#us gradually destabilizing

[hawkepockets]

this is something i’ve been cooking on for a long time and i’m gonna try to articulate it now—please bear with me 🙏

a lot a lot of the criticism of DA:I i’ve seen from series fans has been made on the micro scale of the dialogue wheel, what dialogue choices are/aren’t available to the inquisitor in specific interactions. there are often chances to be callous, snide, arrogant, and authoritarian; rarely is there an opportunity to espouse what liberal & leftist players consider the “right” views on mages, elves, class, the chantry, etc. and when those opportunities seem to appear on the wheel, the inquisitor’s actual speech tends to hedge more than expected. the game doesn’t “let” you play an outspoken leftie.

i think critiques on this level are missing that structurally, on the macro scale, DA:I isn’t a game that’s capable of being leftist or having an outspoken leftie protagonist. it’s a story about someone whose previous identity is subsumed into the role of inquisitor for an order-restoring religious paramilitary that was created to fix the “problem” of the mage rebellion built up to in DA:O and DA2.

and fundamentally, just as DA:O asks you to play a warden who would end the blight and DA2 asks you to play a hawke who would become champion of kirkwall, DA:I asks you to play someone who would play the part of order-restoring inquisitor and false herald of andraste, even if it pains them, even if they protest strenuously at first, even if it takes the annihilation of who they used to be.

the premise, the inquisitor’s characterization, the gradually exposed legacy of the original inquisition (Jaws of Hakkon), the narrative thread of will/won’t the Inquisition lay down their swords (Trespasser), Morrigan’s outburst about the diminishing of magic in Thedas (What Pride Had Wrought), the power mechanic, the simple fact that maps become emptier, quieter, and less magical as you progress in the game, the clearing of the war table, the impossibility of leaving orlais without an emperor or the chantry without a divine—all of this, all of this! positions peace, order, mundanity, chantry hegemony, and the rule of law and law enforcement as the desirable, inevitable, only possible outcome of playing.

whether you choose the most or least progressive Divine, the most or least destabilizing and compassionate story choices, that remains the fundamental logic of DA:I. it’s the logic of the game’s most liberal companions/advisors (sera, dorian, & leliana). it’s a constraint on what changes can be made to the worldstate. and painting over that with more contrary and political dialogue options wouldn’t do anything. and this is not me saying “throw the whole game out because it was made by canadian libs”—i think DA:I is fun, vexing, moving, and really really interesting! but you kind of have to meet it where it’s at. and it’s a tragedy for the inquisitor. and it was made by canadian libs.

does that make sense??

[teaboot]

While I'm happy that the word "gaslighting" is more known than it used to be, and that people at large are learning to recognize what it looks like, I feel like we need to be careful not to turn it into something soft and casual we throw around off the cuff without meaning.

Being gaslit is psychological abuse that fucks you up very badly, very slowly, at such a gradual pace that you don't usually know it's happening until it's already re-wired your brain.

If you're unfamiliar with the term, "to gaslight" is to intentionally persuade someone that they cannot trust their own perceptions of reality. It's a destabilizing form of manipulation that leaves you constantly anxious, off-balanced, confused, and dependant on others.

This is done by lying about events that have happened or about things that are happening, invalidating feelings and observations, and either denying, refusing to acknowledge, or deflecting away from hard facts.

As someone who has experienced gaslighting as a form of abuse, this is what I remember from when I didn't know anything was off:

"Oh, I must have forgotten what really happened."

"I'm just not seeing it from their point of view."

"Everyone has their ups and downs. This is normal."

"I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was doing."

"I must have been wrong."

This is what I remember from when I first started realizing something was weird:

"How come every time I'm convinced they did something wrong, they just talk to me a few minutes, and I end up asking for their forgiveness? What has me so convinced I was right in the first moment?"

"I should start writing things down when they happen, so I can go back and check later when I'm confused."

"If every relationship like ours (familial, romantic, platonic) works this way, how come I never hear about it, or read about it, or see it anywhere else?"

Getting out and adjusting to the real world is hard, too, and comes with rapid swings of unfounded guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, and self-deprication that are completely unfounded in reality.

You've been conditioned to believe that you are entirely helpless and unable to think for yourself, possibly "crazy" or otherwise fundamentally impaired, and that there is a singular source of guidance that knows exactly what is right, and all of a sudden that pillar of support has vanished.

The immediate "after" that I recall looks like:

Constant uncertainty. Because nobody is there to tell you what's real and what isn't, you approach every situation thinking at it from all angles. Every question has fifty possible answers and most of them are wrong and you don't know which. If you choose wrong, the world will end.

A sense of helplessness. You feel that nothing you do is correct, and it's easier to make no choices at all- or you make wild, reckless, impulsive choices, because you feel you have nothing to lose.

Memory loss. I don't understand this one, but it's not like memoriescare being erased, but more like... you're so used to treating your memories as dreams or imaginations that you reflexively dismiss anything you recall as fake, and you can't believe anything you recall because you don't think it was real. Your abusers voice is in your head, wiping things away and telling you that you did the wrong thing. And you believe them, because they're the only constant you can rely on.

Missing the abuser, or the abusive dynamic. Because you know now that it wasn't healthy, but at least you knew where you stood. As long as you said the right things and acted the right way, agreed and obeyed and did as they expected, you felt like thevworld made sense. Now you have to figure out which parts of you really are broken, and which parts are working fine in a really weird way, and it's like tuning a piano when you've never played one before.

The long term "after"- for which I can only speak for myself- looks like:

Having to double-check, triple-check, and continue checking hard evidence of an event before responding in an active way.

Consulting with trusted friends to verify that your observations are legitimate and that your perceptions are valid. Following up with them to see if someone is really angry at you, or if you're just projecting anger onto them because it's what makes sense to your old pattern.

Obsessive collection of "evidence"- saving pictures, writing detailed journals, making recordings and video, never deleting emails or old texts, because you still don't quite trust yourself all the way and you're afraid that someone will cause you to doubt yourself again.

Continued self-doubt and being "gullible": I have straight up seen people flip me off to my face in front of witnesses and then immediately tell me, "No, I was just waving", and my first instinct is to believe them. For a few seconds, I *really do* believe them. Your brain is so trained to latch onto what people tell you to believe that its really, really hard to hold onto information that you already have.

Learning to take ownership over your own actions. (I didn't mess up because I'm "crazy", I messed up because I'm a person and people do that.)

Instinctively seeking approval. (Takes a lot of work to remind myself that I don't exit to make people happy, and that some people suck ass, and I can tell them to piss off.)

I don't intend to invalidate anyone currently struggling with this- if you feel that something is wrong, it probably is. That's the thought that got me out. Trust that feeling that something isn't right.

I just want people who don't know what to look for to know what gaslighting *actually* looks and feels like, so they don't just roll their eyes and think, "Oh, that word doesnt apply to me- I'm not some snowflake".

('Cause we all saw what happened with "triggered", right?)

[stars-obsession-pit]

Danny’s Phantoms

Though Danny did gain powers after the portal accident, they weren’t half-ghost powers. Instead, he gained the ability to boost the strength and tangibility of existing ghosts.

Not a very useful power for fighting off dangerous ghosts on his own.

But Danny wasn’t on his own.

Early on, a guardian spirit emerged from the portal. They were weak, barely more than a shadow. Not even strong enough to interact with the living world, never mind fight off the other ghosts coming through.

But Danny could change that.

Thus, the town first began to encounter their first ghostly protector.

Their first. Not their only one.

Gradually, other faded spirits found their way to Danny too. Offering to help protect the town in exchange for being given a second lease at (un)life.

Some stuck around. Others didn’t, choosing to return to their own haunts after their service was complete.

In the end, it mostly evened out. The shifting roster was confusing, but Amity Park eventually learned to roll with the punches and take things as they are.

Optional brief dpxdc addition under the readmore

So the obvious thing to me is “dead relative/friend/lover of a hero, who was previously too weak to interact, uses their boost to allow them to appear to the hero in their ghostly form”

Which could then of course lead to said hero bursting into Amity Park for answers, unintentionally destabilizing the careful balance between the different ghosts protecting/causing chaos in the town

Or for a non-DC possibility for upending the status quo, Pariah Dark would likely be a good choice too. After all, he sorta parallels Danny in how they both have forces following them (Danny’s ghost allies vs Pariah’s skeletons and Fright Knight).

And the chaos of such a back and forth could then be either the whole plot of a non-crossover thing, or could be an impetus for bringing in some JLD folks for a crossover plot.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 13

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 800

Masterlist

———————————————————————

 15 days had passed.   

The appointments had followed one another, always with a rather particular atmosphere.  

I had tried to calm things down, even though I was still playing a bit with her.  

I enjoyed wearing outfits that made me look good. I took pleasure in dressing in the morning, thinking about Lucy.  

And I would throw in a few double-entendre phrases, which completely destabilized her, and that amused me a lot. She, who was so difficult to unsettle.  

She tried to maintain some distance, but it was no longer the same distance as before.  

 Friday evening, appointment at Lucy’s.   

The workers were already gone.  

Lucy arrived, we discussed the progress: the kitchen, the living room, the terrace, etc.  

The bathroom, magnificent, Italian-style, had just been completed.  

We made our way there. It was stunning, in shades of blue and gray, very spacious.  

There was a corner bathtub, large mirrors, sinks, and a huge Italian shower, with massaging jets and dimming lights.

 A real success.  Lucy seemed more than delighted.  

 "And as we explained, the Italian shower, with jets and integrated lights..." 

 "Integrated lights?" 

 "Yes, you have different light tones!" 

 "How does it work? A remote control?" 

I was looking at the shower, I had already tried it, I knew it was one of the buttons on the shower wall.

 "No, come here, I'll show you." 

We were now inside the shower. The Italian shower is particularly large, level with the floor.  

I approached, observing the various buttons, which were numerous. Blue or green?

 "Here, it’s this one!" 

I pressed it. Lucy’s scream echoed in the room.  

The massaging water jets had been activated, soaking us both. I tried pressing several buttons to turn everything off, but it kept getting worse. After a few seconds, I managed to turn it all off.  

I turned around, soaking wet, just like Lucy, and her white blouse, now transparent. A fit of laughter overcame me as I saw us in this state, in the shower.  

She looked up, stared at me.

 "Are you messing with me? Come on, did you do that on purpose?" 

She was fuming. The worst part was that no, it was completely unintentional. And that was probably what made it the funniest.

 "No, Lucy, I swear! Look at this picture! You need a PhD to understand anything!" 

 "Stop it, Ona! You don’t stop playing, with how you behave, the things you say!" 

 "How?"  I replied innocently.

She had now come closer to me, I was pressed against a glass.  

 "What do you want, Ona?"  she said, fixing me with a look.

Was she angry? Was she challenging me?  

I replied:

 "What do you want, Lucy?"  our eyes burning with intensity.

She was only a few centimeters from my face.  

I decided to break the tension and kissed her passionately.  

Our bodies pressed together, drenched, which made the situation even more exciting.  

Our tongues intertwined, electrifying my entire body. She seemed just as excited.  

Would she run away like last time?  

I took the initiative to turn the situation around, positioning myself in front of her, her back against the glass.  

Had she ever made love to a woman?  

She didn’t seem to want to stop, now kissing my neck, one of the most sensitive parts of my body, it was divine. My hands wandered under her wet blouse, which I had half-unbuttoned. I grabbed her breasts with both hands, she moaned.  

How I loved her body! I caressed her thighs. She was wearing a skirt, which I gradually lifted.  

We were now forehead to forehead, eyes locked. I didn’t break her gaze, I didn’t want this physical connection to end, like last time.  

My hands were now inside her thighs, moving towards her intimate area. Reaching her underwear, I started to caress her crotch, with the fabric as the only barrier. I felt her warmth, her arousal, her stomach contracting.  

I slipped my hand inside her panties, caressing her wet lips and her swollen clitoris.  

She clung to me, panting, biting me, kissing my neck.  

I placed my pelvis between her thighs, applying pressure to my clitoris. I didn’t want her to reach orgasm alone. I wanted to do it with her.  

Feeling her getting closer to release, I penetrated her with one, then two fingers. She moaned even louder.  

As I moved my hips, I increased the speed of my fingers, until the final explosion, and our orgasm, muffled by the bathroom’s walls.  

We stayed like that for a few minutes, gently caressing each other, bodies pressed together. We were still in our clothes, soaked.  

Very few words were exchanged as we went downstairs to leave.  

As we passed through the living room, Lucy broke the silence.

 "For the rug, you can take the ochre one. I’ve chosen the Persian one."

[oxygenbefore1775]

aot characters as types of poisons pt2

pt1 here!

➼ featuring: armin, eren, hange, historia, jean, levi, mikasa,

➼ cw: poisons and all the ways they could (and would) kill

➼ a/n: as a pharmacy student i also have to study toxicology for some reason so what better way to apply my knowedge than to use it for some hcs - also pls don't get any ideas from this, it's all morbid yet harmless fun

also this is gonna be a bit different from the original hcs cuz this time i will actually try to explain why a certain poison fits a certain character

 ꒰‧₊˚⌬☆༉‧₊˚ . ˚₊‧༉☆⌬˚₊‧꒰

armin

coniine of hemlock

like husband like wife since coniine kills the same way Annie's poison (strychnine) does - through paralysis of respiratory muscles (ie you suffocate with airways being completely free and being perfectly aware of you dying)

albeit coniine is more insidious in its approach to killing

first of all because hemlock, the main depository of coniine, is easily confused with other non-toxic edible and thus frequently (and unknowingly) consumed

secondly, coniine poisoning is easily to induce since it's used in medicine as a sedative and it takes very little for a healing dose to turn into a deadly one

thirdly, even with poisoning in full swing, it's hardly ever painful - in a narcotic-like state one simply falls asleep as paralysis gradually creeps up from the feet upwards, eventually reaching lungs and stopping breathing all-together

that being said, coniine is a quiet yet potent strength (like Armin with his oftentimes underestimated influence)

eren

cyanide

symbolically enough, the majority of cyanide vapors (which is the most common exposure method) occurs in the fires - destruction born from destruction

as lethal as it is notorious (like Eren) with death occuring in mere minutes after exposure

yet quick death doesn't bear any promise of painlessness - cyanide makes the last minutes of life an unbearable agony

this is mostly because cyanide fucks the body and its systems up in the most fundamental way possibly, binding all the incoming oxygen to itself and thus leaving the organism with inability to breathe on a chemical level (which reminds me a lot of Eren willing to take anyone's freedom should they choose to take his)

also there's a popular misconception that glucose is one of the antidotes against cyanide which would be very cute if true - the deadliest of poisons rendered harmless with a mere sweetness of sugar but alas

to me, cyanide perfectly captures Eren's ability to single-handedly destabilize whole systems, be they political, social or moral. just as cyanide cuts off oxygen, so does Eren with disrupting established orders, often suffocating any chance at peace and stability in pursuit of his ideals

historia

atropine of belladonna

never beating its deadly woman under the facade of prettiness allegations

humanity went through a whole arc with atropine from treating it as a beauty-enhancing product at first to later acknowledging its potency and medicinal as well deathly properties (like with Historia role in the plot)

also the sight of belladonna (where atropine is mostly found) lulls into a falls sense of security with the deceiving luster and sweetness of its berries, as if tempting you to taste it

funnily enough, one of the most prominent symptoms of atropine intoxication is quick heart rate, blown-out pupils as well as inhibition of sweating and salivating - which is no doubt a similar effect that the mere presence of Krista used to have on her fellow students in Cadet Corps (with her monicker being goddess and all)

although slow and improbable in its lethality, the effects of an acute atropine poisoning are certainly the least boring — take for example a 3-day-long delirium and all the hallucinations that come with it. And at the end it just might leave you with memory loss and other cognitive problems (not to forget all the memory losses Historia had at Frieda's behest)

atropine is a rare case of poison being used to combat other poisons (much like Historia and whatever she had going on with Eren and Ymir despite being quite morally challenged herself)

jean

helenalin of arnica

first thing first, this poison is a lover not a fighter (just like Jean)

it barely constitutes a deadly poison as it takes a lot of helenalin for a dangerous dose, let alone a lethal one - it won't kill you even if it tries

still, it is considered toxic through its irritating effect - when administered either internally or externally, it deals a minor damage to the tissue (idk it just reminds me of the way Jean was always causing tensions with his antics in cadet corps, harmless but still annoying in its own way)

frankly, it's more renown for its healing than harming properties

its most popular use is in relieving pain, swelling and bruises - alleviating nearly every kind of damage one might suffer, helenalin soothes it all

Jean is helenalin in every way - yes, it will help to recover from any damage but it's gonna sting like a bitch all throughout the healing process

hange

ergot

this one's unusual (like Hange) since it's a fungal poison and was a common scourge upon all the medieval populus

is a mother of LSD, all the things hallucinogenic

yet before its recreational properties could be harnessed, ergot was notorious for its profound and unpredictable effects on an organism

ergot fungus affects grain products like rye so if an outbreak of it occurs, large quantities of population are in for a lethal drug-trip

yet before death from violent convulsions, an unfortunate's mind is severely affected with a state of mania and madness (which is very evocative of Hange's intense approach to titan study)

ergot poisoning is also monickered as holy fire which is due to the gangrenous state it induces, with limbs inflamed and turning black as if they've been burned and charred in flames (which reminds me... of nothing in particular)

levi

arsenic

the most common way of exposure is through the contaminated ground waters, especially in places unfortunate enough to lack any precautions that can detect presence of arsenic

arsenic has neither taste nor smell so it's stealthy and precise in taking out lives - gradual and subtle

this poison's committed - once it starts to take effect, arsenic poisoning is hard to reverse

funnily enough, arsenic used to be added to cosmetic products as it prevented skin aging and made the user look younger that their years

although the most potent entry way is through inhaling arsenic vapors, the other ways are still as deadly as they can get - this is why arsenic is used in almost all of industrial "killing" -cides (pesticides, herbicides, insecticides etc)

despite its very much lethal properties, arsenic still finds its use in cancer treatment - per numerous studies, arsenic particles harm less healthy cells than other anti-cancer drugs

in essence, arsenic suits Levi as it's predominantly cloaked in its reputation of deadly precision, meanwhile its benefits are lesser known

mikasa

aconitine of wolf's bane

a warrior's type of poison, commonly applied on arrows and tips of javelins

the plant takes its name from its use against wolves or other predators that could pose threat to livestock and humans

in case of acute exposure which is relatively easy to get, death occurs in a matter of hours and is incredibly painful in the process as it causes extreme burning and numbing pain - the poison kills through either stopping heartbeat or breathing

it's usually quite difficult to get poisoning through skin contact but not in case with aconitine - it's so toxic that even touching wolf's bane flowers causes numbing sensation in finger tips

also like arsenic, aconitine has its uses in medicine through its pain-relieving effect even though the dosage is to be kept extremely low since even a single mg of the stuff can result in death

the main reason for me choosing aconitine as Mikasa's poison is mainly due to its application - it was almost always used as a means of protection against dangerous predators

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 9 : Crosshair x F!OC

It's been a bumpy ride and it's only getting bumpier as our story plunges into the depths of the pleasure planet. Our heroes are shaken and feeling a fear that runs deeper than the chasm they find themselves entombed in. As they quake from the struggles that have gripped them, deep underground, some truths may come to the surface. Is a confession still true if it's whispered in the dark?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Smut, PiV+ Cπ, skin to skin comfort, lots of talking, Crosshair slowly becoming allergic to clothing (not literal) Angst, Crying.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Authors Note: Not much going on visually this chapter, but we're back baby! Tie up some lose ends and ease you guys into the second half of this book.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Word Count: 6746

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it. Murder is his love language.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Like A Prayer, Bigod 20 Cover

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Chapter 9: Like a Prayer

It was a bumpy trip, as we slid down through the open chasm. The headlights danced wildly as rocks caught the undercarriage with the sound of tearing mineral, tipping the speeder to free fall several meters, back end pointed down. We hit a smooth, slanted plane that crumpled the trunk compartment with a crunch of twisting metal and a painful jolt through my neck. The engine sputtered out and the headlights died as we pitched forward with a crash, sliding down the glossy slope, first with a slow shriek and then rapidly, faster and faster, we plunged further into the abyss. 

I wrestled with the handling, trying to keep us straight and away from the eerily smooth walls, but with the engine out I was steering blind without the headlights or power assist. 

Crosshair had thrown himself against my seat as we plunged through the open rock, binding me in place with strong arms thrown about me for dear life. His arms still wrapped about my chest was the only thing reassuring me he hadn't fallen out. 

I was pumping the breaks, but without the engine they were useless. The starter was clicking as I punched the button which wasn't connected anymore, I'd have to get at the wires again… not happening at this speed, even if I could see what I was doing. 

The slope sharpened into a narrow tunnel, sections collapsing behind us as our crashing vehicle destabilized the tunnel, sparks shooting off the side of the speeder as it drifted against the tight walls. 

We were slowing, gradually as the tunnel evened out. Eventually we were spat out into a wider cavern, the dragging speeder catching in the sand, finally grinding to a stop. 

Listening to the tink and clicks of the cooling engine with my eyes closed… I felt like I had gone def at the sudden absence of shrieking, sparking metal. Our heavy breathing reverberated through the cave, adding to the soft, ethereal soundscape filtering through the shock. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting to find we hadn't actually survived that. My knuckles were white where they gripped the steering, then I looked around.

The vision that greeted me pulled a gasp from my rattled lungs. 

The cave system we came to rest in was deep… the dark enclosing rock far overhead. The stone had the same blue tinge as most Ga'haiian bedrock, though the walls had been worn to a polished shine, evidence of long extinct glacial flows. The old water channels spread in all directions from this main vein, twisting in impossible shapes. 

None of that was the remarkable part however. 

Quartz deposits, clear from years of pressure, were embedded throughout the walls of stone. Occasionally these clear patches would glow with a crackling snap of white electricity, the current arcing through the stone to resemble lightning strikes dancing along the cave systems tunnels, providing a constant, flickering light. 

“What is that?”

“It's Iotryke. A conductive kind of quartz, we landed in a vein.”

“Why's it doing�� that?”

“I-I've heard it's ‘cause of the storm… lightning striking the mountains or something.”

The mundane exchange was calming our nerves… it wasn't just me that was rattled. He wouldn't let on, but I could feel the tremors in his arms binding me to the seat. 

I didn't want to think about the whiplash we'd be nursing.

He moved, tossing off his helmet before unlocking my buckle and lacing his hands under my arms, hoisting me up and over into the back with him. I fell against his chest. My legs were still caught on the back of front seat, but his arms were fixed tight, not allowing me to right myself.

…

“… you okay, Crosshair?”

“I'm sorry.”

“... For what?”

“I shouldn't have told you to run, I miscalculated,”

…

“You got me back… don't beat yourself up over it,”

His arms only tightened on me. 

“It was stupid. What if I had taken longer to get to you?”

“I would have kept stalling… look, things always seem obvious from this side of it but I assure you all those other plans going through your head could have easily gone just as wrong.”

Scrambling to loosen his grip, I shifted carefully to sit on his thighs holding his face. 

“Today it worked out, we'll learn from it tomorrow… for now, well… we're trapped in a cave,”

He looked away, trying to find his pride somewhere other than my eyes. Then his gaze flicked back to me. He cocked an eyebrow, lifting the leather jacket with a finger to scan the tan, stitched together two-piece.  

“What… exactly, are you wearing?”

I guess the nature of my dress hadn't really registered in the frenzy of the rescue. I put on a haughty tone,

“A respectful representation of our first peoples,”

“... Uh huh,”

He cupped my cheek, pulling me into a soft kiss, before resting his forehead against mine. The cold shiver in us was difficult to ignore, bringing our attention back to the shaken feeling we could sense on each other. It was more than the bumpy ride through the cave. 

I was scared… truly… truly scared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, something breaking in me, pouring out through sudden, hot tears rolling off my cheeks to fall against his. 

Crying again… twice in one day. 

But I couldn't stop it, a slow stream of salt, muscles rigid as the day's events sank into me. 

His lips were finding each stray tear, kissing away the wet stains on my skin…

“I'm sorry… so sorry, Tahny”

I pressed hard against him, finding his mouth with mine. I needed him… I needed to not feel like this. Weak, fragile. 

“I don't need apologies,”

My hands had already started tracing the lines of his breastplate, searching for a hold to pry it off.  

His hand closed around my wandering fingers. 

“Tahny, slow down,”

“I don't want to…Crosshair, please…”

His name had become a cry of desperation on my tongue, begging for the peace I only felt with him…

He kissed me again, his gentleness in sharp contrast to my rough escapism. 

“Just slow down,”

He reached up and the breastplate came off, sliding from between us. The series of clacks echoed sharply against the acoustic stone hall, pieces of armor falling away one by one. 

I slid my hands under the hem of the tight black top as it was exposed, taking his lead, pacing myself. Just feeling his skin, his lips against mine.

More clicks, and I rolled the hem up and over, lips parting a moment as I tugged the shirt off of him. He slid the jacket from my shoulders, and started to pick at the leather knots lacing my vest closed. The article hung open as the straps were loosened from their eyelets, and I hugged tight to him again, pressing my skin against his. His warmth sunk into me, chasing the stubborn chill from my bones. 

He held me there against him, hushing sobs that were already starting to slow. 

“He really got to you, didn't he?...I should have gotten there sooner,”

I shook my head… that's all wrong.

“He shouldn't have been able to… I'm not so easily threatened, I shouldn't be scared of someone like him… somethings wrong with me,”

Why was I so shaken?

He was stroking my hair, confused and a little concerned at my rapidly swinging reactions.

…

“So you're afraid to die, I think that's normal, Tahny… you’re supposed to care what happens to you…”

I looked at him through the curtain of my hair. That was exactly it. Somewhere, somehow… I lost the sense of invincibility that came with embracing death.

“It's all your fault,”

“Excuse me?”

“Me, caring about things… it's been happening ever since you showed up,”

His lips twitched, the corners turning up briefly with a short exhale before he forced his usual serious expression, clearing his throat.  

“Is that so? What's so bad about caring?”

I groaned.

“Caring karken kriffs, Cross… it makes you want to change things you can't and have hope and all that… hopeful stuff.”

“So I… make you hopeful?”

This time he let the smirk fly, squeezing me with his usual mischievous spark glinting back at me in the flickering light.

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall to his shoulder with a thump. 

“That is the sappiest interpretation possible,”

“You didn't say I was wrong,”

His voice purred against my ear, sending sparks down my spine. I hissed at him,

“Your foolishness is contagious.”

He lifted me, crushing his lips to mine. 

The side door thumped open, Cross kicking it wide to give us room as he angled me to lay on the firm bench seat, not letting our lips part. His hips snugged between my thighs, and I sighed, wrapping my legs about him. 

I was trailing my fingers down his back, the muscles flexing against them as Crosshair moved over me. I found the dimples of his pelvis between his hips and paused a moment, tracing the dips before sliding around front, guided by his hip bones, to unhitch his belt letting it slide to the floor. 

Lips were tracing a warm trail across my jaw, Crosshair leading himself to the sensitive spot on my neck to graze his teeth against it, making me shiver. 

“I need you, Crosshair…”

The confession was whispered in his ear, pulling a low groan of desire from the man who clamped to the tender flesh of my jugular, sucking a new mark into the skin. I tugged at his waistband, pulling his blacks down to his thighs, trying to hide the notion I might mean more than his body; not entirely sure if I was trying to fool him or myself. 

His half hard shaft fell free to lay on my belly and he pinned me like that, in no particular hurry to rush into the next step. The feeling of his hardening length pressed between us was causing a heat to rise desperately in my skin, my core. Need. 

Channeling my frustration I ran my tongue up his neck to take his earlobe in my teeth. The salt of his sweat stung my lips as I nipped him.

“Let me have you li’nen… take it slow if you must but do so inside me,”

“...the things you say.”

His voice was a smooth vibration against my skin as he continued to leave small love marks down my neck and over my collarbone, ignoring my request. I tried to reach for him but he pressed harder against me, blocking me. 

The cock in question was sliding over the thin leather of the tiny skirt and thong, making me quiver pathetically as he bit his way down to my chest, licking over a breast before sucking the nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue. 

I groaned at the rush of electricity through me... I wanted to disappear into the feeling. Crosshair had other ideas. 

Releasing my breast with a soft ‘pop’ he came even with me again, framing my face with his forearms to look into my eyes, pulling me back to focus with his protective posturing.

“I won't let it happen again, I promise… so you don't need to be afraid,”

You can't promise such things…

I was about to protest, but a look in his eyes caught me, bringing me to the meaning behind his words… a plead for me, needing me, to believe it… begging me to, so that he could. 

The gears in me whirred as I contemplated taking the weight of such responsibility. 

I can do that… if I want to believe you I can.

I cradled his chin in my hands, 

“Don't you dare break such a promise.”

His lips found mine with a renewed fervor, a restored sense of purpose as he slipped a hand between my legs to tug the thin strip of leather separating us aside. 

I moaned into his lips as he adjusted to press himself into my folds, coaxing his length into me, interlocking. The seat creaked as he shifted his weight to his pelvis, sinking as deep as he could. My legs snaked around his, hooking the heels of my boots around his calves. 

An ache bloomed trough my pelvis, my flesh was tender after our previous days together and I inhaled sharply at the stretching sensation. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, just a little bruised,”

“...I should have known, should I stop?”

I shook my head, pressing my cheek against his.

“Just, this once… be gentle,”

He hummed back, our arms wrapping tighter about each other as he reclaimed my lips. 

We sprawled over the backseat, entangled as he warmed himself in me, not yet moving. There was no frantic race to get as much out of this as we could, frankly, we weren't going anywhere anytime soon. 

His shooting hand cupped the back of my neck, calluses rough against my nape as his tongue dove against mine, pulling me into deeper and deeper kisses. Moans rose softly from me against his lips, letting out an occasional squeak when he'd grind his hips, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through me with the friction. 

Cross pulled his lips from me, whispers hot in my hair. 

“How long’s it been?...Since the night we picked you up?”

It was a difficult question to focus on, pinned to the seat as I was. Four days on the transport, the moon and all the in betweens…

“Two weeks tomorrow,”

I mumbled into his neck, tightening my thighs about him. 

“Kriff, really?”

“Mhmm”

…

“Just two weeks…”

His pelvis pulled back a moment, thrusting back home, I bit into his neck, stifling the moan that ripped through me. His hips kept that rhythm, slow, forceful, sinking my hips into the back seat with each thrust. 

I let his skin slip from my teeth, harsh gasps spilling from my lips to whisper back to me from the cave walls punctuated with pitched moans in time with Cross’s movements. 

“Say it again, Tahny... That you need me,”

“I need you.”

It barely left me before his mouth was on mine again, ungraceful and frantic as his thrusts picked up pace. I lifted my thighs to wrap higher around his back, angling him to hit that spot just right, bruises be damned. 

With his free hand his knuckles drifted down, dragging against my skin till he sunk his fingers into my hips to hold me still; Carefully, Crosshair stroked into me, the weight of his bare chest pressing hard against my arching form as he moved his hips. My eyes fluttered against the waves of bliss pulsing through my brain. 

“I'm so close… take me there, Cross,”

My thoughts felt fuzzy and warm, the skin against mine hot and heavy and comforting. His breath was becoming ragged against his own rising pleasure. 

“You're mine Tahny,”

He moaned it against my lips, thrusting hips starting to snap in an erratic desperation. 

“Say it… I need you to say it,”

…

“I'm yours, Crosshair,”

The delirium took us, my body taught and rigid as I came for him. Cross pulled my hips against his, groaning softly as he poured into me. 

He was trembling from the intensity of the release, hips still bucking weakly as if to deny the pleasure should end. 

Our gasping breaths chorused back to us, filling the cavern we were stranded in. I listened to the sounds of our mingled voices, watching the false lighting zig zag across the ceiling, slowly coming back down to the backseat of the wrecked speeder. 

“Just two weeks?”

He breathed it against my neck, air hot from exertion. I shrugged,

“We can pretend it's been longer,”

“I'm not sure that's the point…”

~~~

My shoulder burned from the stretched position leaning into the hood of the vehicle. I found another loose wire and clipped it in. 

“Okay, tap it again.”

Crosshair touched the wires under the dash together and waited. 

Clicking, but no start.

I flicked the vibroblade open again in a huff, angling it into the thin space to try to see with the dim light it cast. 

No, all these connections are plugged here fine… 

I leaned a little farther, wedging my slight form deeper into the tight space. Couldn't see much… but,

There was a faint ‘tink’ of something dripping. 

I carefully wiggled to face the fuel tank and sure enough, a gasket was knocked ajar of its clamps. Readjusting the fitting and tightening the fasteners I finally worked my way out of the engine block. 

“Alright, try again.’

To my surprise the engine finally roared to life and I thunked the hood back down, Casting a look at the man in the driver's seat wearing a mildly impressed expression.

“You actually did it,”

Not wanting to waste water I scooped sand off the floor and scrubbed at the grime on my hands. I scoffed back, masking my shared disbelief,

“Told you, these things can take a beating,”

The rest of the speeder was rough, paint stripped from either side and trunk mostly crumpled but it was up and hovering again. 

Thank the void.

The idea of walking from here to any part of civilization was far from appealing. Not like we could try to get back to Estkle from here, the southern tunnel that dropped us in here was steep and who knows how far down we really were. There was no way to get the speeder up to the opening again anyways. The cavern was riddled with passages but there was only one that was ground level.

So, according to the dash-comp, North it was, and further down too from the looks of it, but the path was wide enough to drive through. We had the fuel, might as well use it. 

I slipped into the passenger side as Cross shifted us into gear angling the nose of the vehicle down the corridor we had decided on. Yanking my bag from where it had gotten wedged under the seat, I pulled out some dry rations and handed one over to him while I counted the rest. We hadn't touched them since leaving the moon but there was only half a duffle of food. Maybe five days if we're careful, but we'll most likely be in trouble if we don't find an alternative at some point. 

Especially if we can't find a way back above ground…

I scanned about the wide cavern flickering with spectral lightning. There was no light leaking into the chamber, no way to tell how far underground we really were. We were betting a lot on the water trails leading… somewhere, but with us sliding down so far I wasn't sure anyone would be able to find us if they tried to follow from the surface. 

“Ready?”

Crosshair was biting down on his nutrient bar looking to me for the final word before we broke the first rule of being lost and left the cavern. 

“There’s got to be another side, right? Might as well get started.”

He pressed the accelerator, gradually increasing our speed when no immediate obstacles presented themselves till we were at a comfortable cruising speed. 

We moved ahead in a shared anxious silence, the sandy floors of the cavern passing smoothly under us as we drove further into the dark shaft. 

Hours went by, quietly at first as we basked in the seclusion of the tunnel system, then with light conversation, shouted over the car noise. A comment about the stone, a wonder about the water, a lesson on the geological makeup of a tidal locked world. 

It was boring, the tunnel tight and uniform as it stretched under the mountain. There were fewer fragments of quartz in the long channels so the headlights guided us through. No obstacles, no turn offs, just a dark tunnel that seemed to go on for ages. 

The clock on the radio worked, and if it was correct, it would be early evening Ga'haiian. Too bad we couldn't get any signal down here for some music, the sound of the engine reverberating from the rocky walls was somewhat maddening and made the chit chat difficult. 

So I sat, leaning against my door watching the clone drive. He was relaxed, angled into his own door's armrest steering one handed. His armor plates were carefully stacked in the back seat, black top folded with them, leaving Crosshair in only the skin tight bottoms and boots. 

He casually gave the accelerator more pressure, feeling my eyes on him, and our speed started to edge on reckless. 

“Ease up, fuel burns faster like that…”

I had to shout to be heard but we decelerated. 

“That's no fun,”

He sighed, and I understood the lament. There wasn't even anything to look at down here. 

I etched the time, direction and our speed onto the dash with my vibroblade, calculating how far we'd traveled and trying to remember how many kilometers it was from Estkle to the Trimecca farm lands between the range and Sohn. We were no doubt still a ways off. 

The tunnel gradually widened and dropped into another dried out reservoir. Crosshair slowed and pulled the speeder to a stop. 

The new bur offered us a few routes to take, the tunnels spitting into two wide enough for the vehicle. I stepped out, walking to the mouth of the first passage. The air was still and dark and I debated the cost of fuel versus calories in scouting out which one might be more useful. Cross spoke up from the car,

“Maybe we should rest here for now…”

I didn't like the idea of extending our stay, but it wasn't worth pushing ourselves. Standing was already releasing some of the tension from the long drive… Might as well stretch our legs. 

I nodded and he cut the engine, plunging us into momentary darkness as our eyes adjusted to the inconsistent Iotryke flicker. 

We spent some time pacing about the new cave. I ran my hand over the smooth walls, warm wherever the sparking quartz was exposed. The caves were cool now, but the closer we got to Sohn the hotter it would get. I wasn't sure how far we'd be able to travel beneath the surface, or how far the atmosphere shields of Sohn extended. 

I was starting to get overwhelmed. The immensity of what it meant to be lost down here crushed into me all at once. Closing my eyes I filled my lungs, holding it a moment before sighing it back out. 

Heat gave away what the soft sand didn't as Cross came near, drawn by my tense exhale.

He enclosed me in his arms, warm skin pressing against my back. 

“Credit for your accounts?”

“Just trying to calculate our way out of here.”

“What if we’re here forever?”

He whispered it through a smile in my hair and I tilted my head back to look up at him. 

“There's nothing alive down here Cross, that doesn't bode well for making a life of it,”

“You so sure about that?”

He tilted his chin to guide my gaze to a shadowy crevice in the otherwise smooth walls. If you squinted, and looked long enough… it shimmered with movement.

I made my way to the wall, as close as I could get to the elevated crack. In the dark, fist sized… crustations? Clamored about each other, disappearing and reappearing in small burrows in the exposed rock. 

“We could always eat the wall bugs,”

I shot him a look for his word choice, but it was good to see something thriving. 

“No way to know if they're poisonous…”

I was bluffing slightly, given enough time I could usually figure out how to butcher something safely. I've had to learn some odd skills to keep my father's clients happy. 

“My stomach can handle it,”

“That explains the thirty two rotations…”

“Does it?”

“No. You're going to have to… expand on your story, How the kark did you manage that again?”

“That would take a while,”

“All we have down here is time,”

That smile again, making me chuckle in exasperation,

“I don't believe you, we're trapped and you're happy about it,”

“If we weren't, and we had made that train we would have what… hours?”

Maybe less. Kark, my father must be looking for me by now. 

“And you prefer certain death?”

He sloped over, pushing me against the wall,

“We won't die, I won't let you, though… I could get used to the idea of having you the rest of my life,”

He leaned in to nip my neck and my face flushed. 

“Let's try to make it a long one, yeah?... What do you think’s in the trunk?

I squirmed out from under him and he groaned in frustration.

~~~

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

I threw the tight ball of plastic ration packaging up again, catching it as I stared hard at the tunnel openings from where I was sprawled on the speeder hood. 

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

It wasn't the most accurate way to make a travel decision…

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

That and my mind was wandering. 

“You’re quiet again, what's eating you?”

Crosshair huffed and leaned against the trunk he had been messing with, insistent he could get the damaged lock pried open with the tiny vibroblade. He was working up a sweat trying to prove himself right. I was staring and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Just… who was Rah’dehko working for… and how they're related to my Vah'hadarr”

“What makes you think your father's involved?”

“Rah'dehko Den. After our little run in, Va’hah would have wanted to keep tabs on him…whoever he answered to has to have ties to my family,”

“What does it matter?”

“Did you notice his gang?”

“Was hard to miss them,”

I shot him a look, trying to be serious. 

“Zygarrions. A few of them… separate from the rest.”

“Slavers.”

“Slavers.”

Zygarrions were almost never seen on Ga’hah, having both a bad history with the Katjarl clans and opposing cultural views on free will with the planet at large. 

“So it's about the recording then?”

“This is all about the recording… isn't it?”

A loud screech and a triumphant grunt brought my attention back behind me. The crumpled trunk finally popping open to creak up lazily. 

“You got it!”

I slid off the hood making my way to Crosshair's side. 

“Too bad… nothing really of use in here.”

He was right. The empty fuel canisters and hover dolly weren't exactly gonna blast a hole for us. It was high hopes to think we might have some extra food or water… I reached in and pulled out some dingy shop blankets. 

“These might make camping in the car more comfortable…”

He took the blankets from me, tossing them into the back of the speeder. Reaching in for his belt and a fresh toothpick. 

“So your father deals in slaves.”

It wasn't a question, and ice slipped down my spine. It had been a suspicion ever since we overheard that secret conversation, but it hurt a little for him to say it so openly. 

“Slavery is a very blatant term suggesting conquer and all that, here on Ga’hah it would be more…contractual,”

“... What's the difference?”

“Mm. Slavery is… was frowned upon by the Republic. They wouldn't have traded with a planet that deals in flesh traditionally… So there's the Ga'haiian cultural loophole.”

“Do tell,” 

He was leaning on the side of the car, watching me. His interest in the topic seemed to be wanning. I ducked under his arm to slide between him and the speeder. 

“Ga'hah is a culture steeped in the pursuits of pleasure, One such being complete devotion, or more bluntly, to be completely owned by another… voluntary,”

Cross paused a moment as the meaning hit him. His hand came up to cup my chin, crooning suggestively,

“A willing slave…”

I shot him a look of incredulity,

“Willing being the operative word, the Republic looks the other way as long as there’s measures to make sure the contracts are entered into by choice,”

“Semantics, the jist is your father is building a sex den for a political figure… it's not exactly mold breaking, Tahny,”

Not just any politician.

Neither of us wanted to say that part aloud, though that was something that bothered me too. This was one figure in the whole political scene of Coruscant who was reputedly as squeaky clean as they came, and from my brief observations… not interested in the ecstasy held in flesh. What he'd want with an array of slaves picked with my father's expertise, to a preference no less…

Either way it would be a scandal if the new Emperor was found to be dealing in trafficking right out the gate. Thinking back to the recorded conversation, trying to remember why it sounded familiar. Who was my father talking to? I was there, I know I had heard it before… and I must have been seen… is it really just me though? 

I looked up at the man stroking my jaw, more focused on my lips than the conversation.

“Crosshair? You said my parents were supposed to be on the transport… right?”

The military vessel assigned to us by his eminence himself, stocked with those of shakey loyalty to the new regime, or maybe simply… disposable.

“Up until the last minute,”

“And when were you assigned to the escort?”

His eyes focused back on me, narrowing.

“About an hour before we left Coruscant.”

It had to have been Crosshair that tipped him off. 

The clone in question had caught up to my reasoning, leaning back slightly,

“If he was spooked by me, why leave you on the ship?”

“The ship still needed to keep to the expected schedule, and he can't have known I would be targeted off of Coruscant… or at least thought it less likely,”

Crosshair scoffed at that and my brow furrowed in irritation. He can't be under the impression my father would sacrifice me and more importantly,

“Why would you be instructed to take me to the safe house if Va'hah thought you were an assassin?”

His cheeks suddenly flushed and he stepped away, running a hand over the back of his head which was… an odd response. 

“Cross…what is it?”

He turned back to me, biting his pick in half as he thought a moment before spitting it out, licking his lips and leaning back over me.

“It was supposed to be Hervos.”

“Hervos?”

“Lieutenant Hervos was supposed to escort you to the moon.”

I raised my brows.

“How was he supposed to do that?”

“He couldn’t have, he'd never have been able to keep you safe,”

Debatable. A diplomatic approach might not have been so bad a move…

“So… no, Crosshair, how did you get the encryption code?”

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine with his eyes closed.

“The Lieutenant kept it on him, I took it as we were leaving.”

“You picked his pocket?”

“No, I looked him in the eye and took it, what was he going to do? Stop me?”

I pulled back, catching his eyes in the flickering light. 

“What happened to following orders?”

“The last orders given to me was to guard you from harm, get you home…”

“So you stole it?”

…

“I stole you,”

His hands trailed the length of my arms to lace his fingers in mine. 

“If you were going to be stranded alone with any one… it was going to be me.”

…

“Then why were you so hesitant to have me… once we were alone?”

“It wasn't about that, if I had let any one of those… any one else and you would have died, it's my job to make sure that doesn't happen,”

He was suddenly tense as he leaned against me, his palms coming up to cup my cheeks,

“I wasn't worried about having you, you're invitation was… clear, but you had to be safe, I was supposed to get you home first… but I needed you that night and- you couldn't die, I couldn't let you go knowing you would die,”

I went rigid, a sudden overwhelming feeling making my face hot and my eyes sting. 

That's not fair…

“What's wrong?”

Everything. 

My voice came out strained,

“This was supposed to be simple, idiot.”

I hopped up to perch on the door, wrapping my legs about his waist to pull his lips to mine in a fervent, frantic desperation. 

~~~

A whimper cut through my wispy dream state, too soft to echo but stirring me from my light sleep. My eyes were already adjusting and taking in the darkened cave. The crumpled trunk hood was still raised from us prying it open, lightning flashes reflecting wildly down on me from the dented metal. 

My skin was hot and I reached down for a bottle from my bag, taking a small sip of water, before sitting up and shifting to lean over Crosshair. He was sleeping in the reclined driver's seat,  a whimper low in his throat again as I watched, face twisting into a pained grimace. I ran my fingertips over his brow bone and cheek, soothing his twitching muscles. 

“Shh, li’nen…”

He gasped awake, jerking under my hand, fingers snapping to the side of his head as he half sat upright. 

“It's okay, Cross, I'm here… we're alone,”

“Where-”

Eyes widening, he follows the lightning across the ceiling.

“We're in the Iotryke caves,”

“The… the caves.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back again. I stroked his cheekbone resting my forehead on his brow and his breathing started to slow, hands finding mine in the bright darkness. 

“... Where were you?”

He was quiet, thumb stroking the hollow of my palm. I pressed him this time, 

“Kamino?”

“...No, before that…”

His fingers brushed his scar and he flinched, as if it hurt anew. 

I pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“Tell me… how'd you get this?”

He looked away… it was subtle, but he was suddenly avoiding my eyes. His brow was knitted with concern, fingers tapping mine in an agitated kind of way. 

“I'm not gonna force you, but… you can tell me, don't think you can chase me off now…”

“We're trapped in a cave.”

“And we could have all the stars between us, yet I'll still stand at your back,”

…

“... Ion Cannon,”

“... Like on a ship?”

“Yes,”

“You… you what? Got too close?”

“... Yes,”

“Crosshair.”

His eyes flicked to mine in the dark, holding my gaze a moment before sighing,

“It was clone force 99.”

“Otherwise known as your brothers…”

His brow pinched again, but he corrected,

“My brothers.”

…

“Burned you with a ship's Ion Cannon?”

… 

“How’d they manage that?”

He sighed, breathing deep,

“They blew up the casing after I trapped them inside… and had my men fire it. I ended up in the line of fire instead, and they escaped.”

He spat his words, looking away again with the defensive air of ‘are you happy now?’ I should've been more surprised at his words… but I wasn't. I understood the story though it wasn't told in a language I knew. 

“So you tried to fry 'em up but got burned?”

He winced, pointedly avoiding my gaze. 

I crawled into his seat, resting my body against his chest. Brushing my lips to his, I whispered against him.

“And you think this would frighten me?”

“It should… if you were sane,”

The guilt in his voice was obvious; The unsure tenor of someone now doubtful of actions they felt justified in the distant moment. If this was to make him a threat to me… no. I've known far worse monsters, ones who torment for the thrill of it… for fun. At times I've been one. 

“I'm perfectly sane and I say it doesn't,”

He rolled his eyes but the tension started to leave him, strong arms founding their way around my back. 

“Maybe Hunter deserved it anyways…”

“Oh yeah? What’d he do to deserve being melted?”

“He wouldn't have been melted,”

He looked almost annoyed I would suggest it, adding pridefully,

“They’re too good for that,”

“That's a varp of a heavy gamble, Cross, even for you…”

“I out maneuvered them and the imps at every turn. If I wanted them dead… they know damn well if I wanted them dead they would be. Hunter…”

There it was again, the name of the ninety nine’s leader accompanied with a distant hurt in his eyes. 

…

“He knew about the inhibitor chips.”

I tensed, 

“The what chips…Cross?”

His turn to stiffen but it didn't last as he crumpled beneath me, defeated, surrendering the secrets he'd been holding.

“The clones are programmed. Controlled.”

He formed a gun with his fingers, and pressed it over his ear. 

“Through a chip. It's how they got them to do it. Turn on the generals… ‘Good soldiers follow orders,’... Buzzing through their heads, their words and thoughts, it's like they're hypnotized,”

A chill dropped through me… compulsion was, well… blasphemous. Not to mention the depth of government secrets he just revealed. He shouldn't be telling me this…

“And Hunter knew what exactly?”

“... That I…”

He gritted his teeth,

“He knew there was a possibility I may have been controlled, and left me to that… fate.”

There were hints of shame in his voice. 

“With what you just told me, you think he could have bested you?... Taken you against your will?”

“Of course not.”

“Well now you're contradicting yourself. What was he supposed to do?”

…

“So… Were you being controlled?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don't think you would have fired a ships engine with them inside of it and just… trusted that they'd get themselves out, not without some external reason,”

“And what if there wasn't a reason, what if I really wanted them to burn for leaving me behind?”

“That still sounds like a reason… just less noble.”

He snorted dryly. 

“Well… you have more confidence in me than he did… asking when it stopped influencing me.”

“I don't think he meant anything b-”

“I don't want to be around people who think I would choose to hurt them. The fact that he even considered I would try to kill them, the child, uninfluenced…”

He was coiling tight with a disembodied indignation. 

“They don't know me. If that's what they think I'm capable of, they never did. Harsh, yes, willing to do what they won't. Always… but I'm not a child killer, All those years as comrades for nothing.”

He sighed, some of the fight going out of his words. His fingers brushed the melted scar over his ear, eyes clouded in reminisce.

“There was fire, and pain, searing pain… and then it was like I woke up; Burned, confused, the lights of the Marauder leaving me behind… again. I tried to pursue, scuttle their engines and catch up… but they left, I suppose more like ‘got away’... The result is the same, I've had no idea what to do since, every decision seems wrong,”

I kissed him again, desperate to steal some of the hurt from his voice, as if I could draw it from him like venom from a wound. He pressed back, subdued and broken, making my heart ache. 

“I'm gonna have to have a word with this ‘Hunter’”

…

His brow furrowed,

“That would be to exchange words, not…?”

I grinned against his cheek,

“I'm going to fight him.”

His lip twitched at that,

“You think you can take Hunter?”

“I have my ways, he'll never see it coming,”

He chuckled, nuzzling the hair against my neck,

“That's my girl…”

He met my lips again, less reserved, pulling me to press into his bare chest. His hands roamed down my back feeling the shape of me. 

Shifting back and crossing my arms on his chest, I rested my head to look up at him. 

“What does it mean… to be yours?”

…

“I'm still working that out myself…”

“Do you wish to be mine?”

…

He fell silent, running his fingers through my hair, letting the strands fall slowly to catch the sparks like dew in a spiderweb. 

“Can’t you see, Tahny?”

His husky voice was barely a whisper, like a private prayer, yet…it echoed through the silent chamber.

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Tags: @feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian

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[glareraw]

Accelerationists are pathetic

Accelerationism is a range of revolutionary and reactionary ideas in left-wing and right-wing ideologies that call for the drastic intensification of capitalist growth, technological change, infrastructure sabotage and other processes of social change to destabilize existing systems and create radical social transformations, otherwise referred to as "acceleration". “Accelerationism.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 9 Aug. 2024. Link

Let's be so fucking for real.

We are in a hopeful political landscape right now. Trump looks more and more like he will lose, and Kamala Harris alongside her VP pick Tim Walz are winning over the hearts of Americans, and increasingly beating Trump in the polls as he rambles on about how Kamala changed her race or something. And we are learning how to parse the alarmist claims of news media, and deny them ad revenue from scaring us.

But there is a thorn in side of the Democratic Party. A small group of very loud accelerationists who claim to be leftist online act like Kamala is the antichrist. Their two main claims are that she imprisoned over 1,500 people for smoking weed during her time as a prosecutor, and they still act like she fully supports the genocide in Palestine, despite the first claim being a lie told by Tulsi Gabbard in the 2020 presidential race, and the second claim a case of "I pretend I do not see it" in terms of the truth.* (see footnote) They seem to forget that a Trump presidency would be FAR worse for Palestinians.

But let's be real. The originators of this argument are cishet white people who live in major cities of coastal blue states and whose parents pay their rent. They have a feeling of emptiness in their life because they have everything given to them, so they argue with LGBTQ+ people and POC online instead of making an actual difference in the real world. They sit behind their screens and convince unsuspecting netizens of their delusions that we could have a viable 3rd party candidate come out of nowhere in less than 3 months, and completely ignore the fact that a candidate with their ideology would absolutely tank in an election. They don't care that the American people are not ready for the nation they want to make.

One of the talking main strategies these accelerationists are trying is to get people to abstain from voting --if they don't get their third party candidate. Their goal is to get less votes for Kamala to make Donald Trump win so the world will go to shit and they can remake society from the ashes how THEY want.

They think that their lives are sheltered from the blatant danger of the republican platform, to hell with the women and LGBTQ+ and POC of the red states! They are totally fine with sacrificing the safety of women and minorities in service of their unrealistic headcanon. They simply do not, or refuse to understand the severity of the situation we find ourselves in. If Trump wins 2024, there's a pretty strong chance there won't be an election --at least a real one-- in 2028 or ever again.

And if they think they will actually be able to start a revolution against the federal government? If they can get past the SWAT team arrests at their peaceful protests and CIA assassinations of their movement's leaders, they will have the honor of battle with the most powerful and overfunded military on Earth. Good luck with that! But these people would be lucky to even have leadership to begin with, because none of them actually have a viable plan or real knowledge of how to make their maladaptive daydreams real and govern their dream society.

If you read all of this and look at the facts and still believe Kamala Harris is a horrible person and you don't WANT to vote for her, then fine. I don't feel the need to argue with you further. But you NEED to vote. Change will have to be made gradually, it can't happen all at once this time. As I said, the country isn't ready for that. But if enough leftists don't vote, and Trump actually wins, it will set us back decades, if not a century or more. The government will not collapse, it will just become stronger under fascist rule. They will not get the chance to make the change they want.

I don't think the ideology of accelerationism poses a huge threat in this election. The overwhelming amount of support for the Harris Walz campaign, combined with the long-expected downward spiral of Donald Trump makes it more and more likely that we will see Kamala in the White House. And the media fear mongering about insubordination from the electorates --and Kamala's defeat in the Trump-appointed federal courts after the election-- is largely overblown. They forget how we won in 2020. AFTER Trump was ousted.

But as I said, overall, I don't think accelerationists will be successful in causing a Trump victory. They just really piss me off.

*She supports a ceasefire and the two-state solution, but can't make that happen just yet as she is just the VP but that's a whole can of worms and a conversation for another time. Just know I personally support a ceasefire and understand that what is happening in Palestine IS a genocide.

[childish-dreams-utmv]

"Childish Dreams" [INTERACTIVE]

Chapter 4, 2767 words

Chapter summary:

Of course Dream wouldn't be able to mind his own damn business. Annoying brat. He had no good sense of personal space, as he lacked his own. And aaalways thought he was in the right. Everyone always permit him everything. Spoiled little thing. Nightmare always thought he ought to be disciplined at last. … Hm, well, now that is an idea.

Credits, content warnings and further information on ao3.

—

Nightmare was not a morning person. Quite frankly, he was more likely to be active during the dead of night than the early morning. Alas, here he was: awake and in the kitchen space, making himself a coffee.

As the coffee machine finished its work, he took the cup out and, using a wooden teaspoon, stirred in some honey. He did like to indulge in sweets, at least when it came to his coffee. He was a King. The least he deserved was a good cup of caffeine.

Strangely, though he'd woken earlier than usual and was displeased about it, he didn't feel much fatigue. Likely the effects from the yesterday's work.

Inversely, his recruits were shambling around the kitchen and yawning. Dust just sat at the table, head down. He could've fooled someone that he was sleeping.

Nightmare reached out a hand and Horror passed him the milk to pour some into his coffee. The man himself was shuffling around, slowly preparing breakfast, eyes half-lidded.

Nightmare capped the milk and returned it to the fridge. He leaned against the counter where he would not obstruct Horror's work (or endanger Horror with his touch), and sipped his coffee. It was excellent, naturally. Horror moved around him with the ease of familiarity, utensils clicking quietly.

(Which was… hm. Here was the Lord of Negativity, and yet, and yet.

The atmosphere felt… content and easy, dare he say.)

Only Killer was less sluggish than usual. Which was interesting. Most mornings of his started with dissociation that gradually abated.

Now, he sat at the table beside Dust, head leaned on one hand, rapidly tapping his fingers against the table with the other. There was a jittery quality to him.

Hm.

Well, his soul had destabilized. Nightmare had sensed it yesterday, including a mesh of negative emotions later in the evening. And yet nobody came to him to fix it, so he did not interfere in their business.

He'd assumed they'd had some argument or sparred to let the violence out, and that the issue had been dealt with. But perhaps that wasn't quite the case.

Hm.

Well, Nightmare would just give them a small break then. One day surely wouldn't be the end.

He was enthused to capitalize on the state his nemesis currently was in (i.e. a child locked in his own castle), yes, but he had to be careful to not oversaturate his employees with violence. They tended to… become unstable and burnt-out.

(Well, not anymore, at least. It had taken him a frankly embarrassing amount of time to both learn and admit he couldn't just push them to their limit every single time. It just wasn't productive.

…

…Or nice.)

Surely Dream was no threat like this. It was quite a perfect situation for Nightmare, really. He sipped at his coffee.

Dream was a persistent thorn in his side, and yet Nightmare was aware he couldn't just kill the man, unfortunately. The Multiverse might explode, or, something something. No; Dream had to remain alive, therefore, Nightmare would rather he be incapacitated. Ideally he would just turn back to stone! …Though he doubted that was possible to repeat.

So this, Nightmare was very happy with. Dream was no longer an obstacle like this. Perhaps, if he remained this way for a prolonged period of time, Nightmare would figure out how to shape him into something more preferable, hah.

And–

Hello Nightmare, if you don't mind me asking, how much do you know about killers soul? [@terahble]

–Nightmare blinked, cup raised halfway.

Quite frankly, he was about to completely ignore the sudden… ah, whatever that was.

However,

"Did–" Horror had paused, squinting at him. "…Why did you pause just now?"

Killer was staring at him.

Nightmare's eye narrowed.

Dust raised his head to blink blearily at them all.

They all had a minor stare-off, waiting for who would ask the question first.

Because every one of his recruits had history of bad mental states that include hallucinations. But that didn't sound like the words of a non-existent construct. Why would a hallucination ask that?

And what would happen if it came in contact with strong healing magic? [terahble]

"Why are you asking him about my soul?" it was Killer who dared to respond, flat.

"Oh shit, that wasn't just me," Dust muttered.

"Okay so we all heard it," Horror rubbed his face.

Nightmare mimicked the action, rubbing his nasal bridge. If it was not a hallucination and it was asking such questions, he had an inkling as to what was going on, and he wasn't happy about it.

Everybody knew of the almighty "Creators" — Ink and Error were both outspoken about their abstract existence. However, that's the thing — it was abstract. No body, no presence, no involvement. Usually only those two heard them.

Except for when something caught their attention.

Nightmare hoped this was a damn ghost instead.

"It would get healed," he deadpanned in response, sipping his coffee.

Except that gathered very subtle reactions from his team. Like Horror glancing away or a slight change to Killer's tapping.

Nightmare squinted at them again.

"What is this about?" he questioned.

"No clue," Killer shrugged.

killer, once you are in a better state (since we can't really see the events happening in a conventional way i have no way of knowing if you already are) please go appologise to dream, he feels quite guilty and thinks its his fault so i and the other voices would like him to be happy along side you and the others [Wise Villager (Guest)]

"Damn snitches–" Killer hissed quietly.

Well. That — 'since we can't really see the events happening in a conventional way' — confirmed one thing, at least: they weren't dealing with ghosts.

"What did that brat do?" Nightmare was quite unimpressed.

The other three exchanged looks for a moment or two, silently passing around the responsibility of answering him.

"Fuck off," Horror turned away.

"Not my mess," Dust raised his palms.

Killer threw his head back, groaning.

"Oh come on! You two insisted I go–"

"You let him try to–"

"How was I supposed to know–?!"

"This is not answering the question I asked," Nightmare interrupted them before they could really get going.

"Whatever," Killer rolled his head in lieu of rolling his eyes, "Pipsqueak just tried to– ugh, "heal" my soul," he made air quotes.

"I wasn't aware it was damaged,"

"My HP wasn't, yeah,"

Nightmare's brow ridges furrowed. Then what– ah.

Ahh. Yes. That would make sense. With so little to sense around here, Dream must've sensed the instability of Killer's soul. His soul was one of the reasons Nightmare was careful to not push too hard.

While Killer was most useful to him in Stage 2, going into Stage 3 or even Stage 4 could be too much. Killer preferred to handle it on his own, but sometimes Nightmare was forced to step in lest he self-destruct in those states.

"Why did you let him?" Dust muttered, leaning on a hand.

"Pardon me," Killer exaggerated, "My soft heart's weak to small children making demands," he deadpanned. "I didn't think he would try that!"

Of course Dream wouldn't be able to mind his own damn business. Annoying brat. He had no good sense of personal space, as he lacked his own. And aaalways thought he was in the right. Everyone always permit him everything. Spoiled little thing. Nightmare always thought he ought to be disciplined at last.

…

Hm, well, now that is an idea.

nightmare you should talk to dream– [Wise Villager [Guest])

"Oh I plan to," Nightmare agreed, placing his empty cup beside the sink.

His recruits glanced at him.

–he is worried about you and even if you don't want to he is saving grapes for you and you wouldn't want them to waist, maybe explain some stuff or lie a little bit just to give dream some comfort– [Wise Villager (Guest)]

(What– grapes–? Nevermind that, not important.)

No, no, he had no such plans. Instead, as Nightmare headed in the direction of Dream's room, he felt a sort of dark giddiness.

He held power and authority now. It was one of the high points of his life, really.

After some hesitation on their part, he sensed his crew also trailing after him. Curious, tentative.

Upon reaching the door, he swiftly unlocked it and opened it. (He hadn't doubted his workers, and yet he was pleased to find they had not forgotten to lock it.)

"Dreeamm," Nightmare drew out with a grin, as the other turned to face him. He was already awake, because of course he was.

Nightmare watched Dream's face break out into a bright grin, and he hopped off the bed to immediately rush over with a "Night!"

"Ah ah ah!" Nightmare chided, making Dream falter. "Do not touch me."

"Oh– okay!" Dream nodded easily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Oh– I saved some food for you!" he exclaimed, instead speeding over to the night stand.

What–? Mainly due to bafflement, Nightmare let the twerp stall.

Bizarrely enough, from the cupboard, Dream pulled out a bowl of stew, two pieces of bread, a small plate with dried meat slices and another bowl with… grapes. Ah, so this is what that was about.

"Oh– they're–" Dream paused at the grapes, and Nightmare sensed some disappointment from him. "Um. I didn't think they'd… go bad this quick," Dream admitted sheepishly. "But there's still other stuff!" he brightened up.

"What– where did you acquire this?"

Dream blinked. "…Huh?"

Nightmare rolled his eye.

"Where did you get this," he rephrased.

"Oh! Your, uh– Horror, Dust and Killer bring me breakfast and dinner!" stated with gratitude, but also with a touch of nerves. Like he was doing something wrong. A part of Nightmare wondered why Dream felt that way. Most of him didn't care about it.

(Dream had put aside parts of his own meal. For Nightmare.

…That…

…Meant nothing. It was a ridiculous, pointless gesture.)

Somewhere behind him, he heard Horror mutter something at this. He ignored it in favor of continuing what he came here for in the first place.

"Mm. And you repaid them by tampering with Killer's soul?" Nightmare stepped into the room properly now.

Dream stiffened, bowl of grapes still in his hands.

The golden child had messed up. And, personally, Nightmare was delighted.

"Is he okay?" Dream worried.

"N–"

DW DREAM HES OKAY TRUST (maybe) WORRY ABT URSELF 😞 [Azries]

Nightmare bristled slightly. Damn annoyances can't be shut up. No matter, he could work with this.

It’s not your fault Dream. People and monsters who are scared acts defensively to try to protect themselves from what hurt them. [@terahble]

"Oh–" Dream's shoulders loosened from the tension. Which is peculiar — if Nightmare was unable to quite literally feel it, he wouldn't have noticed its presence in the first place. How fun. "Yeah! Exactly! That's what I was say–"

"Yes," Nightmare interjected, "You cannot blame him for reacting harshly, hm?" he had gained enough details about the events to use. "What you did upset him very, very much,"

Slightly, Dream's eye's widened; slightly, he held the bowl of grapes tighter, before carefully placing it on the nightstand. Now instead he clutched at the ends of his sleeves.

(From behind, Killer was mildly amused.)

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't– I wanted to–"

"Tsk, excuses don't fix your failures,"

Nightmare savored the emotional lurch he was rewarded with. His grin crawled back over his face.

Dream, souls are a very special thing, it’s very rude for you to just do something to Killer’s soul. You should– [Alex_Magic]

"Indeed," Nightmare hummed, "Incredibly invasive and hurtful,"

His recruits, though they felt a range of things at the scene, didn't interject. Good. Nightmare doesn't tolerate disloyalty. And he was enjoying himself too much.

Over the years, he'd spat a great many things in Dream's face. Insults, cutting comments, manipulation tactics; he'd dug around for every scrap of weakness he could. It was personal. Over the years, Dream had learnt how to guard his emotions, aura locked away from Nightmare the same way Nightmare's was from him; he'd learnt to grit his teeth and hold tightly onto his emotional responses. A valiant warrior.

But it seems he had no such protections now. And Nightmare knew just which buttons to press.

Now he watched the pitiful thing clutch at his sleeves and stare, eyes wide. That's all he betrayed from the regret and guilt that rolled through him, but Nightmare felt it all.

And it tasted sweet, really. He'd barely said anything and it was getting to the emotional child already. It felt so good to finally be above.

Ahh, and he had so many options to pick from! Revenge was known to taste sweeter, after all — Nightmare should know.

There was hardly anything in the room, so no possessions to take away (the way his own had been stolen and destroyed). He considered leaving the brat without breakfast, maybe without dinner too — but that would likely anger Horror, a touchy matter.

Physical punishment was brutish and inelegant but…

Nightmare stepped forward, and Dream stood in place like a kid waiting for a scolding.

"Give me your hands,"

He held his hands up, staring up at Nightmare's face. No protest or complaint, not even a wince. He really was ridiculously trusting and naïve. Likely thinking his own "brother" would never hurt him. Nightmare had thought that too.

His first days-months-years of being Corrupted, the black tar that covered him would kill anybody he touched. He was seething with rage and hatred and bitterness and it physically streamed out of him. With time, however, though he did not lose those feelings, he gained power, and became more in tune with said power. If he so wished, the liquid hatred over his form would hardly sting upon being touched (though it could never be entirely painless).

Now he raised a tentacle, slowly wrapping it around both of Dream's palms (which were warm against the surface of the limb). And he squeezed. And he slowly increased the potency of the liquid negativity.

He watched as Dream initially didn't react. He watched as Dream suppressed his reaction. He watched as Dream began struggling to suppress his reaction, as the ooze physically burned his palms.

Nightmare wasn't ashamed to admit he felt satisfied as Dream's small hands began trembling with the burn. Still, the child only felt heaps of guilt and regret, and just a twinge of nervousness — no fear or panic or emotional hurt.

And yet the child was forcing his breathing to be measured to endure the pain.

At last, Nightmare uncurled the tentacle and withdrew it. He barely heard Dream let out a breath at that.

Marks remained on his palms, right over the middle, thick and harsh. Nightmare held no sympathy. He'd been through much worse. Dream would heal swiftly and forget all about it, no doubt.

"That's all," Nightmare hummed, pleased.

"Thank you,"

The whiplash of that response was like getting slapped across the face.

Just two words, timid, sincere.

Dream held no fear, no resentment, nothing. He just turned to, carefully, shakily, pick up the bowl of stew.

"Do you–"

"What the hell are you thanking me for?" Nightmare interrupted sharply. Behind him, likely hiding around the door to eavesdrop, his recruits were also in varying degrees of confused and baffled.

He received light confusion.

"For… my punishment…?" Dream replied like it was sensible and obvious. Like he'd ever been punished in his happy spoiled childhood. "Is Killer okay?" his worry was sincere, not even a moment longer spent on his punishment.

Nightmare stared at him. The child was still holding the bowl with stew, too.

"…Are you okay?" Dream asked a little quieter. "Does the goop hurt you? It's okay, we'll figure out how to get rid of it if that's the case," he offered a smile.

Nightmare stared. He was in disbelief. He was… growing to be irritated.

Of course Dream would respond like this. As a child, he never had the damn resolve to stand up to those bastards. Spineless people-pleaser. Even when the cost fell to Nightmare.

"Did… I say something wrong–?"

"Eat your food." Nightmare turned around to stride out the room, cold and bitterly seething. He closed the door and locked it. He ignored the shared glances between his crew — they knew better than to bother him when his aura was colder — and departed to his private workroom.

He'd wasted enough time and energy on that little attention seeker. He had work to do.

[psshaw]

As I wrote in a 2021 column, software-interface design quietly dictates so many of our online experiences today; it determines not just how we consume culture but what we consume as well. A tweak to an app’s landing page may seem minor; what’s the big deal if it takes an extra click or two to get to your library of albums? But such inconveniences have rippling effects; if albums are harder to get to, then over time they become less important as units of online listening. (The format has been increasingly destabilized for years, and famous musicians are turning more toward sprawling mixtape formats in response to the streaming ecosystem, but the shift is now affecting historical recordings, too.) Jarrett Fuller, a designer and professor at North Carolina State University, told me, “Whatever the designer decides is the default for the majority of users; that is how they will use it.” Fuller is something of a philosopher of digital design; his podcast “Scratching the Surface” canvasses experts in the field. In the past decade, he argues, a “user-centered” approach to design has been replaced by what he has taken to calling a “corporation-centered” approach. Rather than optimizing for the user’s experience, it optimizes for the extraction of profit. If Spotify succeeds at turning us all into passive listeners, then it doesn’t really matter which content the platform licenses. As Fuller put it, “It’s about ‘How do you get through as much music as you can so you keep paying for it?’ ”

[sataniccapitalist]

Bank Employee FOUND DEAD at Cubicle After Clocking in DAYS EARLIER

[ckret2]

(Gonna be completely honest: I haven't caught up on asks and all that, so if I say something that's already been said and/or disproven, I am very sorry)

Ok so the hoodie feels like a decoy. In the fic, the hood was pulled up, and in the art, it was down, showing us that there was no head poking out of the neckhole (nice touch with the eye staring at us and Ford btw). The shape of the body doesn't look contorted enough for the head to be inside the hoodie nor dipped below the shoulders (which would still show off the hair, which is also not shown). So this leads me to think that he stuffed the hoodie, or all of his clothes, with something and hid somewhere in that loft.

There are two problems with this theory: one, that Ford was standing very close to it for long enough to notice something off (though it could be argued that, since it was all in shadow, it was just too dark to tell); two, that right before the blast, there was a yell (which could arguably have been Ford); and three-because-I-can't-count, the real hitch, which is that the laser went through the roof and sky, rather than the floor. The only argument against the third one that I can possibly think of is that Ford went beneath the loft and shot upwards at the spot where Bill/the stuffed clothes dummy was to avoid looking at him, and I just forgot about the hole in the loft floor.

Either way, Bill obviously left through the roof hole

Bill and/or his alleged decoy is behind the boxes, you can't see the head for the same reason you can't see the legs. You're correct that the head isn't visible, but that's because the area above the neck hole is concealed, not empty.

Literally the only reason I left the hood down in the artwork is because I wanted the eye staring accusatorially out at the audience lmao.

The "shrill, whistling shriek" is my attempt to describe the noise the Quantum Destabilizer makes at the instant the trigger's pulled while making it sound marginally cool. If you've got a cooler description that makes it clear it's not a person shrieking, i'm all ears, willing to edit

From the loft you can hit both Bill-or-his-decoy and the roof by kneeling and firing horizontally from around hip level. You can shoot "skyward" by kneeling and firing horizontally with a very slight upward tilt so that the beam still hits the body but gradually rises as it exits the shack.

Maybe a better description of the loft area is needed to make clear where the roof IS in order for the beam to shoot through it. I spent weeks on end repeatedly rewatching the show to painstakingly recreate the shack in the sims 4 and now I take it for granted that surely everybody can clearly visualize every single detail of the shack

[arkanis-englishupdates]

SUMMARY OF ALL ARKANIS POVS

DAY 99 & DAY 100 — 11/12/2024 & 12/12/2024

DAY 99 — 11/12/2024

The day in Valigma starts off chaotic with Bagi having blown up part of the City Hall using a bomb.

Guaxinim argues with Moonkase about the explosion at City Hall that also almost killed Milo, but Moonkase defends Bagi saying she probably did not trigger the explosion to kill, which makes Guaxinim even angrier. He threatens to send Bagi to prison and the discussion intensifies, Milo hands Moonkase a gun and she quickly starts shooting Guaxinim with the pistol.

Despite this, Guaxinim easily knocks Moonkase down, which leads Bagi to go to the place to help her girlfriend. The discussion intensifies more and more and Guhzera, who was watching with Pac, tells Bagi if the bombs that she is placing around the city kill Milo, he will repay by killing Amora. Confusion begins and more people join the discussion.

Bagi theorizes that something is happening to Guaxinim because he is much more stressed than usual.

Hours later, all the specialists meet at City Hall and sirens begin to ring throughout the city. The group then goes towards the place where Araldo's old factory was located (the place that is close to Bira's Bar).

While everyone was there, FunBABE breaks the silence by announcing her breakup with NickLink (that even though he denied it at first, he just lowered his head in sadness).

Quel finally finds the coordinates the specialists needed and there they find a Nether Portal and a book.

The book talks about the Nether and how the portal was a type of anomaly.

Curious and excited, everyone enters the Nether without thinking twice.

Suddenly, as soon as everyone passed through the portal, Araldo also passes through the same portal and takes the ghosts with him before passing through again and blowing up the portal, leaving all the specialists trapped in the Nether.

("It's funny that since the first day you arrived here, you insist on getting involved in my things. You could just stay quiet in your corners, but it seems like the warnings didn't do any good, so stay alone. I will take these... Arkanya's remains with me.

Since you entered... Now I want to see you leave!".)

Luckily the ghosts are still able to communicate with their parents, saying that they have been taken to some strange place and are trapped there.

All the ghosts say they need their parents to find something important to get them out of where they are, but to do this, the specialists need to find different locations (for each ghost) within the Nether.

They encounter locations, castles with unusual details and a menacing aura. Inside the castles, the group finds puzzles to solve, with the answer having to be written down and placed on an altar at the end of the room. The race against time begins as soon as everyone is warned that they need to solve the puzzles, otherwise the ghosts would permanently die.

(As soon as each "team" finished a puzzle, the portal was gradually renovated.)

Once everyone completes the puzzles, the portal is completely redone and opened. The specialists run and go through the portal, coming face to face with several of Araldo's robots "outside" (in the same place, the little ghosts could be seen caged).

A fierce battle ensues, with the group fortunately overcoming the robots and freeing the ghosts.

Suddenly Araldo and Bia appear and start fighting in an epic battle. The group then decides to help Bia, using telekinesis to trap Araldo and throw him into the portal. The plan is a success but Araldo takes FunBABE with him.

The group returns to the Nether in search of FunBABE but they don't find her or Araldo. Malena says she doesn't think it's safe for them to go to the Nether because the portal is still destabilized, but Bagi says she doesn't care about that because the portal is already open, so (for her) there is no difference.

Bagi decides to stay a little longer in the Nether, separating herself from the rest of the group. Moonkase and some specialists spend a while trying to find Bagi in the Nether to make her leave her place, also trying to talk to her on the walkie-talkie but without an answer. Giving up, they decide to leave the Nether.

After a few minutes, FunBABE appears to the group of specialists and claims to be her again. Malena and Moonkase don't believe her and Malena says that if she really is the FunBABE they know, she would kiss NickLink.

FunBABE then kisses (reluctantly) NickLink to prove it to both of them, which makes them still suspicious because the kiss was given very unwillingly.

Moonkase tells Malena that it wouldn't make sense for Araldo to take Lankya out of nowhere and for free, leaving suspicion.

After that, Moonkase talks alone with NickLink and says that that's not the FunBABE they know (with humanity), because if it were really her, FunBABE would be sad because of her own actions when she was without humanity and she wouldn't act that way.

NickLink, upon hearing his sister's words, becomes more and more sad. Moonkase tries to cheer him up by using music or talking about other things with him, assuring him that they will save FunBABE.

(A while later, Bagi appears again and meets with Moonkase and NickLink at City Hall.)

Denix is ​​suddenly teleported by a yellow beam of light, leaving everyone in despair. He appears soon after.

While talking again in front of City Hall, Bagi is teleported by a black beam of light and an unknown voice tells her that they have "bills to pay soon".

After talking, Bagi goes to the Nether to try to explode a bomb inside the place (in retaliation to the possible new Entity that threatened her, which they theorize to be from the Nether) and Moonkase and Amora try to stop her. Unsuccessful and the two lose sight of Bagi.

Moonkase and Amora talk and then go to Malena's clinic for Moonkase to have a therapy session (Moonkase believes that Bagi no longer cares about her and Amora's lives with each passing day.).

DAY 100 — 12/12/2024

[Despite being day 100, nothing very relevant to the lore happened on this day. If I'm wrong, tell me in the comments and I'll edit that part!]

[For those who are reading this far, did you know that, instead of gathering on the Arkanis server, Did FunBABE, NickLink, Choke, Guhzera, Guaxinim, Meiaum, JVNQ, Moonkase, Malena and the Araldo/Jota actor get together on a GTA RP server? Yeah, it was a chaotic day!

There are many compilations of the best moments from that day on YouTube if you want to see!]

[pixies-and-poets]

Post-DLC Phantom Lore and Theories!!

Hello everyone! I've put together a post that I hope will be fairly comprehensive, condensing what we've learned about our dear titular character of Rayman in the Phantom Show. No, not Rayman. Phantom!

There will also be a few theories of my own to fill in the blanks, although I will clearly mark what's a theory and what is confirmed.

I wanted to include tidbits about other characters, but this got really long, so I'll save that for another post.

Showtime!

Phantom's History with the Space Opera Network

First of all, Phantom did not create the network/studio!! This was a surprise to me, and I assume others... I think we all had guessed that it was his baby. No, it's existed for decades, and was in financial trouble BEFORE he came along. In fact, they paid him for a huge comeback concert, but when they didn't get a good return on investment, they owed Phantom a lot of money. I assume this is when he was able to take it over. Then, he held a telethon where people paid him to stop singing so the network would air other things again, lmao. And he got pretty rich off of it.

Source: The Space Opera Network memory. "After decades of poor ratings, the Space Opera Network bet everything on a live comeback concert by the Phantom. It wound up in bankruptcy with the opera singer as its largest creditor. Rumor has it that afterwords, the Phantom held a live telethon where viewers paid GOBS of money to have him stop singing so the network would return to its original programming, making him a small fortune."

(I also like that the telethon has been reduced to "rumor", implying that all footage of it was erased to spare anyone else from seeing it, LOL)

It appears this was all fairly recent instead of being something Phantom has been working on gradually since we last saw him. The studio is still in dire shape and doesn't appear to have had much time to put any financial improvements into effect. This is also backed up by "The Phantom" memory, where Beep-0 says that "most recently" he has become "Director of the Space Opera Network", AFTER his relationship with Bea and the Galactovision song contest incident. I also imagine the sets for the final battle are recycled from the concert and/or telethon, but that's just a theory.

So the timeline appears to be: Phantom dates Bea, Phantom dumps her for the dancer, Bea and Phantom co-host the Galactovision contest as bitter exes and blow out their voices in their rivalry, Phantom regains his voice sometime later through unknown means, hosts a comeback concert that bombed, takes over the network, has a telethon, gets rich(er), at some point during this realizes he can use the network for sweet revenge, then sends three golden tickets to the Heroes. The main adventure of Sparks of Hope takes place sometime after he ruined his voice, and sometime before he sends the tickets.

THEORY: Phantom probably figured AT LEAST Mario would come because he's the main hero, and he's always leading the adventure, right? He also surely guessed Rabbid Peach would come as she's an influencer. Both were people he was desperate to get revenge on. And he didn't care who the third was. Summoning only three was a way to prevent them from overwhelming him, and it would also be easier to keep them distracted so they wouldn't snoop around and figure out what was going on behind the scenes. He also figured the more savvy ones like Edge and Rabbid Rosalina wouldn't come because this just wasn't their thing, and Peach would be kind enough to give her ticket to someone else, not to mention her being busy - he would have loved to see her, but didn't want to have to FIGHT her.

I think his reasons for summoning Rayman as well, were because he thought it would make for an epic roast. But also, he knew of his traumatic history with rabbids and thought it would be destabilizing, and if he ended up in a hero group with Mario, there could be a rivalry (even if friendly) that would keep them distracted. Basically he just thought Rayman would never work with Mario and the Rabbids smoothly, and they would all end up interrupting and tripping over each other's heroism.

Needless to say things didn't go as he planned. Little did he know Beep-0, Rabbid Peach and Rabbid Mario would just intercept the tickets and run without telling anyone. And that Rayman would end up getting along better with his new friends than even the limbless hero himself could have foreseen.

Assorted Stuff

On various shows, Phantom has played the role of "Cyprien Fairclough, a young swashbuckling prince with a voice like a nightingale and throngs of female admirers", presumably a pirate named Captain Opera-Beard (although the memory log doesn't specify it was him, we can make a confident guess lol), and possibly the cowboy Plungerhands McMurdy, if we are to presume Phantom himself tries to star in as many of the shows he produces as possible.

The Space Opera Network wanted to make a movie version of the heroes' adventures but replace Beep-0 with a wise-cracking parrot. I'd like to imagine this was Phantom's idea just to piss our favorite roomba off.

Phantom GAINS STRENGTH FROM ADORATION AND ATTENTION, which..... is this something we knew before? It feels really natural but this is the first time something like that was established as far as I can tell.

"The Phantom lured Rayman, Rabbid Mario, Rabbid Peach and myself [Beep-0] to the Space Opera Network under false pretenses, so we might boost the viewership from which he draws his power. Should his spotlight have grown any larger, he would have become invincible." - excerpt from The Phantom 2 memory

And finally, there is a gramophone in storage in Phantom's control room. We can make a guess that this might be his old gramophone, and that he got his voice back by replacing it somehow. Thanks to @randomrabbidramblings for pointing this out, for the screenshot and theory! (I wanted to go look for myself but I don't think there is a way to get back into the control room after you beat the DLC? Without playing it again of course.)

Feel free to add anything I might have missed, and your own theories!

Fun facts about other characters coming soon!

[lauralot89]

I have decided not to read Spiritual Vampirism by Charles Wilkins Webber, and here's why:

1. It's antisemitic, anti-women's suffrage, and pro-slavery.

I've already suffered through one appallingly racist 19th century vampire novel and I don't want to deal with another one. Life is short. Things are terrible enough. As far as I can tell by skimming through portions of this book on Project Gutenberg and by reading the one review on Goodreads, there is not a glimmer of a decent message to be gleaned here. Even The Blood of the Vampire has defenders who believe the novel is critiquing racism rather than endorsing it, for reasons that completely elude me. As best I can tell, the message of Spiritual Vampirism is "bitches be lying."

Women with chronic illness? They're just manipulating you to get their way! Women's suffrage? They're just part of the evil conspiracy trying to destabilize the US!

Because yes, there is an evil conspiracy out to ruin the United States and destroy Christianity with the powers of suffrage and abolitionism. The last several chapters are simply alleged documents from this evil conspiracy explaining how they've used various female characters to aid their EVIL.

About the only positive thing I can say about this novel is that it never flat out states the conspirators are Jewish. It's just implied.

2. It's about a psychic vampire rather than a regular one.

Yes, so was The Blood of the Vampire, but I didn't know that when I started it. It's called The Blood of the Vampire. I thought it would be about blood.

One of the main reasons I'm reading 19th century vampire fiction is because I like reading about vampires from before Dracula came along and set all the vampire tropes in stone. Psychic vampires aren't interesting to me. They're no different than dealing with toxic people in reality.

(Yes, I'm going to read The Parasite, which is also about psychic vampirism, but it's written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, so it's worth it)

3. While skimming it, the writing was atrocious.

One of the opening sentences is "To be read by philosophers only." Directly following that is an editor's note letting you know when the actual story starts. That's not because this bit was an introduction. It's because Webber decided to start with a philosophical essay explaining how evil lady vampires use their EVIL to destabilize the republic:

The existence of what may be called the nervous or Odic fluid—the sympathetic element—has been partially known to all ages. The knowledge of this powerful secret, in moving and controlling mankind, has been professionally and almost exclusively confined to the adepts of all sects, religions, and periods; though it has occasionally, in various ways, leaked out of the penetralia, principally through its forms, accompanied with little or no apprehension of their vital meaning. It is in this way that a series of scientific phenomena, the discovery of which probably originated with a remote priestcraft, and had been made to subserve exclusive ends, has gradually been fragmented among the people, and in many imperfect, ignorant, and vitiated forms has now become the common property of science.

This goes on for eighteen pages.

4. The author should be shot for the characters' names alone

The names in this book: Etherial Softdown, Regina Straightback, Humility Barebones Stout, Eusedora Polypheme, and E. Willamot Weasel.

Here's a terrible game you can play at home! Guess which one of those characters is Jewish.

If you have any interest in what this novel is about, and/or want to hear its failings from someone who actually read it, here is its singular Goodreads review.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-Four

For twelve long days, Maera retreated into a self-imposed silence. She fulfilled her duties diligently but spoke little to anyone, choosing to spend most of her time in her chambers. The King and Queen, both recovering from their injuries, remained secluded in their respective chambers. Maera relied on her trusted confidants, Thena and Ser Arryk, to keep her informed about the court's whispering. Through Thena's reports, she learned that rumors were circulating among the courtiers. Some believed that the King and Queen had fallen gravely ill, a disease that would further destabilize the realm, and allow Princess Rhaenyra to take her place on the Iron Throne. Others speculated that the royal couple was using this time to strengthen their bond, causing Maera to roll her eyes. The courtiers clearly did not know the royal couple well if that was the assumption made.

In an attempt to not go mad in her solitude, Maera's primary focus during those days was on Queen Helaena's three children. Each day spent in their presence was a gift from the Gods, and a welcome distraction from Maera’s impending destruction at the hands of the King. Accompanied by the nursery maids, Maera would take them daily to the Godswood and allow the children to play and explore whilst she sat underneath one of the trees. Maelor continued to toddle around quite happily but the twins seemed discontent. As she watched over them, Jaehaera approached Maera, curiosity gleaming in her violet eyes.

"Why haven't we seen our mother in a while?” The young princess asked Maera, who granted the little girl a sad smile. She studied Jaehaera, taking in her gown of crimson and black, and silver locks that framed her cherubic face.

"Your mother has important matters to attend to, which is why I am blessed to spend this time with you all, Princess,” Maera assured the girl in an attempt to distract her from the situation at hand.

Jaehaerys had also been listening from a few feet away, brows furrowing in confusion at her comment. It seemed they remained unconvinced, but they did not ask any further questions, continuing to play together.

Amid her interactions with the children, Maera continued to visit Helaena, checking on her well-being. The Queen's injuries, while still visible, were gradually healing, and her spirit was recovering too. One day, as Maera tenderly bathed her friend's face, wiping away any remnants of dried blood, she gently broached the subject of the children.

"Would you like to see them, my Queen? It may lift your spirits to have them around you."

However, the Queen hesitated, her concern evident as she replied, "I fear my injuries would frighten them."

Maera continued to tenderly cleanse Helaena's face, her gaze filled with sympathy. She couldn't help but admire the Queen's strength as she said, "You are such a good mother to those children, Helaena."

The Queen paused, her eyes distant as she reflected on her situation. Eventually, she confessed, "Aegon may be a monster, but he gave me the greatest gifts of all - my children. For that, I can't help but feel some gratitude."

Maera's brow furrowed at Helaena's words. She, too, cared deeply for the children, but she wondered if she would ever willingly trade her suffering for the role of their mother. And as for Aegon, she pondered whether the children truly comprehended the darkness that lurked within him.

With the cleansing complete, Maera carefully placed the bowl of water and cloth back on the bed side table. She then poured a cup of herbal tea, a prescribed remedy from the Maester to aid Helaena's recovery, in a blue porcelain cup.

Expressing her heartfelt sympathy, Maera commented, "I'm so sorry that I could not stop him, Helaena. I wish I had been with you that night."

The Queen sighed softly, revealing, "He hasn't returned to my chambers since..."

Maera carefully handed the cup of herbal tea to Queen Helaena, her eyes filled with concern as the conversation took a somber turn. Helaena, perceptive as ever, noticed the worry etched across Maera's face, and it prompted her to pause mid-sip. She set the cup down and fixed her gaze on Maera, her violet eyes piercing like a hawk's.

Hesitation weighed heavily in the air as Helaena ventured to ask, "What did you do?" Maera released a deep, resigned sigh, her gaze shifting to the window that framed the Queen's chambers. Outside, ominous dark clouds gathered, mirroring the turmoil within.

Turning back to her friend, Maera admitted, "Something that's bound to bring dire consequences, I’m sure."

Helaena's eyes widened in alarm at Maera's words, and she reached out desperately, clutching Maera's hand tightly. She implored, "I can endure a thousand more tortures at Aegon’s hands, but i cannot lose you, Maera, please.”

Maera couldn't bear to look at her friend any longer, the weight of guilt and regret pressing upon her. When she had lashed out at Aegon, her anger had consumed her, a blaze that had burned out of control. But now, as she reflected on her actions, those flames had dwindled to mere embers. Maera understood that, no matter how justified she felt in avenging Helaena, it was she who would ultimately bear the consequences.

Helaena's voice carried across the room, filled with deep emotion. "Maera, you're my best friend," she said, her words imbued with sincerity. "I think you are my only true friend. You have always accepted me for what I am. You have never called me crazy or stupid or dumb. You make me feel…safe."

Moved by her friend's heartfelt words, Maera returned to Helaena's side, their hands entwined once more. Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she spoke, "I don't know what's going to happen, Helaena. I don't even know who knows about what transpired." She fought to hold back tears, turning her gaze away momentarily to regain her composure before locking eyes with Helaena again. "And I don't know how to fix this mess."

Helaena's demeanor shifted suddenly, as if she'd drifted into a trance. She muttered cryptically, a slight smile on her face, "The dragon will trade a doe for a storm," leaving Maera bewildered by the strange words.

Maera, consumed by the relentless uncertainty of her fate, began refusing meals and drinks, plagued by the fear that Aegon might resort to poison her. Her loyal maid, Thena, tried her best to reassure her. "My lady, I've been with the food every step of the way in the kitchen. There's no foul play," she said earnestly. In an attempt to coax Maera into eating, Thena even sampled the dishes herself. But even after confirming their safety, Maera could only manage a few reluctant bites.

The nights were the worst, where repeating dreams of her fate tortured her. In the throes of her nightmare, Lady Maera's breath came in ragged gasps, her heart pounding like a drum of doom. The specter of treason and execution haunted her, a dark shadow that refused to relent. As the nights wore on, her cries grew louder, a haunting chorus of anguish that reverberated through the chambers, causing Ser Arryk to have to come in and wake her, finding her in a wretched state, hair clung to her sweat-drenched brow, trembling hands grasping at the linens, seeking an escape from the horrors that plagued her mind.

On the thirteenth day of her ordeal, after another sleepless night, Maera completed her letters to her family back in Rain House. She chose not to divulge the impending doom she faced at the King's hands, unwilling to worry her loved ones. Instead, she poured her heart into the words, expressing her deep longing for them, urging them to care for one another, and to foster love, empathy, and understanding. She wanted them to know that she carried them in her thoughts every single day.

That morning, Maera extended an invitation to Thena and Ser Arryk, to join her in her chambers for a ‘last meal’. Her mother’s wise words echoed in her mind, stating “the simple act of sharing a meal holds the power to provide a modicum of comfort amidst the encroaching shadows of grief.”

Together, the trio shared breakfast in a rather solemn affair, the air heavy with a sense of melancholy that hung like a shroud. A jug of ale, dark and hearty, stood as a solitary sentinel, its presence a silent acknowledgment of the need for easing the tension that had been weighing down on her for days.

As they sat together, savoring their food, Maera couldn't help but contemplate that this might be the last time they'd share such a moment. She turned to Thena, her loyal maid, and made a solemn request, "Thena, when the news of my punishment spreads, ensure that my letters reach my family." Thena nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting her unwavering loyalty.

Maera then shifted her gaze to Ser Arryk, her trusted guard. With determination in her voice, she implored, "Ser Arryk, I want you to become the sworn protector of Helaena. Make sure the King never lays a hand on her again, even if it means facing punishment yourself." The knight, his mouth full of food, managed a resolute nod through a bite of his meal.

Thena, taking a sip of her ale, chimed in with a touch of skepticism, "But my lady, we don't know your fate yet. Why plan for it?"

Maera replied with unwavering certainty, "Thena, I beat the King to a bloody pulp. It's unlikely I'll go unpunished."

Ser Arryk, having swallowed his food, added, "And he deserved every bit of it."

Thena continued to question, "What about Prince Aemond? He was with you at the time. Surely, despite his unpredictability, he'll protest a harsh punishment for the sake of your childhood friendship."

Ser Arryk interjected, "If the Prince was determined to protect our Lady, he'd have already come to see her and assure her of her fate."

Maera couldn't help but agree, noting that the Prince had clearly not left King's Landing, as Vhagar, the mighty dragon, continued to soar above the castle, a constant presence in the city's skies. She sat in contemplative silence, her thoughts swirling like a turbulent sea. A mixture of emotions and assumptions danced in her mind. Perhaps, Maera mused, Aemond already knew her fate, but the burden of delivering such news had held him back. It was kind in one way, yet terrible in another.

Pouring herself more ale, Maera downed the goblet until it was empty, her thoughts now morphing into whether she would get to see Aemond again before her impending doom. There was so much she wanted to say to him, and Maera concluded that grudges could not be held from beyond the grave. She wanted to express her disdain for his cruel nature and how he had toyed with her since losing his eye. That his hot-tempered and unforgiving nature would be his downfall, and perhaps if he wasn’t such an arrogant arse, he would find happiness in this life.

She also wanted to tell him how not all of the memories she had of him were bad, how there were points were she admired him and treasured his company, how sometimes simply seeing his face would make her days. Maera wanted to tell him how she thought he mirrored the beauty of the Gods of Old Valyria despite his injury, how she had thoroughly enjoyed the kiss they had shared that night and how she wished that they had taken things further, so she would have known a man’s touch before her head ended up on a spike.

But most importantly, Maera wanted to impart some wisdom to him. She longed to tell him to harness his anger, to use it to protect his family, instead of letting it consume him. She wanted him to know that he didn't need to constantly prove himself to others, that he was already enough just the way he was. And deep down, she believed he should have been the one sitting on the Iron Throne, that he was a born ruler and warrior, far more suited than the foolhardy Aegon.

With resolve, Maera rose from the breakfast table, reached for one last piece of parchment, and began to scribble down everything that had been swirling in her mind. Folding it and sealing it with wax, she pressed the House Wylde sigil of the Maelstrom onto the still-wet wax. The letter was addressed to the One-Eyed Prince, and she placed it onto the growing pile of messages. One more letter for Thena to deliver.

The doors to Maera's chambers burst open, and her father, Lord Jasper, entered with an air of authority. His grey-green eyes, normally sharp and discerning, now blazed with a fury that seemed to ignite the very air around him.

Immediately, the maid and guard rose from their seats as a sign of respect for the head of House Wylde. Maera offered her father a respectful nod as he demanded, "What have you done?"

Maera sighed and glanced over at Thena, giving her a gentle nod as a signal that she could leave. Thena approached her lady and picked up the correspondence on the writing desk. However, before she could depart, Maera reached across her table and handed Thena a burgundy silk purse filled with silver coins, a token of gratitude for her unwavering loyalty during Maera's stay at the Red Keep. She clasped it into Thena’s hands, giving it a gentle squeeze before mouthing a silent, “Thank you, for everything.” The maid appeared on the verge of tears but managed to nod before turning to leave the room. Ser Arryk, ever vigilant, remained, knowing that her father's temper was likely to flare.

Maera returned to her dining table, poured ale for herself, her knight, and her father, and gestured for her father to take the goblet she offered. She then asked him, her voice tinged with concern, "What have you heard?"

Lord Jasper accepted the goblet and eagerly took a sip before he began to explain, "I heard that the Queen had been injured, from the Maester."

Maera couldn't help but roll her eyes and sarcastically mused aloud, "Oh, did Maester Orwyle say how the Queen manage to get herself hurt so badly?"

Her father paused for a moment and then continued, "But then, I heard that the King had also been injured." He looked at Maera, concern etched on his face. "I hope, for your sake, you had nothing to do with the King's injuries."

Maera merely shrugged in response, her tone casual as she asked, "What would give you that idea?"

Her father's voice grew gruffer as he replied, "I have not been invited to the last four Small Council meetings since these incidents occurred, and they went ahead without me."

With a contemplative hum, Maera swirled the ale around in her goblet before taking another sip. After a moment of silence, she finally responded, her voice tinged with resignation, "What's done is done." Lord Jasper, frustration evident, slammed his goblet onto the table in anger.

Lord Jasper couldn't contain his anger as he approached Maera, shouting, "Do you realize what you have done? What shame you have brought upon us?!" However, Ser Arryk swiftly stepped between them, hand resting on his sword's hilt, warning Lord Jasper to stay back.

Maera, defiant and fiery, shouted back at her father, "The King is probably going to execute me anyway. You should be glad; then you can be rid of your shame!" Frustration boiled within Lord Jasper, causing him to kick over one of Maera's chairs, releasing some of his pent-up anger. He began to pace the room, muttering, "Oh Gods," repeatedly.

As tension filled the room, another figure entered, the sound of armor clinking softly with each step – Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander, clad in his imposing metal plating. He addressed both Maera and her father with an air of calmness, his chiselled features displaying a hint of sternness. “Lord Wylde, Lady Maera. Your presence has been requested in the Throne room. By the King."

Notes: been avoiding editing this chapter but finally got round to it! I’ve been working on the other chapters more 🤣

Tags: @marvelescvpe @grungegrrrl @shesjustanothergeek @blue-serendipity

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤