#saving the world stories are too high stakes for me

[mxabankzz5]

American Dream

paring: wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

summary: Y/n, a high level mutant and vital member of the Avengers is left bewildered when another Wade Wilson, from outside her timeline, pleads for her help in his mission to save his dying world. Even more shocked when the merc reveals their other crucial ally to be a man she thought to have left in her past.

warnings: 16+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her Avenger name is American Dream (Inspired by the comic hero), She/her pronouns, Swearing(lots), Angst, Heavy Violence, Deadpool (he's his own warning), Fluff, Possible Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

Masterlist

Logan is not fucking dead.

Sure his ‘death’ scene in Logan made for a perfect ending to a very very sad story. But that’s not how regenerative healing factors work.

You think I wanna be here in downtown North Dakota digging up the one and only Wolverine? No thank you. But the fate of my entire world is at stake.

He might not be living his best life right now but be sure as hell ain’t-

I gasped and squealed in excitement as my shovel hit something hard.

Dead.

Moving the rumble around I noticed something shiny like metal. Adamantium. It was his goddamn skeleton.

“Yes..yes of course…” I sighed before grabbing my shovel and yelling out in anger. Smashing the wooden makeshift X that marked his grave.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Snapping the shovel in half over my knee.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! MOTHERFUCKER UGHHH MY WORLD IS FUCKED!”

“Look, I’m not a man in science but you seem really passed away right now…but it’s good to see ya. I’ve gotta be honest, I’ve always wanted to ride with ya Log. Can you imagine the fun, the chaos?” I sighed once more, moving my hand from his metal kneecap to his jaw.

“Gday mate, nothing that’ll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash.” I impersonated, laying the Australian accent on thick.

“Hoo Hoo! Me too Hugh…hah but no no no no. You had be all noble and die forreal. GODAMMIT! I could really use your help right now.” I leaned forward rubbing my head in dismay before hearing the lovely sound of TVA soldiers behind me.

“Wade Wilson. You are under arrest by the Time Variance Authority for-”

“Ugh death by day player..”

“Drop you weapons and come out peacefully!”

“I’m not gonna give you my weapons..but I promise not to use them!” I groaned before repositioning myself to look up.

“There are 206 bones in the human body, 207 if I’m watching Gossip Girl. Ugh let’s go, maximum effort.” I high-fived Logan before grabbing him and leaping out from behind the snowy logs.

“Okay peanut, looks like we’re getting that team up after all.”

After unfortunately having to slaughter the army Paradox obviously sent after me, I decided to start my plan b mission.

Find Y/n Y/L/N. The reason why all of this started in the first place.

You see, Y/n and Logan are special, so special that apparently them dying means my whole timeline has to fucking end.

So Y/n decided that instead of letting a few hundred thousand people perish, she sacrificed her self by riding one of Iron Man’s nukes into space to save New York from some huge alien army trying to take over the word.

I know right? Stupidest fucking thing I ever heard.

Now this obviously took a toll on wolvy here, they were sort of..a thing?

By “thing” I mean married for 12 and a half years but who the hell is counting? It’s not like anyone knew anyway, the X-men and Avengers didn’t exactly get along publicly. Once the “cure” for the mutant gene got released, things got a little political between the two bands of heros.

But I digress! That’s another story for another chapter.

I pulled out the fancy remote I snagged from one of the soldiers and scrolled through.

Earth 10005- current timeline

Earth 58126

Earth 616- select timeline

“This one looks promising.” I clicked the button to select it and a large orange door appeared before me.

I stepped through it into a bar. I didn’t see Y/n anywhere but I did happen to recognize a familiar pair of hair tufts. Perfect!

“Logan! I’m gonna need you to come with me.”

He slowly turned to face me. “Who’s asking?” He slipped off the bar stool to reveal…a midget?

I gasped. “Well who’s this little ankle bitter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic accurate short king!” I cooed, leaning down to his eye level.

He frowned, looking behind me. Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder and turned me around with a shocking about of strength.

There stood Y/n, surprisingly standing eye to eye with me.

“Holy fuck.. you are all legs!”

“Are we gonna have a problem?”

“Oh no ma’am! Wouldn’t dream of it. But we might if you and little Logan here don’t come with me back to my timeline.”

She frowned before crossing her arms over her chest.

“You were just leaving”

“Uh no..I don’t think so because-”

She suddenly sent a powerful jab to my stomach, sending me flying across the bar.

Goddamn that super serum does wonders doesn’t it?

“Que the fucking montage.”

And that’s how Wade got here, on earth 982.

After getting his ass beat by multiple variations of You and Logan he finally decided to enter this timeline.

Walking through the orange door he stepped into what looked like an office room. It was big and sleek but what really caught his eye was the large shield hanging on the wall like a painting.

It looked like Captain America’s shield but a bit smaller. It was in a glass display case which he assumed was bulletproof.

The gold plaque below it spelt out ‘American Dream’

But before Wade could fangirl any longer the cocking of a gun caught his attention and he quickly turned around.

You were standing behind him with a pistol to his head.

“Y/n! Wait.. oh my god are you Capt-“ Wade gawked at your outfit. It was almost Identical to Steve Rodger’s suit. From the star on your chest to the red boots that adorned your feet. Even your helmet was identical, except for an open area in the back to let your long soft curls run down your back.

“No wade, I’m not Captain America”

“Omg you know me?!” Every other Y/n didn’t bother to learn who he was before sending him flying into a wall.

“Yes wade, this is your 5th time trying to audition for the team of course I know you…”

“But wait.. if you’re not Cap then where is he? Is he alive here?? And you’re an Avenger?”

You gave him a confused look.

“What do you mean, of course he’s alive. He just talked to you yesterday he told me he rejected you...what the hell are you doing here wilson?” You reached to pick up the phone on what wade assumed was your desk, possibly calling security.

“Woah Woah calm down! I’m just shocked by the preppy, all-American sweetheart look, in every other timeline you’re always some kind of ‘anti-hero’. Ugh you and Logan really are perfect for each other.”

Wade almost didn’t catch the quick falter in your stance at the mention of the Wolverine but ignored it.

“Anyways sweetpea, I didn’t come here to audition, I came here for you.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I’m flattered wilson but-“

“No! No! Not like that! My universe is dying, and in order to save it I need to replace at least one of the anchor beings that died in to buy it some time. If I replace both.. I can probably keep my timeline alive for good. Please, you’re the only one that can help!”

“Help how?”

Wade sighed in annoyance, gosh why all the inquiries!

“See this is where it gets a bit flakey- and please just hear me the fuck out before you flip out and punch me! *Deep inhale* You have to come back with me to my timeline, meet up with Paradox and beg him to reconsider, maybe chill out there a little bit while it slows the dying process, and then come with me to replace the other anchor being and permanently save my world.” He spews out quickly before Y/n could interfere.

He was expecting you to instantly lash out, telling him it was insane of him to ask you to abandon your timeline to go live in his with his soon to be new best friend.

But you just stood there, an almost blank look on your face. It honestly scared him, before you finally gave him a confused glare.

“Wait.. so you’re not from this timeline?”

“Uhm no.. but I would really appreciate it if-“

“And you want me to go with you to your timeline to find your other.. anchor being. What the hell is that?”

“Oh! Ugh It’s kinda this thing where if someone really really important dies then your timeline just goes to shit. Ya know I’m pretty sure if I were dead my timeline would probably be gone by now but since they needed me or whatever I decided to stick around for a bit longer.” He flipped his imaginary hair before turning back to Y/n with a hand on his hip.

“So I’m dead in your universe?”

“Bingo! And I really need you to be undead in my universe by… yesterday so chop chop!” He exclaimed, looking down at his imaginary watch before pulling out some kind of remote.

“Wait! Who’s the other anchor being?”

“Ughhhh God, all these damn questions! It’s someone you know, a very very dear friend to us. Jimmy.”

You frowned. “Who?”

“Jimmy? James? The man made of metal? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Y/n stared at him in bewilderment silently.

“Oh for christ sakes James! James Howlett! The Wolverine. Yikes Y/n you need to keep up with the lore, you’ve been around since Wolverine Orgins you should know what’s was going on girl!”

“Logan?!”

“Yes! Now let’s go find that little honey badger before he fucks around and nobly sacrifices himself again in this timeline. You do have one in this world, correct? Cause it would be soo sooo much easier if you could just call him right up for me honeybun.”

“I haven’t talked to Logan in years, I don’t even know where he is, let alone if he has a phone number I can call.”

Wade recoiled at the first sentence.

“You haven’t talked to him in years?! What do you mean, aren’t you guys married?”

Y/n’s eyes almost bulged at the question.

“Married!? Hell no! We barely even dated.”

Wade was shocked and a little dissapointed. “Oh! I just thought since in every other timeline you’re both- well nevermind. No time for stories let’s go!”

“Now hold on Wade, I don’t know if I can just leave my timeline-”

And there it was..gosh you were always so fucking responsible.

“Fine, guess I’ll have to just find Logan myself and go find another you that’ll help me.”

He tapped a button on the weirdly futuristic remote and turned away slowly, about to step through an orange door before you stopped him.

"Wait!"

The merc turned around giddy, hopeful that you would come to your senses and join him.

"What happens when I leave my timeline?

Wouldn't that fuck everything up here too?"

Wade froze, he hadn't really thought about that part. Shit!

"Uhhh well as far as I know, as long as you're not dead your world should be fine. So uhhh you should be good." He said, trying to sound as convincing as he could.

You could sense he was a bit unsure of himself but you also realized how much he needed you help.

"Y'know what, I'm in wilson."

[artyandink]

that’s my man (and my woman)

Summary: Your kids are curious little buggers. Asking questions about everything and anything under the sun. So there comes the complications of when your kids ask you if you’ve fallen in love before. How will you explain everything? Time to put your imagination to use.

A/N - I’ve been putting out a lot of sexy fics recently. Why not some fluff?

Song Inspo: Style - Taylor Swift and Perfect - Ed Sheeran

It took so long just to get two human beings to eat breakfast.

“Charlie, Sam, breakfast!” You called up the stairs, sighing after you did. Your hands were on your hips in true mom fashion, and disbelief and faux-regret was your adrenaline high this time as you wondered why exactly you had kids. That you loved to death despite their poor eating schedule. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

The thundering of little feet on the stairs told you that you had two incoming hurricanes.

Your seven year old boy, Sam, and your five year old girl, Charlie, appeared at the bottom of the stairs with broad smiles, crashing into you for a bear hug that knocked the wind out of your sails. You laughed as you hugged them back, giving a few pats of their head each. “Hey, there. Ready for breakfast?”

“Is there syrup?” Charlie asked eagerly, running and hopping into a high chair, grabbing her plate of pancakes and bringing it to her with a familiar lick of her lips and happy, twitchy grin. Sam had gotten his father’s hair, while Charlie had gotten yours. But the eyes were swapped around, and it was always a point of laughing. Not one child could be more like one or the other.

Arguably, both kids had their father’s dimples and smile. So yes, he could stake his claim.

“And whipped cream?” Sam added with a toothy grin.

“Raspberries?”

“Blueberries?”

You shook your head with a chuckle; such chatterboxes. You opened the fridge and a cabinet, getting out the maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries. “Not too much, ok?” You passed the toppings to them, and with a chorused ‘yes, mom’, they proceeded to completely disregard your orders. It made you shake your head again, huffing out a breath when all sense of scolding them disappeared once you saw the golden morning light hitting their little heads as they squealed and laughed.

Kids. You loved them to bits.

“Mom,” Charlie asked through a bite of pancake and whipped cream that smeared over her mouth, “have you ever loved someone before?”

The question startled you slightly, but you grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning her lips with a soft smile as she shied away with a shriek of delight, little bunches waving about wildly. “Course I have, sweetie. But only once.”

“Ooh, tell me, tell me!” She giggled, while Sam cringed a little, muttering a small ‘gross’ that got a sharp glare and pout from Charlie. Out of care for his little sister, he shut himself up.

You took a slow breath in to give yourself time to think, leaning on the counter and putting down the paper towel. “Well, it started a long time ago. When I was twenty six, all young.”

“That’s old.” Sam wrinkled his nose in confusion. You scoffed lightly, because it damn wasn’t, but he was just a kid.

“Behave, Samuel.” You ruffled his hair with a laugh. “We met at my old job. 4th October, 2006. He had his brother with him. Now, I thought he was trouble. He had a leather jacket and one of those really fancy, loud cars and he was very popular with girls.” You reached out to tickle Charlie’s side, which had her squeaking. “But he was likeable, and charming, so I wanted to bump into him more often.”

“Was he cool?” Sam perked up, suddenly very interested. “He sounds cool.”

You pinched his chin affectionately. “The coolest. But our job was very tiring. We went through a lot of big stuff, like I told you in your bedtime stories. There would be vampires and werewolves and fairies of all kinds, but he and I would always save the day. And if we didn’t, we’d save the next day.”

“You saved the world!” Charlie exclaimed, making an aeroplane with a pancake bite on her fork. The action sent a flutter of warmth and love through your chest. For your family. Something you thought you’d never have.

You nodded, guiding the bite to her mouth gently before your hyperactive child sent the fork flying. “That’s right, gumdrop. We saved the world.” It was like telling a story, of you and your prince. “I couldn’t help but love him. He’d call me sweetheart and hold me tight. He’d look at me with a wide smile on his face, just for me. And he told me I was the one he was looking for.”

“That’s corny.” Sam piped up, but he also had a wide, goofy, dimpled grin on his face. He leaned forward. “So, where is he now? Did you two leave each other?”

“Well, he-” The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house, followed by soft padding steps and heavier ones not so far behind.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” A familiar voice called, the deep one which always had your stomach doing flips. That you heard murmuring sweet nothings in your ear every damn day. “C’mon Miracle, stay still- attaboy. Such a good boy.”

“That would be your father.” You sighed, not in a disappointed way, but a lovesick teenager way because hearing the word ‘sweetheart’ from your husband’s mouth never got old.

Your husband. Damn, you didn’t think you’d make it to that point. Not when Chuck was still a threat. Or even that rebar that Jack saved him from.

Your kids shrieked happily and practically flew off their high chairs, sprinting towards their dad, who was busy taking off his jacket in the hallway.

Dean Winchester. All 6’ 1” of flannel and denim, but this time with burden-free smiles and lit up looks.

When he saw his two munchkins, the jacket was off in a flash and he’d bent to one knee in order to absorb the impact of two koala hugs. “Aw, hey, squirt number one and two. Hope you didn’t give your mom much trouble.”

It felt so much better than the impact of a punch. Indescribably better.

“Dad!” The two giggled at the same time, accepting two kisses on the forehead each while being smothered by their dad’s strong arms. Warm and comforting and no longer instruments of destruction.

They’d always be somewhat like that, Dean thought in the back of his mind. The seed of doubt sowing in again.

Then Dean saw you in the hallway, and his brain forgot to work, doubts forgot to sow and crept into the dark corner it came from. You, his wife (he never got tired of the way that word rolled off his tongue), Mrs Winchester, standing there all pretty looking at him with those eyes of yours that always saw through his crap and often jackassery.

Dressed up in his undershirt, your sweats with the last few winks of sleep yet to go from your eyes, but still working yourself to the bone to make sure your kids had a good meal. A far cry of the days where he’d look up, see you covered in blood that wasn’t yours, adrenaline-pumped with that sexy fire in your eyes, machete in hand instead of that ring he bought around your finger.

He preferred this look on you. It meant you were safe.

Dean watched as you gave Miracle an idle scratch before ushering the kids into the kitchen, then walking up to him and wrapping those gorgeous arms around his neck, gorgeous eyes twinkling and your gorgeous lips stretched into a smile.

The whole nine yards, apple pie and picket fence of gorgeous and it was all his. All his personal heaven.

“Mrs Winchester.” He murmured, nudging your nose with his as his arms circled your waist, drawing you in and gripping your hips with both underlying possessiveness and a tender glow in those emerald eyes. Your soul soaring and low, warm vibrations in your body increasing until it was at the frequency of his. Syncing you both.

“Mr Winchester.” You giggled softly as you let your lips meet his once, pulling back. Then you couldn’t help yourself, letting them meet in holy matrimony again. And again. And again, over and over until you were both mentally and physically restraining yourselves due to your children being in the next room.

“We have to stop.” Dean chuckled, his hand tangling in your hair as the other inched down from its place on your hip, taking yet another hit of your honeyed lips.

“We do.” You whispered back, meeting his ministrations with the slow massage of your thumb against his scalp from where your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his chest.

Over his heart.

“Hard to when y’looking so pretty, darlin’, and you know it.” He huffed, nuzzling your nose before dipping to press a slow, hot kiss to your jugular. “Wearin’ my shirt too, hardens the bargain. And these sweats, god, you know what they do for your ass.” As if to punctuate his point (and sentence), he gave a quick, firm slap to it. “Ain’t makin’ it easy for me here, baby.”

“Dean!” You squeaked, giggling. “Our kids are in the kitchen.”

“Lil’ buggers. My sex drive’s arch nemesis.” He groaned against your neck, but listened anyway, taking his hand off your ass and cupping your cheeks, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, then hairline. “C’mon.” You two made your way to the kitchen, where Miracle then padded over, rearing on his hind legs to paw at Dean’s jeans for attention. He obliged, bending down to ruffle Miracle’s golden coat.

“Hey, boy.” He whispered, fingers doing good work to give Miracle the love he was whining for. “I love you a lot, ok? But I’ve got a wife, a very sweet, very sexy…” Dean gave you a once over with a lick of his lip and a quick bite of the bottom one, “wife. And I wanna get her in bed today, so don’t ruin this one for me. All respect given. Alright?”

A small whimper of affirmation.

“Attaboy.” Dean gave Miracle a quick scratch behind the ear before straightening up.

“C’mon, mom, tell us what happened to the cool guy!” Sam insisted, which had Dean raising an eyebrow at you in question. Cool guy? Who, what, when, where, how, why?

“Yeah, the one that stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes!” Charlie added, making a heart with her tiny hands.

Dean smirked, leaning against the counter by his hip. “Oh? Who stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes, honey? Do tell.”

“First of all, I did not say that.” You chuckled, raising a finger.

“You don’t have to. It’s all here.” Charlie pointed to her own eyes with an intense stare at her finger and a cute pout. It almost had you melting. “But tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, then took Dean’s hand and kissed the battle-scarred knuckle.

The gesture making Dean internally melt and externally making his eyes fill up with hearts and his lips twitch into a warm smile.

“I married him.” You said softly, your eyes mirroring the same look.

“Damn right.” He chuckled, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a sweet, slow kiss. Free from the stress of an Apocalypse or a battle. That tasted like coffee and toothpaste rather than beer or whiskey and had no rush. His hand cradling your cheek while yours gently cupped the back of his head. Breathing in his body wash that wasn’t low grade anymore. You still had the unlimited credit cards, so you had more time for things like these. The little things.

You became absorbed in everything Dean, the kiss not as passionate as when he’d dipped you and took your breath away in front of a crowd of hunters on your wedding day but still had the same meaning. The whispers of the vows you two had choked out through tears. He became absorbed in you, in the sweet taste of a croissant on your tongue and your floral scent dizzying and overwhelming his senses in a good way. It was you he was feeling. It felt like you, so real, so safe. It felt like home.

“Ewwww!” You were interrupted by Sam and Charlie, and you broke apart, foreheads pressing together with a soft laugh coming from the both of you.

His hand on your waist, yours carding through his hair. Comfort, assurance, something you both had been deprived of for fifteen straight years. You wouldn’t let being Mrs Winchester go. Not now, not ever.

Mrs Winchester. Never got old.

I’d appreciate a like, comment and/or reblog! Make sure to do this for all your favourite writers so they get inspiration!

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[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔ - 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): none so far. Despite the photo being used as the cover of the story, there are as little body descriptions for the reader as possible.

A/N: English isn’t my first language and I did my best do edit it all - so if something escaped me, please, let me know .ᐟ

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter one: sealing the deal ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Rafe Cameron stood on the front steps of Topper’s house, starring at the tall wooden door where the stakes were impossibly high. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw set in frustration. What the hell did it have to be her? He’d asked himself that question a dozen times on the drive over, and still, he hadn’t come up with a good answer. She was the safest option. Not the best. Safest. That was the only reason. Or so he kept telling himself.

As he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, the door swung open and there she was – Topper’s sister, dressed in a loose t-shirt and denim shorts, barefoot on the porch. Your hair slightly tousled framed your face, the same sharp, calculating expression you always wore whenever he was around sent a flicker of irritation through him - it was like you always seemed to know what he was thinking before he did.

Your gaze narrowed, sweating over him, briefly curious and confused.

“Rafe?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re at the wrong house. Topper’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. She always had a way of making him feel like he was already losing some unspoken competition. “I know.”

“Then why have you been standing on my porch like a psycho for the past ten minutes?” You arched a brow, holding the urge to just close the door and go back to your tanning session. You were so relaxed before your phone rang, an alarm from the camera app informing that there was movement in front of the house. You had rolled your eyes when you recognize the figure in the video, hoping he’d leave but he didn’t so there you were.

Wasn’t it too early for your patience and kindness to be tested?

“You are.. infuriating, aren’t you?” Rafe dry laugh escaped his lips, plastering on a fake smile as he held back the urge to call you names. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

You arched an eyebrow, lips curling slightly at the corner. “So… what do you want?”

Rafe hesitated, eyes flicking to the side for a second as if looking for an escape. He could still leave, save himself the embarrassment. But no, he needed this. He squared his shoulders, locking his gaze onto hers. “I need a favor.”

His words made you arch your brows, head tilting as you watched him with curiosity and suspicious – Hadn’t Topper stopped with the pranks?

Your surprise was brief, barely a flicker in your eyes before you masked it with a smirk. “You need me to do you a favor? Now I have to hear this.”

Maybe Rafe Cameron was finally out of his mind.

Rafe gritted his teeth, your teasing tone instantly getting under his skin, as usual. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You leaned against the doorframe, your body tilting slightly toward him, but with that same casual arrogance you always carried towards him. “Doesn’t seem like nothing if you came all the way here to ask. So, what is it?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to look away. “There’s a wedding this weekend. The Haverfords’ daughter. I need a date.”

Your eyes narrowed, lips pressing together as you tried to hide a smile, masking your laugh with a cough. “You’re asking me to be your date to a wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

“Fake date,” he corrected quickly, teeth gritted. He ran a hand on the back of his hand. Rafe sighed, shifting his weight “I need this to seal the deal with the Haverfords. Their daughter’s wedding is this weekend, and it’s a high-profile event. Showing up solo? Not good for business. It’s about optics—looking stable, like I’ve got my life together. You help me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You gave him a slow, incredulous look, eyes flicking over his face as if waiting for him to reveal the punchline. “And why me, Rafe? You could take any girl on the island—half of them would jump at the chance.”

Rafe felt a familiar irritation rising. Couldn’t you say no or yes already? “I don’t have time to babysit someone all night. I need someone who can, you know… hold their own. You get how these events go, and I won’t have to worry about you saying something dumb.”

Your smile faltered slightly, and you studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. “So I’m your safest option?”

“More like my most reliable option,” he countered, but there was a tightness in his chest, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground. “You won’t embarrass me.”

You crossed your arms more tightly, your lips pressed into a line as you looked at him with a mix of defiance and intrigue. “And if I do?”

“Then I’ll figure it out,” he said, but he could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks. Anger. It irritated him how you had this effect on him, like his heart was suddenly racing, erasing any trace of calmness from his being. “But I need someone solid, not a gold-digger looking for a free meal.”

You stepped a little closer, your expression unreadable, eyes locked onto his as if searching for something beneath the surface. “Was that Rafe Cameron complimenting me?”

“Don’t read too much into it. I think you know how to navigate these situations. That’s all.” Rafe said, trying to keep his tone steady. “Look, if I knew something else would work, trust me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you right now. And it’s just for one weekend, alright?”

“So that’s what I am to you now?” You tilted your head, finding it rather amused to watch him squirm. Desperate trying to be nice for once. “Your best option?”

“Look, I’m not saying that—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re saying,” You cut him off, your voice rising slightly, though it lacked real anger. Your eyes sparked with something he couldn’t quite define, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “You need me because I won’t make a fool of you.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, refusing to back down to admit that yes, he was a bit desperate for help. Your help.

He really didn’t want to risk making a not good enough impression. The best investor of Charleston would be in that wedding. Hell, he had invited Rafe himself. The Cameron young man needed him to boost his business to another level. To build something great, a name for himself so he wouldn’t leave in his father’s shadows and hear his disapproving comments whenever he hit the pillow. He’d make his dad proud for once. Be the man of the family.

Your arched your brows, lips trapped between your teeth as the rational voice argued with the kind voice in your head. “You really need this, don’t you?”

You held his gaze, a mix of challenge and unspoken understanding lingering between them. The air felt thick, and for a brief moment, he was struck by the way your expression softened, the corners of your mouth barely twitching as if you were holding back a smile.

“I’ll do it,” you finally said, breaking the tension. “But only if you take me shopping for the wedding. I need something that’ll actually fit in with that crowd, and you’re paying. Of course.”

He opened his mouth to protest but found himself momentarily speechless. “You really think you can just— I don’t have time for this.”

“Take it or leave it, Rafe,” you shrugged, stepping back slightly. The challenge in your eyes was unmistakable, yet there was something else there too, something that made his pulse quicken in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fine,” he relented, forcing a casual tone as he looked away, trying to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a sly smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast… Boyfriend.”

As you turned back to the house, Rafe caught a glimpse of her profile, the way her hair fell just right, and for a moment, he felt an unsettling rush – even her nose was slightly upturned in an annoying way.

While he walked down the steps, he could feel her gaze lingering on him, the tension from their earlier conversation still hanging in the air, heavy and confusing.

“Pick me up tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late, Cameron.” You quickly tell him before closing the door, not leaving any room to argue.

As he stepped off the porch, Rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that this fake date might become something far more complicated than he had intended. It wasn’t like you to do anything that favored him, even for money.

Lying under the sun, she closed her eyes, trying to relax. But Rafe Cameron’s words replayed in her mind like a broken record. Out of all the people, he had come to her – someone he couldn’t stand for more than half an hour without starting a fight. The thought made her scoff softly, her fingers trailing across the warm fabric of the lounge chair.

What had he been thinking? Or maybe the better question was, why had she even agreed? The sun felt oppressive now, its heat only intensifying the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. The same strange tension that had pulsed between them earlier crept back into her chest. She hated how her heart had raced during that conversation, how he managed to get under her skin just by breathing.

But she could use the money. Soon her college break would be over and her mom wasn’t being easy with her spending habits lately - even threatening to cut her credit card if she didn’t take better care of her finances.

She hoped this would count when she reached heaven’s gate. Helping Rafe Cameron should be a VIP ticket to the paradise in the after life because God knew she’d need all her patience and self control for that.

With a frustrated sigh, she stood up. Enough. She wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about Rafe Cameron.

Without a second thought, she walked to the edge of the pool and dove in, the cool water enveloping her like a cleansing balm. As she surfaced, the weight in her chest loosened, but she knew it wouldn’t be gone for long.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine

Please interact with the story. Your reblogs, likes and comments help me stay motivated. Your support means the world! ^ྀི 💖

[quasi-normalcy]

Every "Nu Trek" (2017- ) Series Ranked from Worst to Best:

Very Short Treks (2023): There's really no words for just how terrible this series is. I mean, I know that it only barely counts because it's explicitly not canon and has a total combined run time of about 15 minutes, but *my god* is it bad! Only one of its episodes is remotely funny, and even that manages to feel like it's driven its main joke into the ground by the end of its 2-minute runtime. The only thing that I can say for it is that is that it gives me an easy, uncontroversial choice for worst Star Trek series, not only of the last 7 years, but of all time.

Picard (2020-2023): Listen; I know that this series is unpopular with the Tumblr Trek fandom, but it actually breaks my heart to have to put it so low on the list. It has, in my own opinion, the best dramatic acting of any Trek series and among the best directing, and almost every individual scene, in isolation, is compellingly watchable. More than that, it has fascinating worldbuilding choices, you can really *see* the passion of the writers for what they're creating (at least in the first and third seasons), and Agnes in particular is among my favourite characters in anything ever. It's got a lot of great moments, too! Picard and Seven bonding over shared Borg trauma; Soji uncovering the truth of her identity; Jurati hacking the Borg Queen's brain; Picard's final farewell to Q; Shaw's Wolf 359 monologue; Geordi's reunion with Data...I could go on. And yet, it just feels like so much *less* than the sum of its parts! Incredible ideas are introduced and then just shrugged off to pursue much more boring ones. Story arcs feel pointless if not actively offensive. Absolutely baffling writing choices are made throughout, with no indication as to why. And the nostalgia baiting , particularly in the final season, becomes so intense that it just chokes the plot to death. One comes away haunted by the feeling that this series should be so much better than it is.

Discovery (2017-2024): Really, this is two separate series: a twisty, grimdark, sci-fi war drama and a gentle queer coffeeshop AU about scientists who talk about their feelings. Both of them have their moments, but they each fall down in the same way: a focus on epic, high-stakes mystery box storytelling that undermines one's ability to really get invested in the characters, or even know who they are when they aren't off saving the universe. Without that, while I liked many of the characters and loved seeing them science the shit out of things using teamwork and the power of math, it's kind of difficult to get invested in this series one way or another. In spite of its absolutely gorgeous visuals, it comes off feeling weirdly...flat.

Short Treks (2018-2020): Not a lot to talk about here; just kind of an anthology series of short films adjacent to Discovery, Picard, and Strange New Worlds. Mostly they're varying shades of mediocre, but a few of them are as brilliant as any episode of Star Trek ever made, so the series gets to be relatively high on the list.

Strange New Worlds (2022- ): This is the first entry on this list that, in my opinion, belongs on the top shelf with some of the best of the older series. And it achieves it basically by adopting the same formula as the original series or the next generation--socially conscious planet-of-the-week adventures with enough wit, cleverness and joie-de-vivre to keep it interesting. I remember in 2017, there was plenty of discussion of how it's possible to update Star Trek's formula for prestige television; how funny that the solution turned out to be "don't change it at all, just give it modern special effects and actual character arcs." That said, the series is a bit *too* beholden to the original, with focus primarily on a bunch of characters who aren't allowed to grow or change too much because we already know how they'll turn out. It would be even better if it were about a new ship and a new crew full of nobodies who we can come to love. Which brings us to...

Lower Decks (2020-2024): Above, I said that Picard felt like it should have been so much better than it was. Lower Decks, frankly, should have been so much worse. How is an adult animated sitcom with Rick and Morty style animation and constant memberberries this freaking good!?! Every episode is a master class in efficient storytelling, with 22 minute runtimes often feeling like they contain as much story and character work as episodes twice as long. And the characters are incredible--like TOS and TNG, they feel almost archetypal, and even though you've never seen them before, they slide so seamlessly into the Star Trek universe that it's hard to believe that they weren't just *always* there; that there was ever a time when you could imagine the Star Trek universe without just intrinsically knowing that Tendi and Shaxs and Mariner were off somewhere in the background. It's greatest success though, the reason why it's comedy works when it really shouldn't, is that it's only *slightly* sillier than the serious series. What we end up with a fantastic series with an ethos that is pure Star Trek, and in fact, if I had written this list a month ago, it would certainly be in the #1 spot. However...

Prodigy (2021-2024?): The first season of Prodigy is...charming. It's got some fun characters, some spectacular visuals, some interesting premises. And if the plots tend to be a little too simplistic to be engaging to an adult, hey, it's a kids' show. It's good. Solid. Above average. And if I had only the first season to go on, it would probably be in third position on this list. But then, a few weeks ago, it went ahead and dropped the best season of Star Trek in a quarter-century, and I really...I just cannot recommend this series highly enough. The sheer, ambitious scope of the narrative; the arcs it puts its character through; the cleverness of the writing; the fricking GORGEOUSNESS of it! And it does all this while redeeming deeply unpopular characters and plot points from other series, in a way that never feels forced or pandering. Not only is it the best Star Trek series of the 21st century, it's one of the best children's animated series since AtLA. Go. Go! Watch it! Watch it now!

[inukag-archive]

Hi! I was wondering if you could recommend your favorite InuKag works. It can be about anything. ☺️

Hello, @heynikkiyousofine, long time no answer! When we received your ask, we'd had an few mod favourites grace the blog, so we put it on the back burner for a time. The time is now so we can introduce @kstewdeux; our newest member of the Fic Finder Team!

To answer this, we set ourselves a goal: pick 3 fics that have never been recommended. Each mod has listed theirs below, and we've included our previous lists at the end! Happy reading ♥

Important Note: Some of these fics are incomplete, despite being marked as such, and have not been updated in a very long time. We've marked incomplete fics with an asterisk (*) before the title for those who wish to avoid them.

KStew

Flat Line by Salvatore Shan SW (T)

When Inuyasha collapses in front of Kagome's house, its a race to find out what's wrong with him. As a hanyou, Kagome didn't think he could even get sick but is he enjoying being ill? Up until he's rushed to hospital, at least.

Gone Swimming by Quickening (X)

A peaceful woodland on the hottest day of the year. A shallow river flowing through the woods. A naked hanyou sleeping peacefully on the bank. An equally naked Kagome discovering him there. 'Nuf said.

Live and Let Die by doggieearlover (X)

InuYasha has been missing for five days. Kagome wants to search for him, but the others wish to sit and wait for his return. In desperation Kagome strikes off alone, in the middle of the night, in the attempt to find the hanyou. Will she be able to find him on her own, before it is too late?

Anisa

Kiss Me at Twilight by BlueMoon Goddess (M)

They were best friends since high school. But after the kiss they shared on New Year's Eve, feelings and desires he's never felt before come rushing in. Can he convince her that what they're feeling is real, that their meant to be more than just friends?

*Fade and Flare by Pinku (X)

Kagome, Japan's number one pop star, has fame, money, and a superstar boyfriend. All she wants is to be happy. All her overprotective manager Inuyasha wants, though, is her… How long can they last like this?

*Zero G by Torenza (M)

Kagome unwittingly falls into a deadly game as the victim of a conspiracy. The players are ruthless, and Kagome is way out of her depth, especially when the stakes are life and death.

Lost

*To Catch a Demon by Alaviles (M)

Kagome and Inuyasha were able to live in marital bliss. At least, that's what she thought. But Inuyasha has been feeling rather restless about his life. While yearning for an experience of a time now gone, chaos ensues, and he must learn to accept a reality he would never have dreamed up for himself. One he will never wish to give up again. (Ongoing)

In Our Pocket of the World (Series) by Emmyyasha (G-E)

Inuyasha and Kagome may be stuck together in Quarantine, but they don't need to leave their apartment to have an adventure together.

The Darkest of Nights by kiichandesu (T)

He isn't afraid of the dark, but the night of the new moon always finds him terrified. Until it doesn't.

Pixie

*Not How it's Done by @dyaz-stories (K+)

After a one-night stand, Kagome finds out she's pregnant. She chooses to keep the baby but discovers, nine months later, that the kid is a half-demon. When she runs into the father by chance, it feels important to them both to do their best to raise the kid together.

The Fae and the Contract by @cstorm86 (E)

Kagome's mother is very sick. After having lost her father years ago to illness, she is terrified of losing her mother too. There are tales of a fae in the great forest who can make deals and save others. Can the fae save her mother? She has to at least try.

*Nextlahualtin by @procrastinatorrexii & @moonkissedart (M)

Once, Kagome had believed her grandfather was just an eccentric. A priest who, after long days of ritual and spellwork and dealing with politics and problems and the complexities of the Great City, liked to amuse himself by telling outlandish stories about the gods. Once he is killed, in a brutal and baffling way, she is left with no choice but to hope that at least one of his wild tales was actually true.

Could there really be a god dwelling among them? And, if there is, what else might be out there, waiting in the shadows?

Mama

Inextricably Knotted by ssukidesu (M)

Kagome Higurashi was orphaned as a baby and raised by her cruel aunt until the age of ten, after which she went to school and learned the art of service and self-suppression. Now eighteen, Kagome takes a job as the governess of Shippo, the young ward of the great and mysterious Lord Inuyasha Taisho. But as Kagome gets to know her bemusing master, a ghost seems to haunt his estate, hinting that there is a long-lost secret hiding on the third floor.

your flesh is so nice, let me take a bite - by @doginabirdcage (E)

Kagome's taken a new job with the prolific Taisho law firm in Osaka to advance her budding career. Everything's going rather well until Toga's youngest son shows up for work.

Necessities by Bee_Tawon (M)

Inuyasha and Kagome have a chance encounter with some rogue bandits. Kagome learns what it means to survive in Sengoku Jidai.

Rudd

Slave to the Heart by LovingmyKitsune (M)

She never once imagined to find herself unhappy. However, a sudden upset throws this young at heart girl into a whirlpool of emotion and conflict. Complexities and truths are discovered and all she can do is hold on tight, hoping for a miracle. InuKag

It's Written in the Stars by ElmOak1991 (M)

Kagome paled when she realized they were gone. Days ago she had told Inuyasha that she was going home to stay. She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t pretend to be okay with being second best in his heart. It hurt too much to know he loved Kikyo more. Now that her jewel shards were gone, she found herself falling to the floor with tears in her eyes. He didn’t even say goodbye before taking away her choice of returning. Her heart broke as she thought about all she had lost. The people who had become her family. Five years have passed since that day, and the memory still stung. She would never forgive him for taking her choice away. Never. However, moving on from her past is proving harder than she would have thought.

I'll Find a Way by Gabrielle015 (M)

Everyone he ever knew and loved thinks he's dead. Being an agent was never an easy feat, but being separated from his friends and the love of his life has taken a toll on him. Three long years after his 'death' Inuyasha is completing several missions in hopes to defeat Naraku and go home. Would Kagome still be waiting for him, or had she found someone else?

Previous Mod Lists:

Mod Comfort Fics

Mod Favorites

Mod’s Favorite Ongoing Fics (as of mid-2022)

Feel free to add your own recs in the comments or reblogs! Check our Masterlist of previous lists to see which topics we've covered.  After reviewing our submission guidelines, send us an ask (here).

[soupthatistohot]

A rant about why BSD is hard to enjoy right now (in my opinion)

Originally posted this on twitter but I think tumblr folks will sympathize, as well. So, here goes!

The stakes are simultaneously so ridiculously high and also nonexistent. I can't shake the feeling that everything is going to return to normal after this arc is over (everyone we care about will be alive, the world will have been saved), so why should I care about anything that's happening?

To that point -- no one (I care about) stays dead!! So what if Kunikida "died" in the chapter today? I'm sure he'll be back. Dazai also didn't die in Meursault, neither did Fyodor (who actually literally CAN'T die!!). Akutagawa is now alive and well, too! As much as I hate excessive MCD (like in JJK), you need to actually kill off characters sometimes if you're gonna threaten it so often, because then every death lacks emotional impact. I've been, like, numbed to it atp.

There are so many characters I do not know enough about to care about. Who even are the hunting dogs? Bram? Sigma? Asagiri hasn't put as much time and care into characterizing them as the main cast, so when things happen to them I kinda don't give a shit long-term. They were introduced in the middle of a convoluted plot that has taken such precedence over the characters who are supposed to be driving the story.

BSD originated as a character-driven story, and that's what drew myself and so many others to it in the first place. It was bizarre in a charming sort of way. It was about the characters growing and developing as people as much/more as it was about the external conflicts going on. It almost feels like Asagiri has been trying to be too clever about this that he's lost the core of BSD: it's heart.

Similarly, there's a reason this is such a ship-heavy fandom, we live for the character dynamics! But our beloveds have been scattered to the winds for literal years in our time that we've lost most of that interaction we love so much. Give us back our found family dynamics!!

Kind of back to the point about the convoluted plot -- it eels like the characters' intelligence has outgrown us and Asagiri, to the point of seeming impossibly ridiculous. Like what do you mean Chuuya was faking it the whole time and then stopped a bullet from entering dazai's skull and got away from it because of the security camera angle?? what do you mean Fyodor dying by a vampire's hand actually means that he subsumes bram and then he sets off a tripolar singularity to create god and this was his plan all along????

Obviously I don't speak for the whole fandom and these are just my opinions. I'm not saying you have to agree with me or even that BSD is horrible. I just feel like it's kinda lost its way the past few years and I miss the animanga I fell in love with :(

[syndrossi]

resonant ch26 dvd commentary

That's right, it's a series now!

Favorite line:

“They will return soon enough,” he told the tiny dragons, feeling a kindred dismay that his sons had gone riding with someone other than him. “Until then, you must content yourselves with me.”

It's not my favorite chapter, and doesn't have any real bangers, but this was a fun little exchange. The mental image of Qelebrys and Shadow perched on Daemon's shoulders, all three of them wearing a glum/pouting expression, is very cute.

Favorite detail:

Carrying the theme that Daemon noticed when he took Rhaegar and Jon on Caraxes to and from the Giant's Toe, where Rhaegar is drawn to the beauty of the world when he's up high on a dragon, while Jon is looking at those ships below and pondering their significance. It's just as much reflective of their life experience as personality. Jon without the burdens he carries of having been a leader, responsible for administering multiple wars, might be able to afford to look upward or forward, rather than downward at the world encroaching in.

Favorite dynamic:

We had a few barbs traded with Cole, but it was fairly tame. Rhaenys and Daemon are my favorite dynamic again, in part because I enjoy writing people giving advice that makes sense to them but isn't necessarily the most healthy. No one character is an infinite font of wisdom, existing to dispense it to our heroes. Everyone has their own faults, flaws, self-interest, etc, and their advice is colored by it.

I'm talking, of course, about Rhaenys basically telling Daemon to suck it up, give up on having a good relationship with his brother founded on mutual understanding, and resign himself to the fact that his brother prefers a version of Daemon that isn't real, with all the edges filed off. Daemon does in fact know his brother better than Rhaenys, so it's actually not the best advice in this situation!

But it doesn't mean he didn't need to hear some version of "suck it up and figure out an approach," because he's been reactive/passive so far with Viserys. (Some of that is out of fear, to be fair.) But he can't afford to be afraid/not take risks, Rhaenys believes. Not with so much at stake.

(Rhaenys is not without her own self-interest, either.)

And Rhaenys has a better grasp on Otto than Daemon. She's not wrong about what he fears. So that was also good context for Daemon, if he pays it heed. But the conversation doesn't leave Daemon in a great place at the end, sadly.

"Quick" hitters:

I mentioned this before, but there were three separate scenes written for and removed from this chapter, including one that was up in the draft I saved on AO3 and then removed this morning before I posted it.

I think I figured out my real issue with this chapter, and it comes down to using the wrong lens during the Dragonpit parts. We're focused in tightly on Daemon and Rhaenys's conversation, which is fine/fair, but we pull back too much for the kids and hatchlings interactions. It would have been nice to perhaps get the actual introduction of the dragons as dialogue rather than exposition, and focus in a bit more on Jon during the final naming.

The chapter feels very self-indulgent and filler-y, which may be while I feel guilty about writing it. Not that you can't write those things, but I always feel like they fit better in side-stories.

Jon naming Shadow was added into this chapter after the fact. I'd decided on the name a while ago and kept trying to find the perfect moment for it, only for it to not really materialize. Jon making it a game the baby cousins could join in on ended up feeling right.

I kept going back and forth between the Valyrian and Common versions of "Shadow," but at the end of the day, Jon has a theme.

I really liked Harrenkos for a name ("suitably long" in Valyrian), given that Shadow is a longer boi than most.

With Laenor and Rhaenys about to be gone, and Rhaenyra in Dragonstone, the poor Velaryon boys are about to be on their own (with their nurses) for a while, poor lambs. We'll see if Daemon invites them over for supper a few times. That's a lot of kids to wrangle by himself!

I'd been holding onto this, but I don't think it's something I'll end up doing later on in the story, so I'll go ahead and share one of the deleted, incomplete scenes. Originally, there was going to be an attack on the carriage on the way back, but Daemon being up in the air on Caraxes made it a really poor choice on the part of their attackers (and the attack itself a little too obvious not to have the place swarmed with Goldcloaks), so I scrapped it.

Apologies to Rhaegar, who was going to get a hero moment and possibly his first kill (though I didn't get that far).

x~x~x

The hatchlings were exhausted after their exciting day, each settling on their laps to nap for the carriage ride back to the Red Keep. Jace soon followed their example, nodding off against Princess Rhaenys’s side twice before she rearranged him so that he could rest his head on her lap.

Jon had enjoyed their day out, but he did feel a sting of regret at not being able to accomplish either of the things he had wanted to today: gaining an audience with King Viserys, and speaking to their father about the candle. There was always tonight for the latter—or tomorrow. But he hated the thought of it continuing its efforts to torment Rhaegar, especially since they were now separated in the afternoon.

“Did you hear anything today?” he whispered to Rhaegar.

“Not in the yard,” his brother said, which was not a no.

The bumpiness of the ride down the sloped path leading from the Dragonpit gave way to the cobblestone of the Street of the Sisters. The sun had set, and the sky was halfway to twilight, leaving the interior of the carriage dark. Jon tuned his senses to hearing to distract from the unpleasant odor of Flea Bottom, which the street passed through briefly.

It was quieter than he remembered. Even the slums of King’s Landing had their equivalent of markets, and plenty of peddlers hawking their wares. He sat up straighter in his seat as the carriage slowed, and the strong scent of burning wood wafted through the window. He could hear the low murmur of their two Kingsguard ahead of the horses.

Jon glanced at Rhaegar, who met his gaze with a tense frown as their hatchlings stirred on their laps. Princess Rhaenys meanwhile was gently shaking Jace awake, turning to glance behind at the window. A glow was visible now, lighting up the area, and calls began to ring out from further away. Jon stood on his seat to get a better view; up ahead, he could see buildings aflame on either side of the street, and what looked to have once been a wagon burning in their path.

“Can we go around?” Jon heard Ser Erryk—or Arryk—say in a low tone to the carriage driver.

“Only if you fancy going deeper into Flea Bottom,” the man said.

“Turn back,” the Kingsguard ordered. “We will return to the Dragonpit.”

Smoke was beginning to drift through the window, stinging his eyes, and the shouts were growing louder. Jon reached carefully for his knife, which was strapped against his leg beneath his pants, though he did not yet slide it free. It was possible that whatever fire had broken out along their path was entirely accidental, but if so, it was extraordinarily convenient timing.

The clack of horseshoes on cobblestone was just audible over the din as one of the Kingsguard pulled alongside them. “My princess, remain within. We will turn and head back to the Dragonpit until the fires are put out.”

The tension in the knight’s voice told Jon that he too believed it to be no coincidence. The street was still narrow at this point, which meant two very long minutes of horse and carriage maneuvering to turn back north.

Too long.

The horrible scream of a wounded horse pierced through the din, and through the haze of the smoke still spilling in through the window, Jon could make out the shaft of an arrow embedded in its flank. Two clanking noises followed, the noise familiar to Jon—the clatter arrows deflected by a shield.

“Ser Erryk,” Princess Rhaenys called out tensely, holding Jace tightly to her side. Their young cousin was wide awake now, eyes large with fear.

There came another two loud thuds, this time above them, and Jon could see the point of an arrow splitting through the wood of the roof, and another a foot away from it.

“They are trying to set the carriage aflame, princess,” the knight said. By the sounds of it, he had drawn up along the side of the carriage opposite from where the first two arrows had come. “You and the children may need to leave it, if the fire catches.”

Jon could hear the agony of indecision in his voice. The carriage afforded protection from arrows, but the longer they remained within, the longer whoever was attacking it could get into position for—whatever it was they were after.

Us? Jon wondered. So far, none of the arrows had been aimed at the body of the carriage, but even so, he dragged Rhaegar several inches further from the wall. The other Cargyll brother joined his twin on the safe side of the carriage.

“There are at least four with bows,” he said. “They do not yet approach.”

The horse’s screams were quieting, which Jon knew meant another obstruction on the road. The smoke was growing thicker, enough to make Jace cough, and a glance upward revealed a darkening of the wood of the roof.

“Jon.” Rhaegar’s voice was low but urgent, his face set with tension. He extended a hand toward Jon. “Give me the knife.”

His first instinct was to deny the request, the notion of being unarmed in the chaos nearly unthinkable, but his arm was still injured. Rhaegar might lack Jon’s experience in a real melee, but he stood a better chance of defending them.

[end scene]

[pocket-watcher]

“It’s interesting, with a power set so vast you must have some weakness just as broad to balance you out.” The scientist said as they poked and prodded you.

You laughed nervously. “What? No. That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any weaknesses.”

And you believed that, of course. Fire resistance, high pain thresholds, and you no longer had your fear of heights! Turns out saving people 20 stories up really helps with exposure therapy!

“Biologically speaking, everything has a weakness. Predators have blind spots, they’re scared of noise, they can’t conceal their blood like prey can. So… what’s your weakness?” The scientist mused once more, not asking you specifically but more as if asking the universe.

You took a deep breath and tried not to panic. This was one of the top scientists in the country, here to help you, not to take you down.

“Are you okay?” They asked, innocently.

Too innocent.

They looked up as you looked down. Nose to nose.

Your head shot upwards to avoid their stare.

“Yeah! I-I’m fine. Just… you know…” You rocked your head slightly trying to think of another topic to talk about. “So… what do you think my weakness is?”

Their eyes lit up.

In a flash they rounded up a box and began showing your data.

Despite your enhanced intelligence your brain couldn’t keep up with the speed at which they spoke.

“-and if you look at this graph here, you’ll find what’s really interesting is the activity in your prefrontal cortex spikes! At the same time your right medial temporal lobe starts working overtime, like a forceful relaxant. It’s like somehow a specific combination of lights and patterns overrides your brain like a giant helping of melatonin!”

Um.

“What?”

They blinked at you. “Aha… got a little excited there. Maybe a demonstration would help?”

You began to agree as they span you into a seat and wheeled you through the lab.

Dear god these scientists were fearless, you thought.

When you came to a stop you were hooked up to several wires, a heart-rate monitor, some strange-looking device holding your head in place (and possibly scanning it too?) and your arms pinned down… not that those restraints could do much. You’d bench pressed a 747 before lunch.

“Okay. So, I want you to listen to the voice coming out of the speakers and to watch the screen. Okay?”

You nodded, still unsure, but that unsureness seemed to disappear instantly once the screen began flashing.

The colours were too fast for you to register. The voice was repeating words that both you couldn’t understand but also rewrote your brain.

You felt your mouth hang open and your body go limp. You were vulnerable, incapacitated, all within a single minute of this scientist hooking you up to the machine.

“It’s just as I thought! How do you feel?” They asked, lifting your limp wrist and dropping it down before scribbling more notes.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to.

They checked your pupils for responses and studied the data, whilst you sat there staring at the screen. Listening to the constant flow of unintelligible words.

“Okay! We should probably get you outta there, huh?” They said as they flipped the machine off.

It took you a while to fully come to your senses.

“…What was that?” You asked, incredulously.

“That was your weakness. Theorised, and now proven.”

You didn’t know what to do. You’d never been made to feel so small. So at the mercy of someone else.

“You had no right.”

You stopped. The safety of the world was at stake. If this information fell into the wrong hands…

“Woah there, we’re the only ones here! I won’t tell anyone. I promise…”

You felt an “if” coming.

“If you let me run more tests like that? We can work together, see if we can find a way for you to resist it.” The scientist smiled kindly.

You felt scared for the first time in a long time. Scared of what someone could make you do. How they could make you feel.

“Fine. If that’s the price to keep you from talking, we can run more tests.” You settled.

“Great! I promise you won’t regret it!” The scientist waved you out of the room. Once you were out of earshot they typed out a message:

It worked just as you said it would. I’ll start working on the conditioning pronto. You sure I shouldn’t have tried turning them now?

A phone pinged back a moment later:

No… slow and steady wins the race my friend. Great work.

Somewhere, a villain smiled at her phone, dreaming of a subservient hero.

[stompandhollar]

I have some….. harsh(?) words for rtd.

I miss when Doctor Who was scrappy. Where the working class was at the forefront of our story. Where the hero had a broken time machine and one shitty little gadget that only sometimes could do anything useful. When the TARDIS was cobbled together with glue sticks and a dream.

Rose as a story worked because it was paired down. ALL of good DW works when it’s paired down. The stakes aren’t the whole world or the whole universe ending. The charm and the stakes both come from the same place— focusing on the characters, and making their problems the central focus. Blink was stunning because the world wasn’t in danger, just Sally Sparrow, and for 40 minutes of runtime, she was the focus of the viewer’s world.

The “base under siege” episodes work because it matters just as much to us that the Doctor gets the crew to safety as it would if the whole universe were in danger.

Even Utopia works because while being a high-stakes-for-humanity episode, it’s focused heavily on each character, and on concepts, not flashy visuals and dramatic build ups with no payoff. Utopia has exactly the right level of stakes for the story it’s telling, and the twist at the end delivers because it’s on that same level.

Ncuti is phenomenal. He and Millie are the only reason I’m sticking around (with s14, not with DW. I metaphorically sold my soul to this show a long time ago and that’ll never change) and watching each new episode with the hope that it’ll get better. But good gracious we do not have a lot of substantial evidence to back that hope up right now, lol.

The dialogue is hollow because we don’t sit with any characters long enough for their emotional moments to hit home. These brilliant actors can’t even save the scripts they’re being given.

I liked Rouge so much because it felt so bottled within its own episode. The stakes seemed so low, and it was fun and campy and the energy was electric. But I’m disappointed all over again with the Marvel-ization of the show in the newest episode. We saw it in the 60th specials, and it’s back swinging again in TLORS.

We don’t want Stark Tower SHIELD UNIT and their big flashy technology to save the day. The Doctor running straight to UNIT for help at all was crazy to me.

Part of me got so excited when Death was revealed as the big bad. The deluded part of my brain immediately thought we’d get a paired down concept of Death, like in the Big Finish Master audio drama. And I still really hope that happens, or is at least a little bit alluded to. (or maybe not. maybe i want to write that story myself some day when i’m in the damn writers room for this silly perfect show) But as soon as they got my hopes up, they got dashed again five seconds later when it became evident how overpowered and goofy and trope-y our big bad is shaping up to be.

RTD shines when he’s writing characters full of hope and wonder and a need to see the stars. Moffat shines when he’s writing twisted little think pieces that show the indomitable human spirit. Both of them have had my heart and changed my life with their writing. And right now I need them both to take a back seat and pass the baton. Russel keeps trying to outdo himself, and it’s all become too grandiose.

We need a writer in that room that doesn’t care how The Doctor is going to save the world next, but instead, cares about how he’s going to save that one person right in front of him, who needs his help, now.

[meggannn]

Games I Played in 2024

I played a lot of games this year (finished 33 but dropped a few others) and thought I'd write up some quick reviews. Didn't include Metaphor Refantazio since I only played the demo of that (really enjoyed it though), but I did include Hades 2 since I put in 100 hours into it and I think it's pretty obvious I like it lmao. listed in chronological order of when I played it

Howl: Hate to start out with a game I dropped, but I was just really bad at the puzzles in this one lol. You play as a deaf woman who is immune to the "howling plague" which turns people into feral beasts, so she alone travels the land to help villagers and try to find a solution. Really neat concept, I was just bad at the grid-like puzzle system.

Kena: Bridge of Spirits: 3/5 Thematically it's maybe a story more appropriate for children, in that you play as a young woman charged with taking care of spirits who have moved on and looking after the environment, but the combat was hard enough that it felt more suited for adults, which made me kind of wonder what the target audience really was. Visually it's stunning, and it's got all the elements of a typical AAA game these days (collectibles, puzzles, zones to explore). I found the plot a little simple, like if Disney wrote the game and Pixar animated it, but the gameplay could occasionally get hard. I've never played a soulslike game before so I can't comment on whether it is appropriately challenging for a "soulslike," like some have debated.

Persona 5 Tactica: 4.5/5 I enjoyed this one! The gameplay feels like Fire Emblem strategy set in the Persona world, which can be a bit simple in the main story maps but gets increasingly complicated in the challenge/side maps, especially those where you have to accomplish an objective in one turn. The chibi art style might turn people off but this feels very at home with the main game's story and themes with two surprisingly fun new companions.

Venba: 4.5/5 What a surprise I like the cooking game about a family adjusting to life and dealing with Asian diaspora. I think it could've been longer because I was enjoying the recipes but it did make me cry. Phenomenal soundtrack too.

Eastshade: 3/5 The idea is that you're a painter and you can walk around an island and capture the scenery on your canvas to fulfill requests from locals. Unfortunately it felt more like Crafting: The Game which wasn't really what I signed up for but it's still a relaxing time.

Dépanneur Nocturne: 3.5/5 A short little game I picked up randomly. You go shopping at a convenience store late at night and find some weird things on the shelves. Unexplainable, cute, kinda fun.

Hidden Through Time: 3.5/5 A cute little find-the-items game with the ability to make your own themed maps. There was a lot of variety in the levels.

Yoshi's Crafted World: 3/5 I played this at May's when I was catsitting at her house lol. Cute time-waster for a platformer I'd recommend for kids but honestly got a little grindy at the end.

Hades 2: (Personal GOTY) 5/5 Though it came out in May, I played this pretty much throughout the year. It is in Early Access, but I truly believe this game has more polish and content than most finished games have on release, so in my heart it counts. Melinoë is a wonderful character, there's some real depth, heart, and humor to the writing, and the world has gotten even grander and denser than in Hades 1. The stakes are high in that she has to defeat an undying Titan over and over again to save her family, but the game still feels quintessentially Hades while also reshaped to fit Mel's character and journey. I feel like the team knows exactly what they want and what they're doing. Supergiant doesn't miss and I'm very excited to see what future updates hold.

Synergia: Dropped. This is a cyberpunk visual novel with robot yuri about an overworked detective who purchases a new household android for company. I ended up putting it down because the writing was... mostly fine, but when it stumbled, it felt very awkward and unnatural; I also realized the main writer was a man, which made some of the "oops, I have to sleep naked" lines coming from the childlike android feel fetishy at times. It wasn't constant, but it was prevalent enough to bother me. Still I've seen some wlw enjoy it anyway or even embrace those aspects, so what I don't like someone else might.

Harmony: The Fall of Reverie: 3/5 This one has a neat concept. Polly, the main character, is tasked with keeping balance between two worlds while juggling the desires of Glory, Bliss, Power, Chaos, Bond, and Truth, who are anthropomorphized characters you can agree or disagree with in their direction to lead humanity. The gameplay idea is that you can see the consequences of your choices branching out before you make them, which at times is really cool because it lets you plan what you want, but at times also feels like you're really just looking at the behind-the-scenes of the developer code lol.

Hello Goodboy: 2.5/5 I must've misjudged this one because I think it was either for real little kids, or it just wasn't translated well. It's a story about a kid and his dog in the afterlife. Felt approachable for teaching kids how to play a video game for the first time.

Hohokum: 3.5/5 At first I could not get into this for the life of me but then it clicked after a few sessions and now I think really fondly on this weird, abstract experience that is more of a toy than a game. I only mark it down because I found the map so damn confusing.

Pentiment: 5/5 No notes, full stars, going right up there on the shelf of "games I'd recommend to Disco fans." This game officially made me a Josh Sawyer fan. I didn't think I'd get invested in a story about 16th century Bavarian monks but I cried several times.

A Tiny Sticker Tale: 4/5 A cute puzzle game set around the idea that you can pick up stickers of items and people, and place them somewhere else. Nice for an afternoon!

Pyre: An excellent 4.5/5 that I look more favorably on in hindsight than when I was playing; I want to give it a 5/5 rating but something about the combat really didn't click for me. You have been banished from the Commonwealth after an unmentioned crime, and after finding allies, you discover you can guide them to partake in ancient rites that will grant ascension back into the Commonwealth one at a time (if you're successful). To earn everyone's freedom, you basically have to play basketball while juggling all three of your main player characters on the field, who all have different abilities and movement speeds, and I struggled with that. That said, the story is Supergiant at its absolute peak, and I think it has the best soundtrack of all their games, which is saying a lot. There's light character roleplaying, but the main choices are made for you in how well you play fantasy basketball: the game will move on whether you win or lose, and the story will adapt.

Landlord of the Woods: 5/5 I really enjoy Madison Karrh's games and Landlord of the Woods is no exception. It's a short puzzle game about finding a new job and showing up on your first day... except your job is a landlord to a community living in the woods who do not want a landlord. Lighthearted yet also creepy, ironic without being jaded, it's delightfully unique.

Insomnia: Theater in the Head: 4/5 A short narrative/puzzle game about a woman's struggles with insomnia. Really captures the energy of all the wild thoughts running through your head at 2am.

Detective Grimoire: Secret of the Swamp: 3.5/5 Starting to show its age but I really like detective games where YOU have to figure out who did it. It is also fortunately not very punishing but you do have to think a little.

Roadwarden: 4/5 This gave me maybe the closest feeling of roleplaying Dragon Age Origins that I've had since playing Pillars of Eternity, just with a smaller budget and largely text-based. You play as a Roadwarden, who is charged with keeping the roads of a peninsula safe from monsters and bandits; but you have another job from your supervisors to see if the peninsula would be open to trade in the future, and would require new merchants and changing leadership. You can be a hero, an asshole, you can sell out the villagers, or quit your job and live with them... there are lots of small discoveries and connections to be had in this game.

Sarawak: 3.5/5 Another short little game, this one a literary mystery set in Oxford and Malaysia, about a woman investigating her parents' histories. I find myself really enjoying these small narrative adventure games as I get older.

Catlateral Damage: 2.5/5 Wish I enjoyed the "cats knocking stuff off stuff" game more, but truthfully it got a little boring after ten minutes.

Planescape Torment: 4/5 Clearly a long-beloved game for a reason, and I see how it inspired Disco Elysium. The combat is horrible and mechanics are old as balls, but the story and writing are top-tier. You play as a man who wakes up in a morgue after dying with no memory of who he is, and you have to hunt down your memories through the clues your previous lives have left you. But it's not a detective story, it's more about reinventing yourself and deciding who to be in your new life. The OG Harry du Bois, in a way.

En Garde! 4.5/5 What a goofy game! It's a quirky, funny action/adventure game that fully embraces the swashbuckling energy of fencing with a woman lead, which is a nice difference. The characters are flamboyant, the lines are overdramatic, and the game is very self-aware of its genre and embraces it. Found the enemy waves a little overwhelming at times but nothing insurmountable, it just has a lot of mechanics.

Robotherapy: 3.5/5 An interesting little premise about a robot that wants to be a therapist. The writing is fine, but occasionally weighed down by its need to be funny; still it's got a few interesting twists.

Lieve Oma: 3/5 A short story about a child who goes walking in the woods with a grandmother hunting for penny buns throughout the years. This kinda touched me because I never knew my grandparents well.

Hatoful Boyfriend: 4/5 Yes, I'm about a million years late to this game. Turns out the pigeon dating simulator is, in fact, really interesting, genuinely funny, and an absolute horror show at times.

Lego Horizon Adventures: 3.5/5 What the hell, it has Aloy shooting machines and Varl loving comic books and Sylens as a DJ. It definitely feels like it was made for kids who have watched for years over their parents' or older siblings' shoulder as they play the more difficult Horizon mainline games. I did wish it were longer and the gameplay a little more complex but I had fun with it.

stitch.: 4/5 Great little puzzle game where you group certain numbers of stitches together to form shapes with a truly INSANE number of puzzles.

Behind the Frame: The Finest Scenery: 4.5/5 A short narrative adventure about an artist trying to paint "the finest scenery" with some simple puzzles. It reminded me a lot of Ghibli films, maybe not as polished but with some really heartbreaking twists and moments for me about inspiration, communing with your fellow artists, and also the passage of time.

Wavetale: 4/5 A 3d platformer about environmentalism and worker's rights that takes place in a flooded world with only boats to get around... until Sigrid discovers a supernatural ability to run/ride on water thanks to the help of a mysterious shadow. I didn't think this was going to get as deep as it did, and while I think it did go a little long, I respect the vision even if the platforming was kinda clunky.

Summerhouse: 3/5 Another game that's more of a toy than a game. You unlock different walls, windows, roofs, trees, people, etc. to build your house. I like the style of this one, just wish there was more of everything.

Between Horizons: (GOTY RUNNER-UP) 4.5/5 Hidden gem of this year! Despite having just a few things in common with Mass Effect 1, it reminded me a lot of that game (red-haired default female protagonist on a spaceship suddenly thrust into a position of authority and tasked with tracking someone down). It takes place on a generation ship deep into its journey when suddenly systems are sabotaged and rebellion looks like it's brewing. Stella, the new Chief of Security, has to find the culprit before the mission reaches a point of no return. REALLY good puzzles in this one imo, I actually had to pen-and-paper some stuff to figure out who did what.

Dungeons of Hinterberg: 4/5 Another hidden gem in which dungeons appear around the modern-day Austrian Alps, sparking a sudden wave of tourists and dungeon-crawlers to visit. Part Zelda and part Persona, you explore dungeons by day and hang out with friends and locals by night. The game questions us on if the tourism brought to a small town as a result of the magic spawning there is actually helping, or if the capital and greed it brings might change the village for the worst. The game is about 1/3 relationship sim, 1/3 combat, 1/3 puzzles; I enjoyed all three to varying degrees but I think the puzzles are the strongest.

Paper Trail: Another grid-based puzzle system I dropped (I'm noticing a pattern). You play as a young woman who runs away from home to go to college, and she can "fold" corners of reality to make bridges, connect landpaths, etc. Gorgeous environments and neat concept, I just struggled with it.

1000xResist: (GOTY RUNNER-UP) 4.5/5 Half of Tumblr should be playing this. It's a scifi game set in the distant future in which aliens have arrived on Earth and brought with them a devastating plague that kills most humans. A girl called Iris is the only person who seems to be not only immune but also now immortal, who is cloned/later clones herself throughout the years (first to study a cure, and then to keep company/create a new society). You play as Watcher, a clone created a thousand years later to record Iris's life, now known as the ALLMOTHER's, life, and ensure her authority goes unchallenged in a post-apocalyptic world. I can't even talk about it more without spoiling but it tackles authority and rebellion, identity, memory, bad friendships, generational trauma, modern Asian American/Canadian diaspora... If you enjoy any combination of the following you will probably enjoy it: Everything Everywhere All At Once, Evangelion, Imperial Radch, Arrival, Ghost in the Shell.

not included are my gatcha games lmao which are currently animal crossing pocket camp (og and complete) and fire emblem heroes

[astra-galaxie]

I decided I wanted to make one of these! Explanations of my choices can be found below!

Favourite character: Shocker! My favourite character is Diego! Who could have foreseen this coming? I've always loved Diego, and his character development is so well-written! Plus, Pretty Simple was VERY generous when designing him!😏

Liked by everyone but me: This might be a bit of a controversial take, so please don't grab the pitchforks and torches until you hear me out! I don't, nor have I ever hated Elliot; I've just never understood the hype surrounding him. He's just never appealed to me like he does for others, but he's still an interesting character.

Didn't like at first: Asal still isn't high on my list of liked characters, but I like her more than I used to. I had forgotten about the more specific aspects of her character, and when I wrote my Save The World story, I realized she was more complex than I remembered. Mainly how she was hostile towards the Bureau because she thought they were aware of Ripley's involvement with SOMBRA, and after finding out they were unaware, she seemed remorseful for her actions.

Would like to know more about: I feel like there is so much more we could have learned about Arthur. Why did he start the rebellion? Why did he become a writer? How did he manage to escape from the Demon Queen's faithful? How was he captured? So many questions that I want to know the answers to!

Least favourite character: Do I need to say anything about this one? No, seriously, do I? Because I feel like it's pretty obvious why I would hate him, given his LONG list of dirty deeds!

Like the design, dislike the character: While I might not like Morgana, I LOVE her design! Her dress is so pretty, and her hair and make suit her aesthetic! Plus, her accessories are wicked! (See what I did there?😉)

Like the character, dislike the design: Abigail is such a cool and unique character, but I wish her design was better. It just seems so simple and plain... PS could have at least given her some accessories or something instead of just a basic tank top! Someone give this ghost a makeover!

Similar personality: I connect with Evie on a spiritual level. I, too, enjoy hiding away from the real world and doing something I love. Also, I am very shy and quiet, so much so that I am constantly accidentally sneaking up on people!

Fav ship: Maddie and Charlie's love story is so good! It's the perfect friends-to-lovers story, and watching them get together made me so happy!

Least fave ship: Again, do I need to say anything? These two have ZERO chemistry beyond friendship, and their sudden "rekindled" romance made no sense. Gwen and Hope deserved to get together, and I stand by that fact!

Would befriend IRL: Luke reminds me of some of my current and old IRL friends. I think he and I would get along! I've already said that I would like to be his friend, which hasn't changed.

Would never befriend IRL: And because I had to state my dislike of Fabian somehow, this is where I'm doing it! I HATE this guy (but not as much as Horatio) and would NEVER be his friend! I'd rather drive a stake through my heart than be his friend! Whenever he came on the screen while playing S7, I would glare at him...

And that's everything! Can you tell which seasons are my favourite?😉

Again, these are just my personal opinions, so please do not gather the mob! People are allowed to like or dislike whichever characters they choose, so please be respectful of mine.✨

[officeobject]

Again ... please do not text me about this (do write in the Ask box though).

ahmadalanqar99

50m ago

ahmadalanqar99 asked:

Hello,

I hope my message finds you well. I am addressing you from the war-torn Gaza, seeking your help to save my family.

We are a 5-member family, living in constant fear amidst raids and bombings, and suffering from the lack of food, drinking water and other essentials. 😞😞

I have never thought I would be asking people for help to leave my hometown, but the safety and survival of my family stand at stakes.💔

Please, donate to my GFM campaign or share my story for the world to see.🙏🙏

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#217)✅️

Best wishes,

Ahmad

https://gofund.me/4f615392

Answer

nouraayman

2h ago

nouraayman asked:

Hello,

I know you may be tired of hearing from us, but Israel hasn’t grown tired of bombing, destruction, and displacement. Even those of us who escaped the war now face overwhelming challenges outside Gaza. We are living without residency permits, constantly fearing deportation, and urgently struggling to cover rent.

I never imagined I would have to ask for this, but I need your help to continue my master’s degree. I lost an entire year, and I’m afraid of losing this one too. I’ve already started attending classes, but I still can’t afford to register.

Your support would mean the world to me at this critical time. Thank you for standing with us.

Answer

familgazaamal1

2h ago

familgazaamal1 asked:

This is Amal and her family. My children are living under bombardment in the war 😭 Please consider them your children and help them 🙏🙏 Stand by my side to save and protect my children. They haven't gone to school for a year 🙏😢😢 Donate to save my children's lives 🍉 🙏🇵🇸 We live in very difficult and desperate circumstances, and what is worst of all is that the fear that haunts me increases day by day. Help me provide them with basic life needs. @gazavetters is verified, my verified number in the list is (#55)

Answer

hanananqar

7h ago

hanananqar asked:

Hello,

I am Hanan. I am reaching out to you from Gaza, seeking your help for my brother, Jihad. He's chronically ill and suffers from high blood pressure, diabetes, kidney failure, celiac disease, osteoporosis and many other complications. 🥺🥺 Added to this the fact that he has no direct support or proper medical treatment. Please, help us to evacuate Gaza so that Jihad can get proper medical treatment abroad. 🙏🙏

https://gofund.me/c4eb37e4

Answer

mohanaadfarhat 7h agomohanaadfarhat asked:Hello 👋🌸,I hope you're well. Dr. Farhat's family urgently needs your help due to the ongoing violence. I invite you to read our full, heart-wrenching story to understand the depth of our situation, and then please share and support the "Save Dr. Farhat's family from genocide in Gaza" campaign. Every share makes a difference.Link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/saving-dr-farhats-family-towards-hopeThank you so much for any support you can provide 💖. With gratitude, Dr. Farhat's Family 🌹 ✅ Verified with number 248 in the official list by @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @90-ghostAnswer

ahed-family3 14h agoahed-family3 asked:Welcome 🍉My brother Karim and my family are to all good people in the world to help them.my family from Gaza, were displaced from their home due to the war, leaving behind everything they owned. During the journey, they faced many difficulties and challenges, and they did not lose hope for a better future after your donations and support.Asking for help is not easy, I ask for a small donation of only 20€ from each person, 20€ will save my family from death in Gaza 💔 Donate through the link in bio (gofundme) Together, we can achieve our goal within a day and provide crucial support to me and my family in Gaza. Your contribution means everything to us and in these difficult times your kindness is our greatest hope. We are very grateful for any assistance you can provide and thank you for your kindness and generosity in our time of need .♥️🇵🇸Answer

hananmahmoud1 21h agohananmahmoud1 asked:Your donation is very important and necessary for my children to buy milk and diapers. I am very sorry. I ask for a donation, even if it is small. I need to buy treatment that will greatly contribute to saving the lives of my children and family from death and war to the lifeline and safety. I will be very grateful. 💔🫂🇵🇸 ✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #270 )✅️Answer

mysticlovepizza 22h agomysticlovepizza asked:My name is Ahmed Bakr, a Palestinian. I live in the Gaza Strip. My least wish is to save my wife and children (Neven, Khaled, Joan, Aida, and Musk) from certain death. I write these words and ask for your help. I do not know whether we will be able to survive. This is my last message to you as a human being and the story of my life and my family since the beginning of the war. My son (Khaled) is his age. (8) years old and suffers from enlarged liver diseases, infections, and anemia from contaminated food and water. We are unable to treat him, buy medicine for him, hold a baby no more than two months old, and I am unable to provide her with milk, pampers, or even supplies for small children. My children need food and treatment. We are deprived of the food we love. Our mental health is deteriorating and very destructive, and we need hygiene supplies in the tents. I was displaced from my home from the north to the south, to Khan Yunis, then to Rafah, and then to Nuseirat. I was injured by an occupation sniper while searching for a living for my children. I endured carrying water, searching for wood to light the fire, and bringing food for my children because there was no gas for long distances. Long, all day long, surrounded by devastation, bloody missiles and shattering shrapnel. We endured constant fear day and night for a whole year without any peace or comfort. I do not know where to take my children. Our lives are very painful and difficult, and every time we miraculously escape death, I want to help everyone who can help us, those with compassionate hearts. We live in the heat of tents and under the blazing sun. My house was completely demolished after years of effort and fatigue and building our house. Then, one night and one day, everything disappeared and my children’s room was completely burned and demolished. Even our car was not spared from the bombing, as we had all the wonderful means and tools. For the sake of a decent life, we started roasting our food over the fire despite the fatigue and heat. We are still standing despite the bombing, hunger, and severe shortages. We need your help. At this Save My Children event, we invite you to share our story with your friends and families with clarity and support. Your sensible words and prayers provide strength to endure these difficult circumstances... (Your donation) can make enough difference in our lives. We depend on your support and your standing by our side through this traditional ordeal, boxing, to restore hope and safety to Hayat and her family. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for considering my application. Your support and donation are very important to me and my familyShow your support for this GoFundMehttps://gofund.me/1d3a37c4Answer

marahkatoa2000 23h agomarahkatoa2000 asked:‏If you ignore this, you are condemning my family to death‏I apologize for what I am about to ask.‏Can you help me and donate to save us?‏I, Marah from Gaza, my brother and I have launched a donation campaign to save my family. My brother and I take care of‏my parents, my cat and my eight family members, please you are our only hope.‏Donate just $20 from each person, $20 will save my family from death in Gaza😥💔 Donation link ✅‏ https://gofund.me/e82cb476Answer

aboodalqedra-0 23h agoaboodalqedra-0 asked:Please donate a small amount that may save my father's life, he needs daily medication worth 55€ and will undergo surgery worth 250€💔, please do not ignore my message and do not hesitate to help me🫂❤️‍🩹I am having difficulty communicating, please donate or share😭Please support me I am facing this alone🙏🛑Account No. 11 due to repeated deletion✅My campaign is verified by: @gaza-evacuation-fundsAnswer

aboodalqedra-0 23h agoaboodalqedra-0 asked:Please donate a small amount that may save my father's life, he needs daily medication worth 55€ and will undergo surgery worth 250€💔, please do not ignore my message and do not hesitate to help me🫂❤️‍🩹I am having difficulty communicating, please donate or share😭Please support me I am facing this alone🙏🛑Account No. 11 due to repeated deletion✅My campaign is verified by: @gaza-evacuation-fundsAnswer

kareman-palestine3

Donation Link https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-kareman-dohans-family-from-despair

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[revalition]

OCT 11 - AUTHORITY Intimidate the public. Assert yourself. authority!! my guy! I love *and* hate him very much! he's such a guy.

this is late because I spent too much time yesterday writing about him and not enough time drawing him. oops. that's also why it's so ugly but it's okay. someday I'll draw something good and you'll all be very impressed. we'll see if I can get EdC in today too or not!

and ty red for giving me your authority's wings haha, theyre soo cool. ough I love wings. if someone sent me an ask saying "draw [skill] with wings" I would be all over that so fasttt

anyway! lots of content under the cut as usual!

authority quotes!

anti sorry cop authority!! harry desperately needs someone to tell him to stop apologizing for existing... but in the second case, volition is right (as usual)

a wonderful classic here

gotta include these ofc

authority NO.

this line is just. how I image he is constantly. the millisecond your authority is questioned in the slightest he gets like this.

re. arresting klaasje

authority stopping you from being very embarrassing!

NO. no authority. there's SO many lines like this. sigh

authority seems to be a nearly perfect 50/50 split of good advice and bad advice. it's great. it's fascinating

authority and volition. authority and volitionnn. you are going to hear about the motor carriage story and there's no getting off.

rare sweet authority moment! (this heals morale too!)

realllly love this one too <3

authority, cmon man...

this guy. this guy... he's so... I don't know. he's sure something

authority CONFIRMED COMPROMISED. also authority being mean to soft little suggestion is always very funny to me

he is compromised though

hghhk this line from the authority fail. you get after failing *four* times. my first playthrough I had high authority - I had 6 PSY to start, and authority boosting clothes. and I just kept failing and failing. and every time I failed this check I had to dump another point into authority to try it again... so it was *really* high by the end! but I just kept failing it!! it was so painful... by the fourth fail you can finally beg kim to take over...

on the topic of awful authority fails! we need to acknowledge: - the authority check to get kim to dance - the authority check to save kim from getting shot - the authority check to make acele wear the hat

including it so we can enjoy authority making things worse and worse

alternatively, succeeding the check. eugh. (you dont have to kick the snow. but the fact that it's an option at all...)

I passed the check my first playthrough and failed it my second. there's really no good outcome to clicking it... except harry can get a good cry out of the fail, I guess

this seems like a good place to include the mandatory sad dream dialogue. that way we feel less bad for him since we got to just see him being stupid

now we know! tobacco wards off narco spirits, and alcohol discourages use of... narcohol. wonderful!

you know it's bad when it's too much even for authority haha

authority giving better advice than volition one time??? this is if you have cuno at the end, when you meet up with your posse. persisting with insisting on the phasmid isn't productive at all

live authority reaction to harry being told no to anything ever

low stakes authority fail haha

here's another one! not all authority fails are world-endingly bad

another one. sigh. authority. NO.

and there is soo much honour points dialogue I couldn't fit in here! the first time I got the honour cop thought bubble I was like, wow! I'm never listening to anything this skill says ever again!

the thought gives you -4 !!!! to drama! because lying is dishonourable. and then if you lie to kim about what you were doing he tells you it was an honourable lie. hypocrite. (and there is a dialogue where he says "Are you going to let him get away with being a hypocrite?" so that really makes auth a double hypocrite)

I love and hate authority in perfectly equal amounts. they don't cancel eachother out either, I just feel very strongly about him instead. I also feel very strongly about Volition, and their interactions are always fascinating. so I end up smushing them together, going fight! (and kiss!) and fight! like the extremely normal person I am. yep. you're welcome.

I could probably write half an essay my thoughts on their dynamic so I'm going to stop myself now before I have regrets :)

authority is in my favourite skills list for sure, but due to his serious personality issues I can't figure out where he places <3

[zzzallnite]

Trade Secret (A partly AI generated short story)

Horace Horowitz, with his glasses perched at the tip of his nose, scanned the last page of data for any anomalies. The lab's silence was a comfort to him, a stark contrast to the caffeine-fuelled chatter of the weekdays. The clock's hands ticked past 10:00 PM, and he knew he should go home, but his work called to him with a siren's song. Moreever, since his wife was out of town for the weekend, it wasn't like there's someone at home warming up the bed, waiting for him to come back anyway. His office, a bastion of order amidst the chaos of research, was lit by the soft glow of his computer screen. He had to ensure everything was perfect for a special lab visit coming next week. A cure for a rare disease was in his grasp, and he could not afford any missteps.

With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood, stretching his stiff limbs. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, echoing in the emptiness of the hallway as he made his way to the laboratory. The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the sanctity of his workplace. He switched on the lights, revealing the gleaming chrome surfaces and meticulously organized cabinets. Each tool and sample held the promise of saving lives, and he treated them with the respect they deserved.

The lab was his sanctuary, a place where he could lose himself in his work and forget about the outside world. His eyes darted from bench to bench, making sure all was in order for the upcoming inspection. The shelves were lined with flasks and beakers of various sizes, their contents a rainbow of scientific secrets waiting to be unlocked. Horace's heart raced with excitement and a touch of anxiety. This breakthrough was his legacy, a testament to years of tireless dedication.

As he reached the far corner of the room, he heard a faint sound, like the rustling of paper. Horace froze, his hand hovering over the light switch. The lab was supposed to be empty tonight. He told himself it was probably just the wind playing tricks on him, but his instincts were screaming otherwise. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find nothing but shadows and his own reflection in the glass cabinets. Yet, something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew he wasn't alone.

With quiet resolve, Horace tiptoed back towards the hallway, his ears straining to catch any hint of an intruder. The soft padding of footsteps grew louder, and he could see the silhouette of a man walking towards him, a flashlight in hand. It was Ben Naber, the night shift's security guard. His blue security outfit was a beacon of comfort in the otherwise deserted corridor. Horace felt his heart rate slow as Ben's familiar face emerged from the darkness.

"Everything okay, Doc?" Ben's voice was a gentle rumble, a stark contrast to his intimidating physique. He shone the light on his face, revealing a concerned expression beneath his square chin.

Horace let out a nervous chuckle. "Just couldn't resist the call of science, Ben. How's your night?" He tried to keep his tone light, but the tension was palpable. Ben nodded, his eyes sweeping the hallway before they settled back on Horace. "Quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me."

The two men exchanged a knowing look. In the world of pharmaceutical research, quiet nights were rare. The stakes were high, and the competition was cutthroat. Horace felt a pang of gratitude for Ben's vigilance. "I'll be finishing up soon," he assured the guard, "then I'll head home."

Ben nodded again, his flashlight casting eerie shadows on the walls as he resumed his patrol. Horace watched him disappear around the corner before returning to his office. The brief encounter had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He couldn't help but wonder if the whispers of corporate espionage were more than just paranoid fantasies.

He sat back down at his desk, the glow of the computer screen washing over his face. The data was still there, beckoning him with its secrets. Horace steeled himself and continued his work, the rhythm of his typing a comforting counterpoint to the silence of the lab. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't the only one searching for something in the night. The cure was so close, but the shadows cast by the secrets of his competitors grew longer with each passing moment...

---

Outside, on the terrace, David Jones took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a fiery eye in the darkness. He leaned against the railing, his gaze distant. The city lights twinkled like stars that had fallen from the sky, a stark contrast to the quiet of the research facility. The cold wind ruffled his white hair, and he tugged his leather jacket closer around him. The scent of smoke mingled with the faint odor of the night-blooming jasmine that grew along the terrace's edge. He had seen a lot in his years in the military, but the stakes here were different. This wasn't about power or politics; it was about lives.

The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him. He was here to protect not just the lab but the hope it contained. Horace's work was a beacon in a world where profit often took precedence over people. The thought of losing that to some greedy corporation made his blood boil. He had seen good men and women fall to the whims of those who wielded power without care for the consequences. He couldn't let that happen here.

David took a final puff of his cigarette before flicking it into the night. The embers arced through the darkness, a fleeting spark of defiance against the vastness of the sky. He ground the butt into the concrete with the heel of his boot, the crunch a small but satisfying act of aggression. His scar, a souvenir from his time in the service, tingled with a phantom pain that served as a constant reminder of the battles he had already fought. But this was a new war, one waged in the shadows of boardrooms and lab corridors.

He pushed away from the railing and began to pace the perimeter of the terrace, his eyes scanning the grounds below. The sensation of unease grew stronger with each step, a prickling at the base of his neck that whispered of impending danger. The quiet of the night was usually a balm to his soul, but tonight it felt like a shroud, concealing threats just beyond the reach of his sight.

Finally, with a firm nod to himself, David decided to head to the security office. The lab's security system was state-of-the-art, but it was his job to ensure that the digital fortifications were backed up by a human presence. His shoes clicked against the cold floor as he made his way back inside, the sound echoing through the empty halls like a warning to any unseen intruder. The dim emergency lights cast long shadows that danced with each step he took, making the corridors seem like a maze of shifting darkness.

As he approached the security office, the light grew brighter, spilling from the open doorway. His stride quickened, the quiet now a deafening crescendo in his ears. Something was wrong. He knew it deep in his bones. The door was ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the gloom. With a swift movement, he pushed it open, ready for anything.

The sight that greeted him was not what he had anticipated. Ben Naber, the burly night guard, lay sprawled across the floor, his chair toppled beside him. The flashlight he had been carrying was nowhere to be seen. His head was at an awkward angle, and his eyes were closed, a thin line of drool and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. David's heart skipped a beat. He rushed to Ben's side, dropping to his knees and checking for a pulse. It was there, strong and steady, but Ben was out cold.

With a trembling hand, David reached for Ben's eyelids, gently lifting them to reveal unresponsive pupils. They were dilated, a clear sign of trauma or a substance. The sweet odor of a particular chemical still faintly lingered in the air. Chloroform. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. The room was in disarray, papers strewn across the floor, monitors smashed, and the control panel of the security system hanging off the wall. Ben's tank top was drenched in sweat, and bruises were already beginning to bloom across his face. His breathing was shallow, and David could see the tension in his jaw as if he was fighting to regain consciousness. Gently, he rolled Ben onto his side to keep his airway clear and searched for any signs of severe injury. His breathing remained shallow, but the pulse was still strong. The room spun with a whirlwind of thoughts, but David knew he had to keep it together. He couldn't risk alerting whoever was responsible.

The cold realization set in. Ben had been incapacitated, and someone had breached the lab's security. David's instincts kicked into overdrive, and he pulled out his radio, his thumb hovering over the call button. But he hesitated. If the intruder had managed to get this far without triggering any alarms, they were likely monitoring communications. He needed to think fast. He gently shook Ben's shoulder, trying to rouse him. "Naber, come on, wake up," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. But the guard remained still, lost in the depths of unconsciousness.

David took in the scene before him. Ben's blue security outfit was nowhere to be found. The uniform was gone, which meant the intruder had likely donned it to move about the premises undetected. David's hand hovered over the radio once more, his mind racing. He had to warn Horace without alerting whoever was prowling the halls. Silently, David rose to his feet and stepped out into the corridor, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The shadows stretched out like the fingers of an unseen hand, hinting at the hidden dangers lurking within...

---

Horace, engrossed in his research, was oblivious to the drama unfolding in the security office. His office door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. From his vantage point, he saw a shadow move in the periphery of his vision. Assuming it was Ben on his rounds, he called out, "Everything alright out there?" No answer. The shadow grew larger, and the footsteps grew closer. Horace's heart began to race as the realization dawned on him. The silhouette was not Ben's. It was someone else, someone who moved with a stealth that seemed almost predatory.

The figure burst into the office, and Horace stumbled backward, his chair scraping against the floor. The intruder was clad in Ben's security outfit, the blue fabric stretching taut over a slender frame that was definitely not the night guard's. The room felt suddenly suffocating as the stranger's presence filled the space. Horace's throat tightened, and he could barely force the words out. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The intruder's voice was low and measured, a chilling calm in the face of the chaos they had brought. "Professor Horowitz, I suggest you stay quiet and face the wall. We wouldn't want any unnecessary trouble, would we?" A gloved hand reached out, gesturing to the wall behind him. Horace's eyes widened, his breaths shallow and quick. The cold steel of the gun pressed into his back was unmistakable, and the weight of the situation settled heavily upon him. With trembling hands, he slowly complied, turning to face the wall. The intruder's footsteps were almost silent, a ghostly dance across the office floor. Horace could hear the rustling of papers, the quiet clink of objects being moved. His desk drawers were opened and closed, each sound a knell of fear. What did they want? His research? The cure? His mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.

In the tense silence, the only thing that kept time was the steady ticking of the clock in the hallway. Each tick felt like a countdown to an explosion that would shatter the very fabric of his life's work. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he couldn't help but think of his wife, Rachel. The way she had looked at him with such pride when he had told her of his breakthrough. The thought of her face, filled with disappointment and fear, was more than he could bear. He had to do something.

With a burst of adrenaline, Horace lunged for the door. His glasses slipped down his nose as he sprinted, his heart racing with the hope of escape. But the shadowy figure was too fast. The intruder spun around, their eyes meeting his in a chilling gaze. In a swift motion, the metal bin that was previously lying by Horace's desk flew across the room toward the fleeing professor, its contents scattered in the air. Horace's body flew forward as his legs tangled with the metal object, and he slammed his forehead against the hard office door with a sickening crunch…

Outside, David's keen ears picked up the sounds of a struggle. He had been cautiously making his way towards Horowitz's office when the sudden commotion sent him into high alert. He ducked low, his military instincts taking over. Silently, he approached the open door, his hand tightening around the grip of the gun that was hidden under his jacket.

David's eyes narrowed in anger as he took in the scene. He recognized the signs of a struggle immediately: the office was in shambles, papers scattered everywhere, and the scent of fear thick in the air. The esteemed scholar lay on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from a gash on his forehead, his glasses askew on the nose bridge.

The intruder, now visible in the harsh light of the room, was a slender figure wearing Ben's security uniform. He was bent over Horace, his face a mask of frustration as he patted the professor's cheeks, trying to bring him around. It was clear from the way he moved and the tension in his body that he was not finding what he sought. The thief's eyes darted around the room, searching for something specific, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second.

"Oi, wake up," the stranger hissed, his voice tight with urgency. He patted the side of Horace's face, trying to revive him. But the professor remained still, lost in oblivion. The intruder's eyes narrowed in frustration, his gloved hands flexing and unflexing. He didn't expect the old man to still be here. It seemed that the universe itself was conspiring against him.

The room grew warmer, the silence thick and oppressive. The only sound was the distant ticking of the clock and the soft rustle of the intruder's movements. Then, something caught his eye. A glint of metal peeking out from under Horace's white button-up shirt. It was a necklace, tucked into the neckline, almost invisible. The intruder's grip tightened, and he yanked open the shirt with surprising strength. Buttons flew across the room, bouncing off the walls and landing with muffled thuds on the floor. Horace's chest, a landscape of grey hair, was exposed to the cold air, the necklace lying against his skin like a serpent waiting to strike. The intruder's eyes widened at the sight of the memory card hanging from the chain around the unconscious professor's neck. This was it, the prize he had been sent to retrieve.

He reached for the necklace with trembling hands, the anticipation of victory almost overwhelming. But just as his gloved fingers brushed against the plastic, a shadow fell over him. David's voice, a low growl of authority, filled the room. "Stop right there. You're not going anywhere with that." The intruder's head snapped up, his eyes wild with panic. David's form, silhouetted in the doorway, was a silent sentinel of justice, his hand steady as he pointed the gun at the intruder's chest.

The thief's eyes darted from David to Horace and back again, his mind racing. He had underestimated the lab's security, and now he was trapped. The card was so close, the culmination of weeks of planning and risk, but the cold metal of the gun barrel was a stark reminder of his precarious situation. He slowly raised his hands, the necklace still clutched in his grip, and took a step back.

"Don't do anything stupid," David warned, his voice a calm command that seemed to resonate through the cluttered office. His eyes never left the intruder's face, watching for any sign of a fight or flight response. But as the thief raised his hands in surrender, a shadow grew in the corner of David's vision. Too late, he realized the mistake he had made.

The blow came from behind, swift and brutal. A blunt object connected to the back of his head, sending him stumbling forward. His gun clattered to the floor, spinning away as his vision swam. The world tilted, and he felt the floor rush up to meet him. Through the haze of pain, he saw the intruder's eyes light up with a malicious glee. The thief had an accomplice, someone who had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

David's tense body just moments ago has turned into a slab of unmoving muscles lying belly down on the floor. The intruder took advantage of the distraction, ripping the necklace from Horace's neck. The memory card slipped free, and the thief pocketed it with a triumphant smile. David's vision grew darker, the edges of his consciousness fading like a candle flame in a strong wind.

But before he succumbed to the oblivion of unconsciousness, he heard the thieves' hushed whispers. The first voice, the one from the man who had been searching the room, was tinged with excitement. "We've got it. Let's go." The second voice, deeper and more menacing, responded with a cold, calculating calm. "Not so fast. We can't leave any witnesses. We need to take care of them..."

---

The world spun around him, and David felt his body being moved. His arms and legs were limp, useless as the intruders laid him and Horace side by side on the floor. He could feel the cold seeping through his clothes, the pain in his head a pulsing rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. The room swam before his eyes, a sea of shadows and blurred shapes that made him feel as though he were drowning in darkness.

The sound of zippers being undone was the first indication of what was to come. He strained to move, to fight back, but his muscles refused to obey. The thieves were stripping them, leaving their pants and underwear in a tangled heap around their ankles. The exposure was a humiliation that burned through the fog of his consciousness, a violation that cut deeper than the pain in his skull.

One of the thieves produced a sleek, black case, the kind that might hold a pen or a pair of sunglasses. But instead of innocuous items, it contained a set of needleless syringes filled with a clear, viscous liquid. The thief's eyes were cold and emotionless as he selected one and approached Horace's prone form. With a practiced ease that spoke of experience, he inserted the syringe into the professor's urethra and depressed the plunger. Horace's body jerked once, a silent scream, but he remained unconscious. The thief's fingers clamped his victim's slit tight, preventing the precious liquid from oozing out, and maximizing its sedating effect.

David's body was next. The thief's movements were efficient and calculated, a dance of violence and control. The sedative was administered in the same manner, and the same involuntary spasm rippled through David's frame. His breathing grew shallower as the drug took effect, his eyes flickering closed once more. The coldness of the floor seeped into his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of a thin line blood trickling down on the back of his neck. The thieves pulled the men's trousers back to their orginal positions, and stepped back. Their task complete, and the room grew still once more.

They carried the unconscious men out of the office and into the corridor, their bodies limp and heavy. The sound of their shoes scraping against the tiles seemed to echo through the empty halls like a funeral procession. The thieves were careful not to let their burdens bump into the walls or knock over any obstacles, their movements synchronized like a macabre ballet. They managed to navigate the lab with surprising ease, as if they had been there many times before. The stolen data was nestled in the pocket of the leader's jacket, the prize that had brought them here. The memory card was a silent promise of wealth and power, a weapon to wield in the cutthroat world of pharmaceuticals.

Once outside, the cold night air hit them like a slap in the face. The stars above looked down on the unfolding drama with indifferent eyes. The van was parked in the shadows across the street, its engine idling quietly. The thieves' breaths formed plumes of mist in the chilly air as they hurried across the asphalt. The van's doors slid open with a whisper, revealing an interior that was surprisingly clean and organized.

The back of the van looked more like a small dentist office than a typical getaway vehicle. The walls were lined with gleaming chrome and white panels, a stark contrast to the black fabric that covered the floor. The only nod to its true purpose was the pair of leather-strapped chairs bolted to the floor, their surfaces gleaming with antiseptic. The thieves lifted Horace and David into the seats with a disturbing gentleness, careful not to disturb their unconscious forms. The leather was cold and unyielding beneath their bare skin, a stark reminder of their vulnerability.

A third figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in all white, a stark contrast to the attires that the first two intruders had been wearing. This one was a woman, her features sharp and angular, with a look that spoke of a precision and skill that was both terrifying and fascinating. She moved with the grace of a surgeon, her hands deftly tending to the men's injuries with an almost loving care. She dabbed at the blood on Horace's forehead with a sterile cloth, the crimson staining the white fabric like a macabre bouquet. Her movements were swift and sure, each touch a silent promise that she would leave no trace of their struggle behind.

With a sigh of annoyance, she straightened up and looked at the two men who had brought the unconscious figures to her. "You've made a mess of things," she admonished them, her voice low and even. "This was supposed to be clean. No witnesses, no fuss."

The one with the malicious smile shrugged, his eyes still gleaming with excitement. "They're out cold. What does it matter?"

The woman's gaze was like ice as it landed on him. "It matters," she said, her voice a whip crack in the quiet van. "We can't have loose ends, especially not when the prize is this valuable." She gestured to the memory card now nestled in her pocket, a small but significant bulge. "You two are getting sloppy. This isn't just about the data anymore."

The thief with the malicious smile took a step back, his bravado slipping. "What do you mean?"

The woman's voice was like a scalpel, slicing through the air. "I mean you left the security guard still in the security office. If he wakes up, if he remembers anything, it'll be a disaster." She turned her attention to the man who had been searching the room. "You. Go back and finish the job."

The thief's eyes narrowed, and he took a step towards the woman. "You want me to kill him?"

Her response was a chilling smile. "No, I want you to bring him to me. Alive."

The thief's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. He nodded, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He knew better than to argue with her. She was the boss, the one who had hired them for this job. The one who had provided the intel, the gear, the exit strategy.

The two intruders turned and once again disappeared into the night, the van's door closing with a heavy thud. The engine purred to life, and the woman's eyes remained fixed on the two unconscious forms before her. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of contingency plans and escape routes. They had been so close to a clean getaway. Now, they had to deal with an unexpected variable. But she was a master of improvisation, a chess player who could predict ten moves ahead. She knew exactly what to do.

The potent sedative would keep Horace and David under for the hours to come, and she had no intention of letting their memories resurface. The mind-wiping technology was still experimental, but it was a tool she had used before with great success. She had no doubt that by the time they awoke, the events of the night would be nothing but a hazy dream, forgotten as quickly as a nightmare upon waking. But she had to be thorough. No loose ends, no trace of their existence.

With a series of clicks and whirs, the chairs began to recline, and a peculiar contraption descended from the above the chairs. It was a memory-altering device, a piece of technology so advanced that it was rumored to be illegal in most countries. Horace's and David's heads were cradled by the soft padding, and the cold metal of the contraption pressed against their temples. The room was bathed in an eerie blue light. The machine hummed to life, the sound vibrating through the metal floorboards and up into the men's bones. A series of lights blinking in a hypnotic pattern. The men felt a strange tugging at the edges of their consciousness, as if their very thoughts were being plucked from their brains. The world grew fuzzy, and the line between reality and nightmare began to blur.

Leaning over Horace's still form, she gently lifted off the glasses that had been clinging on the man's face for its dear life throughout the violent ordeal, and raised one of his eyelids. The pupil dilating in the dim light - a flicker of life danced across his face despite his comatose disposition. She felt for a pulse at his neck. It was strong and steady, the rhythm of a man who had lived a life of the mind, not one of physical exertion.

Years ago, she had been a student in his class, a young girl with a burning curiosity for the intricacies of molecular biology. Back then, she had watched him from the back of the lecture hall, her heart fluttering every time he spoke, his knowledge like a beacon drawing her in. The way his glasses would slip down his nose, the way he'd push them back up with a forefinger, the passion that infused every syllable he uttered about DNA and genetic codes. She had been in awe of him, had dreamed of working alongside him, perhaps even sharing her life with him. But fate had other plans.

Now, she had him at her mercy, and the irony was not lost on her. Horace Horowitz, the man she had once idolized, lay unconscious before her, a victim of her own twisted ambition. She studied his face, noticing the new lines etched by time and stress, the slight pallor that had replaced his once vibrant complexion. With a flicker of something akin to regret, she reached out and brushed a lock of his dishevelled hair from his forehead. It was then that she caught a faint whiff of his scent, a combination of stale cologne and the earthy aroma of a life spent in dusty labs. Her nose twitched, and she leaned in closer, sniffing his hairy chest. It was an oddly intimate gesture, one she had not planned. But there it was, a sudden urge to inhale the essence of the man whose work she had sought to claim as her own. Her hand hovered over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath the fabric of his button-up shirt, stained with patches of blood.

But it was the sight of David Jones, the Head of Security, that truly piqued her interest. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his breathing deep and even. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders, the fabric of his black polo shirt stretching taut, revealing the contours of his pectoral muscles honed by years of military service. The contrast between Horace's scholarly softness and David's hardened resolve was stark. The professor, with his gentle touch and quiet wisdom, had always been a figure of comfort in the harsh world of academia. But it was the former soldier's unyielding discipline and fierce protection of what he deemed right that she found increasingly alluring. As she secured their bonds with practiced efficiency, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of something she hadn't expected—desire.

Her hand paused as she reached for the bandage to dress David's head wound. His skin was warm to the touch, his pulse a steady throb beneath her fingertips. She found herself drawn to the vulnerability of this man who had been sent to safeguard the very thing she sought to steal. As she gently cleaned the blood from his skin, she noticed the way his eyes fluttered beneath his lids, as if trying to break free of the unconsciousness that held him captive. The smell of his sweat and the faint scent of leather from his jacket filled her nose, a heady mix that sent a shiver down her spine.

The woman's eyes lingered on the scar that ran along the side of his face, tracing the jagged line with a tenderness that surprised even her. The harshness of his features, so at odds with the gentle sway of his chest as he breathed, only served to heighten her attraction. She had seen men like him before, in the military compounds she had infiltrated, but never had one been so close, never had one been so… tempting. Her breath caught in her throat as she applied the bandage, pressing it down firmly but not too hard, her mind racing with thoughts of what might happen if he were to wake up right then and there.

With a tremble in her hand, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle, almost chaste, but it sent a bolt of electricity through her body. She felt his breath warm against her mouth, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment, the power she held in her grasp. For a brief, terrifying second, she thought he might stir, that he might open his eyes and see her there, hovering over him like a predator. But he remained still, unresponsive to her advances, lost in the depths of oblivion.

Her pulse quickened, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sight of him, laid bare and vulnerable before her, sent a thrill through her body that she had never experienced before. The need to claim him, to assert her dominance, was overwhelming. The desire that had been simmering within her for so long was now a raging inferno, demanding to be sated. She reached for the zipper of his slacks, her fingers trembling with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As the teeth of the zipper parted, the sound seemed to echo in the confined space of the van, a metaphor for the walls of her inhibitions crumbling around her…

---

In the security office, Ben's eyelids fluttered open. The world was a blur, the edges of his vision a kaleidoscope of colors that danced and swirled. He felt groggy, his body heavy as if he had just emerged from a deep sleep. The room spun around him, and he had to grip the edge of the desk to keep from toppling over. His mind was a fog, his thoughts sluggish and slow.

The last thing he remembered was talking to Professor Horowitz, the comforting weight of his flashlight in his hand. Then, darkness. The suddenness of it all made his stomach churn, and he had to swallow back bile. He looked down at his shirt, expecting to find it stained with the remnants of his dinner, but instead, his gaze fell upon a spread of crimson. His hand went to the rim of his nostrils, and his fingertips came away sticky with blood. Panic began to set in, a cold hand closing around his heart. Something was wrong, very wrong.

He tried to sit up, but the world tilted, and he had to grab hold of the chair to keep from falling. The pain in his face was a drumbeat in his skull, pulsing with every throb of his heart. He touched his jaw gingerly, his teeth gritted against the agony, and felt the tender swelling. He had been hit, hard. Who would do this? And why?

Panic coiled in his gut like a snake. He had to call for help. But as he reached for the radio, his hand froze. The line was dead. He looked down at his shirt, the fabric clinging to his sweaty body, and realized with horror that he was in his undershirt. His pants were gone too, leaving him in his boxers and black socks. A chill of fear crept up his spine. The thieves had taken his uniform. They had infiltrated the building.

With trembling fingers, Ben felt his pockets, searching for his phone. Empty. They had taken that too. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. He needed to warn David, to get help, but the fog in his brain made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees wobbly like a newborn fawn's. Each step was a battle against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

As he reached for the door handle, the world tilted again, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him upright. He had to get out, had to tell someone. The lab, the research, Horace—it was all at risk. He took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

And that's when they surprised him, two shadows stepping out of the darkness. Ben recognized the uniform immediately; the same one he had been wearing before everything went haywire.

"You're coming with us," the first thief, the one with the smug smile, said as he grabbed Ben by the arm, twisting it behind his back.

The pain was a white-hot knife slicing through the fog in Ben's brain. He roared, a primal sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his soul. With the last of his strength, he swung his other elbow back, catching the thief in the ribs. The man grunted and loosened his grip just enough for Ben to wrench free. He stumbled into the second thief, knocking them both off balance, and they crashed into the wall of the narrow corridor. The impact was like a bomb going off in Ben's head, but he didn't care. The fight or flight instinct had taken over, and he was fighting with everything he had.

But his opponents were not so easily deterred - they had recovered faster than Ben would have liked. The thief with the smug smile was on him again, his hands like iron manacles around Ben's neck. He saw the other man's foot coil back, the muscles in his leg tightening like a spring. Then it shot forward, a blur of motion, and connected with Ben's forehead. His head snapped back, the force of the kick sending him sprawling like a ragdoll. His vision swam with a faint memory before everything went black.

Earlier that evening, Ben had been walking back to the security office after his usual patrol of the lab. The corridors had been unusually quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional beep from a distant machine. He had just finished his chat with Professor Horowitz. As Ben had returnes to the security office, a figure had emerged from the shadows of the room, a blur of darkness and malicious intent. The blow to the face came swift and unexpected, sending shockwaves of pain through his skull. He collapsed on the floor, but before he could recover, another wave of kicks and punches crashing down on him. He barely had time to register the attacker's face, as a damp cloth was immediaty slapped over his nose and mouth. His eyes watered and his limbs felt like lead weights attached to his body. He struggled, but his body was betraying him, turning to jelly under the potent fumes...

Back to the present, the thief with a distinctive scar on the left of his face stepped over his prone opponent, the burly security guard, "You're one tough motherfucker," he murmured, but Ben was beyond hearing, lost to the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness for the second time of the evening.

The two intruders grunted and strained as they hoisted Ben's bulk between them, his unconscious form a dead weight. They stumbled under the burden, their breaths coming in harsh gasps. Each step was a struggle, their muscles screaming with the effort. The thief with the scar on his left temple took the lead, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for any sign of danger. The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the slap of their shoes against the tiles.

The van's engine purred in the distance, the blue light from the contraption inside casting a glow that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of their racing hearts. As they approached, the moaning grew louder, a sound that seemed to resonate with the very air around them. It was a sound of pain, of need, of something primal and terrifying.

The thief with the scar on his temple paused, his grip on Ben's arm tightening. "What the hell is that?" he hissed, his eyes darting to the closed doors of the van.

They stumbled the last few feet to the van, the doors sliding open with a hiss. Inside, the woman in white was exactly where they had left her, but the scene was far from what they had expected. She sat astride David's unconscious body, her left hand braced on his broad chest. The leather of the chair creaked under her weight as she rocked her hips, her movements slow and deliberate. Her eyes were closed, lost in a world of her own making. The blue light from the contraption played over her skin, casting eerie shadows across her features. Her breaths were deep and even, a counterpoint to the moans that filled the van. It was a sound that was both terrifying and mesmerizing, a symphony of control and dominance.

Horace lay in the chair next to them, his body limp and unresponsive. The woman's hand was buried in his crotch, her fingers working with a cold, detached precision. The old man's skin was pale and slack, his face a mask of peaceful oblivion. Yet, even in his unconscious state, his body began to respond to her touch. His penis grew hard, a silent protest against the invasion of his dignity. The thief with the scar watched with a mix of disgust and fascination, his grip on Ben's arm loosening slightly as he took in the scene. The other thief's eyes were glued to the woman, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts.

Without a word, he released Ben and moved to the other side of the van. His own hand dipped into his pants, stroking himself as he took in the sight of his boss with the unconscious Head of Security. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, the kind that came from watching something taboo, something that shouldn't be. His own desires were a confusing mess, a tapestry of power and submission that he didn't fully understand. He stepped closer to Horace's chair, his eyes never leaving the woman's hand as it moved with purpose.

The thief's hand was shaking as he reached out to mimic her movements. He had seen this kind of thing before, in the dark corners of the internet, but never had he been part of it, never had he thought he would be. His finger slid into Horace's anus, feeling the old man's muscles loosely clench around him. The professor's erection grew more prominent as his prostate was stimulated by the thrusting motion of the gloved finger, and the thief couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, as if he had somehow contributed to the scene unfolding before him. The woman's eyes snapped open, meeting his, and she nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his participation.

The other thief's hand moved to his own pants, his erection straining against the fabric. He was caught in a loop of arousal and revulsion, the power of the moment warring with the horror of what they were doing. Yet he couldn't look away, his eyes drawn to the sight of his boss, the woman in white, using these men like puppets. The contraption above them hummed away, the lights flickering faster and faster as if in time with the thief's racing heart.

With a grunt, he dropped Ben onto the floor of the van, the heavy man's body thudding onto the cold metal. The thief tugged at Ben's briefs, pulling them down roughly, exposing the plump flesh of his buttocks to the chilly air. He positioned himself behind Ben, his breath hot and ragged, and paused for a moment, his own body betraying his twisted excitement. This wasn't what he had signed up for, but the thrill of the unknown was intoxicating. He lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against the night guard's yielding entrance. With a final glance at the woman, he pushed forward, feeling the give of flesh as he began to thrust.

Ben's body jerked with each violent entry; his mind was too far lost in the dark abyss of unconsciousness. His mouth hung open, a trickle of drool sliding down his chin, pooling on the floor beneath him. The thief took his time, his strokes growing more confident, each one a silent claim of victory over the man he had bested. The van's floor was cold and unforgiving against Ben's bare skin, a stark reminder of his helplessness. The woman watched the scene unfold with a detached air, her own hand still working between David's legs, her eyes hooded with lust.

Meanwhile, the scarred thief took the opportunity to strip the items from the comatose men, starting with Horace's footwear. It slipped off with a soft sigh of suede, revealing the old professor's black socked foot, the fabric stretched taut over his bony toes. He did the same to David, his eyes lingering on the guard's powerful legs, the muscles standing out in stark relief against the fabric of his black polyester crew socks. It was a small act of degradation, but it felt right, a way to assert their dominance over the two men who had dared to stand in their way.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of sweat and leather that clung to the socks like a second skin. It was an aroma that spoke of hard work and masculine vitality, and it sent a thrill through him, a strange mix of arousal and disgust. He had always had a thing for feet, a secret fetish that he had never dared to indulge until now. He hold Horace's socked foot in his hand, feeling the dampness of it against his palm, the slight give of the material. It was like holding a piece of the man himself, a part of him that no one else had ever touched. He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, the scent making him lightheaded.

With trembling hands, he gently placed Horace's socked foot against his own erection, the softness of the fabric a stark contrast to the hardness of his cock. He began to thrust, his hips moving in a silent mimicry of the sex act, his eyes locked on the woman as she watched him with a cool detachment. The leather of his chair creaked in time with his movements, a rhythmic counterpoint to the grunts of effort coming from the thief on the floor. Each time he pushed forward, the socked foot slid along his length, the fabric whispering against his sensitive skin. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt before, a strange blend of comfort and depravity that made his blood sing.

Meanwhile, the woman leaned over David's unconscious form, her eyes hooded with a mix of concentration and something else, something darker. She lifted his polo shirt damped with masculine musk, revealing a hairy expanse of pectorals. Her hand hovered over his chest for a moment, the silence in the van thick with tension. Then, with a sudden, surprising force, she began to rub his chest vigorously, her palms gliding over the curly hairs that coated the broad planes of his torso. Her movements were sharp and efficient, like a doctor performing a lifesaving procedure, but the intimacy of the act sent a shiver through the thief who was still thrusting into Ben's unyielding body.

Her eyes fell on the scar that bisected David's right pecs, a jagged line of pale flesh that stood out like a lightning bolt against the fair skin. She traced it with her index finger, the pad of her digit tracing the path of the old wound. It was a story written in flesh, a tale of pain and survival that spoke of battles fought and won. She wondered briefly what had caused it, if it was a souvenir from his days in the military or something more personal. Her curiosity was piqued, a rare feeling for someone who dealt in cold, hard facts and the cold, hard reality of their work.

With a practiced ease, she reached over and began to rewire the memory-altering contraption. She knew the technology like the back of her hand, having used it often enough in her line of work. The cables slithered like serpents as she manipulated them, the lights on the panel blinking in a pattern that only she understood. The thief watching her from the corner of the van swallowed hard, his own arousal mixing with a fear of the unknown. What was she doing? He had never seen her act like this before.

The woman in white's eyes were glazed over as she worked, lost in her own thoughts. She was crafting a narrative, a falsehood so convincing it would be indistinguishable from reality. In the new version of events, David would remember her as his lover, someone he had shared intimate moments with. The thought of it made her pulse race, the idea of planting such a deeply personal memory into his mind thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. It was a power play, a way to ensure his loyalty and compliance when they next met.

The thief thrusting into Ben took a moment to appreciate the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here he was, in a high-security lab, committing a heinous act against the very person who was supposed to protect the place. He chuckled darkly to himself, the sound echoing off the metal walls of the van. With a grunt of effort, he flipped Ben onto his back, his own breaths coming in shallow gasps. Ben's chest rose and fell erratically, the soft folds of his stomach jiggling with each movement. The thief took a moment to stare into Ben's slack face, the man's eyes rolled back in his head. He felt a strange thrill at the thought of the terror that would fill those eyes when he awoke to the realization of what had been done to him.

"Hey," the thief said, his voice low and taunting. "You're gonna remember this, right?" He leaned down, his own face a twisted mask of pleasure and malice. "You're gonna remember how I had you, how you couldn't do anything to stop me." His hand tightened around Ben's throat, the other still buried in the man's body. He could feel the night guard's pulse, a frantic rabbit's heartbeat that only served to spur him on. He slammed his hips down, burying himself to the hilt, the sound of flesh meeting flesh a wet slap that filled the small space. "You're gonna remember every single second of this, even if you're not conscious for it."

The woman in white looked up from her task, her eyes meeting the thief's with a cold, hard gleam. "We don't leave any loose ends," she murmured, her voice a sultry purr. "Make sure he remembers nothing."

The thief, his own lust-induced haze momentarily broken, stared at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But...what about you? What you're doin' to him, that's personal," he protested, nodding towards David's unconscious form.

The woman in white paused in her task, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What I do is for the job," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "What you're doing is a bonus." She turned back to the machine, her fingers moving with the grace of a pianist.

The thief stared at her for a moment, his grip on Ben's socked ankles loosening slightly. He could see the logic in her words, even if it didn't sit well with him. After all, this was why they had all signed up for this line of work—to get what they wanted, no matter the cost. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. He had to make sure Ben wouldn't remember, not a single detail. He didn't know what the boss had planned for the clearly virile silver fox, but he knew enough to be grateful he wasn't the one in her crosshairs.

With a final, brutal thrust, he finished inside Ben, the night guard's body jerking one last time before going still. The thief pulled out, his own legs wobbly from the exertion. He stepped away, leaving Ben sprawled on the floor of the van, his anal entrance coated with a sticky, translucent substance. The woman didn't look up from her work, her attention fully focused on the machine's whirring guts...

---

"Hnnnnngghh..."

Horace grunted, his body twitched as his eyes fluttering open. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the computer screens, the only sound the quiet hum of the lab outside. He sat up from the cold floor, his hand going to his forehead. It felt like a bad dream, the kind that left you in cold sweat and disoriented. But there was something...off. His heart raced as he tried to remember what had happened.

The last thing he recalled was being in his office, going over the latest data on his research. The cure for the rare disease had been his obsession for years, a quest that had cost him sleep, relationships, and nearly his sanity. Yet, here he was, as if he had merely dozed off.

With a trembling hand, Horace reached for the necklace that held the memory card, feeling for the comforting weight of the small, metallic square. It was still there, nestled against his chest, a silent sentinel that had somehow survived the night's events. His heart skipped a beat. It had to be a sign. He had to check, had to make sure his work was secure. He fumbled with the clasp, his hands clammy with a mix of fear and relief. The card was still there, nestled in its slot within the necklace, untouched.

The clock on the wall read 3:15 AM, a silent judge of the hours he had lost. Horace sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He pushed himself out of the chair, his knees popping as he stood. A sharp pain lanced through his skull, making him wince. "Must have fallen and hit my head," he murmured to himself, feeling around his scalp. He didn't realize how long he was out. Couldn't even recall the fall, the impact. Just the sudden blackness, like someone had thrown a switch. His mind raced as he padded over to the door, the soft soles of his suede loafers whispering against the cold linoleum. He reached out for a switch on the wall; the harsh fluorescent lights burning his retinas.

His office was a mess, papers scattered across the floor, the chair knocked over. Horace's gaze fell on his shirt, the once crisp white fabric now marred with crimson splatters. His heart skipped a beat as his fingers touched the torn buttons, the fabric sticking to his skin. The blood was warm, sticky. It had to be his. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him, and he stumbled back, bumping into the wall. His breathing grew shallow, the room spinning around him. He had to find a guard, get some help.

With shaky legs, he made his way down the hallway, calling out for Naber or Jones. The lab was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint beeping of machines and his own panicked breaths echoing through the corridor. Horace's stomach churned, the coppery taste of fear thick in his mouth. He had to find someone, had to explain...what had happened.

He turned the corner and found the security office, the door ajar. Inside, Ben lay slumped in his chair, snoring gently. His bared, dark socked feet lay on the control desk, lightly trembling with every breath the burly security guard made. The sight of the heavyset guard, chin resting on his chest and mouth open, brought a moment of relief to Horace's chest. But as he approached, he noticed the bruises that marred Ben's square jaw, the dishevelled mess of his salt-and-pepper hair, and the dried blood crusting in the corner of his mouth. His blue cargo shirt was undone halfway through down to the navel, exposing the white ribbed tank top beneath, which was stained with sweat and something darker. Horace's heart lurched.

With a tremble, he reached out to shake Ben's shoulder, calling his name. The guard stirred, his eyes fluttering open with a grunt. For a second, there was no recognition, just confusion. Then Ben's gaze sharpened, his eyes locking onto the professor's with a jolt of understanding. "Professor?" he croaked, his voice raw as if he had been screaming. "What the hell happened?"

Ben looked down at himself, at the open shirt, the bruises, the blood, and his mind went blank. The last thing he remembered was checking the security monitors, a monotonous task that had lulled him into a light doze. "I don't remember," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was just sitting here, keeping an eye on things, and then..." He trailed off, his mind a fog of uncertainty.

Horace's eyes were wide with panic as he took in Ben's dishevelled state. "We need to find David," he urged, his voice shaking. "Call him, now." Ben fumbled for the radio, his hands thick and clumsy, and pressed the call button. "Jones, this is Naber. Jones, can you hear me? We've got a situation."

The static response was deafening, the line eerily silent. "Shit," Ben murmured, his eyes darting around the room. He tried again, his voice more frantic this time. "Jones, respond. This is not a drill!" Still, no reply. The silence was unnerving, a stark contrast to the usual calm efficiency of the lab's night shift.

Horace's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle that was his missing time. His eyes darted to the security monitors, expecting to see David's stern face staring back at them, but instead, the screens were black. The lab was a ghost town, a stark reminder of their vulnerability. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, to reach into the depths of his consciousness for any hint of what had transpired. But the voice in his head was silent, a mute witness to the horrors that had unfolded just beyond his grasp. It was as if someone had reached into his mind and ripped out the very fabric of his thoughts, leaving him with nothing but a void where his memories should be...

---

Elsewhere, in an unknown location, David Jones was strapped to a patient chair, still unconscious. The room was cold, the air sterile, and the smell of antiseptic burned his nostrils even in his sleep. He was half-naked, his broad chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, the scar on his left arm standing out like a silent sentinel. His eyes were closed, the lids flickering with the dreams of a man who had seen too much. He was a warrior, even in sleep, his muscles taut, ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

The chair was a contraption of metal and leather, designed to keep its occupant still and vulnerable. His legs were spread, his feet bound to the chair with thick, unyielding straps. His black socks, once a symbol of his professionalism and order, now seemed almost comical in their starkness against the gleaming chrome. His black briefs clung to his hips, the fabric stretched taut over the contours of his body. He was a man on display, a specimen to be studied and manipulated.

The sound of high heels clicked against the cold, sterile floor, pulling him from the embrace of oblivion. The woman in white approached, her movements fluid and predatory. The light cast shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the cruel curve of her smile. She leaned over him, her breath warm against his neck, and whispered, "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty." Her voice was a siren's call, seductive and deadly.

David's eyes fluttered open, the bright lights above stinging his retinas. He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his vision. His eyes locked with hers, and she was beautiful—cold and calculating, but beautiful. He felt a strange warmth spread through his body, a response to the power she exuded. He couldn't remember her name, but he knew she was in his heart. He greeted her with a genuine smile, but clearly enforced on his subconscious.

"Welcome back," she purred, her voice a symphony of manipulation. She knew the memory-altering device had done its job, wiping his mind clean of the previous night's horrors and leaving only a deep-seated loyalty to her.

David looked up at her through the haze, his eyes glazed with a mix of confusion and adoration. She had done it. He was now at her command, a soldier with a new mission, a new loyalty. The woman in white felt a thrill of power run through her as she stroked his cheek, her gloved hand cold and firm. "You're going to help me, aren't you?" she asked, her voice a gentle coax.

David nodded, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He didn't know why he felt so drawn to her, why he would do anything she asked without question. But he knew it was true, deep in his bones. The woman in white had claimed him, and he was her devoted servant. "Yes," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Whatever you need, my love."

The woman smirked, a knowing look in her eyes. Her plan had worked. She held in her hand a copy of the memory card's content, the fruits of their twisted labor. It contained the secret to the cure, the very thing they had all been searching for. The power of life and death, now in her grasp. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Good," she whispered.

David's mind was a blank slate, the memories of the night's events erased by the insidious technology. He knew only what she had told him, the lies she had woven into the fabric of his thoughts. He nodded obediently, his muscles straining against the restraints as he tried to sit up. The woman in white chuckled, a sound like a shiver down a spine, and leaned down to release him from his bonds. He stood, unsteady on his feet, and she offered a slim hand to balance him. He took it gratefully, his eyes never leaving hers. Her next words sent a jolt through him, the electricity of fear and excitement melding into something new. "We have more work to do," she said, her voice a silky promise of dark deeds yet to come. "But don't worry, you'll enjoy it"...

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

Essay/Blurb on Enhancing Fantasy Stories Through Slice of Life Writing

Fantasy thrives on spectacle—the clash of swords, the weight of prophecies, the kind of magic that cracks mountains and reshapes worlds. It’s exciting, sure, but what keeps me coming back to a story isn’t the grandeur. It’s the small things. The quiet moments. The way a warrior looks at their battered boots after a day of marching through wet fields, or how a mage sighs in frustration as their spell fails for the fourth time that morning. These aren’t the moments most people come to fantasy for, but for me, they’re the ones that stay.

I’m talking about slice-of-life writing. The parts of a story where the world slows down and the characters just exist. No urgent plot points, no apocalyptic stakes—just people living their lives in a world that feels real because it’s full of those tiny, human details. Slice-of-life writing isn’t about undercutting the epic. It’s about making it matter. If I don’t care about a character during their quiet moments, why would I care about them when they’re in the middle of a fight for their life?

Take the image of a sorceress kneeling on the floor of her workshop, scrubbing soot off the wood after a spell went sideways. Her cat, impervious to the chaos she’s created, bats at a stray piece of parchment. She’s muttering to herself, not in ancient, arcane tongues, but in frustration because she’s ruined another expensive candle and the stain won’t come out of the floorboards. That’s the moment I want to see—not just because it’s relatable, but because it gives me a reason to see her as more than her title or her power.

For me, slice-of-life writing is where a world stops being a backdrop and starts becoming a place. A marketplace isn’t just “bustling.” It’s full of mismatched voices yelling over each other, the smell of something spiced and slightly burnt wafting from a stall, and the metallic clang of someone hammering out horseshoes nearby. It’s a child tugging on their parent’s hand, begging for something shiny that they’ll probably lose by the end of the day. I don’t want a world that feels polished and pristine—I want one where I can practically feel the grime under my fingernails and hear the complaints of the merchant who’s been on their feet since dawn.

These small details are what ground a story. They don’t slow it down; they give it weight. A warrior isn’t just a weapon—he’s someone who spends fifteen minutes trying to scrape mud off his boots so he doesn’t track it into the inn. A healer isn’t just a symbol of kindness—they’re someone who stares at their herb supply, calculating whether they can afford to save another life without losing their own. These aren’t plot points—they’re anchors. They give the extraordinary a foundation, something to stand on when the story starts to tip toward the unbelievable.

There’s a scene I’ve imagined more than once: a mage crouched over a torn robe, trying to stitch it back together. Their hands aren’t steady—magic has never required precision, not like this. The needle pricks their thumb, and they swear quietly, not because of the pain but because the thread has slipped loose again. There’s a pile of spell components shoved to the side of the table, forgotten for now, because even the most powerful magic-user has to fix their own clothes sometimes. It’s such a small thing, but it tells me everything I need to know about who they are.

I don’t need every moment in a story to be this slow, quiet thing. Big battles, high stakes, massive consequences—I love those, too. But when everything is dialed up to eleven, I start to feel numb. I lose my connection to the characters, to the stakes, to the world itself. Slice-of-life writing is what keeps me tethered. It’s the chance to pause, to breathe, to see the people behind the actions.

Even in the most fantastical settings, slice-of-life makes the world feel lived in. A healer crouching in a hidden garden, tending to plants that glow faintly in the dark, isn’t just performing a task. She’s inhabiting the world, shaping it with her small rituals. I can feel the damp soil against her hands, hear the soft hum of an insect passing by, see the way the leaves shift as she moves. It’s these details that make me believe in the world, that make me want to stay in it just a little longer.

And slice-of-life isn’t just for worldbuilding—it’s for the characters, too. A protagonist at a village festival, standing just outside the crowd, drink in hand, is a different person than the one charging into battle. Maybe they notice the blacksmith wiping soot-streaked hands on her apron before joining a group of friends. Maybe they overhear a merchant arguing over a charm’s price, both of them pretending not to laugh. These moments tell me about who the protagonist is when they’re not “the hero.” They give me a reason to care.

Writing slice-of-life is also where I feel most free to explore my characters. What do they do when no one is watching? How do they hold themselves in the quiet moments, when they don’t have an audience? A young apprentice practicing spells late into the night, their breath fogging in the cold air, tells me more about their courage than any grand speech ever could. These scenes aren’t distractions—they’re where the heart of the story lives.

It’s not just about what happens in these moments—it’s about how they happen. Slice-of-life thrives on specificity. It’s not “a bustling inn”; it’s the creak of floorboards under a barmaid’s hurried steps, the faint smell of spilled ale clinging to the air, the muttered complaint of someone who’s been nursing the same drink for hours. It’s not “a lone traveler at dawn”; it’s the way the frost clings to the edges of their cloak, the crackle of the fire they’re trying to rekindle, the hissed curse as they burn their fingers on the kettle. These details make the world tangible.

Fantasy doesn’t have to be all or nothing. There’s room for both the epic and the intimate. The key is knowing when to let the world slow down, when to let the characters breathe. Slice-of-life isn’t about filling time—it’s about filling the world. It’s about giving every sword swing, every spell, every desperate act of heroism something to stand on.

The moments that stick with me aren’t always the big ones. It’s the sorceress scrubbing soot off the floor. The warrior muttering about damp boots. The healer brushing dirt from their hands after an hour in the garden. These are the moments that make the extraordinary feel worth it. These are the moments that remind me why I fell in love with fantasy in the first place.

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[fandomsoda]

Random thing I just thought about and have seen no one talk about:

I know everyone calls Digimon a Pokemon rip-off, and I understand why, but I think a lot of people completely misunderstand or just don’t know about how drastically different both the mechanics and tone of these two medias are.

I grew up watching both the Pokémon and Digimon animes, and let me tell you that these are two completely different shows.

I bring up the animes because, while Digimon DOES have games, they don’t seem to be the main focus, the tv shows were the real money makers and thus I think it’s more fair to compare them on that level.

But listen- you could not just place Pokemon characters into a Digimon anime plot and have it feel right, Digimon’s stories, plots, and worldbuilding are far more serious and dramatic than Pokémon’s is. Instead of collecting 8 badges to win the Pokémon league, main characters in Digimon are getting involved with having to save the world from total destruction, liberate the digital world from a dictator, or any other number of far more high-stakes scenarios than any Pokémon show or movie.

This is not me trying to say that one show is better than the other or that Digimon is better than Pokémon. Not the idea here. What I’m saying is that trying to swap the cast of these two series would feel less fitting than trying to put the Pokémon anime cast into something like Yo-Kai Watch (no shade to Yo-Kai Watch, I like that show too, its tone is just closer to the Pokémon anime than Digimon’s is).

Am I saying that Digimon didn’t piggyback off of Pokémon’s popularity? No, of course it did, I’m just saying that calling it a true rip-off feels wrong when the two series are so drastically different when it comes to tone and mechanics.

I know this was off-topic for my blog, just been thinking.