#just found that to be an interesting statement

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 1 - The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post

This is my first blog entry and, before you start reading, let me just drop in this little disclaimer: 

You will find that I bounce between fact and speculation with a mix of sarcasm and [I hope] level-headedness, common sense, and deductive reasoning.

I am a Lukola. Plain and simple. You will not change my mind. It’s an all or nothing thing for me. How I got here, I’m not exactly sure – wait, no I do know how I got here (thank you Nicola and Luke for being so fucking charming).

Of course, I knew what Bridgerton was before I joined the Lukola fandom. In fact, I watched both Seasons 1 and 2, and they were okay. Yes, just okay.

I knew that Season 3 was about Penelope – the only character I found remotely interesting – so when I saw an article on People’s page showing Nicola and her costar holdings hands, I admit I was intrigued.

Were they dating?

Let’s ask Mr. Google and find out.

No, apparently, they were not.

Okay, fine.

I then made the mistake of clicking on a video of Nicola and Luke being interviewed in Australia. And, motherfuck, they were like lightning in a bottle! Luke – being asked if he believed in friends to lovers – responded in a way that left me feeling a bit blindsided. My immediate thought was: “He fell in love with Nicola the moment he met her.” It’s funny how many people I’ve spoken to since who had an identical reaction and, to be honest, Luke’s response won’t make your heart flutter. But, it was something in the way he said it.

Now, let me explain my feelings about love at first sight. Actually, Nicola explained it best when she said lust at first sight is often mistaken for love at first sight. This, I agree with wholeheartedly. To me, love at first sight does not have to be lusty. It can be, sure, but it can also be something entirely different. Maybe it’s a fleeting feeling of recognizing someone in a way you cannot possibly articulate out loud. Maybe it’s a palpitation of your heartbeat. Maybe it feels like home. Regardless, when you experience it, you’ll know it.

That, my friends, is how I got here, and why I [sometimes begrudgingly] stay here – walking alongside this rather long, winding, and often pothole-filled road waiting for two people to admit to the general public – whether it be in a blatant or subtle manner – that they are, in fact, together.

I’ve noticed in this fandom we seem to have three types of people.  We have the Sincerely Ignorant, the Conscientiously Stupid, and the Fact Finders.

The Sincerely Ignorant are those that are easily persuaded. They are like sheep following their shepherd. In fact, the Sincerely Ignorant are the most dangerous as they tend to spiral hard and fast – and often without reason.

Next, we have the Conscientiously Stupid. These are the shippers that choose to live in error because it fits their narrative. We are all a bit Conscientiously Stupid but there are those that push an idea so hard that they omit certain truths from their storyboard. The danger here is obvious and their victims always include the Sincerely Ignorant.

Lastly, we have the Fact Finders. The people who track information – key players, side characters, dates, places, statements, etc. These are the people who often find themselves pulling the Sincerely Ignorant out of the water when they spiral, usually due to narratives being pushed by the Conscientiously Stupid.

I am a Fact Finder. Am I perfect? Fuck no, but I do find it fun to collect and analyze information and share it with my fellow Fact Finders. Plus, collecting data helps me maintain some indifference towards the USS Lukola because, let’s face it, this god-damned ship has been blasted by quite a few cannonballs at this point. Some days, I’m surprised we’re still afloat.

Let’s start with Cannonball No. 1. Pap-fucking-smear. June 12/13, 2024. What a fucking shit show. Who shows up to the London premiere? Antonia, Luke’s – I honestly don’t even know what word to use here because I have a lot of different thoughts but out of [a small amount of] respect I will call her – “girl friend” [yes, that space was intentional]. We all know the story, Luke was papped outside his hotel with Antonia on premiere night and he was pegged an overnight dumpster fire.

And, oh my God, the Sincerely Ignorant and Conscientiously Stupid ran with it. I mean, they practically became wild dogs chasing down a fox under the command of Nicola the Huntsman. However, Nicola, almost immediately, came to Luke’s rescue by posting an “in support of” style story to her IG. I’m not saying Nicola wasn’t affected by this mishap. At the very least, the post-premiere PR efforts were dumped squarely on her tiny shoulders. At the worst, she’d had her heart broken.

I never liked the Papsmear pictures. Not because I disliked what they depicted but because there was something “off” about them. Luke didn’t look like a man happy to be out with his lady friend. He looked like a man who had been hoodwinked and whether that was because he knew he’d just made a major PR misstep or because he knew the narrative that would follow was false doesn’t really matter because it’s all speculative. But, what makes me believe it was the latter is what Luke did next.

On June 15, Luke put a story on his IG promoting Season 3. That isn’t all that interesting but the scene it depicted made me do a double take.

Could it be?

No…no way…

But…it was.

It was the scene in Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening.

What in the hot fuck? I mean, really, what in the hot fuck??

Did Luke really just blast out an IG story where his character tells Nicola’s character not to let the Cressida character ruin their evening? Was Cressida…Antonia?

Because that’s fucking loud.

I mean, of all the scenes over four episodes, Luke chose THAT one to promote Pt. 2?

Surely, Antonia or one of her friends or family members would have picked up on this, right? And, told Antonia.

No one is going to convince me that Luke and Antonia were in a blissful relationship after that IG story was posted. Why? Because the deductive reasoning part of my brain tells me Luke chose Nicola straight outta Pap-gate.

The Conscientiously Stupid may [rather they WILL] argue that it was just for PR. Okay, but that would mean Antonia accepted the comparison between Cressida, the Evening-Ruiner, and herself. Take a moment and put yourself in Antonia’s shoes. Would you accept this from your partner? (P.S. If you said yes, you have bigger problems in life than following real people’s relationships.)  We know Antonia accepted this role to some extent because we have evidence she attended events with Luke over the summer. So, what the fuck?

In my opinion, Luke’s IG story is a defining moment in the Lukola narrative, but one that was overlooked in June and one that continues to be overlooked – and ignored – now.

Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Let me repeat that again for you:  Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Now wrap your head around that.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 7

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

We're back baby 🥰

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

It was a bold tactic.

Feyre knew that. Long before she'd been subjected to Nesta's listless criticisms at the breakfast table, where the eldest Archeron sister stabbed hole after hole into the fabric of Feyre's ill-conceived plan, leaving her with tatters that she had neither the time nor resources to mend, Feyre had known it was ambitious.

You can't outsmart a High Lord, Feyre.

Of course she couldn't. Rhysand wasn't like the men she normally conned—the rough, uneducated tavern-goers who were usually sloshing the ale in their tankards by the time they found themselves seated across her card table.

Feyre was a cautious huntress, who had only ever scouted easy prey.

Now, she was standing at the yawning den of an apex predator. His door was wide open. Inviting, daring her to come inside, knowing there wasn't a single weapon in her arsenal equipped to bring him down.

None except the interest in Rhysand's eyes as he swept them over her body. Once. Twice.

Feyre was expecting triumph, but his expression was surprisingly measured as he called over his shoulder, "Everybody out."

He was answered by grumbled protests and screeching chairs from somewhere inside the townhouse. Feyre stiffened at the sound of feminine laughter—light and peeling. It hadn't occurred to her, for some reason, that the High Lord would have company.

Female company.

Who were they? And what did it mean that he was kicking them out before he would let her inside?

She arched her brow. "You don't want me to meet your friends? Afraid it will sully their thoughts of you?"

"Their thoughts of me were sullied long before I met you, Feyre." He offered her a roguish grin, like it was something he took pride in. "And I'm a selfish male. I have no interest in sharing what limited time I have with you."

All she could think to say was, "The bargain hasn't started yet."

"No," he agreed, cocking his head to listen for any lingering sign of his guests.

When he was satisfied the house was vacated, he placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the antechamber. The front door snicked shut behind them on a midnight wind, and the moment it was shut, she became acutely aware of the High Lord's presence.

It was like being trapped inside his mental walls again, the way he circled her, his gaze like warm fingers dragging over skin. She held herself still beneath his assessment, coaxing her expression into neutrality, even as his eyes lingered on her collarbone, her stomach, her hips—all of the places she'd deliberately left on display for him.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow. Her clothes weren't immodest, exactly, not for the styles that were popular in Velaris. But they were different from what she usually wore. Enough to be a statement.

Her top was a beautiful, soft blue fabric that wrapped across one shoulder and caped down her back. It bound her breasts tightly and stopped just below, secured by a golden band threaded with strings of beads that tickled the bare skin of her stomach each time she took a deep breath. Her skirt was made of similar fabric, long and layered and pooling all the way down to her ankles—save for the slit up her thigh where she'd tied the layered ends together. It slung low at her hips, revealing the delicate golden chain she wore across her abdomen. A perfect match to the bands circling her biceps.

She thought Rhys must have liked what he saw, the way he couldn't quite drag his focus away from the glinting jewelry. He ought to like it, considering they were bought with his money.

Feyre almost told him as much, but thought better of it when she felt a talon scraping over the adamant shield protecting her mind. He hummed to himself, as if pleased to discover that he couldn't penetrate it.

Evidently finished with his assessment, he gestured towards the open archway into the dining room, where she noticed three chairs had been hastily abandoned. Her mind paged over the possibilities of who had occupied them, sifting through all the information she'd spent the last two days gathering about the High Lord and his Inner Circle. Gambling for it, if necessary.

From the tales peddled on the street, she knew the High Lord had a cousin, the Morrigan. She was often seen flitting around the city after dark, dancing the night away in pleasure halls that catered to a much higher clientele than the taverns near the docks. But anyone with half a copper could get information on the Morrigan. She was the only pure-blooded High Fae in the High Lord's retinue, maintained an active presence in the city, and was a war hero. Those things ensured she was well perceived and, more importantly, very well featured in the city's papers.

The two Illyrians often seen in Rhysand's company, on the other hand… information on them was scarce. She knew they were Carynthian, she knew they fought in the War, and she knew they were not to be fucked with, unless she had a death wish.

But is that who had just been here? Three of deadliest people in Prythian, dismissed like it was nothing?

Feyre eyed Rhysand's clothes. He wore a black jacket, casually unbuttoned so that the white shirt beneath—which was also unbuttoned—showed off a V of bronze skin and hard muscle. Rather informal by his standards, but was that because he was among friends? Or visitors of the more… intimate variety?

She allowed herself the space of a heartbeat to admire the sight, noting the strips of black ink peeking through his neckline. Then she pried her eyes away, trying to swallow back the heat threatening to rise to her face.

"Would you like some tea?" He asked mildly, as if this were an ordinary house visit.

"I want you to agree to the bargain first. I don't intend to spend time with you without being compensated for it."

"You make it sound like such a chore." He tilted his head in a way that sent her every nerve on edge. Though his smile was easy—playful, even—it told her the game was afoot. "Is my company really that insufferable?"

When she leveled him a dry look, he held his hands up in defeat.

"Let's discuss it, then." He ducked under the tall entryway to the dining room, trusting her to follow without direction. "This bargain."

"What's there to discuss?" Feyre asked, treading carefully in his wake. "It's the same terms as before."

With a flick of his hand, one of the abandoned chairs shifted towards her. She slid into it, wary of that casual display of power. His friends weren't the only thing discussed in the streets of Velaris. The most powerful High Lord in History, she'd heard. At the time, she'd dismissed it as a lie he or his cohorts made up.

In Prythian, a leader wasn't selected from political prowess or the favor of the people; it wasn't even dictated by bloodlines, though noble families often coveted powerful matches to keep the scales weighted in their favor. But even the ancient High Fae scions would admit that power, true power, was crowned by the will of the Cauldron alone.

And to be the most powerful was to possess unquestionable authority.

Maybe she denied the truth because it scared her. It made her a fool for coming here, sitting at his dining table as if she had any right to join the playing field of a High Lord.

"I'm amenable to the same terms." Rhysand splayed himself across the seat in front of her and propped one of his polished boots onto an adjacent chair, the picture of arrogance. "But I'll admit, I'm surprised by your change of heart after you told me so firmly that you couldn't be bought."

"Maybe," Feyre said slowly, testing her courage. When her voice didn't tremble, she continued, "I didn't come here seeking coin."

His eyes flickered with interest. "You don't want money?"

"Let's not get hasty; I expect to be paid. But I've been thinking about what you said, about what I should be doing to earn my living."

Rhysand raised a dark brow, encouraging her to go on.

Feyre flicked her tongue along her lower lip. It was only partly deliberate, to court more of that razor-sharp interest. But her mouth was also becoming dry as her next words took shape in her mind.

She forced her voice to stay level. "I'm not educated and I don't like intensive labor. That excludes me from most honest work. But pleasuring males? That's something I think I could do well. And why would I settle for just any male in a pleasure hall when I know I could please a High Lord?"

Rhysand's pupils flared. He leaned forward, bracing his powerful arms on the table. His focus was lethal, flickering from her lips to the bob in her throat as she swallowed, trying to keep her breathing even.

He said, slow and soft, "I'm a notoriously very difficult male to please, Feyre."

She recognized the challenge for what it was, but it was difficult to feel any sense of victory when she was pinned beneath his stare. Now was the time for follow through and she realized that she was walking a very, very dangerous line.

"Then it's a good thing," she said, tilting her chin to stare up at him through her lashes, "that you'll be able to do whatever you want to me through our bargain. Whatever will bring you pleasure."

Rhysand stared at her, long and hard, before sitting up in his chair. One second, he was across from the table, and the next he was standing over her. Feyre blinked past her surprise. Did he really bother to winnow—

Survival instincts took over, seizing the trivial line of thought to direct her attention towards far more pressing concerns, like how the High Lord gripped the back of her chair, caging her between the table and his large, overpowering body.

Trapped, those instincts bleated, and she fought to keep her muscles from locking with panic.

The wood groaned beneath his grip as he leaned in closer, using his other hand to snare her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Silver rings pressed against her skin, their metal a cool contrast to his heated touch.

That's how she would paint him, she decided, if she was ever bold enough to try. With all his contrasts. The smooth and the rough, the light and the dark, the gentle and the vicious.

He wore both sides ever-present. She could see it now, in his blazing eyes and how they were tempered by the cool wisps of shadow creeping over his shoulders. Tendrils of them snaked forward, brushing over her bare arms—a lover's caress, sprouting pimpled skin in their wake.

"You want to know what will bring me pleasure?" He crooned, each breath a promise. "Taking you apart. Slowly. Piece by piece. Until I've known and tasted and fucked every inch. That's what you'll be agreeing to if you make this bargain, Feyre."

He was watching her reaction. Waiting, she realized. For the fear of his threat to set in, for her to start scrambling towards the door and decide she was better off at a pleasure house, afterall.

Feyre tilted her chin into his touch, bearing more of her neck to him. She thought she might have heard a growl rise in his chest. “I want half up front. Not in credit.”

At this, he straightened, rightfully suspicious.“Why not in credit?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I have debts to pay. The kind that shouldn’t be traced back to the High Lord’s name.”

“What kind of debt?” When she said nothing, he pressed, “Are you in danger?”

At that tone, and the rage she sensed simmering beneath his placid expression… An image of the captain’s slit throat flickered through her mind.

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like.” 

Feyre was a practiced liar. For so long, the survival of her sisters had depended on her ability to cheat and swindle and hustle. It should have been an easy thing to reach for a lie, but as she stretched her fingers into that overflowing well, she found it dry, uncertain what she could tell him without inciting his wrath.

Uncertain if she truly wanted to go through with this.

“Feyre,” he warned, the grip on her chin tightening.

“This was a mistake." She pushed at his arm, finding that he dropped it away with little resistance. "I can see that now. I’ll just—“

“You’ll stay."

It wasn't a command, not like the way he'd spoken to those sailors in the alleyway. There was no hidden edge, no promise of violence. He didn't so much as raise his voice, and yet her body still responded instinctively, the words pouring over her like silk bindings that ensnared every limb, every muscle.

Before she could take any of it back, Rhysand said, "I accept the terms of your bargain. Half to be paid now, half upon completion.”

A prickling sensation brushed over her forearm, like the invisible stroke of a paintbrush, leaving behind another twisting black whorl to her ever-growing collection.

Just like that, her fate was sealed. Even if she were to miraculously come to her seneses and admit this was a suicidal, hare-brained decision, it was too late. For the next twenty-fours hours, she belonged to him. And he'd already made it perfectly clear how he intended to spend that time.

Rhysand leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face as if to compose himself. Then he vanished without a word, reappearing moments later with two glinting objects in his hand. It was only once he held them up, allowing light to scitter and bounce off their surface in a hundred different directions, that she saw they were cuffs of pure diamond.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her arm. She was completely limp, allowing him to take her wrist into his hands and clasp the diamond cuffs around each of them. “These are worth more than the amount you’re owed. They should be sufficient payment for any of your debts.”

No kidding. Feyre stared at the diamonds, noting how out of place they looked against her plain clothes. The fabrics were new, and expensive by her means, but hardly extravagant. She must have looked like a child playing dress up in his eyes.

"People will think I stole these," she said, holding her arm closer to admire the myriad of colors catching at every angle.

Rhys huffed in amusement. "Will you claim otherwise?"

"It won't matter if I did." She dropped her arm, frowning. "Everyone's already made up their mind about who I am."

He tilted her chin, bringing her face inches from his. "And who are you, Feyre Archeron?"

"The witch of Velaris," she answered, hearing her own bitterness. "A con. A cheat."

"Is that all?"

"Well." Feyre looked up at him, cautiously taking a step closer, raising her hand to his chest. It was like touching a stone wall. A warm, rapidly rising and falling stone wall. "For the duration of our bargain, I'm also yours."

"Mine," he repeated, like it surprised him to hear it. Then he let out a long breath. "Oh, Feyre. You are so much more than that."

For some reason… it stung to hear him say that.

Like it wasn't enough. Like he believed she was degrading herself by being being here, selling her time to him, or anyone.

What does it matter? She thought. Tomorrow none of this will mean anything.

Feyre pressed in closer, feeling the draw of his body heat. This close, she could feel his exhale brush her cheeks, and she blamed its warmth on the heat rising there. She made of a show of pouting her lips, imitating the females who she often saw lurking around the docks, greeting sailors as they debarked.

When she knew she had his full attention, Feyre extended a mental talon towards him, stroking it over his adamant shield in a suggestion of the ways she might pet him elsewhere. A small, amused crack split open for her, the High Lord watching carefully all the while. Like he was uncertain if this was part of an elabrate trap.

Feyre purred into his mind, Where would you like me to start, High Lord?

Rhys only stared at her.

She began lowering herself towards the floor, maintaining contact with those bright, burning eyes.

On my knees?

Before she could touch the ground, that same thumb and forefinger squeezed the bottom of her chin, stilling her. Feyre paused, halfway down his body and feeling like she was on fire from how close she was to his—

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Oh. She broke eye contact with him just long enough to assess the outline rapidly growing in his trousers. Part of Feyre had always quietly assumed that High Lords couldn't be carrying much. Nature had to have balance, surely?

Not in Rhysand's case. At least, not in what she could gauge through the stiffening fabric.

And the smell—fuck, the smell. She was used to the scent of arousal. It was so saturated in that old tavern, it could become a place of sanctity today and still reek of sex for the next handful of centuries. But in all those years living in the attic, with the sounds and scents of fucking constantly permeating through the walls, she had never come across a scent like this. One that made the back of her mouth water.

Feyre caught herself taking in a deep breath before she could restrain the temptation. Her eyes fluttered shut, yielding to something deep and primal that wanted more.

"Feyre," Rhysand called, his voice a little strained. Those fingers became less patient, yanking her attention back up, forcing her eyes to snap open and meet his. His, which were becoming wide and dilated. "What did I just tell you?"

Casting her mind back was difficult. Like trying to retrace her steps in a fog.

"That I'm yours?"

It was a sincere guess. She didn't mean to make his expression darken. But the growl that rumbled through his chest… it made her gaze drift back between his legs, suddenly intent on a taste.

He yanked her again, this time hard enough to bring her to her feet. Her balance swung out, not prepared for the shift in her weight. Rhysand caught her at the shoulders, maneuvering their bodies with the momentum so that she was trapped against the table as he leaned into her, further and further, until she was resting on her elbows, practically splayed atop it.

"I said I was going to take you apart slowly." Rhys looked delighted by this change in position, perusing her body as if mentally calculating where he'd like to start. "Putting you on your knees doesn't further that goal."

Oh, but it furthered hers.

"How about we flip a coin?"

He laughed. "I imagined it will be weighted."

"It's not weighted!"

It was enchanted, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

Rhys shook his head. "You've been avoiding me, Feyre, which means I've had a long while to think about how we'd be spending our time if you ever came to bargain with me again."

"And your plan involves your dining table?"

"This table, the walls, my desk. Pick anywhere in the house and I'll tell you how I've thought about fucking you against it."

"Romantic," she said dryly.

He arched a brow before leaning down to nip at the gold chain at her stomach. He withdrew at the sound of her yelp, grinning like a fiend.

"Is that what you want then, Feyre? Romance? I can be romantic." He placed his hand on her stomach, tracing his fingers along the golden chain, and then higher. Past her navel, to the string of beads lining the underside of her breasts. "I can fuck you nice and gentle. Would you like that?"

Feyre was trying not to have any reaction to his words. But that was very difficult when she could feel the rough pad of his thumb tease under her breasts.

"This is supposed to be about what you want, High Lord."

Rhysand paused, considering that answer. And then he said, "Let's play a game. I know how much you love them."

Feyre only really loved a game when she knew she could win. But she was quickly learning that no game with a High Lord was ever winnable.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," Rhysand said, feigning insult. "I can either fuck you right here, or we can go into the study to practice your mental shielding."

What kind of choice was that? Feyre wasn't a fool. She knew this was a trap, she just hadn't figured out how. And she contemplated just asking him to carry on with fucking her, because at the very least she knew she would enjoy it.

But she had been practicing her mental shields in the past weeks, and she wagered she was more proficient than he was estimating. Maybe that would give her an edge in whatever he was planning.

Maybe she wanted to say yes simply because she was curious and, somehow, she trusted he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her.

"Let's practice our shields, then, High Lord."

His grin said that was the option he hoped she would choose. She tried not to let that daunt her as he backed away from the table, allowing her to sit up, to breathe for what felt like the first time in hours.

Rhysand led her into the study. Feyre followed at a healthy distance away, swallowing air that no longer smelled like him and for some reason finding it… wrong.

He paused at the entrance to the study. Over his shoulder, she could see the spiral staircase where he'd tormented her in her dreams. She noticed dust particles hovering in the thick shafts of light that streamed in from the windows. There was a thin coating on the table, the shelves, Rhysand's desk, as if no one had come in here or bothered to clean since their last bargain.

"So," Feyre started, eyeing where he stood in the doorway, blocking her path. "Are we going in, or…?"

"No need," Rhysand said. He waved his hand to the top of the doorframe, where a thick black rope uncoiled, hanging high enough above her head that she'd need to stand on her toes to reach it.

"This is part of the game," she guessed.

"Grab hold of it."

Feyre wondered if it was a trait of High Lords, being unable to answer questions directly. Was it something they were taught in their lessons, a habit of the trade? Or was Rhysand uniquely insufferable? She knew which was the more likely answer.

Even so, she rolled her weight into the balls of her feet, stretching her arms above her head to grab hold of the rope.

Rhys made a sound of approval. His eyes, she noticed, were fixed on the bare stomach she was stretching wide in display.

Feeling strangely vulnerable, Feyre snapped, "I don't see how this has anything to do with shielding."

A black talon skimmed her mental wall, a mirror to the backs of Rhysand's fingers as they brushed over her stomach. Feyre gasped, instinctively tightening her grip on the rope to keep from letting go.

"I can tell you've been practicing," he said. "It's a strong passive shield. I could break through it, but it'd take me a while, and it wouldn't be subtle. You'd have plenty of time to react."

"That's a good thing… right?"

"Of course it is. You'll learn in time, Feyre, a good daemati is a stealthy one. You want your target unaware there's someone else pulling strings in their mind. That is," his magic slashed forward, whipping against her shield and pounding shockwaves through her skull, "unless you're aiming to kill them. But with a shield as strong as this, there's much faster ways of accomplishing that."

Feyre bared her teeth. "So, why the rope?"

"Like I said, it's a good passive shield. But I want to test how it holds up when you're distracted. If a daemati needs to break into your mind, they'll resort to other tactics before they try brute force."

"What kind of other tactics?"

Rhys grinned. "The game is very simple, Feyre." He let his fingers drag over her skin as he circled her, murmuring in a voice soft as velvet, "Let go of the rope, and I'll stop what I'm doing. But if you keep hold until the end, you win."

Feyre hated that she already sounded breathless. "What do I win?"

"Anything you want," he said.

The fae were taught to never define the spoils of a bargain so loosely. Anything could literally mean any thing—his life, his throne, his palaces. Feyre could seize control of the Night Court if she was so inclined. No one would propose something so reckless unless they had full confidence in their victory.

Or if they believed the risk was worth the reward.

"And what if I lose?" She demanded. "What do you get?"

"Six more hours added to our bargain."

Was that really all he wanted? Feyre couldn't fathom his reasoning, aside from perhaps an awareness that if he raised the stakes too high, she would never agree. Knowing she was getting the better end of the deal, she held her tongue from probing for answers.

"Fine," she said. "I agree to your terms."

A new bargain mark tingled her upper arm. Another black brush stroke, merging in the sea of other bargains, three of them now his doing. How many more would there be? Would they spread to her other arm, an entire sleeve to illustrate the ways in which the High Lord had ensnared her?

No, she reasoned. This is the last one.

Tomorrow, I'm never going to see him again.

I just need to hold on until tomorrow.

With her mental shields firmly sealed, Rhys had no way of reading her thoughts. It was coincidence, pure coincidence, that he chose that moment to flash his cruelest smile and croon,

"Hold tight, Feyre."

[m-says-hi]

Hello!

I have more sampo thoughts! Surprisingly, not about the recent event but an old event. Or not even the event itself, but something from after it

The memory bubble you get after Aetherium Wars.

Couple of things about memory bubbles before I bring up Sampo or this particular bubble’s contents. After some (admittedly brief) research on bubbles, I’ve learned they’re created by Memokeepers to preserve memories and are usually stolen from the original memory holder. In the game there are 21 memory bubbles. 20 of them belong to Herta and can be found around the Space Station. The last one is the one from after Aetherium Wars and is found on Jarilo VI.

I haven’t interacted with any of the memory bubbles myself, but I have read through all the dialogue and descriptions on the wiki. The 20 belonging to Herta all seem to put you in the pov of the memory holder. It tells it more like a story, kinda similar to Simulated Universe?

But the Aetherium Wars Bubbles only gives dialogue (very similar to Sampo’s character stories) making us more like an observer and not part of the memory. Unless we’re watching the memory of someone who was watching the conversation, but I feel like there’d be more description of the setting if that were the case.

I could go on about the content of the conversation, but I think we’ve all read through it multiple times. What really caught my attention was the beginning and end dialogue of the bubble.

(taken from the wiki. I haven’t done aetherium wars yet ;-;)

Four things stick out to me right away:

The game/The trailblazer’s thoughts notes this feels different

As I mentioned before, there is no description of the scenery showing up before you, but just two figures. My guess as to why is that this bubble wasn’t created by a stolen memory, but was made by the memory holder (or at least the memory holder was involved in the process). The memory holder being Sampo

2. There’s an implication that this bubble was left on purpose

This only adds to the point above. There’s a strong implication that Sampo left this for the Trailblazer to find. You also get an achievement for finding this bubble called Confessions of the Mask which. That kinda says it all.

But now I have two questions, the first being how? It's not said explicitly, but in a conversation with Herta it's implied that Memory Bubbles are only made by Memokeepers. So, if this was left by Sampo, either he got a memokeeper to help him (extremely possible) or he has the power to do it himself (extremely interesting)

My second question is why? 

Why would he tell us? Why is he telling us in this indirect way? My guess is it has something to do with his mask. The conversation in the bubble mentions Penacony and Sparkle. So,this was probably around the time Sampo started planning to go to Penacony to get his mask. I discussed this with a friend, and she suggested it might even be some sort of warning, which is why it’s done with a memory bubble. 

That sort of reminds me of the recent event, where Sampo spills a lot about the Fools and the Tavern, information that you would only really know as a Fool, but said it in a way that implied he wasn’t a fool. That he heard it from somewhere else, someone else, not that he knew it first hand. I wonder if his mask is sort of.. Making him unstable? (He grew increasingly dark every day) And the 7 day event was another warning. Warning of who he might become when the mask fully takes hold and a warning to not become like him

3. The game/the Trailblazer’s thought recognizes that there are multiple mysterious things about Sampo

Maybe this isn’t as important as I’m making it out to be. After all, we all know something is very Off about Sampo. But the Trailblazer recognizing it feels significant to me. It feels like further confirmation that eventually we will unravel these mysteries. Eventually.

4. “When talking to one who wears a mask, always keep your wits about you.”

This. THIS. This statement has been driving me mad since I first saw it. When I read those words I immediately thought of the translated statement from Topaz’s trailer:

“One who is unaccountably solicitous is hiding evil intentions”

(if you have no idea what I’m talking about, it’s one of my first posts)

The statements are not the same. But they feel so strongly similar, like they go hand in hand. Both are warnings. Both tell you to be careful about people who are not how they appear, people with masks and people who are falsely sincere. Both are talking about Sampo. Looking into this made me realize just how many times we've been warned about Sampo. Half of those times being Sampo himself

Something about it just makes my brain light up with possibilities and I feel like I keep pushing the statements together waiting for something to make sense and explain everything else, but I’ve yet to figure it out. So I’m left here just kind of going insane

But that’s all I have for now! Maybe someone else will have something

[emerieweekofficial]

Prompts

With only days left, we're using this opportunity to post the prompts so you guys can have a better understanding. You are not obligated to follow the prompts, it's just there to guide you.

Day 1: Entrepreneur

Emerie is more than just the only female business owner in Windhaven; she’s a trailblazer. Every day, she opens her shop not just to earn a living but to make a statement, challenging the deeply ingrained prejudice that surrounds her. Today, let’s honor the strength and courage she shows in defying the odds, one day at a time.

Day 2: Soul of a warrior

With a will of steel and a determination that’s awe-inspiring, Emerie is a warrior in both body and mind. Her strength transcends mere physical power—it’s a fire within her that refuses to be extinguished. Give us your vision of her unyielding warrior side.

Day 3: Past meet future

Emerie's story is one of resilience and courage. She’s had a rough journey—from losing her wings to losing her mother, her childhood marked by hardship. If young Emerie could speak to her future self, what would she say? And if the Emerie we know now could reach back to her younger self, what would she want her to hear? Furthermore what do you see in her future?

Day 4: The Illyrian heart

As the only female Carynthian from Illyria and the first Illyrian woman entrepreneur, Emerie is a true inspiration to all the women. She’s not just changing the world for herself; she’s paving the way for the generations of Illyrian women who will follow in her footsteps. Let’s celebrate our Illyrian people's princess and imagine the powerful impact she’ll have on Illyria’s future.

Day 5: Ties of fate

Love is such an important part of each character’s journey, and we’re here to celebrate all the potential love interests in Emerie’s life. From close friendships to unexpected sparks, each relationship brings something different to her story. Who do you think Emerie’s soulmate will be? Let’s dive into all the possibilities and explore the connections that might just be written in the stars for her.

Day 6: Found family

Could an appreciation week for Emerie even be complete without acknowledging her found family? The Valkyries, along with Cassian and Azriel, have all played such a huge role in her life. She’s not just part of the group—she’s a vital, cherished piece of their bond. Through everything, they’ve been there for each other, and that connection is what truly makes her story so special. Let's take a moment to recognize the impact they have on Emerie and the way she shapes them in return.

Day 7: Free day

The last day is free day, meaning you can post anything about Emerie. Maybe a moment you love Or a trait you relate to. Don't hesitate to show your love for our beautiful character in any way!

[bcacstuff]

Have you heard anything about Sassenach not being able to do business in UK? Don't think that's correct.

It seems, there's an Anon leaving messages in my inbox which, I just found out, are quotes from another blogger. I actually don't like that as I think the blogger herself is responsible for what she posts. But I make this exception, as this is a weird one

I wont post the whole quotes here, but the statement was more or less that Ashley is an employee at SS and she and SH's team can not operate in the UK, because the company is registered in the UK

Of course, as you already thought that is not correct. How could they've done the popup store at the Kimpton in Edinburgh? There were even 4 employees (yes 4; 3 women, 1 guy) there all day, and boss Alex hanging around as well. Was that all just pro bono? Did they get a bottle of SS at the end? smh... of course not.

Even more, do you think OL would ever have been created in the UK if this statement was true? I mean Starz is a US company, right? So is Sony, RDM & Maril working for the US company Tall ship Productions, Lionsgate is a Canadian Entertainment Corporation. I could go on about the crew, set builders they hired (JGS anyone), The members from the Canadian First Nation, Cesar Domboy, a French Actor working for a US company in Scotland..... 😂

Anyway, as you thought BS. It requires a work permit for the employee, or the correct visa.

We can also ask Google and Deloitte will provide a 21 page document, which you can read here when you're interested. The short answer however is:

Can an overseas company operate in the UK? You only need to register an overseas company when it has some degree of physical presence in the UK, such as a place of business or branch, where it carries on business. You must file the documents to register a UK establishment with us within one month of the opening of the UK establishment.

Well I think that's an answer to your question.

(and btw. they did register LATHA ÙR LTD in January 2023 in the UK and end of October this year the unaudited Financial Statements were filed. They show £2 as current assents)

[op81s]

fun fact: abbi pulling talked about oscar on the 'the fast and the curious' podcast, about how they know each other from his time at alpine academy and she said that she loved oscar but also that he was and i quote 'too nice to be a racing driver' and both christian and betty (the hosts) whole heartily agreed that he is super nice.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Erdogan is a tyrant and a murderer of his opposition. He is the killer of Turkish democracy. How fucking dare you post quotes from him?

"how fucking dare you post quotes from him"

[chaos-has-theories]

You know - the Revolution moral of "sometimes the adults won't do what's necessary, so sometimes you have to be the one to step in. Maybe you're the adult now" gets a bit... muddled... by the fact that it's also about "haha imagine Chloé as mayor even though she's 14? Oh look finally her father stepped in and put his foot down".

[bumblingbabooshka]

I like Tuvok canonically having a crush on Noss that he struggles through because it means that something about this stranded spider hunter appealed greatly to him and I want to know what that is

[lovetogether]

We think the obsession with making mental illness appear to be something one suffers from and / or changes (or ruins) their entire life causes a lot of this paranoia one is faking their illness. Self diagnosis is something we advocate for as we’d rather someone look into recovery for something they may or may not have then never know. That and, most just cannot afford to get a diagnosis (+ for some an official diagnosis would mean putting their livelihood at risk). However the act of show casing mental illness as wholly damaging can create an idea of idealized mental illness. This idea that one must be in constant suffering to justify their diagnosis. Mental illness though is muted, it’s a subtle thing we find, even the most severe cases. Dissociation detaches you from yourself but you still exist as an entity, which can be mistaken as “healthy”. Hallucinations are not often grandiose but rather small intrusions on your life, things which make living an inconvenience but nothing to the level of a horror film. Intrusive thoughts and violent outbursts are real and something which should be discussed but this idea it is otherworldly or obscene helps no one. Most if not all mental illness symptoms can appear quietly. If it were understood just how “normal” it may feel to be mentally ill then perhaps people wouldn’t be so scared to accept themselves. People often think “I relate but it’s not as extreme” when the truth is it’s never entirely that extreme to begin with. Episodes are momentary, mental illness can be debilitating but even in that state it is never full force every moment. Understanding that the mentally ill are closer to you than you realize is an important step to understanding and welcoming the mentally ill into our communities . And accepting ourselves.

[moe-broey]

Like Dimitri is on the down low and Alfonse is in a nebulous state of not-quite-closeted and if you know you know. You know. Maybe stealth.

[tea-of-destiny]

I think something that's really good about Eternal Diva is that you only have to watch the first 5 minutes to understand the basic premise of the entire franchise, but it's formatted in such a way that you can't help but want to watch the rest of the movie. You're so intrigued by what you're told in the introduction that you just have to find out what kind of situation Layton and Luke are getting themselves into this time.

[wren-likethe-bird]

wren rambles about the borderlands movie in tags

[girlscience]

Last paper I was going to read has been read... it was the most interesting to me. It was about low-head dam removal and it's effects on the community make up of the fish populations in those streams. It was not a study performed by the guy I am talking to tomorrow, it was actually a grad thesis by a student that worked with him in the aquatic sciences center. Now I just have to figure out the answers to a couple questions I was recommended to have answers to because they seem likely to be asked.

[mightybeaujester]

So if, hypothetically, I'd be going to London next week and interested in doing a "important spots from the magnus archives sightseeing tour", which spots would come to mind?

[wormsdyke]

one thing about me is i will not and can not participate in discourse. just found out lots of ppl are mad about a piece of media i enjoy and was absolutely baffled to find out