, eyeing the trunks as if they were leaking with ghosts. In many ways, they were. A horrible and sinister atmosphere emitted from just the sight of them, causing visible grimace over Felix's features. The movers hovered by the door, clearly waiting for their tip and pulling Felix's attention to them in the next second. He shot Madisyn a pointed look since she was in no rush to oblige, tsking as he dug into his wallet to hand over some cash, sending them off with a sarcastic goodbye and thanks to the back of their heads.

As the door closed, he turned back to Madisyn, hands on his hips. "I never signed up for anything this tedious." he stated flatly, a distant sound of footsteps followed his words and ended with a click of the study door. "Bella's here. My apartment isn't haunted." Felix explained, glancing at the trunks. "Well, it wasn’t." a hand waved in a clueless gesture as he stepped closer. Spoiled for choice wasn't exactly the right phrase, but Felix's gaze snapped between both trunks as he considered which one to go for first. "If there's a body in either of these, I'm suing you."

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Merrick Garland Plays Chicken, Trump Responds by Slamming on the Accelerator

By Jennifer Oliver O'Connell | Aug 12, 2022 1:45 AM ET

My colleague Nick Arama reported on Attorney General Merrick Garland taking responsibility for authorizing the raid on former President Trump’s Mar-a-Lago home. As Arama wisely surmised, it was pretty much a nothing burger, with Garland refusing to disclose the details of the warrant or the justification behind the raid.

“The search warrant was authorized by a federal court upon the required finding of probable cause. The property receipt is a document that federal law requires law enforcement agents to leave with the property owner. The department filed the motion to make public the warrant and receipt in light of the former president’s public confirmation of the search, the surrounding circumstances, and the substantial public interest in this matter.

Who knows what Garland thought this move would accomplish, but in typical Trump fashion, 45 simply doubled down.

Be careful what you wish for, Mr. AG:

From Trump’s official Truth Social account:

CREDIT: Screenshot/Truth Social

Not only will I not oppose the release of documents related to the unAmerican, unwarranted, and unnecessary raid and break-in of my home in Palm Beach, Florida, Mar-a-Lago, I am going a step further by ENCOURAGING the immediate release of those documents, even though they have been drawn up by radical left Democrats and possible future political opponents, who have a strong and powerful vested interest in attacking me, much as they have done for the last 6 years…

I believe in chess, this is called, “Check.” When the details of the warrant are revealed, it may be “Checkmate” fairly soon.

Before Garland’s presser on Thursday, lo and behold, The Washington Post released an exclusive report that indicated the FBI was looking for nuclear documents that were of

“deep concern among government officials about the types of information they thought could be located at Trump’s Mar-a-Lago Club and potentially in danger of falling into the wrong hands.

“The people who described some of the material that agents were seeking spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss an ongoing investigation. They did not offer additional details about what type of information the agents were seeking, including whether it involved weapons belonging to the United States or some other nation. Nor did they say if such documents were recovered as part of the search. A Trump spokesman did not respond to a request for comment. The Justice Department and FBI declined to comment.”

Here we go with more “Schiff Show” nonsense. We have damning evidence, but it’s an ongoing investigation, so we just can’t reveal it. But we will in time…

Uh-huh.

As our Senior Editor Joe Cunningham points out, this sounds all too familiar.

And, to be quite honest, the media and the FBI have both done stellar jobs debasing themselves throughout the last six years. Both institutions are distrusted by the American public, and for good reason. The FBI pursued a largely fake dossier, with agents that had admitted biases and agendas against Trump. The media has spent the last six years breathlessly telling us the “walls are closing in” after each and every news tidbit came out — and many of those were just as fake as the dossier.

Pretty much. The American people are weary of this never-ending, merry-go-round of witch hunts. They also know that the government has swept up good people in this January 6 campaign who are rotting in gulags and being denied their due process rights.

Garland and the FBI want it both ways. Wave goodbye to that ship, boys.

Garland attempted to play chicken by moving to have the warrant declassified, probably expecting Trump to flinch. Trump slammed on the accelerator by demanding that all of it be declassified. It will either be a swerve, or a crash.

Maybe both.

Trump is a brawler, and as we have seen over the past six years, he doesn’t back down. Garland has proven himself a wimp, which is why he is playing what looks like revenge fantasies from the Department of Justice rather than sitting on the Supreme Court.

[tteokdoroki]

oblivious | k.takami

♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.

♡ word count: 1.8K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.

♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.

♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D

♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha​ but i figured today would be the perfect day!  i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3

♡ masterlist | requests

keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.

your obliviousness that is.

on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.

the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’

keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.

the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.

you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.

sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.

they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.

so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.

“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”

“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions.  the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”

she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.

said  blonde follows with a huff,  making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer—  one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task,  the squint to your  eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.

he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.

your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”

“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.

there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.

“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“

you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.

keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.

rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.

“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.

“yes miss miruko?”

you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”

takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.

hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.

“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”

you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.

to hell with it.

“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.

but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”

and who were you to say no to him.

[coffee-or-murder]

Gardening

Rosalind gets some news. She does not approve. Benji also does not approve. Danya is not shown, but it can be safely assumed she also does not approve.

Mild Spoilers: Some more mild details on the family business, and how Lemon's arrangement happened. Not really too much though? Tagging just in case.

In order to ensure the continued safety of the family garden certain plants would always have to be pruned or removed entirely. Some could simply be replanted and continue to thrive without further incident. In this particular instance however, Rosalind doubted it would be so simple. A pole bean had crept too close to a little sunflower, suffocating its roots with whatever rot it carried, and dragging down the stem of the young plant. Rosalind would have to separate them, weed out the roots of the bean from the flowers and separate them to assist their recovery. Hopefully the issue was caught in time that the rot had not infected them beyond recovery. She was hopeful the flower would recover and return to the garden, or at least be replanted and thrive elsewhere, but the bean may be beyond saving. She would need to be careful of how she chose to remove it if it came to that, and ensure that its rot had not spread any further.

“Boss, I’ve got an update,” Benji’s deep voice nearly growled. Rosalind opened her eyes to see her youngest kneeling beside her, his massive hand dwarfing the armrest of her chair. She hadn’t heard him enter her conservatory at all. It was always impressive how quiet the half-orc could be in spite of his size, but perhaps she was just finally getting old.  

“That tone of yours says it’s nothing good,” she sighed, gently patting his bearded cheek and tugging him down a bit to press her forehead to his in greeting. He rumbled, drawing comfort as he always did from the familiar form of affection, and he exhaled loudly after he cooled his boiling anger back to a low simmer. 

“It isn’t. Ursula has no idea what she’s started,” he said, leaning back to meet her gaze. “Just as Danya expected, her finances are all over the place. She’s been spending her husband’s check faster than it comes in, and whatever dowry Doran had set aside for Lemon is long used up. There was a sizable deposit to a few of her accounts, all from different sources, but Marigold did some digging and they all point back to one family. The Harlows,” he explained as he laid out the folio Danya no doubt put together for her to review on the small tea table in front of her. The lawyer’s tiny sharp print was all over the pages, laying out various detailed notes for her to explore on her own time.  

“She is planning what I expected, isn’t she?” Rosalind sighed. Benji stood quickly, nearly snarling as he began to pace. Of course it wouldn’t be simple. Gods forbid any scheme that girl came up with be simple. She may be family but Ursula is certainly making it difficult to forgive her. Rosalind flipped through to the next page and frowned at the sight of the scorched letters at the end of the folio. Just visible, and penned in Ursula’s excessively intricate hand, was a series of letters to one Sir Harlow asking after the oldest Harlow’s boy’s marriage prospects. The most clear passage was a frankly embarrassingly forward hint that her daughter was searching for a partner. Clearly they’d attempted to burn the documents once Marigold started digging. Thank the gods she managed to gather this much.

“She has officially entered marriage negotiations with the Harlows. She’s planning to sell our Lemon like-like cattle for money to fund her ridiculous attempts at rising in social standing with the noble families. Handing over our girl to that family knowing how they operate! Lemon just reached her majority and Ursula tries to pull something this cruel! I knew she had an awful mouth and was never kind to her but how could she stoop to this of all things! I-” 

“Benji, please-”

“Mama we need to act quickly! We finally have solid proof of that woman breaking the code. Putting one of our own in danger. If we remove Ursula then-”  

“Benjamin. We cannot rush into this. Now take a seat and breathe a moment.”

“But-”

“Benjamin Anu Bakhouzin. Focus,” Rosalind interrupted. His mouth snapped closed with a painful sounding click as he turned to face her, arms held behind his back in parade rest and eyes closed as he breathed deeply. 

“...sorry Boss.”

“Lambtail, I understand why you’re so angry. You’re as protective of our Lemon as your own babies, and Ursula has betrayed the Family and put one of ours in a dangerous situation all in one swoop,” she sighed, reaching out for her son. His jaw unclenched as he moved towards her, kneeling low so she could press a kiss to his cheek. “Have you spoken to your Auntie Adva yet?”

“No Ma, she’s still out on a mission. I was going to have someone send a message to her field handler to get in touch with her once she’s available.” 

“Good. Start there then. Send Danya to me later this evening if she has a moment, I’d like to go over her folio and try to find a legal way to solve this issue before involving the Family. This is a delicate situation,” she sighed. “If we play this correctly we can avoid an all out war between the Families. The Harlow’s are new, and certainly pushing their luck, but they are just established enough that this could go poorly if we are not careful. Ursula has forgotten that I am the one with the legal power in her husband's absence. The Harlows will no doubt petition the court to overrule my veto, so we need to prepare.”

"Will you tell Doran?"

"I will consider it. His situation is...complicated as you know."

[joneryskingdom]

«Still at work at this hour my love?»

A tired glare is the one of her husband. Daenerys occupies the desk full of parchments and documents. Tasks required by a kingdom angry for freedom, for a change. Seven kingdoms, she corrects herself mentally.

Seven reigns still recovering from the Raven’s claw, famine, war. We put all of this to an end, she thinks, and a new era is beginning. An era of peace and prosperity under the Targaryen banner. Of love and kisses and days with Jon and the children. Just like a dream, spring is coming, for real now.

A nightmare of daggers and regrets is ending.

But the nightmares that tormented our nights... she cannot stop herself from thinking about it, all those deaths and all that blood and...

The candles are flickering, thousands of glimmering eyes in their solar. The Red Keep, or the worksite that cages it, is a labyrinth covered by the cloak of the night, moon-soaked lakes of light are shimmering on the floors.

«You weren’t present at dinner.»

Jon answers with a grunt, brooding on a the paper he has in his hands, sealed with the light-blue wax of House Arryn.

«I have work to do.» he finally says, eyes stick on the words. «Correspondence and projects and...»

He can’t continue: Dany’s fingers are on his mouth.

«You can go on like this.» she abruptly takes his damned paper from his hands. «You have a family. The children were asking for you, Rhaella and Aemon are unmanageable when you are not present. And that little trickster of Jae... only the gods know how many times I prevent him from throwing his porridge in Aelionor’s hair this evening.»

He snorts. «Little devils our pups, aren’t they?»

She adjusts her arms across his neck. His bun is disheveled from the stress, dark circles are marking is eyes. Oh, her sweet dragonwolf... he is buried in his work, he wants her to be free and not to give a damn about the kingdom’s problems, but she is the Queen, it’s her duty.

And she can tell just with a stare that he’s asking to much from himself.

It’s always been like that, as long as she can remember since Bran’s defeat and death, even in those months of forgiveness and promises between her resurrection and their take of the Capital. Works as a way for Jon to distract himself from the demons that were eating him inside, rotting in his soul. Demons of daggers and of ashes and tears. His sleep was poor, both intentionally and because of nightmares, not so much better than her truthfully, he became strict in his kingly shifts, in a certain way obsessed by the amount of parchments on their desk. And his health declined rapidly of course. The first year of reign wasn’t over and Sam declared at her that her king was an insomniac, all those nights of his spent staring at the canopy suddenly had a sense. Sweetsleep in his evening milk, sweetmilk as their miracles called it, was the only way of making him relax, shut his heavy eyes.

Insomnia generated by the remorse or the prisons have played their role in this? Dany asks herself, kissing her exhausted king’s cheek. At every pregnancy - love and intimacy is regular in their bed, a possession of bodies and flames which brings babies, their miracles, with a cadence - he insists about her not tiring too much, for and the babe’s sake and all the work is on him.

Dany cannot adapt anymore to this style of life, his health is more important.

«Yes.» she replied, rotating his face with her hands. He looks so tired, her Dragonwolf, her king capable of everything for her and the children. «And you need to sleep.»

«I’m not tired.»

«These spectacular dark circles under your eyes tell me another story. Sleep and eat sweetheart, you will starving yourself if you don’t come to another supper.»

«But I’m not...» he protests, he’s trying to protest, interrupted by a yawn. He squints his eyes from any tiredness trace. «... tired... not even a bit...»

«Are you sure?» she asks worriedly, kissing his forehead and... it can’t be, she tries again with her and this time, the palm on his marble skin. «What... you’re burning up! You’ve got a fever!»

Again, exacerbated from the stress.

«It’s nothing.» he says, shrugging his shoulders. «Really it’s nothing... Dany please... let me continue... I’ve got a full package of letters to...»

«They are also my letters if you don’t mind, I through this job was for two, not only one of us, but together.» She helped him to rise up, he is trembling, her dear Jon, like a fawn in a wood. «Come on, let’s take you to bed.»

She obliges him to undress, tucking in bed and he fall asleep immediately, so exhausted. Her little and stubborn Dragonwolf...

And then they came, all of sudden.

A roaming surprise.

«Mama? Can we?»

Rhaella, Aemon, the twins Daeron and Alysanne, Jaehaerys, Aelinor and Daenys. Her seven miracles. And seven blessings of age almost nine, eight, both six, five, four and two in white and identical nightgowns coming from the nursery.

«Of course sweetie, but I thought you and the others were in bed.»

Annual children, she loves being pregnant, feeling a baby in her belly and Jon gives her this. It’s not selfishness, it’s love, craving for something that for many years she considered a mirage. She wants as many babes as she her body can bear.

«Is a Papa ill?» her curious Daeron eyes, purple and silver hair mirroring the ones of Alysanne and Daenys. «Can we help him?»

Rhaella, his dark curls and her purple eyes, her firstborn, the baby of the resurrection, the baby of hope, their dream of spring, laughs: «No silly! He’s just tired can’t you see? Papa snores so loud Mama! Septa Ursula says that he can be heard to the nursery but we didn’t hear anything!»

«Just Ghost’s snores» her ladylike Aelionor, hair of intertwined white gold and eyes as pale ss lilac, a rare combination even in Old Valyria, peculiar of the Old King’s heir, admitted.

«Papa needs his sleep as you, come on pups, it’s late, to bed with you.»

«Why now Mama?» Aemon, her perfect little boy, grey of eyes, silver of hair, a reflection of his father even in brooding and calm, protests.

«Because I said so.» she opens the door. «Go sweeties, I’ll be coming soon for a second goodnight kiss ok?»

The first good night kiss is delivered to her snoring and drooling Dragonwolf in a whisper:

«Sweet dreams my love, with our new baby on the way. I’m with child.»