#like i just can’t. i cannot handle this. but i will out of spite

[t34rdr0pz]

i wanna run with the wolves and pull the pin on control

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 50

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't sleep, you just lay in an achy stupour. The sun limns the door as Loki's shadow darkens beneath it. He sat there all night, you could hear him, leaning against it, sighing, sometimes pleading for you to come out.

He groans as the door shifts with him. He exhales and you hear some cracking as he moves. He must be just as stiff as you. 

“Pet,” he taps on the wood, “are you over your tantrum?”

His words sting. He speaks to you like a child. You wish he'd leave you alone, let you out, just disappear!

He stands with another long groan and you feel him leaning on the door. He jiggles the handle then hits the wood in frustration. He hisses. Good, you hope it hurts.

Tears spring as you feel guilty just as quickly as that spiteful thought rose. You don't want to hurt anyone. You never have. You just want to be.

“You cannot lock me out forever. I must clean up,” he demands.

You don't argue. You don't mention he has another bathroom. Two even. You don't have the energy.

“Must you persist in this stubbornness?” He snaps. 

All he ever has for you is criticism. Just like your father. And you're just the same useless girl.

You don’t answer. You get up, keeping your back to the door. You tell him over and over to leave you alone. It doesn’t work. So you’ll just ignore him.

You go to the tub and crank on the faucet, the water splashing down loudly as you flinch as the sudden gush. You hear a thump on the door but focus on testing the temperature of the water with your fingers. You don’t listen to see if he goes, to you he’s just not there.

You strip off the camisole nightie and step into the tub before it fills. You lay in the burgeoning depths as it slowly rises over you. Goosebumps rise on your body yet the water offers little warmth for you. Even as it steams up to your shoulders.

You sit forward to twist off the tap and lay back with a sigh. You wet your hands and drag them over your forehead, the water trickling down to dampen the bandage across your nose. You don’t know what you’re doing or what to do. You never really did have much of a plan. Life was always just day to day. Survival.

Your lashes close as dampness lingers on them, fueled by a new flow from within. Your tears trickle out and you sniffle. Your mind wanders to a woman you never knew.

Was this what it was like for her? Confusing? Scary? Or did she love your father? Was he different when it was only her?

How can you even begin to know her when you don’t even know yourself? You are not your mother’s daughter. You are no one’s. You are no one.

You don’t languish long in the tub. You drain it and sit shivering on the toilet lid, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. You stare at your hands and think but you’re empty. You can’t live inside your mind, just like you can’t live inside this room.

You stand up and storm towards the door. You stop short and gulp. You won’t let him lock you up. Not any longer. Maybe your mother was a brave woman and maybe you can be too.

You flip back the lock and pull the door open. The bedroom is empty. He’s gone. You deflate. Just as you found a semblance of courage. 

You cross to the other door. The handle won’t turn. You expect as much, just like you should’ve expected him to leave before he could hear you.

You back up and peer around. Your eyes narrow on the window and you tilt your head. You can go too. 

You rush over to the closet and push the door open. You search through the hanging garments clumsily, hangers whining on the bar. You pull down a plain black blouse and equally simple pants. You dress as you peek over and over at the door. You don’t have shoes but you don’t care. You double up socks and go to the window.

What do you even care about shoes? You don’t have anything.

You hook your fingers into the notches along the bottom of the window and lift. It doesn’t budge. You whimper as your knuckles ache from the effort. You pout at the glass, contemplating the best way to shatter it. Your gaze wanders up to the latch at the top. Oh, it’s locked!

You slide the lock back and try again. It opens. You can barely believe it. A way out, but what comes after. You don’t have to think of that now.

You poke your head out and peek around the green lawn. The birds tweet and the trees sway with the breeze. You stick your arms out next and rest your stomach against the sill. You lift one knee and haul yourself over the ledge, dragging your other leg out awkwardly.

The roof is steep and offers little traction. As you manage to crawl onto the slope, your head spins from the drop just below the eaves. Don’t look down, that’s the first rule right. You search for a safer descent than the vision of yourself plummeting to the ground.

Just along the far side of the house, just at the corner, the ivy lines a faded trellis. You can try to ladder down on that and if not, you’ll turn back and act like nothing happened at all. No, there’s no going back. Just go.

You move carefully, turning to face the house. Your fingers grip beneath the bricks as you place your feet against the shingles, little grip through the socks. That was a bad idea.

As you inch along, flush to the roof, wriggling bit by bit, you hear the low hum of an engine. You don’t think much of it, it’s probably just a passerby. You focus on your own flight. You won’t have a car, just your feet. How far can you get?

The sudden ring of the gate frightens you. You jerk and nearly lose your bearing. You whimper and slide down to the eaves. The metal trough is tenuous as best as you feel your weight testing the bolts. Your heart pounds in your ears.

The bell rings again but you don’t let it faze you again. You’re nearly there, just a little further.

“What on earth–” Loki’s voice makes you flinch. 

The eaves creak and tremble under you as you curl your fingers over the shingles. You glance over fearfully, surprised by your discovery and all too aware of your treacherous escape. Loki’s nostrils flare as he glares out the window at you.

“Get back here! Are you mad, you’re going to get–”

The gate bell once more pierces the air and a sudden crack sounds from behind you. You slip down the shingles with a yelp, grasping at the roof as your feet meet only air. Your catch yourself on the edge, just barely, and whine as you dangle over the grass.

“Gods!” Loki blusters as you hang perilously.

Your heartbeat blocks out the noises all around you. The birds’ songs fade and the rippling leaves quiet. It’s only you and the horrid drop below. Don’t look down, you repeat. You’ve seen the movies, that’s the worst mistake you can make.

“Pet, don’t panic,” Loki clambers down the front steps as he calls to you, “just hang on. I have you, darling.”

You squeak as your arms burn and your fingers throb. You’re not that strong. You don’t think you can hold yourself. You hear him running as a car door shuts. 

“Hello?” Frigga’s voice carries over the lawn, “is everything alr–” She gasps, “oh, dear, what is going on? Loki, let me in.”

“Mother, one thing at a time,” Loki’s voice fades away as you hear him running.

“Oh my,” Frigga remarks, “dear, you just want to hold on. Try not to move too much, you’ll lose your grip.”

You close your eyes and focus on just that. Her advice is little help but you don’t even have the ability to tell her that. You’re terrified and weak. You feel your fingers about to give. You wrestle with your own mind, it would be easier to just let go and let what happens happen.

“Here, here,” Loki hollers as a metal rattle accompanies him.

Your eyes stay sealed as you fear even a glimpse of your ground. You whimper and whine, eyes once more wet and leaking. Something hits the roof not far from you and you hear a strange tempo, steady but harried. A hand closes around your wrist.

“He’s got you, honey,” Frigga shouts from the gate.

You don’t react. Loki grunts and his arm wraps around your back. You let your eyes open just a crack and look over at him. He urges you to him as he leans over the side of a ladder.

“Get your foot here,” he directs you to the rung above his own feet, “come, darling, come, I’ve got you.”

You follow his direction. Your adrenaline swells over and leaves you hollow. He gets you onto the ladder, just in front of him, and he takes a step down. You cling to the rungs as he continues until he’s stood on the grass.

“Go on, I’ve got a hold on the ladder,” he assures you.

You push your foot back and shakily dip it down. You put it on the next step before you dare to move the other. Your descent is slow and shaky. He helps you onto solid ground with his hands on your hips.

As you pull away and face him, you find his expression pinched. You push your lips out and mop up your tears, “I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now, I must deal with my mother first,” he hisses.

You wince and nod, pressing your tight fists to your cheeks. He gives you a long look and he rolls his shoulders. “Straighten yourself up, pet. Do you want her to see you in such a state?”

You shake your head and heave. He spins on his heel and marches away. You swipe away the last of your tears and swallow your sobs. You follow him, jittering as your legs move at a staggered pace. It’s almost as if they aren’t your own.

“Mother, you weren’t invited,” Loki accuses, “and we are not currently receiving guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is going on here? Why was she hanging from the roof like a cat on a clothesline, Loki?”

“It is my concern, I don’t need you sticking your nose in–”

“Don’t speak to me as such, I am your mother,” her tone sharpens as you wobble towards them, “now you let me in, that poor thing must be frightened and you’re not even comforting her.”

“She is not yours to worry about,” he rebuffs.

“Nonsense, you left so fast, you didn’t let us the chance–”

“Go,” he snarls.

“Loki,” you babble as your legs fold, your sight splotchy and off kilter. As you crumble into the gravel he turns. He rushes towards you as you hold yourself up on your hands, slumping over the drive.

“Pet, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he hooks his arm around you, “you should go inside.”

“Please… I don’t feel good,” you utter.

“Let me in, son,” Frigga demands urgently, “I can help her.”

“Just like you helped her before–”

“You know we had no idea,” she barks, more viciously than you could ever imagine her sounding.

“Loki, please,” you lean into him and tilt your head up, it lolls dangerously on your neck, “please, let her in.”

He considers you, his features drawn but no longer in anger. You see the fear he’s been holding onto. You reach to touch his shoulder and wilt into him.

“Please, I’ll stay,” you sniffle, “if you let her in. I won’t try to run again.”

He sucks in a breath and looks over his shoulder. He huffs and turns back to you. He scoops you off the ground and stands with a grunt.

“Mother, I trust you can wait until I get her somewhere safe?”

“Not long or I shall knock this gate down,” she sneers, “but perhaps I’ll let him take the wheel. Your father won’t hesitate.”

“Father…” Loki echoes.

“Oh, he’s here too, I told him to stay in the car thinking I might talk some sense into you,” she bites out, “imagine if I told him what I’ve walked up upon.”

“Let me get her inside,” Loki says tersely.

He carries you towards the house. You drone and sink into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking. You don’t know what came over you. You need sleep, your temples are like drums; boom, boom, boom.

“I’m tired,” your murmur.

“I know, pet, I know,” he brings you up the steps and through the front door. As he comes to the stairs, you reach out and grab the banister, latching on with all your strength. He stops.

“Please, don’t,” you bat your eyes and pout at him, a glisten in your vision, “don’t lock me away or I’ll jump next time.”

He waves and his throat tightens, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” you eke out. “I only… I only ever wanted to see the garden, you know?”

He lowers his eyes guiltily and frowns. He backs away from the stairs and instead, carries you into the den. He lays you on the sofa and puts a pillow behind your head. You relax, happy to at least be out of the room. Still, your prison remains.

“We will talk later but first, my parents,” he strokes your forehead before he stands straight.

“I could make tea,” you offer and try to sit up.

“You will not move,” he points a long finger at you, “not one inch. Do you want tea?”

You look at him. Is he really asking? 

“Yes,” you squeak.

He nods, “very well, you will have tea. Stay,” he wags his finger again, “first, I will fetch my mother and father, then tea.”

You try to smile, “thank you.”

“Hm, curse the hour,” he sneers under his breath, “I could do with something a bit stronger.”

He leaves you with that remark, striding out rigidly as his fingers twiddle at his side. You feel the same dread as him about your guest. You’re in no state to receive them, and in less to be reminded of the last time you met.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

The Fear of Being Forgotten

Ok, it’s time I talk about Pomni.

That’s right I’m doing another character analysis! Really it’s more of an analysis of episode 2 from her perspective, but I have a lot feelings about how they are handling her character so far.

I know we’re only on episode 2 and I don’t want to get ahead of myself so I’m gonna be keeping my speculations about this character to a minimum and focus only on what the show and Gooseworx has given us so far.

So I think everyone and their cat knows by now that Pomni’s name roughly translates to "Remember". Of course the irony being that it’s a name that was randomly given to her in the Pilot to replace the one she doesn’t remember.

So in a very meta sense, Pomni’s name is a joke, one that’s given at her expense.

Now, her entire motivation in the Pilot was centered around escaping this new reality that she suddenly finds herself in. And for the first half she’s kinda in denial, using the “dream” excuse as a flimsy way to rationalize everything, but still remains vigilant in finding a way out of this “dream”. So when Caine asks her what she wants to be called she tells him “I don’t care just pick anything.”, because she’s still convinced that what’s happening to her is reversible in some way. So what does it matter what she’s called in this new fictional place?

But in the end, it dawns on her that she is, in fact, trapped. No waking up, and no getting out. The Circus is her new home. And "Pomni" is now her new name. Whether she likes it or not, this is her life.

It really adds to the identity crisis of these characters that they know who they were but they just don’t know who they are. They don’t have full on amnesia when they enter the Circus, they just lose their identities (their names AND their physical appearance). And since it’s just their names that they completely forgot, that makes this scene

far more eerie.

Because just imagine how weird it is to suddenly find yourself looking at a face that is not yours. You know what you’re supposed to look like but your reflection is not showing that. Brain cannot compute.

(Actually I’m sure there are lots who relate to that specific feeling.)

So we know that these characters cannot “die”. They can get squashed, stretched, stabbed and suffer all other manners of bodily harms via cartoony physics without any lasting consequence because their bodies aren’t real. Their minds are the only part of themselves that is. Which is why Abstraction is the only major threat to be feared in the Circus . It’s the threat, because at that point, they lose what little else is left.

I love the different abstracted designs that fans have come up with, but this makes a lot more sense. You are no longer you when you abstract. And it’s irreparable. A broken mind creating a broken body. Caine, being an A.I., treats the abstracted like they’re just a whoopsie, sweeping them away in his cellar to be ignored. They are no longer considered characters. They’re arguably not human anymore either.

After they abstract, they’re nothing.

So the opening for episode 2 establishes Pomni’s fear of this right out the gate.

She’s not just trapped, she’s in danger of completely losing herself in this place. But this little scene does so much more than that. Because the choice in dialogue here is sooo interesting.

Pomni’s dream/ nightmare interpretation of Ragatha is someone who is mocking her for not being able to handle living in the Circus for more than a single day. Ragatha has managed to at least maintain this facade of cheerfulness, and everyone else has survived for years in spite of it all, yet here Pomni imagines that her mental health is so fragile that she couldn’t even last very long before suffering the same fate as Kaufmo.

And then we have NightmareJax chiming in about how he can’t even be bothered to remember her name, the new fake name that she’s had for only a few hours.

So this tells us two very important things about Pomni already. 1: She has very very little faith in herself and 2: She’s terrified of being completely forgotten. Both pretty reasonable and relatable fears.

Of course, we know this is just a dream cuz Ragatha wouldn’t be this callous. And we see this not a minute later after Pomni wakes up when she personally comes to check up on her immediately the next morning. With none of the quiet awkward tension from the day before, just normal awkwardness because Ragatha is too gay to function still trying too hard to make Pomni feel at home.

Now, I love Ragatha very much. I love her because she’s such a sweet person while being absolutely TERRIBLE about consoling people.

She speaks to Pomni but she doesn’t talk to her about what happened the other day. And this distinction is very important because what happened the other day was awful in many ways for both of them, and one of the first things she says to Pomni is

You can’t do this. You can’t undermine a traumatic event by calling it something like this. Pomni lost her home, her name, and her hopes of escape all in one day. Not to mention she has witnessed someone becoming a monster, getting seriously hurt, and being shoved down a hole with no regards to who they used to be. Nobody has really addressed her directly about all of that until now. And it was all condensed in one silly little word. (I love how this frame shows how Ragatha is fully aware that what she just said was BS)

And when someone tries telling you that what happened wasn’t so bad (when it obviously was) it makes you feel…shitty. More specifically, it makes it look like you were not personally capable of handling the bad thing that happened.

“You’re feeling bad not because the situation was bad, but because you are lesser for letting the situation affect you the way it did”

We already know Pomni thinks very little of herself for believing that abstraction will happen easily for her compared to the others, so hearing this definitely didn’t help.

To Ragatha’s credit, she tries to reassure her that there is no ill will between them by affirming that Pomni’s thought process for abandoning her was “understandable”. But it unfortunately comes off as a little passive aggressive. We know Ragatha is being sincere, because we as the audience have the benefit of hindsight, but Pomni doesn’t. “Understandable” does not mean “acceptable”. Jax’s destructive behavior towards the others and everything else in the Circus is “understandable”.

Abandoning Ragatha a second time after promising to come back to help her was not ok. Did it make sense in the moment, yeah. Was it still kind of a dick move, yup. And Pomni is very well aware of this. So it’s likely she doesn’t 100% believe Ragatha when she says shit like “there’s no hard feelings” nor can she think of her as a friend (yet) because she’s still not ok with her situation. She’s not terrified anymore and she’s past the bargaining phase that there’s still a chance for escape, now she’s just more or less resigned to it (and only after one day which is remarkable).

What also doesn’t help is that for the majority of the episode Ragatha’s attitude comes off as a bit patronizing.

So. Yeah. She wouldn’t appreciate this level of infantilization from someone she had previously dreamed was making fun of her.

What’s sad is that Ragatha’s not acting like this to be deliberately condescending towards Pomni. She really is just this into the adventures.

Bless her heart

Unfortunately, Pomni’s not having any of it because it’s gotta be kinda disheartening to know that your new eternal life just amounts to playing make believe with a bunch of maladjusted adults.

One of my favorite scenes that I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about is this one

Because I caught how she didn’t start looking away all irritated until Ragatha said “some way you could help”. Now I interpreted her reaction in two ways: Either she really doesn’t feel like getting involved in the adventure and is frustrated that Ragatha is still trying to push her to participate or (my personal favorite read on it) she thinks Ragatha is subtly rubbing it in her face how useless she was at trying to help her the day before.

Remember, Pomni actually went to a lot of effort to find Caine before she saw the “Exit” door. We don’t know for sure how long she spent looking for help, but it was a valiant effort on her part to explore the Tent on her own, only to fail at the end. Both at helping and not finding a way to leave.

She is two for two on the girlfailure checklist. And I’d imagine her self esteem would continue to decline with every little reminder that anything she tries to help herself or anyone else is futile.

Which is why her conversation with Gummigoo becomes such a turning point for her. It also shows how much better Pomni is at talking to others by allowing herself to be vulnerable.

She doesn’t try to make what Gummigoo is going through a lesser deal than it is. I also think the purpose of Gummigoo as a character was to be a sort of parallel narrative to Pomni.

The extreme wide shot of them sitting together under the map of his fake world makes them both look so small and inconsequential. And then it pulls back into a full shot of them with Pomni trying to convince Gummigoo that he does have value because he has people that he cares about and that care about him. (It won’t be until the very end where Pomni realizes that she’s in the same position as he is).

Gummigoo makes the argument of why should any of that matter when he, as an NPC, doesn’t have the luxury of having what little he has (his friends and his affection for them) when it will all go away as soon as the adventure ends. He was only designed for a single purpose, and that purpose ends with being forgotten.

Now we already know how Pomni feels about that, so she gives him what she’s been wanting: a way out.

She offers him a chance to be something more than what he was designed to do, where the fear of being forgotten doesn’t have to come into fruition (at least not in the way he would have to worry about)

And then he asks her the very fair question of why does she even bother helping him if he’s not even real, and her answer helps to further establish Pomni’s overall character. It’s not just a short term goal like wanting to find a way out of the Circus, it’s her defining motivation that will encompass her arc for the rest of the series.

Even in the Pilot, she proved to be a compassionate person when she chose to help Ragatha (both in offering her hand the first time and choosing to go back for her later). So I imagine she will start to actively be there for the other cast members once she grows more comfortable with them. Pomni has the benefit of being the newest addition to the Circus so she’s able to look at the others more critically by just passively observing them. Then calling them out on their behavior, not out of malice, but out of altruistic concern. These people have issues, she may not be able to fix them, but she’ll be willing to listen.

(This might be nothing, but a little detail I noticed after Gummigoo agrees to go with her is that she asks him for his name (and it’s also the first time we ever hear it in the episode itself) but he doesn’t ask for hers. In fact, he doesn’t call Pomni by name at all in the episode. Which could have an indication of some serious death flags. Again, I could be wrong about this and I’m giving it way more significance than it deserves. Just a stray thought.)

Anyway, Gummigoo gives Pomni the lead to get them both out and it’s telling how little she believes in herself the way she keeps downplaying her own ideas.

Because up until this point, Pomni has felt rather useless. So in her mind, the chances of something going right for once were slim. That’s why when her plan works as intended and manages to save not just herself but her new friend as well, she visibly starts to feel better. She’s actually smiling, she’s a lot friendlier towards Ragatha, and begins to act like living in the Circus might not be so bad.

…yeah…about that.

I think we are all in agreement that Pomni is a girlfailure. And she is, but not in the way we’ve come to understand it.

What I mean is that Pomni fails. A lot. Not because she’s an anxious mess or due to general incompetence, but because the narrative consistently prevents her from winning.

She tried to get Ragatha help -> Caine was nowhere to be found, abstracted Kaufmo was hot on her trail, and the door shows up to entice her to leave.

She goes through the “Exit” door believing it’s the way out -> She wastes an indeterminate amount of time going through countless doorways that lead to nowhere and is told in the end that the “Exit” was never real.

She tried to get Gummigoo to join the Circus -> Caine obliterates him Thanos style.

That is the face of someone who thought she was doing something right for once, and was abruptly proven wrong. God really said “LOL nope” to this poor woman. (I also love how Pomni’s trauma response is laughter, really leans on the whole jester imagery she has)

That she did, and it amounted to nothing. Pretty on brand for her really.

Yeah, it seemed like Pomni was not gonna catch a break. And once again Ragatha immediately tries to undermine what just happened, with Pomni going back to being paralyzed with shock at the utter insanity she had just witnessed. Homegirl is not ok. And she would have stayed that way if not for Ragatha actually being real for once by inviting her to grieve with them.

The ending of this episode truly caught me off guard.

Not poor Gummigoo’s “death”, that I actually expected, but it was still shocking to see.

No. much like Pomni, I wasn’t expecting the others to actually throw Kaufmo a funeral (and apparently this is a custom that they do regularly, which is bittersweet). And I wouldn’t have blamed Pomni for believing that they don’t really care about each other because all of them saw Kaufmo be thrown into the cellar and then the they all proceed to just eat dinner as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I’ll be frank here, I didn’t get emotional from that scene because of Kaufmo. He never had a speaking part or even an actual on screen appearance; the man had no character outside of telling bad jokes and that had to be given through exposition, so there was no resonance in his “death”. But that is clearly intentional because they didn’t even bother making the other’s eulogies about him be audible. Pomni has never met Kaufmo, she never knew him, so her attending a funeral for someone she had no real connection with is odd.

And that’s because all Pomni needs and by extension what we need to know is to see that he clearly meant something to the characters we HAVE been spending time with. This funeral was less about mourning Kaufmo and more about putting Pomni’s fears to rest that even if she were to abstract, she would not be forgotten. And even more importantly, these people genuinely do care about each other (Jax is still up in the air, but 4/5 ain’t bad). So if anything could make Pomni more comfortable in her new home, it’s the affirmation that she’s not alone (Hence the title of the theme that closes the episode). So abstraction won’t come as easily as she previously thought.

It’s remarkable that the writers managed to make a FUNERAL feel like we were ending on a high note compared to the dread that the ending of the Episode 1 evokes. And I really like that because everything from the gentle music, to the visuals of everyone being sincerely doleful, to Pomni’s small smile at the end really stresses how this show isn’t trying to be nihilistic with its premise. That Pomni, in spite of everything, is going to be ok.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Raise Them Well (Or Out of Spite)

He didn’t remember how he had gotten here. He remembered the messenger that had brought him the news, and then - Everything after that was a dark void.

His father was gone. Feanaro did not want to remember more. 

He had been on his way to Tirion already when the news came. They had known the birth would be soon even if no one had expected it would be this soon; they had thought to have nearly another month. He had not wanted to be at the birth, but his father had asked him to be there, and -

His father.

Feanaro’s head fell forward into his hands. It wasn’t a dignified position; he had come back to himself from the void of memory slumped against one of the endless tapestries that lined the marble walls of the palace, knees drawn up nearly to his chest.

On the opposite wall was a door that gaped open to an empty room where his father had once slept.

Where his father had died.

So it did not matter if he was dignified. Anyone who dared to disturb him -

“What a tragedy.”

His head snapped up. 

Melkor had taken the form of an elf today - a striking one who looked almost familiar - but there was no true disguise for any of the Valar. Their presence inevitably made itself felt.

“Another queen of the Noldor lost,” Melkor said, shaking his head. “And your father with her! I can only imagine how he must have loved her.”

“Get out.” His voice was a hollow echo of the rage he wanted to feel.

“Forgive me,” Melkor said hastily. “Forgive me, I did not mean to imply -'' He sat gingerly against the opposing wall instead of leaving.

Of course he did. What respect could he - could any of the Valar - truly have for grief?

“I cannot imagine what you are going through,'' the Vala said gently, almost as if he had plucked the thought from Feanaro’s face - or, more likely, from his glare at the place Melkor’s back rumpled the fabric of the closest tapestry.

“No. You can’t.”

The Vala’s smile flickered. “At least Ingwion will be here soon.”

“Ingwion,” he repeated, uncomprehending. What was it to him if Indis’s nephew came?

“To take the child,” Melkor elaborated. “I came to assure you that her family has agreed. You won’t have to deal with that . . . reminder.” His tone implied a much worse word than reminder had been bitten back.

“The child.” He hated how his words were mere echoes of Melkor’s own.

“Aracano,” Melkor said helpfully. “That’s what his mother wanted to call him.”

High Chieftain. So she had been scheming after all, despite all her protests.

And none of it mattered because here Feanaro was. Not heir to the Noldor, but king.

He would crown the infant himself if it would have brought his father back. 

But nothing would. Nothing except the will of the Valar.

His father would return, Feanaro tried to assure himself. This was not like his mother’s case. Surely his father would want to return. And then -

Then, he would be proud of Feanaro and how he had handled things. Feanaro would make sure of it.

To his father, everything would most certainly include the child. Aracano. Or, as his father had preferred, Nolofinwe.

(Wise Finwe. Was that why he had wanted another child? Was it wisdom he had thought Feanaro had lacked? If his father had just told him what the deficiency was - )

(His father had not thought him deficient when he was small. He was sure of that. When he had been small, his father had taken Feanaro with him everywhere; he had not for a moment left him, terrified that with one parent gone, Feanaro’s spirit could all too easily have slipped away.)

(Finwe had been enough in the end. If only Feanaro had been enough in turn, his father might still - )

With his father gone, Feanaro was the closest thing the Noldor had to an expert on bringing children through the impossible. Who was he to cede that title to Ingwion?

No. It was not to be borne. The Vanyar had taken enough from him; he would not allow them to take this -

His mind stuttered over what word to choose. Burden? Honor? Responsibility?

This. He would not allow them to take this.

Uneasiness crept in through the cloud of grief and fury. The Vanyar would not; he could prevent it. But Namo . . . It had been three days already since - since the deaths; with Nolofinwe not only orphaned but early - 

Feanaro shoved himself to his feet and stalked toward the end of the hallway, toward what had once been his nursery. It had been scarcely used - his father had not dared leave him there - but with his father’s room vacant, surely Nolofinwe must be there now.

He felt a flicker that on any other day would have been pleasure when Melkor was forced to scramble gracelessly to his feet to follow after.

“Surely you do not intend - “

“Surely you know my mind little.”

“Would you so dishonor your father by shielding that which killed him?”

Feanaro froze.

Fury licked through him like flame. 

It was almost enough to warm the chill that lay heavy over his soul.

“We can be murderers together,” he said, eyes locked on the tapestry at the end of the corridor.

It had been one of Miriel’s, once.

He stalked off to find his charge.

. . .

Nolofinwe had his father’s eyes.

Feanaro’s own eyes burned as he stared down at them.

The baby was so small. Smaller than any other he had seen. Smaller than Nelyafinwe would be when he came -

Nelyafinwe. Nerdanel.

Thrice his line had sired children. Twice the mothers had died in the births. If Nerdanel -

“Fetch a messenger to send word to Mahtan’s house immediately,” he instructed the nursemaid trembling behind him. Nerdanel had agreed to stay there when they thought this was a mere birth, lest she strain herself with the travel, but Feanaro feared she had just been indulging him. If she came now that she’d heard of the catastrophe - “They must know what happened, but gently. There must be no stress, no strain of any kind.” If he lost her - If he lost her now-

He picked up Nolofinwe in a desperate need to hold to someone.

A tiny, flickering fea reached out to his, first tentatively, then with a desperate grip that mirrored Feanaro’s own.

The fea was starving. Weak.

And so, so stubborn.

The nursemaid found enough courage to say, “The healer fears his strength might - “

He wished her courage had remained lost. “He will be as strong as a forest fire. Stronger.”

He pushed some of his own fiery spirit around Nolofinwe in a protective blanket against the biting cold of the world. Despite everyone else’s assurances, he still could not quite believe the room was not too drafty; surely the whole of the chill was not in his mind alone.

It’s his fault, part of him whispered. Just like it was yours.

He shoved the thought away viciously.

Monsters together, another part of him whispered, and he pushed that down too.

His father would want Nolofinwe to be well when he returned. That was the important thing.

So Nolofinwe would be well and grow strong.

He would not be allowed to die.

No one here would be.

[superbat-lmao]

Bruce is off world and Cass snaps.

She cuts the feed to the cave, traps each of them in a separate holding cell, and truth serums them.

She is sick and tired of them lying to each other, lying to themselves.

Once and for all, she wants them to just talk to each other.

Jason is the easiest one to start talking, he’s been the only one talking about anything close to honest the whole time. Sure, usually it’s yelling about it on a rooftop but now it’s yelling about it in the cave. He fights talking about the good memories because they hurt more than the bad ones.

Damian has the fewest grievances. He hasn’t been around long enough to have years worth of issues, and most of it stems from the same problem.

Dick and Tim are actually the biggest problems.

Tim has the most to talk about. He’s angry with all of them. Jason and Damian are the most obvious, but he has just as many grievances with Dick if not more. They have all hurt him, not accepted him, rejected him. He isolates rather than talking to any of them about this because every time he objects to how he’s treated it’s like he’s breaking the family. He should be thankful Jason’s back at all or that Damian isn’t trying to kill him. If he says anything it sends them both into spirals that makes them avoid the family and then it’s his fault, so he leaves as much as he can.

Dick is the most brutal. They all look up to him, even if they don’t want to admit it. He proved it could be done. And every single one of them got a Bruce that already used him as a practice run of having kids. He is expected to handle it, to leash his anger, to be more open than Bruce. And he does it, but the level to which it’s a performance? Only Cass and Bruce have a real inkling to how much he’s acting. Jason saw more of it than he should have before he died, but even he wasn’t actually prepared for Dick’s honest thoughts on all of them.

Jason: Dick never wanted me here, Tim picked up the mantle as though nothing had changed, and Damian is the most judgmental and least experienced. I no longer have the innocence I did as Robin because the world has proven that morality doesn’t protect you. I cannot give up my ideologies for emotional vulnerability with people who do not care, it got me killed once and it’ll kill me again.

Damian: I was told my worth here was based on my sole existence. To have to unlearn my upbringing while surrounded by others that challenge my worth and place in this family is a level of vulnerability I will do anything to avoid.

Tim: Jason tried to kill me, Damian tried to kill me, and Dick doesn’t care. Every single thing I have accomplished has been in spite of my supposed brothers, who have only distrusted or hurt me. If I point this out, it is my fault for driving them away no matter how much they hurt me.

Dick: Jason died, Tim asked me to be Robin, took it for himself, Jason tried to kill Tim and Bruce, and Damian lashes out at every available opportunity and somehow this is my fucking problem. I did not sign up to be a parent or even a brother. I am not responsible for their decisions. I agreed to be responsible for teammates and missions, not the emotional vulnerability of a family I never asked for. I handle myself and they should be capable of dealing with their own problems without dragging me into them. They aren’t. I was an only child and had the responsibility of being a parent thrust on me when I never agreed to it. I have my own life and my own problems that take a back burner to anything else in this godforsaken family. I moved away and am still fucking here.

But even talking to each other like this can’t solve everything. Because for as upset as they are with each other, it’s Bruce that they’re actually upset with.

[nikosamaki]

Hi guyssssss, I'm BACK 💃

Sorry I had something to deal and it took a lot timmmmme 😔😅

I promise I'll post a lot stories and HELLO to new followers ☺️❤️ Thank for following 🥰

When you touch their horns:

Lucifer:

He's shocked -he doesn't show it, of course-, but looks at you with narrowed eyes which tells you: "You're too young for death, Idiot " (Don't worry, he'll not kill you AT LEAST🤐 -because of Dia- ). In spite of you're freaking scared and near to ruin your pants, you figure out that how soft is his horns areeeeeee!!! They're as soft as silk and not to mention that you thought demon's horns must have been REALLY rough, but SOFT... No fucking way!!

As you're in your thoughts, he's blushing -I should've said it sooner, demon's horns are their most SENSITIVE part of body (Naughty 😏... Except that BEAUTIFUL part :)- and he thinks he's doing well in hiding it -but he SUCKS 😔😂.

When you saw his face -FINALLY-, his eyes are just like wolf's eyes and JUST wants to do it (you know I'm still a bit shy about saying it, so...😅), wants to make you say his name to stop, wants to hear your moans and so many things... -Your fault, because you badly turned him ON.

Mammon:

His reaction cannot be worse than Levi (I guess you've figured it out), but his face is as red as tomatoe due to blushing! (Sooooo CUTE 🥺). Though he tries really hard to control himself -not doing or saying anything silly-, he suddenly took a step closer to you -maybe just wanted to give you a good view of his horns-; and unfortunately -or FORTUNATELY!- something catches his heel and falls down on you!!! (How ROMANTIC!). In his mind, he's fucked, but doesn't know that you're dying inside -you're red, mess, REALLY confused and of course you have lots of SWEET thoughts in your mind that could happen any minute NOW.

When you look at him, he's not the same Mammon that he used to be; is he kinda cursed? -His eyes are narrowed and his face is serious. When he speaks, he's too much Daddy!! (I didn't know how to explain it 😂). :"You're MINE, ONLY mine... You didn't forget it, right? 'Cause I get the feelin' that I should make myself clear THIS time." You're amazed and scared, because you don't know what the Hell is happening?! Do you deserve it? What does it look like to be punished by Mammon?? Soon you'll find your answer, in BED!!

Levi:

Already D.E.A.D!! In shock! -he had a convulsion 😔, Poor. He canNot analyze what's the point? Why is he bowing and letting you TOUCH his HORNS?!?!? Error 404...

2 hours later...

He keeps his eyes closed because he can't handle the feeling he gets -you're FUCKING close to him- Again errors...

He tries to get calm by taking deep breath. When he becomes calm -you wish that he never gets calm-; his inner beast woke up and now you're in DANGER (Never underestimate calm Levi... NEVER!!) . You cann’t believe what you're seeing, Levi's cool?? He's not freaking out? W-who's that guy???

He's a hungry beast that wants food, wants to test every part of your body... Wants to eat you up!

You want to run, but you can’t; his tail tightly held your feet which means that there is NO way back.

Satan:

He's behavior is like Luci but has more control on it! -to be honest, he has tried this situation hundred times as if it happens someday???? (Now it's getting WEIRD 🫥). When you ask him to let you touch his horns, he takes a sit and lead you on his lengths -he gives you a good view of his horns. Well you didn't know that it's a trap 😏. Like you don't even know HIM :/ - ;When he led you on his lengths, you figured it out very suspicious but somehow you ignored your warning though and sat (A stupid move🤦). While you were touching his horns -he's blushed-; he pulled you on bed ! (Very CLEAN move😔���). NOW you've understood that you're FUCKED UP. He grins at you and says:" Kitty, let's play GAME , but not the usual one... The SPECIAL one."

Asmo:

No need to ask!! He just grabs your hand and put it on his head -means “Go ahead, TOUCH MY HORNS”. Since you’re naive (Too MUCH naive); again you’re tricked –just like Satan’s situation- and started to rub his horns. They’re very soft!! –even softer than the rest of the brothers 😲. He doesn’t let you to think or do anything else, in the blank of an eye, you’re tied up on his BED! (You canNOT guess how that happened… You better not to try to figure it out; it’s for your own sake😊).

Erotic eyes which shows he’s turned on badly, a smirk on his face that want to do VERY very bad and UNHOLY things with you… Bent down and said in your ears:“ Now I got YOU… Just YOU & ME🤭❤️” (You’ve got the right to scare😶… He’s the avatar of LUSTttttt, so don’t think that you can handle any shitty things that’s going to happen!)

Beel:

Doesn’t care :/ (That’s not new… because we’re talking about BEEL). He changed into his demon form and bent that you can touch the horns. At least you’re a hundred percent sure that he WILL NOT do any BAD things –or maybe he’ll but you don’t know? Who knows??. Just when you touch his horns, his stomach starts groaning 😑 (Well, you’re LUCKY… Be optimist !). He asks you for food and you said you’ll give him some food. BUT, but when he said “FOOD” he didn’t mean chips or burgers or else; HE meant YOU!!! (You idiot, how can someone be that much silly?????). As the way he’s misunderstood your meaning -or you were the one who didn’t understand his question-, he grins and stand straight, Looks down on you and lick his lips :“ You look DELICIOUS 😋. I want to start from your lips”. Here’s when you find out the situation BAD (Mostly like you’re FUCKED). He bite your lips and lick them hard…

You want to set yourself free, but you’re very weak against him. There is no way BACK, accept your destiny that you’re going to BE FUCKED by Beel😅🤗.

Belphie:

Veryyyyyyyyyyy FUNNY question… NOPE😥. (No wonder that no one can imagine how you’ll be fuck by him :/ I CAN’T!!)

And of coursee.... Happy Valentine's Day 💘

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary: Day 28

for the prompt "Shelter" interpreted quite loosely because I just wanted to write the specific scenario in my head

The underground bunker is a shelter, Jyn reminds herself — not a prison. It’s not Lah’mu, waiting for someone to come save her, the memory of Mama falling in the grass still fresh on her mind. She’s twenty-two and she’s a soldier, not a frightened little girl scared of the dark. There are lights here, there’s Cassian here…

Even if Cassian continues to ignore her under the guise of cleaning his blaster. He can’t hide his frustration as easily as he can avoid looking at her. It’s in the stiffness of his movements, the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his posture. It’s in the way he handles his pistol, rougher than usual. The permanent frown etched onto his lips is different than the one he normally wears; it’s not just his resting face, it’s real. Though he won’t say it, the disapproval is radiating off him in waves.

Well, fuck him too. If he thinks she’s going to apologize for anything, he’s got another thing coming.

Good, that’s good, Jyn tells herself, focusing on the burning embers of her anger, rather than the icy fingers of her past. Something to distract her. That fire has kept her marching for two decades and will keep her going for longer if she has anything to say about it.

Throwing one last spiteful glare in Cassian’s direction, she turns towards the hatch above and listens for any sign of life outside, but she can only make out the steady pitter-patter of the rain.

It’s been… what? Three hours now? Those troopers must have given up looking for them.

“I think they’re gone,” Jyn says without withdrawing her gaze from the hatch.

“We should wait a few more hours to make sure,” comes Cassian’s response, smooth and even. You wouldn’t notice how tightly he’s grasping at his self-control with both hands unless you knew what to listen for. “It’s dark outside anyway. We might as well spend the night and leave as soon as dawn breaks.”

There’s one rickety old bed propped against the wall with a single pillow and sheets with suspicious dark patches that look like dried blood, but it isn’t the state of their accommodation that bothers her about the idea. It isn’t even the fact of being underground and in half-light.

She simply cannot take another second in his presence like this.

Jyn’s silence stretches on, but she doesn’t have to voice her displeasure for Cassian to know it. She can practically hear him raising his eyebrows at her in a challenge. “You have somewhere else to be?”

“Anywhere not here,” Jyn says through gritted teeth. It’s a quiet thing, not meant for him in particular, but she knows he heard it anyway.

He doesn’t respond. In the background, she can hear him continue tinkering with his blaster (it’s fucking clean, for star’s sake!), and something in her just snaps.

Shouldering her backpack, she climbs up the ladder and opens the hatch.

“Jyn!” Cassian calls after her in alarm, but she’s not listening. She can make it back to the ship just fine on her own. He can come if he wants; if not, she’ll just wait for him there in the morning.

The rain has picked up from a light drizzle to a heavy downpour, and she’s soaked before she even fully makes it out of the bunker. But she’s not that easily deterred. Jyn straightens, squinting against the heavy sheet of rainfall into the darkness of the night around them. There are no headlights tearing through the trees, looking for them, no chatter between troopers as they trek through the woods, no squishy footsteps in the mud.

They have long abandoned their hunt, Jyn’s sure, and if they haven’t, they surely would now. Visibility is low in these conditions, rendering a search party virtually pointless.

Cassian, carrying his own larger backpack, emerges from the hatch hidden on the dirt floor.

“Where are you going?!” he calls out to her, trying to out-yell the storm raging around them. Thunder grumbles overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminates the forest for a fleeting second.

Shivering, Jyn begins to walk towards the direction of their ship. “They’re gone, Cassian.”

“It’s pouring!” He follows after her, though not before covering the entrance of the bunker with leaves and dirt.

“So what?!” she yells back as he hurries to catch up, but she’s aware she’s being slightly unreasonable. The stupid storm just had to pick up, didn’t it? Well, too bad, she’s not turning back now. “Let’s just get back to the ship and go.”

“This is ridiculous.” Cassian, finally close enough to touch, grabs her elbow to bring her to a halt, and it’s a testament to her respect for him, even still, that all she does is yank her arm out of his grip and glare at him with the fiery rays of the sun instead of breaking his nose.

“No, you're ridiculous!” Great comeback, Jyn. Now you’ve really told him.

He positions himself directly in front of her in an attempt to keep her from advancing and pushes his sodden hair out of his face.

“Jyn, you’re gonna get pneumonia. Let’s go back to the shelter.” His words are stronger than a suggestion, but not quite a command. Still, something in her burns with righteous fury.

“I don’t have to follow your orders,” she snaps, and his eyes darken with the echo of their previous argument. The real heart of the problem.

“I’m not just your friend, Jyn. If we’re on a mission, I’m your superior officer. I can’t work with you if you can’t follow my orders.”

Of course, they are no longer talking about going back to the bunker.

“I can’t work with you if you’re going to tell me to leave you behind!” she snarls, fury spilling over and scorching the earth under them.

His orders — Jyn wants to spit at the word —had been clear. He was cornered and trapped, and she was to return to the ship, bring back the information they came for, and let Intelligence know that he’d been killed in action. That was what he’d asked of her.

Jyn didn’t hesitate a second to disobey him and would do so again in a heartbeat. Let the mission be for nothing, let the rebellion throw her out or put her in a jail cell, whatever. None of it was worth more than Cassian’s life.

Of course, he’d been less than pleased with her decision, especially when a blaster bolt grazed her arm during their escape. He’d patched her up after they holed up in the safety of the bunker, made sure she was okay and not dying, and didn’t say much to her since. Jyn, stilled riled up from the audacity of his orders, was just fine with that.

But this confrontation was inevitable.

“And you’re right, we’re not just friends. You… you’re…” She trails off, swallowing down the vulnerability that threatens to choke her, and tries to find a word appropriate enough to convey what he is to her. “You’re family. And that trumps superior officer — even on a mission. Sir,” she adds after a slight pause, venom in her voice, before sidestepping him to continue her trek.

“Jyn,” he calls after her.

“What, we’re on a first-name basis now?” she shoots back without turning to look. He starts to follow her again.

“That’s not —” He appears in front of her, halting her in her tracks. Again. “When we’re out there, that’s different.”

“It’s not for me. I can’t be like that.” She looks him in the eye, takes a deep breath, tries to temper her anger. “Look. We clearly won’t see eye to eye on this so let’s just go —” She tries to bypass him again, but he moves to stand in her way, and even that small thread of civility snaps in her. “What?!”

“Can’t you at least lie and tell me you’ll follow orders next time?” he asks, irritation coloring his voice.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to live if you die!” she bursts out, then wonders a second later if she said too much. Caring about him, not wanting to see him dead, that’s normal. Platonic.

Expressing a lack of desire to go on if he was killed… not so much.

A long silence follows her words. The storm hasn’t let up, battering them mercilessly with large raindrops, the sound of her own breathing too loud in her ear. Her hair sticks to her cheeks, cold seeping into her bones as they stand there, frozen in time and place, while the world spins on around them.

Cassian looks shaken. She sees, more than hears, a small quivering breath rattling out of him, his eyes suddenly large and shining with a quiet sort of hope she wasn’t prepared for. But she can read it clearly. It’s as if his walls had been knocked down with a single blow, leaving his soft parts exposed and vulnerable. Begging for a cruel blade in his gut. It’s an ugly thought, but she thinks, unbidden, I could crush him. It’d be easy.

Instead, she takes a step forward, reaches out a hand tentatively, and it’s the only invitation Cassian needs. He grabs her waist and hauls her to him, crushing his lips against her own. Jyn isn’t even surprised. She clutches his cheek and drags him ever closer, a year’s worth of pent-up desire, frustration, and pining spilling into that kiss. Rain pours down on them, but she feels nothing of the cold, nothing of the wind, nor of the wet clothes sticking to her skin. Cassian’s fingers tangling in her hair currently take up all of her brain capacity.

Finally, he pulls away and breathes against her mouth, “Thank you. For saving me.”

His eyes are still closed, but Jyn quirks a brow at him. The warmth of his lips is too fresh on her mind to stay mad at him. “You’re giving me mixed messages.”

“It was the wrong thing to do for the mission,” he starts, and Jyn almost growls in warning, don’t fucking ruin the moment, but he hurries to continue. “But it’s not always about the mission. I would have done the same for you. I’m just not used to... I’m not used to people giving a shit about what happens to me.”

I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad.

Yeah. She and Cassian are kindred spirits — the same picture but painted in different colors.

“It’s what family does,” Jyn tells him, echoing her words from earlier because they hadn’t been untrue. Whatever he is to her, above all — he’s family. A family of her own choice.

“Draven won’t let us work together if I tell him what happened,” he points out, but his face is still doing that thing where he smiles with his eyes, if not his lips.

Jyn shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “So don’t.”

Cassian kisses her again, but he breaks away a lot sooner when she can’t suppress a shiver against his lips. Damn weather. How long have they been standing outside in the rain? Cassian’s warmth is exhilarating, but she fears they really will get pneumonia.

“We should go back to the shelter,” he tells her gently, and this time, she has no objections.

[byrdstrolls]

These people are who you know them to be. This story will begin the only way it can. 

Hanagi Cheong is at work, messaging Bee on her computer. She is typing, slowly, methodically. Sometimes pausing to simply stare at the screen. Sometimes pausing to backspace and start over. No matter how she spins it, it will be clear to the violetblood she is in desperate need of someone competent in statistics. Bee’s minor Hanagi has a habit of mocking as useless. She will likely not shut up about it for a thousand sweeps. Yet this silly, caliginous worry is but a mask for a deeper, more pressing one.

[HEY] The message reads. [I’VE BEEN FUCKING, SIFTING THROUGH THE NUMBERS WE GOT FROM WHEN I DID THAT HACKING AT THE ACADEMY. ABOUT ABIDEL, AND THE INTOXICANT, AND I COULD USE A FRESH SET OF EYES TO CONFIRM YOU’RE SEEING WHAT I’M SEEING.]

The doctor's head rests on her arched hands, the husktops glow lighting up her glasses. How much exactly does she trust the violetblood progress here? She does not worry about Bee turning them into the fleet. She worries about her slipping onto this project and gripping it so tightly in manic paranoia and fear and guilt she doesn’t sleep for weeks. But how much longer can she talk to nobody about what she has found, what she has seen? Monark is not the only one susceptible to paranoia. And every time she dares venture into these files, Hanagi only finds more reasons to be afraid. Slowly, she lifts her head, and presses send. 

[are you Sure?] Bee answers, a couple minutes later. 

[WHY ASK ME? DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE IT?]

[i’m not always a Successful Arbitrator of what i can and Cannot handle.]

[WELL NEITHER AM I. YOU KNOW I WOULDN’T BE HERE IF I WASN’T DESPERATE.]

[am I interpreting it here correctly, that you’re coming to me with a Statistics related problem? :)<]

[HA HA HA. LIVE IT UP.]

[It’s Almost As If There Are Compelling Reasons For Someone To Minor In Such A Thing]

[DON’T TAKE THIS JUST OUT OF SPITE AND PRIDE IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE IT.]

[i can handle Math.]

[IT’S NOT JUST MATH. IT’S A LOT OF SHIT. OKAY? IT’S HORRIFYING.]

[hanagi,]

[i’ve got your back. i’ll tap out if i need. Okay?] 

Hanagi pauses, and then links her to the drive where her ongoing snooping has been taking place.

.

.

.

.

.

[Hanagi.] Bee says, several hours later.

[UH OH, WHY ARE WE USING THE MORE SECURE CHANNEL?]

[when you asked me to Confirm what you were seeing in this data, what Exactly did you want me to confirm?]

[WELL, FROM MY BAREBONES CURSORY GLANCE IT REALLY SEEMED LIKE THEY SAID SHE HAD KILLED LIKE, FORTY SEVEN PSSIONICS IN THE LAST SWEEP. WHICH FELT VERY HIGH TO ME. I COULDN’T STOMACH LOOKING DEEPER]

[i don’t have Good News]

[LAY IT ON ME MISS STATISTICS.]

[i don’t know if this is complicated enough to Actually count as statistics, Doctor, more me Looking at something you didn’t want to look at, but sure]

[in ∅ ∈ KFx]

[those forty seven encrypted files are not individual patients. they are groups.]

[WHAT?]

[she killed 47 groups of four pssionics. there would be two controls and two standards in each group. after the two standards died, and she had her data, she’d make the remaining unaffected control trolls the new standard group for two new control pssionics. she repeated this process 47 times, killing a total of 98 pssionics.]

[...]

[FUCK]

[the amount of energy she’s siphoning off into those two suns. is Insane. you were right about her bullshitting her averages. whatever she’s doing to those pssionics, Really Works.]

[YOU’RE SURE?]

[that’s not even the half of it, Hanagi. can you come Home? i feel like i’m losing my mind looking at these files.]

[OF COURSE.]

.

.

.

.

.

“You should really go to bed, Hanagi,” Bee says, several hours later.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking saying that to me.” Hanagi retorts. 

“How the student becomes the teacher.” The violetblood says, continuing to pin stuff on the ongoing corkboard the two of them had put up. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You have work in four hours.”

“And you don’t?”

“We’re… in over our heads.”

“You think I’ve never pulled a fucking all nighter before? I went to med school.” 

“I mean we're in over our heads with this, Hanagi.” She huffs, rapping her knuckle on the board. “So The Intoxicant has, for sweeps, been synthesizing Abidel’s blood to create a dangerous addictive and incredibly powerful pssionic enhancer.”

“So?” She retorts.

“So how are we going to get Abby out?” She says. “WIthout alerting her? Without her turning up every rock in the universe to find the troll on top which this entire deranged plan centers?” Bee says, gesturing. 

“A bridge we’ll cross when we get to it.” 

“Why am I the voice of reason here?” She says. 

“It was your plan. You’d give up so easily?”

“We’d need help to do this. A lot of it.” She answers. 

“How can you just look at this shit? I’m a doctor. You’re a scientist.” 

“A stretch of the definition of the word. I had a bachelors. You don’t need a job to feel empathy. I’m a person, Hanagi. Any person with a bloodpusher couldn’t stand to look at this but needs to. If I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t be.” 

“I’ll call in sick,” Hanagi says. 

“Your grave” She answers. And the girls continue to work in silence. 

.

.

.

.

.

“You get it too, don’t you?” Hanagi says, curled up in a ball as the sun sets, marking the early beginning of the next night. “You understand from these charts-” 

“I know how close she is.” Bee answers, morosely. As much of a statistician as she ever was.

“What are you looking at?” Cheong prompts, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Longse’s history with the fleet. So we know what we’re dealing with.” She replies, typing. “You know. Big picture.” 

A lot of the documents of The Intoxicants rise to power are public. A career that kicked off with a long stint in the propaganda ministries, an exponential rise to head of the department. Only for her to resign at the top of her game. A grant for scientific achievement and funding, a long hundred sweeps spent in the field, where Longse would throw out new chemical and physical weapon patents every ten or so sweeps. This constant juggling of her life as a general, and a scientist, and a politician, continues for centuries. Longse seems well inclined to give others the spotlight. She has quietly been perfecting her work for a lifetime, her accomplishments becoming more impressive as the centuries pass by. 

Right about 50 sweeps ago, there is a black hole in the data. 

It makes sense, knowing how much about this colony's existence had been carefully kept from the public eye. Maybe they should have quit looking then. Yet, with the morbid curiosity that keeps trolls eyes on car wrecks happening on the street, the two women keep digging. Into deeply classified documents. By about 25 sweeps ago, the war on this planet had been long since over. But that doesn’t mean The Intoxicant stopped bombing it, no. The entire planet was repurposed as a massive weapons testing ground for the inventor, getting her fleet patents at an unprecedented rate, until eventually, she blew it up, six sweeps ago, beyond repair. You see, after Hascha had been discharged from the fleet for his embarrassing surrender and consequent defeat, the fleet's ruling control over Corsica had been given fully to Faeria Longse. 

They are silent as they both stare at Bee’s Husktop screen. They know the name of Mondes' colony as well as any of the Cheongs. The two of them remain here for a long while, or a short while. In the end they can’t recall how long it was. The borders of minutes are blurred the less a mind has sleep. It’s even more difficult to define time when trying to understand something that feels so much bigger than it. It has started to really sink in for both of them now. The genocide of the past. The genocide of the present. 

The looming chilling prophecy of the genocide of the future. 

.

.

.

.

.

There is a knock at the door. 

“Hanagi?” Mondes asks. 

“Yeah? What? What are you doing up this late?” she calls back. 

“I’m up the same time I always am.” The oliveblood says, entering the room the two shared, illuminating it with a sudden burst of hallway light. Hanagi groans, squinting, and Bee hurriedly shuts her husktop. 

“Did you guys stay up all day?” He asks. 

The man stands there for a second, processing what the girls have done to their room. 

“...okay” He says slowly. “Just what exactly am I looking at here?”

“It’s a lot,” Hanagi manages. 

“Yeah, we don’t wanna dump it on you right before class.” Bee pipes up.

“Mondes doesn’t have class.” Hanagi reminds.

“It’s summer” He retorts, folding his arms. “I’ve been out for nearly a perigee. Did you really not notice?” 

“I have a full time job,” Bee says. 

“Fine. I’ll give you that one. But do I really not get an explanation for this? You’re being so suspicious.” 

Hanagi gestures at their asymmetric piles of paper and corkboard.

“This was ME” She defends. “ALL MY shit. And Bee told me to go to bed. I didn’t listen.” 

“You both have work in thirty minutes” Mondes replies. “I’m gonna call you in so you don’t pass out midway through a fitting and put someone's leg on backwards. Or pour boiling coffee on yourself”

“Ha Ha Ha.” Hanagi complains. “Ha. Fine.” 

“Go to bed” Mondes orders. “And as soon as your pans are both working again, tell me what the fuck you’re doing.” He finishes, and exits the room.

.

.

.

.

.

Two six hour naps later, Hanagi sits at the end of the kitchen tables as Bee makes her coffee across the room. 

“I’m trying to think, of how to fucking say this” She exhales. The two of them continue to move through space as if in some kind of shock. Dissociative and careful. 

“Okay” The rust huffs as Bee sets down a mug in front of her. 

“From the beginning,” She says. “When Bee was at the fleet academy she met a limeblood there, Abidel Tevian, a pssionic amplifier who Nandor put through a lot of horrifying cybernetic augmentation to their physical body.” She pauses. 

“...okay” Mondes says, his hands laying immovable at the table. 

“Bee, since she was revived, has wanted to rescue them. I agreed, knowing it would be difficult and maybe risky, but not able to stand such a malpractice, terrifying misuse of prosthetics technology. So lately, I’ve been poking around Fleet files to find more information on this.”

“Okay.” Mondes repeats. 

“And we kind of just found” Hanagi cuts herself off, silent for a moment before continuing.

“-something that really raises both the stakes and the difficulty of this situation.” 

“Ah,” He responds

Hanagi glances at him, and then back at Bee. “Tap out.” She says, requesting Bee take over the explanation. “You know the math better.” She lies, not wanting to dive too deep into what she had seen, that all consuming sinking feeling in her chest.

“Okay.” Bee answers “Do you know the fleet general, The Intoxicant?”

Mondes blinks, momentarily, a rapid surge of emotion consuming him. 

“Yes.” He says quietly. 

The girls share a glance as if not sure how deep Mondes’s knowledge went, not sure how to continue. He doesn’t not elaborate. So, eventually, Bee continues. 

“Okay” She says, poised like a soldier giving a report. Having more practice than Hanagi in weaponizing her detachment against her horror and grief. 

“Since Abby was a grub, The Intoxicant has been synthesizing their blood to make a pssionic enhancer. An incredibly powerful one. That increases output by tenfold. It is addictive to the user, to the point the physical dependance makes their bodies degrade until death. The formula works, Longse is just attempting to make it safe past a certain threshold. She has calculated the budget of the Alternian fleet. She has calculated how much the increased energy output would benefit them financially. And how much the short life spans of pssionics would lose them money. And by way of these variables, and many more, created an …equation” Bee pauses to breathe, for just a moment.

“...An equation that can be solved to discover the ideal number of sweeps the pssionics need to last. If they live to this certain point, that's when the enhancer begins to be well worth its financial detriments, and actually starts saving the fleet a lot of money. After she reaches this point, Longse intends to patent the enhancer, and… roll it out to be used by the fleet. Something that would increase the fleets financial gain from their contest, but also increase the pace the fleet burns through pssionics dramatically. It would make their lives absolutely miserable, and more difficult to escape, due the formula’s addictive qualities, and due to the fleet being the only one that has access to Abidel, and the patent for Culucaminegic Ampheparietakinetic Pssiopote-” She narrates, with all the range of emotion of a text to speech program. 

“You don’t have to say the whole fucking thing, Bee. Longse just calls it CAP in her notes.” Hanagi pitches in, bristling at her formality. 

“I’m sorry.” Bee pauses, continuing to act so reservedly. “CAP’s patent” She says, “I just wanted to give you a better idea of it’s chemical makeup. Longse accomplishing this would be bad, because-” 

“I don’t need to know it’s chemical makeup… But I think I understand why it’s bad.” Mondes says softly. “What are we gonna do?” 

“You’re-” Hanagi stumbles. “Not gonna tell us not to do this shit?” 

“Why would I tell you not to try and stop a genocide?” He says quietly. 

“Okay but” Hanagi stumbles. “The fucking scale of this thing is- are we really gonna play those odds again? We were SECONDS from dying in the prison break.” She says, seeming to have become more trepidatious since getting some real sleep.

“Well,” Bee begins. Funny, how they seem to have switched places in the argument since waking. “Considering-” She continues. 

“I just! I’m a fucking prosthetics doctor! I’m not a fucking, rebel mastermind. We barely scraped by. Barely.” She rambles.

“Give yourself a little credit Hanagi” Bee replies, stubbornly. “You had five nights. You made it work. Even in her most generous estimates, The Intoxicant thinks it will take few perigees for CAP to go public. You had no resources when you broke into the prison. Right now, we have money. We have access to Longse and Nandor’s files. We have connections with several talented individuals. And most importantly. We have time.”

“Says Bee Monark, the voice of reason” Hanagi retorts, bitingly. 

“You said the same thing” She retorts. “Last night. Bridges we’ll cross when we get to them. But now that Mondes is in the room we’re not friends anymore?”

“Did you want me to tell you not to do it?” Mondes answers, after a pause. “Do you want me to say no, it’s totally fine if everyone in this room just forgets what they know? I won’t.”

There is a long silence. Neither Hanagi nor Bee able to think of how to respond to that. Hanagi stares at the foam of her coffee, it is probably getting cold by now. Losing herself in the intricacies of lines of the heart in bubbles. Watching them pop and fade at a snails pace.

“I don’t even know where to fucking start to try.” Hanagi says, setting down her mug, having drunk none of it. “We’d need so many things. We’d need to know a way to get to her satellite without being tracked by the fleet.”

“I can rig Mondes’s ship to be more stealthy.” Bee offers. 

“Okay, but, we still gotta find the plans for the satellite, figure out how to break into it. We might need a guy on the inside, honestly! We gotta figure out how to survive the security measures. How to have alibis. How to keep this all secret after having been- in the public eye for so long!”

“Maybe we could make some kind of smoke screen.” Bee says, ever the tactician. Mondes has stood up silently, and is pacing. 

“Something to distract the Alternian public and cloak our actions.” She elaborates. 

Mondes has pulled a tiny paper card, long since forgotten, from a pocket in his wallet. Holding it in his hands as he paces. 

“Like, start some drama with one of the other siblings or some shit?” Hanagi extrapolates. 

Mondes halts suddenly. 

“Okay” He says. “I’ve got it” 

The other two trolls stare at him. 

“What?” Bee asks. 

The oliveblood sits back down. He places his old music teacher's card on the table. 

“It’s probably get a lot of media attention,” He says. “If I attempted to be the first lowblood to enter a very prestigious orchestra contest, wouldn’t it?”

[pseudowho]

Hi Haitch 🥺 I’ve never sent an ask in but I really need some guidance with how to deal with the adults in my family

To cut it down into simple terms I’m in my early years of studying psychology and I’ve just about had it with the taunts I get in response to that. I have to preface that my mom has never taken part in this, she encouraged me to study this in the first place, but she also doesn’t speak out against it ever

From the day I applied, my family (specifically my dad and brother) has been really .. i dont even know, just off about it.

I remember them being like “are you /sure/ you want to do it? why not do something else? why dont you want do to [blank] instead? think about your personality… do you think you can handle dealing with people like that?”.

Throughout my first year they kept on checking in on me like “do you /still/ want to do psychology? have you considered switching? its /really/ hard”

It’s like this curse I’ve placed on myself? Every time I get angry or upset or emotional, or just about do anything that isn’t what aligns with what they want the response is “you’re a psychologist, you should change the way you think” “people are going to sit in your office and say something and you’ll end up crying instead.” “if you’re so sensitive how will you become a psychologist?”. Another instance is that I’ve always been a picky eater and it was never an issue, but ever since I started uni it’s been a constant “you’re a psychologist. why don’t you like this? please, fix yourself” as if I didn’t hate those foods since I was like 7 or 8. I can’t understand if I’m truly overreacting or not.

Whatever I started out of self interest and (however limited) passion is now twisting into hate and anger. In the beginning I used that energy to continue with spite and prove them wrong but I genuinely dont have the bandwidth to deal with it for another 4 or 5 years, especially considering we’re not a culture that moves out of the house.

Sorry for the overload Haitch, but I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this. I hope you’re having a good day!

Counterpoint:

If you're not sensitive, how will you be a psychologist? I should think that with emotional sensitivity and empathy, you'll be able to uniquely connect with and understand people in a way that could only be enhanced through an education in Psychology.

Let's break down the systematic way your male family members oppress the female ones in your family.

Your mother was all for it at first; now she's not. Why? Because your father has bullied her into submission, and to toe the line to be 'concerned' that you cannot do it. You can help your mother, if you like, once you have helped yourself. Let's focus on you, now.

Your brother has learned how to be a 'man' from your father, whose cock fragile ego can only feel big if the women and girls in the family are beneath him. So he treads on them. He makes them feel small, and ensures their self-esteem is quashed. Often, this walks hand in hand with demeaning their academic pursuits as well.

He failed at stopping you going into Psychology in the first place. Yikes! He's afraid you're going to get an amazing education and subsequently be above him, and unsquashable.

So what's the next step? Ah! Convince her that she's too emotionally weak to do it. This is a great tactic, because undoubtedly, your emotional reactions have been systematically (and at points, I'm sure, simultaneously) diminished and told that they're over-reactions. You've been taught that your emotions are weak, and annoying, and fragile, and simply wrong.

It's a brilliant tactic, because he has rendered you and your mother fragile and bullied over the years. Welcome to Gaslighting 101! Please remember, if you are systematically abused to the point where you believe this is normal, this is the behaviour you would come to expect from a romantic partner, too, and that generational cycle will continue.

You are made of porcelain and covered in cracks, so he seeks to apply just enough pressure to crush you. Your brother, who has learned how to be a 'man' from your father, is doing exactly what he's been taught. Men like this are afraid of powerful women, and education is power.

So now, you repair yourself with gold. View their words for what they are; bullying, and an attempt to oppress you.

Get your education. Access therapy and counselling services, because you need to unravel how this systematic male oppression has woven itself into you. There are roots in you, and they're rotten, but they can be remedied. YOU are not rotten. YOU are not weak. YOU are a threat to your father and brother; wear that as a badge of honour.

Physician, health thyself.

These weak little men are threatened by you.

Right now, they are winning. Don't fucking let them. You have a choice here; get sad, or get strong. The path you choose will determine the fabric of you as a person, and you are in charge.

Come on, kiddo. That little central part of you is telling you that they're wrong, and it's absolutely correct. That's why you Inboxed me, right?

I wish I could be there to tear them apart for you, but this ball is in your court. The majority of the men in my family are like this, too, and you will find even now, as a powerful woman, they attempt to belittle me. It doesn't work and it is met with scorn, and god, it's so satisfying to watch these men shrivel.

I swear to god, work for this. You dedicate your time to yourself and your work. Absolutely smash this degree. Learn, and learn, because knowledge is power. Understand yourself, and forgive yourself.

You can do it, baby.

Be strong.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[i-mybrunettelady]

my future will listen to me

Summary: Alysannyra meets her patron goddess, Lyssa, at long last. Content warnings: None Spoilers: HoT & LWS3 Note: My piece for the @gw2-zine! Go check out the world of my lovely collaborators, and go follow the zine blog! Happy zine release day!

I 

Everyone’s dressed the same, in the same white robe. It’s designed so that it’ll never be worn outside of the ceremony and outside of this one moment in a child’s life, which makes the fine silver embroidery on it that much more meaningful. Alysannyra cannot fathom how it was made - they’d just taken her measurements one day and three weeks later, this gown appeared on their door. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she wears it with as much pride as she can, not knowing where her blessings lie yet. She wears her hair down like everyone else and she tries to not hate how it blends her in with a whole generation of eight-year olds in the watchful eyes of the high society of Divinity’s Reach. 

There are two children before her. She can feel the stares of the proud parents in the shadows of the grand church. She can’t turn, not now, because the question she needs to answer can’t be found in their expectant and somber silence. Murals cast a green light on the pale hair of a boy next to her, but he doesn’t seem unsure. Nervous, maybe, but not unsure. 

Anyone would be nervous in the presence of gods. Their statues cast large shadows in their absence. And the children are to kneel before the one whose gifts they have and go into their church’s fold. It’s no small task, but if Alysannyra knows anything, it’s that she can’t cower under the burden of it. So she stands with her back straight, in a white robe that tickles her ankles from the early morning breeze, and she doesn’t turn to her family. 

Instead, she looks between Lyssa and Balthazar, trying to chase where the feeling in her heart is leading her. So far, the pull’s stronger with Lyssa, but Nyra doesn’t have magic. She isn’t worried. She’s only eight; nobody has magic yet. But some have a better idea of what it might be than others. A child walks over to kneel before Melandru. A priest accepts the handle they’d been carrying and places it by Her feet. Green magic swirls around them and it’s done. 

A clicking sound of hundreds of little heels echoes against the stone floor as they all make one step forward. 

A choice has to be made, and soon. Alysannyra carries her head high, taller than most other kids already, and stares at Lyssa’s graceful form in the center of the Six. Pinks and purples of the vitrage behind her twin forms cast an inviting light that seems to twist and bend in strange shapes, as if to spite the harmony that doesn’t seem perturbed by them. Balthazar’s helmet feels comfortable; Alysannyra, too, will one day wear a helmet, as a member of the Seraph. Its weight feels irrelevant, necessary, part of the regalia as much as the white robe is. She can almost feel the pressure of the hot metal in her bare hands and she feels the war call to her. 

The blonde-haired boy steps forward and steadily walks towards Grenth. He offers the candle, if a little clumsily, and kneels as an unsettling magic twirls around him. Alysannyra watches when his eyes widen just slightly, feeling the magic on his skin, and that is done, too. He is now a member of the Church of Grenth, potential necromancer in the making. He moves away with that knowledge, and now it’s Alysannyra’s turn. 

She doesn’t move quite yet. The limited time she had to choose wasn’t enough, but she can’t ruin this. Her family’s reputation, at least for a season, is at stake, and that little feeling in her chest that burns every time someone calls her Lady Ainsaph, too. She takes a deep breath, looks once more, stares into the eyes of the statues, and turns right. She is a daughter of Ascalon, a daughter of war, and Balthazar would be fitting. 

She lifts one foot off the ground when something in her gut screams no. She holds her head high as she suddenly turns left and walks down to where Lyssa is, candle in hand. Clamor of the people is silenced by the determined clicking of her heels, but she feels at peace. 

Come, daughter, the statue seems to say. Part of her knows this will make people talk, but in a strange way, she looks forward to it. She looks forward to the chaos a slight movement of feet will cause, and lifts her head even higher. 

And when she finally kneels and feels the magic seep into her skin, Alysannyra knows she’s made the right choice. Let them talk, let them gawk. 

At least she’s not just a simple Lady Ainsaph anymore, even if the rebellion is as small as this. 

II

Lyssa’s Reliquary is a fucking maze. Shelves of stone that house both man and monster shaped horrors would be enough to disorient most people, and such feeling is only made worse by the little portals that pop up like zits in the most random fucking places. Nyra hates them the most, even though she’s trying to stay level headed in the face of illusions that remind her of all the bad things she’s done and all the blood on her hands. 

But portals don’t disorient her. The chaos of the reliquary only bothered her for mere seconds before she found the rhythm in this place and she’s been riding it ever since. Renira tries to keep up, visibly struggling. Nyra traverses the sacred space like she was born to do it, and maybe she was. Maybe at birth, Lyssa watched from wherever She is now and pointed Her clawed hand (because in Nyra’s mind, Lyssa’s hands have always been clawed) in her direction so she could pass through Her reliquary once she grew up. 

It’s a comforting thought, in a way. It’s the only comfort she has when she slices through a tortured, gruesome vision of Apatia, dead by Nyra’s own hand. It’s the sole thing keeping her sane when she falls through yet another portal to escape the grasp of an illusory Mordrem Trahearne. 

“Where to now? How do we get down?” Renira shouts, wiping sweat off her brow. She swallows when she looks down at the ground below, but it’s the only sign of distress she offers. Nyra’s getting just slightly better at reading her. Or maybe she just lets Nyra see. Her eyes, golden like a cat’s in the stifling, dark chaos around them, don’t betray anything but a grim determination. 

“I think I know the way down,” Nyra says. “It won’t end with us falling to our deaths, hopefully. I’m getting quite a feel for this place.” 

“Of course you are,” Renira replies. “You’re about as chaotic as this reliquary is.” She gives a small smile. “It suits you, after all.” 

“Ever the charmer, Sulver,” Nyra shakes her head. In another life, they might have developed a romance following their brief hookup in Ebonhawke years ago, and the thought of exploring this place with a lover sounds romantic until she remembers she killed her actual lover in Maguuma. Now, it's a flaring ache that makes her look away in shame. 

“You’re alright, Nyra,” Renira says, strangely gentle. She places a gloved hand on Nyra’s shoulder and though she can’t feel the comfort, she feels undeserving of such sentiment. She’s never really emoted well, but she supposes a lifetime of spying on people makes it easy to identify emotions, regardless of expression or lack thereof. 

Nyra shakes her hand off. “Let’s go,” she says. Renira simply nods. 

But before they can make a single step, a big voice booms in the wind. “That is, in fact, the correct way, Alysannyra Ainsaf! It’s taken you a lot less time than I’d anticipated, too.” 

Nyra’s heart sinks to her feet. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is - the goddess Herself, as much in the flesh as they come these days, and She sounds more than a little smug about it all. 

It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Hail, Lyssa,” she says loudly. A part of her hates how uncertain she sounds, but to make up for it, she turns to the direction of Lyssa's voice. She can’t see Her, of course; mortals can’t see gods. Nyra remembers the story of Malchor. She likes her ability to see, thank you very much. She remembers how anguished his ghost was, howling Dwayna’s name like an injured beast.

And maybe she’s like that, too, alive yet forced to walk with guilt and grief eating away at her spirit and her bones. Because she tried to jump into the sea below not that long ago. In Lyssa’s temple, her mind cruelly supplies and Nyra shivers beneath her armor.  

Can she even bear to look Lyssa in the eye now? 

“Formal,” Lyssa says. “There is no need, daughter. I think you’re right at home. Would you be so formal with your parents?” 

Nyra sits down. Renira watches, unsure of what to do, and she signals her to do the same. “If I’m at home, goddess,” Nyra says, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I bring a guest?” 

“Your mesmer friend? She can stay. Her magic is in my domain, though her blessings are, funnily enough, not. What is your name, mesmer?” 

“Renira, goddess,” she says cautiously. 

“Illusory,” Lyssa replies. “Just like it should be.” 

Renira stiffens and digs her nails in her gloves, but her face remains calm. “Yes, goddess.” 

Nyra wants to ask what that is all about, but knows she needs to tread cautiously, too. Her head’s too exhausted and heavy for two mind games at once. Besides, she needs Renira as an ally here and she’s not stupid enough to risk it by asking questions like this. 

“Lyssa, I have a question,” Nyra says. She swears she can see the wind around them move to face her and tilt a little to the side in curiosity. “You invited me here in a dream. You spoke to me when you sensed that we were backed into a corner in our search, so it stands to reason that you know what we’re after. If I may, what information do you have on Balthazar’s whereabouts?” 

Lyssa’s laughter echoes like a thousand drums, and Nyra digs her clawed gauntlets into her thighs to not cover her ears. She can feel Renira looking at her, maybe bewildered, maybe with that ever present calm, but she doesn’t want to turn away now. A part of her knows she should be more humble, now that she has blood on her hands that will never go away as long as she’s alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t answer that little voice in her head that slaps the notion away like a gnat. 

“Oh, you’re brave!” Lyssa says as laughter dies on Her windy lips. “Humanity hasn’t produced a person this fearless in a long, long while.” 

“That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose,” Nyra says. Her throat becomes tight and her eyes prickle with tears. “I tried to jump from Your temple not that long ago. I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions directly.” 

“I know you did,” Her voice becomes quieter. Of course She knows. “Your mind is still in chaos. It will be until your death. You placed any peace for yourself at the altar of glory long ago.” The wind blows forward, and a ghostly hand cups Nyra’s cheek. It’s cold and unsettling and it makes her skin crawl. She breathes out and closes her eyes tightly. Her heart feels like it wants to beat out of her chest. “Was it worth it?” 

Nyra’s quiet for a while. Tears slide down her skin, burning, yet the ghostly fingers wipe them away. She feels the heaviness of her armor, the tickling of her hair that was once a flag behind her and that now barely reaches her shoulders. Her shoulder aches from the fighting, her heart aches from the evil she’s done, all in the name of her own glory and this fucking world that she’s judged to be worthy of Trahearne’s life. She feels claws softly digging into the sweaty skin of her cheek, as sharp as the ones on her hands. 

Nyra tears light with them and makes it her own. If Lyssa draws blood, that too would belong to Nyra. 

Nyra opens her eyes. “Yes.” 

Lyssa runs a hand through her hair. “I’d hunt you down if you answered any differently,” She simply says. “I sent you that dream because I knew you would be able to stand up to Balthazar. You, daughter, and nobody else. You will either kill him or die trying.” She then lets go and Nyra catches her breath fully again, like a pressure has been lifted.

“I only need to track him down, then,” Nyra says, with a renewed fire in her chest. “So, tell me what you know, goddess.” 

III

She does find Balthazar in the end. These days, the memory of him doesn’t burn so painfully as it did at first. The scars he left on her arms and her legs and on the skin of her stomach and lower back remain hidden under clothes, but Nyra knows they’re there. 

She’s used to them, somehow. They’re her shrine to her heresy, after all. In her home chapel, his place is empty because she carries the reminder of him on her skin. And if she, in her grief-induced craze, had her way, she’d bring down every single statue of him in Tyria by hand. 

Let her be the only shrine he’ll ever have left, on a wartorn path to erase everything else. Sometimes, she remembers Lyssa asking her if it’s worth it. If she thought she knew pain then, when she stood before her goddess, she should’ve considered her answer a little more. 

But Nyra knows pain now. She knows the pain of grief, of loss, of a broken faith, and her answer remains the same. Gods have left Tyria, but this answer is the closest thing she has to a divine oath. 

It’s always worth it.

[atopvisenyashill]

What about laenor live and daemon die scenario?

Gonna be honest this is best case scenario for Rhaenyra husband wise lmaoooo.

Laenor isn’t a particularly present husband, in the show or in the books, but I think having a husband who just doesn’t pay attention to you is better than having one that your opps actively hate. Like, listen I love Daemon and I would even go so far as to say that I am a hashtag daemon apologist in several scenes but also this man is just objectively bad for Rhaenyra. He is the Aemond of her side; he’s too violent, too impulsive, too angry, too ready to escalate a situation, got too much he feels he has to prove. The main thing Daemon has going for him is his history in war being an advantage, but Laenor also has that AND he has a handle on his temper, if not his grief.

But details on where specifically I think this affects the plot-

Aegon III & Viserys II are butterfly effected away. This doesn’t mean Rhaenyra won’t have more kids tho. Depending on which canon you’re following here, it’s not impossible that Rhaenyra might take another lover, out of loneliness, wanting to have more children, or just like, spite, and if Rhaenyra & Laenor properly reconcile in their marriage, they may even attempt to have their own again to try to throw off the rumors about the older boys.

The Vaemond thing just objectively goes better. This isn’t hard, because it basically couldn’t have gone worse. First of all, in the books Rhaenyra sends Daemon to kill him. She cannot send Laenor to do it because that’s kinslaying which means she’d have to like, do it herself, and Rhaenyra is fierce but she’s not a warrior like Visenya. As far as we know, she cannot actually swordfight. So even if she has some sort of breakdown in front of Laenor begging him to protect their sons’ claims, Vaemond is NOT getting fed to Syrax publicly. Secondly, it’s a lot harder to continuously push that the boys are bastards when the father is standing right there going “well i’m saying they’re mine” like Vaemond would look INSANE especialy since LAENOR is Corlys’ heir so what is Vaemond pushing on here, exactly?? “Jump over Laenor in the succession to me??” Absolutely not! He’s going to approach this much differently!

The Dragon Twins are now Dragon Orphans. After the stepstones war, he doesn’t really do anything that could get him killed until the dance starts which means - who assassinates his ass? Does he die in tourney? Does Otto get worried about what Daemon would do once Otto takes the throne, and just decides to have him killed? And if he does - I mean fuck, a Faceless Man would be super expensive bc Daemon is famous as hell, but he’s also not a complete idiot and a regular assassin is probably not gonna whack him. If it’s obviously suspicious, Rhaenyra definitely panics over it, not to mention Baela and Rhaena are now orphaned and don’t have Rhaenyra as the mom who Stepped Up so Corlys has complete control over what happens to the dragon twins. He’s not gonna break the betrothals but at the same time, he does have a lil bit of leverage over Rhaenyra here. If Daemon dies in tourney, that’s hilarious, but probably doesn’t make Rhaenyra spiral over the Greens coming to murder her kids (she absolutely takes it hard emotionally though). If he gets sick suddenly and dies, I think Rhaenyra does get suspicious still but is fine. However, at the end of the day, Baela and Rhaena have no parents, nor do they have a stepmother.

There’s a lot of dragons to fight over now. So the thing is, in the book, Aemond claims Vhagar at Laenor’s funeral, not Laena’s. He’s not mentioned to have been at Laena’s funeral at all even though she died first. I’m not really sure what happens with the dragons once their riders die - you can’t really like, herd them back to KL if you can’t ride them. We know Vermithor and Silverwing just nested somewhere on Dragonstone and were left alone for awhile, for example, so I get the impression they just like. Let the dragon chill wherever the rider died and if someone claims it, someone claims it (which is how Laena got Vhagar in the first place). BUT. There’s two dragons riderless now, potentially just hanging out on Driftmark - Vhagar AND Caraxes. Maybe Aemond follows Vhagar’s call and manages to claim her before Rhaena does. Maybe Rhaena can’t actually claim her and Vhagar wanders somewhere safer for Aemond to attempt to claim her. Maybe Rhaena feels a call to Caraxes and claims him, so when Aemond claims Vhagar it’s not a big fight. There’s a lot of different ways this could go.

Addam won’t ever claim Seasmoke. That makes me sad. Aw maybe Addam claims Vhagar, we know she loves sad kids!!! I can dream!!!!

Driftmark goes differently. I say different and not goes away because the whole family is still going to gather to inter Daemon’s ashes at Dragonstone, and there could still be some high tensions but without being concrete about where he dies, we don’t really know where Vhagar or Caraxes are hanging out.

[WHEN does Daemon die in the show tho. Do he and Rhaenyra fuck and then he chokes on a pickle?? That’s gonna make her SPIRAL omg. Does he die with Laena in Pentos? Rhaenys is gonna have to fly to Pentos to go pick up the girls bc they have NO ONE now. How did Vhagar get back to Driftmark in the show, did Daemon just say “hey girl just follow Caraxes” and she was like “Yeah fine whatever I fucjing hate Pentos anyway”? How are they getting Caraxes AND Vhagar back to Dragonstone??? Anyways, Aemond would still get Vhagar in the show, probably, but Rhaena could claim Caraxes if she wanted]

Blood and Cheese is so much different. Aemond’s murder of Lucerys demands some sort of answer; there’s certainly the kinslaying & escalation of the war angle but also, he just like, murders someone bc his pride is hurt under a peace banner. This is the second dumbest move in the whole war (the first is B&C). Laenor (and Corlys & probs Rhaenys, bc he’s definitely checking in with his parents for what to do here) is probably yelling to everyone that Aemond is a kinslayer, but this post here gives a great alternative which is hostage taking. A son for a son - you murdered Lucerys so to keep you on better behavior, we are abducting your son. Certainly a cruel, brutal thing to do but like, I think a lot of people in Westeros would see this as a strong move so long as the Blacks treat whichever child they abducted (i’m assuming jaehaerys here) with all the courtesy and respect owed to a child hostage. If they posit themselves as people willing to play by the rules but not be pushed around, going up against the kinslaying tyrants who usurped them? Bro, that’s just a slam DUNK in PR, I think the Greens are cooked in terms of reputation here.

What’s the pattern you notice here? Well it’s that Rhaenyra’s reputation is a LOT better in this scenario and also, who has what dragon is kinda up in the air. Some people were always gonna side with the Greens for a variety of reasons but during the “war of words” where everyone is trying to shore up support, Rhaenyra may win more people to her side because her reputation has not taken several hits, and she’s made the Greens look bad.

However, while Rhaenyra certainly looks better and may gain allies faster, I still think there are some problems here - Otto is actively planning a coup & Rhaenyra is not in the capital. IF, after Harwin & Lyonel dies, Viserys still names Otto as his Hand, Rhaenyra is still roughly in a similar spot as in canon. I was going to suggest Laenor be named Hand (with Rhaenyra doing the work in the background) but I think that’s just as much of a long shot as Rhaenyra being named Hand, because Viserys is wary of Corlys & Rhaenys having too much influence (even though…. would have been better if the Hightowers had less power than his HEIR, Viserys pls). Most of Laenor’s use comes once the conflict starts - a cooler head to deal with the fallout of Luke’s death, to support Rhaenyra in the capital, to assert the claims of the Velaryon boys. At the same time, if Aegon still fires Otto after the Cargyll debacle & B&C (Laenor’s Version), and Criston still designs a trap, it’s possible that instead of Rhaenys dying in it, Laenor dies in it. But also maybe not!! Maybe Laenor, who has experience in battle, manages to wriggle his way out of the fight, or manages to take Sunfyre completely out, or even kill Aegon or Aemond. Aegon losing Sunfyre so early would imo be a huge blow to morale and if Aegon DIES this early? Even if all he does is exactly what Rhaenys and Meleys manage, that still means Rhaenyra has Rhaenys and Meleys still alive - maybe this means Rhaenyra is able to hold the capital for longer, maybe it means Rhaenys stays at Dragonstone and notices Aegon & Sunfyre and goes after them instead of Baela and Moondancer.

[finalmemesx]

Red, White & Royal Blue

By Casey McQuiston

“What’d you steal today?”

“Anything good this week?”

“That one is true.”

“Oh yeah, that was a wild night.”

“That can’t possibly be a real class you’re taking.”

“Whose wedding?”

“You’re going to ask them to dance, then?”

“Something is wrong with both of you.”

“Could be weirdly effective.”

“Do either of y’all know what a viscount is?”

“It’s cute how you think everything is about you.”

“It should be, honestly.”

“Do you know how to waltz?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

“I believe perhaps you should consider switching to water.”

“I want so badly for you to explain to me how this is funny.”

“Please, tell me another joke.”

“Is it too late to take the faking-my-death option?”

“Are you really not understanding how much I don’t care at all how you feel about this?” “You won’t miss anything.”

“So there’s really no way I’m getting out of this?”

“I don’t know what else to do, is the thing.”

“Shakespearean in that hopefully I’ll get stabbed to death.”

“I can’t believe I have to learn this garbage.”

“That’s because you are a nerd.”

“Everything looks like a museum.”

“Have you practiced what you’ll say tomorrow?”

“I think you’ve got the right idea.”

“Do you mind?”

“This is your fault!”

“How is this possibly my fault?”

“I cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

“So you do have some fight in you.”

“I’d rather not be the little spoon.”

“Do you really want to have that conversation?”

“I didn’t realize you heard that.”

“I feel like you’re missing the point.”

“How can I be wrong about my favorite? It’s a personal truth.”

“It’s a personal truth that is wrong and bad.”

“You exhaust me.”

“I enchant you.”

“I’ll call security.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wow, I thought I could trust you.”

“It was like you were tying to set him on fire with your mind.”

“What is your point?”

“Bring them to the house.”

“Are you done? I have some actual work to do.”

“Because we all knew better than to try and stop you.”

“Just bring me my pizza.”

“It ever make you laugh to think how much this pisses assholes off?”

“You really think it’s such a bad idea?”

“You don’t think I was out of line?”

“You were in on this, weren’t you?”

“Did this man just say ‘sweat drop down my balls’?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m going for a fun, and you’re coming with me.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?”

“Cool to see you’re not dead or anything.”

“Do you mind?”

“Find your way here okay?”

“You’ve been dodging me for weeks.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t like that look.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Call it historical curiosity.”

“So you’re upset because the rumors aren’t true.”

“You are a wanker.”

“I’m going to need you to not call me that right now.”

“You’ve always backed me up until now.”

“Why don’t you say whatever it is you need to say?”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“It’s not about that. This time is different.”

“Hello, excuse me, can we get another round of these please?”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re a demon?”

“I trust you can handle yourself?”

“Bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Would you describe it as supersonic?”

“Can y’all go sit somewhere else?”

“Awesome, fuckin’ love doing things out of spite.”

“Has anyone shown you around the clubhouse yet?”

“You really are determined to get shoved out of an emergency hatch one day, huh?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Well, I hope it was fun, because if anyone ever finds out about this, we’re all fucked.”

“Yes, we can unpack the ironic symbolism later. Go.”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to spend tonight in jail.”

“Okay, I’m clearing my schedule for the afternoon.”

“I don’t believe in systems when I’m on vacation.”

“How long have you lot come out here?”

“Hope you’re ready to fuckin’ party.”

“Fuck off, five-nine is average.”

“Can’t you ever just do one thing without having to be so goddamn extra about it?”

“Do you have any idea what that means?”

“You think I don’t care as much as you?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

“I never said you were a coward.”

“Your hair in the mornings is truly a wonder to behold.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I suppose we do have to face the consequences at some point.”

“When are you going to tell us who you’re dating?”

“You gonna fight me?”

“I want you to tell me why.”

“You’re not the same.”

“How the fuck did they get these?”

“You’re giving my ulcer an ulcer.”

“But short for a stormtrooper.”

“Thank God you’re here. I was about to come get you myself.”

“I fucking love you.”

“You’re too young to understand.”

“That is the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, will you all shut up for a second?”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I said, you look great, baby!”

“My life is a cosmic joke and you’re not a real person.”

“You should have tried to stop me.”

“Are you actually quitting for real?”

“How are things over there?”

“Wanted to come by to see if I could help with anything.”

“Will you please just help me pick?”

“Fire under my ass for no good goddamn reason.”

“You’re kind of hot when you get all indignant.”

[merlinemrys]

hi!! I was wondering if you have some fanfic recommendations with BAMF!Arthur or just him being like an amazing King/leader? <3

Preferably Gen, but if it's good, I wouldnt mind if its Slash 🫶🫶

hiiii !! sorry i'm getting to this so late! there aren't a lot of gen bamf arthur fics (at least tagged on ao3) but here r some recs 💙

Unfit by s0mmerspr0ssen (rated t, 106k)

Summary: Shortly after coming to Camelot, physician’s apprentice Merlin learns that Prince Arthur is suffering from a mysterious ailment nobody is willing to talk about. The Prince keeps exclusively to his chambers and is in danger of losing his status as heir apparent to the throne. When Merlin finally comes face to face with him, the Prince and he do not exactly hit it off. But in spite of Prince Arthur’s initial hostility, Merlin finds himself determined to help him – with medicine as much as with magic.

↳ this is not a typical bamf arthur fic but it is so incredible to read abt him dealing with his disability and come out the other end a great leader

Five Times Arthur Protected Merlin by Howlingdawn (rated gen, 5k)

Summary: …and one time he didn't. Or, Arthur and Merlin are always getting into fights, but Arthur is always there to get Merlin out of danger. Except when he's too slow.

Lies Undone by kimirce (rated gen, 4k)

Summary: The day after Morgause's deception nearly tricked Arthur into killing his own father, Arthur overhears a very interesting conversation between his manservant and King Uther.

How Arthur Got His Groove Back by thegeminisage (rated t, merthur, 134k)

Summary: Arthur Pendragon is at an all-time low: he’s still suffering from the day he nearly dueled his father to the death, his sword arm has been wounded so grievously he may never fight again, and, worst of all, every last soul in Camelot and the kingdoms beyond have had magic forced on them overnight. Now Arthur must contend with the chaos of magic run rampant, his father’s dangerous instability, Morgana’s increasing distance, catching Merlin in more lies than he can count, and the magic that is now threatening to consume him—all while searching for a way to break the curse before it consumes them all. It’s not going to be easy: Arthur grapples with a destiny he’s not sure he can handle, and a past he’d rather forget—and if he wants to save his people, he must be prepared to confront hard truths and harder choices. It’s a trial by fire, one that risks destroying everything Arthur has left to hold dear should he fail. But with enough courage, enough understanding, and maybe just a touch of magic, there’s nothing he can’t face.

↳ ngl i will always rec this is somebody is looking for smth remotely arthur-centric. what can i say! he's sexy, he's got a flaming sword, and he's iconic!

and i'm usually a canon girlie but i canNOT not put you only live twice in an ask about bamf arthur. yolt is a reincarnation/james bond merthur fic and arthur is so sexy in it i cannot stress that enough! i will also redirect u to this arthur-centric fic rec post bc most arthur-centric fic do have elements of bamf arthur!

[literaila]

Stop that.

Of all the crimes I've committed, this one is the last straw for you? Of all the nonsense, you draw line here?? Leave me and my gallery alone you can pry those screenshots out of my cold, dead hands!

Damn... That's kinda admirable but can't relate. Evidently. How can you be so consistent in decluttering? Asking for a friend.

Establishing yourself as the ring leader I see. No but everyone needs a friend like that.

I'm flattered. 😌 Suddenly being your only foe doesn't seem too bad. I was ready to be offended.

yes it is, thank you. i cannot handle the messy camera rules—that i simply won’t do. i’ll be looking forward to that moment

i work mostly out of spite, angry cleaning is a real job i’m a full time employee. just hoard some rage for a bit and then do a little light (heavy) cleaning

i don’t think they do. i have one friend and she does not trust me at all. i can’t make the decisions.

we’ll see what you’ll say about that when my plot goes through… we’ll see

[dark-ambition]

Two headcanons about my version of Angel Dust that I’ve been mulling over recently.

(Under read more for length)

One being that he is very obsessive when it comes to his looks and how good his body looks, both to himself and others. He cannot handle it when others aren’t attracted to his body, not in the sense that “I need them to think I’m sexy”, but more of a deep, nasty rage where he just feels insulted and slighted if someone doesn’t show any interest, a very much sort of “you have fucking garbage taste” spiteful bitterness. That sort of egotism and bitter rage toward being seen as unattractive is a result of many factors. One factor simply because, that’s just who Angel is, he is naturally a very selfish person that loves to be the center of attention and hates it when people don’t see much to him/don’t think he isn’t worth the time of day, and another factor is because his looks are the sole reason he’s even in his career to begin with. To Angel, to stay in the game of the porn business, to continue to be the success that he is, he’s Gotta Be Sexy And Fuckable™️ to as many people as possible because if he’s not then. There goes his career, his worth as a person, his stardom, everything.

Obviously that is far from a healthy mindset, and part of it is born from Val working his ass constantly ragged in the porn scene, always constantly having to put on a sexy show for the masses every day of the week, but it’s also part of a more genuine fear response that maybe one day his own looks won’t be enough and a prettier looking face will up and take his place and then he’d be left out on the pavement.

The constant strain of his work has also affected him in another way. He’s developed a sort of latent nymphomania problem, where his body and mind have become so acclimated and attuned to sexual pleasure that it’s practically an addiction in and of itself to him. Sure, the thrill of most sex has long since worn itself out in his mind and his constant porn work has him seeing most sex as dull and drab, but also like…It feels good, it’s easy to do, and like drugs or booze, he can easily do it by himself or with someone else. It’s an addiction that he has a hard time shaking because his mind has both grown numb to the pleasure and also dependent on it just because of how much sex he does. To the point that he needs more and more of it to actually tire himself out make himself really get into it.

There are times when he can’t think of anything else to do so he just. Decides to jerk off. He’ll end up finishing, and then like 30 minutes later, he’s right back where he started so he’ll just start jerking off again, and so on and so forth, until he just spends the day in bed jacking off because he just can’t think of anything better to do. He often has a hand down his pants/has a habit of rubbing himself between his legs when he’s standing around or by himself just because again, it gives himself something minor to focus on. A little bit of sexual pleasure to take the edge off of his bored mind. Men/women, whatever a person has down their pants, doesn’t matter, he’s just willing to do it for the sake of just fucking and feeling good as a distraction, and it’s enough of a change for him to be into it, if not lazily so. He still has fun with sex, it still feels good, it’s not like he’s just sitting there staring at a wall, but he’s just so used to sex as a form of stimulus that it becomes just as openly natural as drinking or smoking, so most enthusiasm for it has gone out the window. It takes a lot for him to really get into anything anymore and if he finds someone that does give him that rush, he’ll be honestly pretty obsessed with them.

No one really notices because he always tries to at least put on a show or an effort for the person he’s fucking too. He won’t just lay there like a wet towel, he’ll do foreplay, participate, dirty talk, all that good stuff. He’s just doing it to make the sex more pleasurable for himself. Add a little kick to it to see if he can squeeze just a little more dopamine out of his system to give his orgasms more of a rush, like wringing water out of a wet towel.

[counterfeit-layla]

I am just really disappointed in the way BioWare is handling feedback. I will never give this company money again… if there is even a BioWare left after this catastrophe.

I cannot just turn brain off and consume shit products. That’s not how this works. That is not how you make games that sell and that is why they have not had a successful game in a decade.

Rook is written to always be right, always take responsibility for their actions, always be supportive and be the bestest moral paragon to have ever lived. It’s gross and toxically positive. Humans don’t behave this way, I’m sorry.

The copied ME ending does not make up for the lack of choice and dialogue options and mission options are meaningless.

Even if you send the Power of Friendship Crew to their doom, it does not matter. What happens doesn’t even change depending on who you send.

Backgrounds are equally meaningless. You get a few dialogue options here or there, but it changes nothing because at no point in this game do things actually change in any meaningful way, except for one solitary romance lockout.

The party itself is tragically underdeveloped as is romance. This is not what a slow burn is and it does not meet the expectations set by the developers of “found family” or the “most romantic Dragon Age game ever.”

It’s tepid at best, trope filled and downright baffling. Normal humans with boring normal issues: there is nothing behind them and they are certainly not “unhinged.” They even let their own ships get in the way of development with Rook, even for platonic relationships.

None of these people have evoked any kind of emotion other than disappointment.

They are less than the shallow character of Genshin Impact and I am gobsmacked that a fucking gacha game makes more complex characters than a AAA studio. Honestly, this is the worst crew out of any of the games. As someone else pointed out: walking memes.

Haha! Gay dads, but also tee hee age gap isn’t that cuuuuttteee? Coffee and Spite. I’m just so quirky!

It doesn’t matter what you say to any of them. 7 full fucking adults let you make major life decisions for them and that is absurd. Most interactions are breaking up various “fights” in which no actual adult would be having.

Why on earth would any of these people be a romantic interest for anyone is beyond me. They are toddlers in adult bodies and you are made to babysit them. That isn’t attractive.

I’m not sure that there was an actual adult in the vicinity of the crew who wrote this game.

The maps are pretty but ultimately empty, unless of course it’s a super simple puzzle for a box that may or may not be what you need. Further, the scrubbing of things like slaves in Tevinter and the general cleansing of faction sins takes any kind of emotion or interest in the world.

The memory system is cool, but its implementation again, amounts to absolutely nothing. Ooo the grocery list changed. Ooo Neve trusts people less. Ooops! Neve can: still be romanced, maxed to friendship, faction and still get the ridiculous “Hero of the Veilguard”. So what was the fucking point?

The systems are disjointed and incomplete, part mmo, part ME.

The characters cartoon style does not match the world in which they have been placed. The over all tone of this game is off, and the music is wildly out of place in so many areas that I had to turn it off.

There is no immersion because as soon as it gets even mildly interesting you are met with the most ridiculously cartoonish cutscene that reminds you that you’re in a nightmare Pixar movie that you can’t take seriously because they didn’t take it seriously.

We have defaulted to the blame EA excuses for far too long. An entire decade, no matter what happened, is more than enough time to put a quality game out so if it end up that EA forced them, I don’t disagree with that decision.

You did more with less time and way less of a budget with 2, for fucks sake.

The cobbled together nature of this game tells me this team lacked direction, care, and skill.

Lastly, about Elpers tweet. Don’t work for companies that do not respect your input.

That’s the actual last thing I’m going to say about this because this whole thing is completely bananas and there are far better companies out there that still care about making a great game for their fans.