#we have another file where he hosts [I host the other one] and he's a half wood elf barbarian iirc. I'm a tiefling cleric

[bubblegum-snowdrop]

why is ur tav in mintharas clothes

Because she knocked Minthara out and stole all her stuff, of course.

Hel [my gal in the sidebar] very much does not like Minthara for lore reasons <3333

[edit: she is not my sidebar rn but the point still stands lol]

[violetlichen]

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts. 

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts. 

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks. 

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking. 

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess. 

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it. 

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison. 

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow. 

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand. 

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part Two

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical sexism and violence. Word count: ~7.1k

Summary: Lorra and Aemond get to know each other, and Aemond grapples with the idea of what it means to be a husband.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Time feels as though it freezes for Aemond, stretching on for an eternity as he stares into Lorra’s eyes. He searches the depth of her gaze for any indication of fear or disgust, confused when he sees neither. He has never wanted quite so desperately to know what another person is thinking.

He is broken from his thoughts by the voice of his mother. “Lady Stark,” Alicent says warmly, “welcome to King’s Landing. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please forgive the King’s absence, he is eager to greet you, however, he must rest for the good of his health. I trust your journey was a safe one?”

Lorra looks away from Aemond, turning her attention to Alicent, and smiles. It lights up her delicate features in a way that makes warmth swirl uncomfortably in his chest, and he forces himself to divert his attention, fixing his eye upon the furthest wall of the Great Hall, a feeble attempt to calm himself.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honour to be here and to meet you, and I look forward to meeting the King soon, please send him my regards until then. My guards ensured my travel from Winterfell was uneventful.”

Aemond’s eye widens, looking back at her as he hears her speak. He has had few dealings with those of the North, but had not expected her voice to sound quite so different from those who occupy King’s Landing. Lorra is soft spoken, though there is a lilt to her accent that lifts and subtly elongates the vowels of her words. It fascinates and horrifies him in equal measure.

“I had anticipated that we would be hosting the entirety of the Stark family, my lady,” Otto interjects. “Where are Lord Stark and Lady Glover?”

“Back in Winterfell, Ser Hightower,” Lorra responds matter of factly. “I hope it is agreeable to you, but I have asked my mother and father to delay their arrival so that I am free to become acquainted with my betrothed without the pressures of formality.”

Aemond feels his throat run dry as she says this. 

What precisely is she expecting of him?

Otto bristles slightly, clearing his throat. “Delay their arrival for how long?”

“Six months.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open, his chest tightening as Aegon titters quietly beside him, clearly finding the entire display amusing.

“That is most–” Otto begins, cut off as Alicent steps forward, taking Lorra’s hands in hers.

“That is most wonderful,” the Queen interrupts. “We look forward to meeting the rest of the Stark family when they arrive. We will be hosting a welcome feast for you this evening, in the meantime we’ll have you escorted to your chambers, so you can get settled. You must be weary after such a long journey.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lorra smiles and Aemond watches as her delicate fingers intertwine with those of his mother’s. He wonders whether her hands would feel soft against his own, and quickly shakes his head as if to clear the thought from his mind.

It isn’t until the bustle of people filing out of the Great Hall breaks him from his reverie that Aemond realises they have not uttered a word to each other since her arrival. He watches her as she walks away, and as though his stare beckons her to him, she looks back over her shoulder at him, giving him the subtlest of winks. He immediately lowers his gaze, feeling his skin flush warmly.

She is unspeakably crass.

Aegon has not budged an inch from where he stands, a lecherous smirk plastered across his face as he eyes his younger brother with amusement.

“Fuck off,” Aemond hisses, striding away to return to his own quarters.

He is restless, opting to pace the length of the room instead of sitting; he finds each time he takes a seat he fidgets to the point that he irritates himself, standing once more and allowing his feet to carry him aimlessly.

Books cannot hold his concentration, every attempt to lose himself in a philosophical tome is fruitless, Lorra’s presence has unnerved him too much. Her looks, her voice, her self assuredness were all far beyond the realm of what he had imagined. It rattles him that she has foregone the presence of her mother and father, he does not understand what she expects of him, and the fact that she had had the audacity to wink at him as she walked from the Great Hall makes his pulse quicken in a way that no amount of deep breaths can calm.

Perhaps she simply means to torment him for her own amusement?

Later that evening, having been alerted by a page boy that supper is to be served, Aemond is slow to make his way down to the dining hall. He immediately regrets his hesitation upon taking in the seating arrangements.

Otto and Alicent sit at one side of the long, wooden table, with Aegon to Otto’s right at the head of it. Helaena sits on the opposite side, to Aegon’s right, with Lorra seated next to her. The only available chair remaining is at the opposing head, between his mother and Lorra. Unsurprisingly, Viserys is absent.

A group of musicians play softly in the corner, the sounds of vielle, harp, psaltery and flute carry a dulcet tune throughout the candlelit space, as serving staff place platters of steaming food and jugs of wine upon the table.

He pulls out the seat, keeping his eye fixed upon the tabletop, grimacing inwardly at the loud scrape of the legs against the flagstone floor. He can feel every set of eyes in the room upon him and he detests it, muttering a quiet thank you to Alicent as she places a slice of roasted venison upon his plate.

Aemond allows himself to glance at Lorra. Her dark curls are free of the braid she wore earlier, her hair framing her soft face, and falling almost to her elbows in soft waves. No longer wearing her travelling cloak, he can see that her figure is svelte, the lines of the grey and white brocade gown she wears hug her subtle curves and bare the pale flesh of her shoulders.

He feels his mouth run dry at the sight and lifts his goblet to his lips, eager for relief. The tart taste of Dornish red envelopes his tongue. His mother has made a big effort this evening; musicians, Dornish wine, roasted venison. It all seems ridiculously over the top to Aemond for something that is nothing more than a mere formality.

“Such lovely music,” Lorra comments, nodding towards the corner where it plays. She fixes Aemond with her big blue eyes. “Do you dance, My Prince?”

“No,” he replies simply, glancing her way as he sets his wine down upon the table. He does not trust himself to speak further, he fears the pounding of his heart in his chest will cause his voice to falter.

“Aemond can dance though,” Alicent says with a proud smile, leaning slightly forward to address Lorra. “Him, Aegon and Helaena all learned as children.”

“I love to dance,” Helaena tells Lorra dreamily, leaning her elbows on the table’s edge.

“Does Aegon ever dance with you?” Lorra asks, turning to look at her.

Helaena shakes her head. “No, he is usually in his cups, and he trips on my skirts.”

“Would you like to dance, Princess?”

His sister nods enthusiastically, taking Lorra’s hand as she offers it out, and once more Aemond feels envy rise acridly in his throat that yet another member of his family has experienced her touch before he has.

Both Alicent and Otto turn to look, as Lorra and Helaena move to the open space of the room, the music rising in volume as they begin to twirl and skip around each other. Aemond watches, transfixed at the bright smile upon Lorra’s face and the way that her hair fans out around her as she moves. Helaena’s eyes are lit up in a way he rarely sees, and he marvels that with such a simple gesture this stranger from the North has managed to make his sister seem happier than she has in a long time.

He reluctantly looks away as he notices Aegon stand, moving clumsily from his own seat and around the table, slumping heavily in the chair that Lorra had previously occupied.

“She is pretty, brother,” Aegon slurs with a slight smirk. “Do you know what to do with her?”

Aemond wrinkles his nose in disgust, his older sibling reeks of wine, the stench pungent in his nostrils. “Your breath could light a brazier.”

Aegon chuckles, plucking a fig from Lorra’s plate and biting into it. “I shall take that as a no,” he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, “considering it is our sister she dances with, and not you.”

He scoffs, rolling his eye. “I have nothing to prove to her.”

“Then I don’t suppose you will mind if I dance with her too?” He raises his eyebrows, popping the rest of the fig in his mouth.

Annoyance prickles at Aemond’s skin and he narrows his eye as he looks at the mocking expression of his brother.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, moving in his seat to face where Lorra and Helaena currently dance. 

“Lorra!” Aegon calls out loudly across the table. “Your betrothed wishes to dance with you also.”

If proper decorum did not dictate otherwise, Aemond would throw himself out of his seat and throttle the life out of Aegon. Instead he stares at him, wide eyed with a mixture of horror and anger.

Lorra halts her movements, looking over her shoulder towards Aemond, before approaching where he sits. She is breathless, pale cheeks flushed, as she extends a hand to him. 

He cannot possibly deny her now. Fucking Aegon.

He has never seen anyone appear so carefree, a marked difference to his unwavering stoicism, and he stares at her unblinking for a few moments before slowly reaching out to take her hand.

Her touch sends a ripple of warmth through his body from head to toe, and as he rises from his seat he worries he will stumble, utterly disarmed by the softness of her palm against his. 

Helaena goes back to the table as Lorra and Aemond make their way to the space in which she had previously been dancing with her.

He swallows thickly, desperately trying to recall the steps he had learned as a child, feeling yet another surge of heat travel through him as Lorra raises her hand, placing her palm flat against his. Her hands are so much smaller and more delicate than his, he is certain that if he made a fist then his would cover hers entirely.

Lorra never once breaks eye contact, the ghost of a smile upon her lips as her and Aemond circle each other. He finds it is much like sparring, remembering where to place his feet, anticipating the movements of his opponent, though he does not possess the natural grace that she appears to have as she moves.

“You dance well,” Lorra murmurs, as they step in close to each other, “though you are stiff.”

“Dancing is not something I enjoy,” Aemond replies simply, eye raking over the way her hair tousles around her bare shoulders.

“Well, I am flattered you made an exception for me,” she says with a wry smile. “I look forward to finding out what you do enjoy.”

His lips part slightly, unsure of what to say. He cannot understand her interest in him. He had expected a meek, little thing, happy to endure the formalities of a political union, and instead he has been presented with an ethereal beauty intent on taunting him to the brink of madness.

Aemond feels as though he is in a daze for the rest of the meal, picking silently at his food, grateful for the fact that his family carry on the conversation so that he is not forced to participate. However, he finds his gaze is constantly drawn to Lorra, she fascinates and terrifies him in equal measure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the evening finally draws to a close and he can retire to his bedchamber. Though, to his dismay, having left her physical presence behind, Aemond finds that Lorra is not so easily shifted from his thoughts. Her hair, her smile, the way she moves, all occupy his mind with alarming frequency. His fingers flex restlessly each time he recalls the feeling of her hand against his.

It is because she is different, he reasons, I just need to get used to her and then she will not haunt my thoughts quite so often.

The next day, Aemond shuts himself away in the library. He is certain that the fuss from yesterday was simply because it was Lorra’s first day within the Keep. Now they will be free to pursue their own interests outside of each other, and any time spent together will be arranged by either his mother or grandsire, with a chaperone present.

He takes down a large book on the history of Old Valyria from one of the shelves. Aemond has read it countless times before, and he seeks comfort within its familiar pages as he seats himself at a reading table. The words he knows by heart provide welcome refuge against the tug of uncertainty he has been thrust against.

The door creaking open startles him, the library is a space in which he is rarely bothered. No one but him and the Keep’s maesters ever set foot in here.

His heart lurches as he sees Lorra enter silently. A satin gown that matches the blue of the cloak she arrived in the previous day serves to illuminate her irises, making them shine in the low lighting of the dimly lit space. Her ebony hair is braided once more, falling across one shoulder.

Aemond wets his lips, gripping the pages of his book tightly. “Are you lost?”

She chuckles quietly, taking in his shocked expression. “Exactly where I mean to be. I was told I would find you here.”

He leans against the back of his chair, regarding her with silent suspicion as she moves towards him, taking the seat next to his.

“Fret not,” she tells him with an amused smile, “Ser Cole is outside the door, if you are worried I mean for you to have me against the bookcases.”

His eye widens at this, heat licking up his spine in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

How can she be so coarse and not feel the slightest shame for it?

“So, what are you reading?”

He clears his throat, his focus returning to the book. “A history of Old Valyria, nothing that you would find interesting.”

“On the contrary, it is my duty to learn of the ancestral history of my betrothed, it is what we will teach our children. Do you not wish to learn the history of House Stark?”

“I know the history of House Stark.”

“Then we could share our learnings.”

“There is no need.”

“Why not?”

“We did not choose this.”

Lorra sighs. “We did not, and yet I see no reason why we cannot make the best of it. I want to know my husband.”

Aemond looks up at her, his expression hardening. “I study history and philosophy, I train with the sword, I ride the largest dragon in the world. There is nothing else to know.”

She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap momentarily, before turning her attention back to him. “And they say Northerners have an icy demeanour…I intend to thaw you out eventually.”

She rises from her seat, sweeping silently out of the library, and leaving Aemond alone to stare after her. Suddenly, his historical tome is of little interest to him.

Aemond does not see her again until suppertime, though she crosses his mind often, and he is resentful of the twinge of disappointment that burrows its way into his chest at the dinner table when she opts to converse with his mother and sister instead of him.

It does not escape his notice, however, that all of the dishes she passes to him throughout the meal are his favourites; sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, and rabbit stuffed with minced loin of veal. She had clearly been watching what he had eaten the previous evening.

He feels slightly embarrassed to realise he has no idea what she enjoys eating, keeping silent as he watches her carefully. She seems to enjoy the plums stewed in rosewater, and she helps herself to a slice of game pie, his lips quirking in mild amusement as he sees her pick away the pastry, leaving it to one side as she eats the filling. It unnerves him a little, he has never wished to know the intricacies of anyone before, and yet here he sits attempting to commit to memory the culinary likes and dislikes of a woman he barely knows.

She makes no further attempts to speak to him that day, and he retires for the evening believing that she finally shares his view that they need not interfere in each other’s affairs.

That is until the following morning. His boots crunch against the gravel of the training yard as he spins his sword in his hand, slowly circling to keep Ser Criston Cole in his line of sight as the Queen’s sworn protector wields his morningstar. He is about to surge forward, when he spots Lorra making her way towards the spread of weapons that are laid out on the bench.

She is dressed in form fitting grey trousers with a matching jerkin, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She is picking up each of the smaller blades, inspecting them in turn as he approaches, nostrils flared in annoyance and patience thin.

“What are you doing?” He asks coldly, frowning down at her as she rights herself, looking up at him impassively.

“Choosing a blade,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have not been able to spar since I left Winterfell.”

Aemond scoffs at this. “But you are a woman.”

His mother and sister never set foot in the training yard. He has never seen a woman spar before, the very idea seems ridiculous to him. In his opinion, the last of the female warriors died with Visenya Targaryen.

“An astute observation,” Lorra smirks, cocking her head. “My father ensured I was trained to fight as well as he and my brother, Cregan, can. Women of the North know how to defend themselves.”

“Cole, are you going to allow this?” Aemond demands, turning as the knight walks over to them both.

“You say you have trained before, My Lady?” Criston enquires.

Lorra nods. “I can fight with a sword and shield. I also hunt, fish and ride on horseback. My father has given me every advantage afforded to my brother.”

“Well then, My Prince, I suppose there is your answer,” Criston says with a slight shrug, stepping away.

“Perhaps my betrothed will train with me?” Lorra asks, picking up a sword and testing the weight of it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies coldly. “There is no honour in fighting a woman.”

“Are you craven?” She asks with a mock pout. “Afraid you will lose?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, eye narrowing as he exhales heavily through his nose in irritation. “Fine.”

He stomps to the centre of the training yard, turning as Lorra takes up a fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width and blade raised in a defensive position.

She easily dodges him, sidestepping him as he strikes forward with his own sword and rounds on him as she delivers a blow of her own, a dull thud against his bicep that makes him wince in pain and growl in frustration.

“Not bad for a woman after all, eh?” She taunts, jutting out her chin defiantly.

Aemond snarls, his sword clashing against her own as he pushes her backwards. “Why must you torment me so?” He hisses. “Is this a game to you?”

“I simply wish to spend time with my future husband,” she breathes heavily, “what is so terribly wrong with that?”

She winces, yelping in pain as he delivers a particularly hard whack to her outer thigh, and she falls backwards. He holds the point of his sword to her throat, as she stares up at him, wide eyed and panting.

“You are to be my wife,” he hisses, “not my friend, not my companion, learn the fucking difference.”

The metallic sound of armour rings out across the courtyard as Criston rushes over, pushing Aemond back by his shoulder, away from Lorra. She scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath, dropping her sword and hurrying away.

Aemond watches after her, the adrenaline of his anger slowly subsiding as guilt blooms heavily within him.

“You took that too far, My Prince,” Criston says sternly, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder still firm.

“She angered me,” he mutters quietly, still staring after Lorra, though she has long since disappeared from view.

“Every woman is created in the image of the Mother,” the knight tells him, “we must treat them as such.”

Aemond sneers, shrugging off Criston and stalking back towards the Keep.

Having returned to his chambers to bathe and change his clothing, Aemond is unsurprised when later that afternoon he is summoned to his grandsire’s study. He is anticipating a scolding for what had happened in the training yard earlier.

Otto sighs wearily as Aemond enters the study, leaning back in his chair and regarding his grandson through hooded eyes.

“What happened earlier was an appalling display, stupid boy. You will apologise.”

“I suppose she has told you everything?” Aemond responds wearily.

“No, actually,” he says, folding his hands in front of him upon the desk. “Your mother did, and she heard it from Ser Cole.”

Aemond is surprised by this, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realises Lorra had not rushed to tell of his misdeeds.

“I appreciate that you did not ask for this, Aemond, but it is important that we build an alliance with House Stark, for the good of Aegon’s succession. Apologise to Lorra. You must learn to get along with the girl, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or Lord Baratheon has four eligible daughters, and we can begin the process all over again.”

Aemond balks at this, the prospect of having to welcome someone new into his life and endure the formalities of courtship all over again causes dread to gnaw at his stomach. But also, in the very recesses of his mind there is a part of him that knows he does not want anyone that is not Lorra Stark.

As he leaves Otto’s study, he is certain he hears the rustle of clothing and hurried footsteps, yet when he peers further down the corridor, he sees no one.

At dinner that evening, Lorra is subdued, not speaking to anyone at the table. Aemond stares at her regretfully, saddened by the loss of the simple gesture of her passing him dishes of the food she knows he enjoys, and is struck by an idea of his own.

He reaches for a slice of game pie, sliding it onto his plate, and with a knife he carefully cuts the pastry from the top and the bottom, before pushing the filling onto a side plate. He passes it to Lorra and she looks up at him, wide eyed, taking it from him hesitantly.

“You noticed.”

“I may have lost an eye, but the one that remains does not miss much. However, I allowed my pride to blind me in the training yard earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

*I shall think about it,” she says with a grin.

He feels the faintest tug of his own smile pulling at his lips in return, his heart feeling lighter than it has all day.

Over the next two months, Lorra and Aemond spend more time together. Afternoons are whiled away in the library, they either read silently side by side - Aemond preferring historical accounts and philosophical studies, while she opts for tales from the Age of Heroes - or they share stories of their lineages. Lorra recounts her own knowledge of direwolves and wildlings beyond the Wall, while Aemond tells her all about Aegon the Conqueror and how the first dragons came to be.

In the training yard, Aemond continues to spar with Criston, and Lorra is appointed a squire to train with. Though the two never cross blades again, Aemond often finds his gaze drawn to her, impressed by the fluidity of her movements and the ferocity with which she fights.

Lorra is a welcome addition to the Red Keep, she converses easily with all of the family at mealtimes, and they all seem fond of her. On the rare occasions that Viserys can be roused from his sick bed to the table, she is even able to draw a laugh from him, despite his lack of lucidity.

As Aemond and Lorra grow closer, his inner conflict grows with it. He has never had a friend before, let alone anyone he feels affection for. He has grown accustomed to a life of solitude, simply slotting another person into his daily routine proves difficult enough, when it is accompanied by a longing to reach out to her and hold her hand, or stroke his fingers through the lustrousness of her hair, he does not know what to with this. So he resists, ignoring the restlessness of his hands and the quickening of his pulse each time she is near.

He has never craved physical or sexual intimacy before, both times he had endured it he had found no joy in it, so he cannot understand why Lorra evokes such desires within him.

Over time, he finds that simply avoiding her alleviates his burden, and so his flights on Vhagar become ever more frequent. Up in the skies is the only place that she cannot follow, and when he is on dragonback he is given a momentary respite from the war that rages inside of him, a clash between the comfort of seclusion, and the desire for her to be close to him.

Late afternoon bleeds into early evening, the sky a tapestry of dusky orange and pink as Aemond lands Vhagar on the outer edge of the Godswood. He dismounts, stunned to see that Lorra is patiently waiting for him, her cerulean cloak with white fur trim clutched tightly around her as she stands by a large elm tree.

“So, this is the mighty Vhagar,” she says softly, no trace of fear in her tone as she marvels at the great beast that rumbles cantankerously, mere feet away, as Aemond approaches her.

“You should not be here,” Aemond tells her, “dragons are not playthings for those unused to them.”

“But you have yet to introduce me, and she clearly means a lot to you. I would like to meet her.”

He hesitates. His dragon is the only remaining barrier he has between himself and Lorra, if he breaks that down then there is no more escaping her, and he will be forced to deal with whatever the consequences of that may be. 

“No.”

“Why do you avoid me?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You were not in the library this morning, you missed training yesterday. More often than not you go where I cannot follow. I do not understand why.”

Aemond sighs, averting his gaze. “I–I cannot give you what you want.”

Lorra’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? We have been getting along well.”

He shakes his head. “I am not built for companionship. I would only disappoint you. I can be your husband in name, but I cannot be your lover.”

“Do you not even wish to try?” She asks pleadingly.

More than I have ever wanted anything.

He says nothing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Every fibre of his being burns with the urge to pull her close and press his lips to hers, but uncertainty holds him back.

“Let me visit you in your chambers tonight, let us see if you really cannot play the part of a husband in anything more than name. If that turns out to be the case then I promise we shall never speak of it again. Do you agree?”

Aemond draws in a shuddering breath, icy tendrils of fear wrap themselves around his heart, while excitement flutters urgently in his lower abdomen. “Yes,” he utters simply.

Lorra nods, turning and walking back towards the Red Keep, leaving him alone in the Godswood.

Aemond anxiously awaits the knock at his door that evening, and even though he expects it, he still feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the soft tap of her knuckles against the wood.

His mouth runs dry at the sight of her, she is wrapped in a quilted robe, which she sheds upon crossing the threshold leaving her in just a thin cotton nightgown.

Once more, Aemond is stunned by how forthright Lorra is as she perches on the edge of his bed. He hovers nervously in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“I am no longer a maiden,” she tells him honestly, “I feel that is something you deserve to know ahead of our nuptials, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Aemond swallows thickly, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again when he realises he does not know what to say.

“I was on a hunt with my father and my brother. I allowed a squire to sully my virtue, believing it to be true love,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As it turns out he was just eager to get beneath the skirts of a nobleman’s daughter.”

Anger prickles beneath Aemond’s skin, the very thought of someone using her in such a manner is almost more than he can stand. He will wring that pathetic excuse of a man’s neck if he ever gets his hands upon him.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” he utters, “you did not deserve that.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It matters not. So, tell me, what of your experience?”

Aemond sucks in a breath, moving slowly to sit beside her on the mattress, keeping a respectable distance, as he contemplates what and how to tell her.

“It was my thirteenth name day, and Aegon decided that the appropriate gift would be to take me to a brothel.”

Lorra nods, keeping quiet and allowing for him to continue.

“It was not an enjoyable experience for me. Truthfully, I was disgusted by it, and for a long time I never entertained the notion of being intimate with anyone again.”

“Until when?”

“Until I was told I was to be betrothed to you.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did not want to be inexperienced for my wife, I wanted to see if I could derive enjoyment from coupling with a woman after all, so as not to embarrass you or myself. I took a maidservant.”

“And how did you find that?”

“It was…better than my experience in the brothel, but beyond the physical sensations, I felt nothing. It was humiliating to have to see her after that. I made sure she drank moon tea and then had my mother move her to kitchen duties, so I would not have to see her again.”

Lorra nods in understanding. “So, we have both been unlucky. Have you considered that perhaps it is not the act itself that is unenjoyable, more so the person you are doing it with?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there is no emotional connection between you and the person you are intimate with then there is little joy to be found in the act. You are merely two bodies rubbing against each other.”

“I have never experienced an emotional connection with anyone before, so I would not know.”

“Not even with me?”

Yes, with you. Only with you.

The words stick in Aemond’s throat, unable to express how he feels. He cannot allow himself such vulnerability.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, shifting closer.

Deciding to act, before he can change his mind, Aemond leans in, pressing his lips to hers. Lorra leads the movements, clearly the more experienced of the two - he has never kissed anyone before. Her lips are soft against his, yet press with a firmness that coaxes him to mimic her gestures.

He buries his hands in her hair, finally feeling its silkiness between his fingers as he pulls her closer. The stickiness of their saliva as they deepen the kiss, her tongue licking against his, makes his cock ache painfully hard in his breeches.

Lorra moves to straddle his lap, and Aemond’s hands wander from her hair, down the smoothness of her skin, his grip gentle yet filled with desperate want.

It is as if something finally clicks into place for him as she presses herself against him, the delicate scent of rosemary and lavender that clings to her flesh makes him feel lightheaded. This is what Aegon had been talking about. He wants nothing more than to throw her down upon the bed, and tear her nightdress from her.

Yet as she pulls back, breathless, glassy eyed and glossy lipped, he feels the same awe he had felt the first time he had looked into the fiery jaws of Vhagar. Only this time, it is not the white hot intensity of the Seven Hells that he sees reflected back, it is the vision of the Maiden herself. He has never seen a sight more beautiful.

His reverence of her quickly causes him to freeze, he is unworthy, does not know what to do with someone he feels so strongly for, and it morphs into terror. This time, instead of claiming his prize he pulls away from it.

“I–I cannot. I am sorry,” he whispers, pushing her gently from him and moving to stand.

She sighs softly, her head bowed dejectedly as she brushes past him to gather up her robe and wrap it back around herself.

“Well, I suppose that is that then,” she says. Her voice sounds so sad, so weak, that it causes a lump to form in Aemond’s throat. He detests that he has made her feel this way.

“As agreed in the Godswood, we shall speak of this no further,” she continues, fiddling with the ties around her waist.

“So our marriage will be a mere formality?” Aemond asks in a hushed tone.

Lorra shakes her head sadly, finally looking up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “There will be no marriage at all. 

It feels as though Aemond’s heart drops into his stomach as he stares at her, the lump in his throat seeming as though it means to suffocate him. “Why?” Is all he is able to rasp out.

“I have never wanted a marriage that is for mere political alliance. I want someone who loves me, who desires me. That is why I asked my mother and father to delay their arrival, so I could see for myself if you were someone I could fall in love with.”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, ripples of pain reverberating in his chest, and yet he stays silent, allowing her to say her piece.

“The sad fact is that in these last few months I have fallen in love with you, but I do not think you will ever love me back. I am sorry, Aemond, but I cannot marry you. Tomorrow I shall return to Winterfell, and perhaps you will have better luck with one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

Those final few words strike Aemond like a hammer blow. She had heard.

He watches sorrowfully as she turns and leaves his chambers. He is desperate to call out after her.

Please do not go.

Do not leave me.

I do not want a Baratheon girl.

I want you.

Instead he says nothing, frozen to the spot and cripplied by grief as one of the only things he has ever truly wanted walks out of his life, knowing he only has himself to blame.

Aemond stays shut away in his chambers when Lorra departs the next morning, unable to bear the sight of her leaving the Red Keep and him forever. He keeps the curtains closed, sitting in darkness, not having slept, thinking of all the things he should and could have said and done differently. But it is too late now, and Lorra is better off without him.

It is nearing early afternoon when Alicent knocks softly at the door, allowing herself in without awaiting an answer. Her big, brown eyes are filled with sadness as she stares down at Aemond as he sits there. It reminds him of how she used to look at him as he would sit by the fireplace as a child, trying to hatch his egg.

She rounds his chair, standing behind him and places her hands tenderly upon his shoulders. Aemond reaches up a hand, gently grasping her fingers with his own.

“Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry,” she whispers sadly.

They remain in silence for a few moments, before Aemond finally speaks. “Will you ask Grandsire to wait before sending a raven to Lord Baratheon? I–I am not ready. Not yet.”

Alicent’s fingers squeeze gently around his own in a comforting gesture. “Of course. I will not allow him to rush you.”

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief, though he feels no amount of time in the world will make him feel ready.

Over the next week, Aemond attempts to return to life as normal, though it feels empty and colourless without Lorra. 

As he reads in the library, the empty space beside him seems almost ominous with its lack of her presence. He takes to reading tales from the Age of Heroes as a means to feel that she is still there.

In the training yard, his eye wanders every so often to the space where she used to spar, a wave of melancholy washing over him each time he looks to find that she is no longer there. He wonders who she will train with once she is back in Winterfell.

One night at dinner, he catches himself absentmindedly cutting the crust from his pie, a sigh of frustration leaving him as he agitatedly pushes the plate away.

He hates this. Aemond is comfortable in solitude, he always has been, yet now it feels too vast, too lonely. The empty space is haunted by the memory of Lorra, creating an ache and a longing within him that he has never experienced before.

The hour grows late as Alicent, Otto and Helaena depart the dining hall. Aemond is about to rise to return to his own quarters when Aegon holds up a hand, halting him.

“Stay a while,” he says, moving into the chair next to Aemond’s. “There is still wine in this jug, let us see it off.”

“I think you are sufficiently in your cups enough for us both, brother,” Aemond says with a sigh.

“Anything to help cope with how you have been skulking around the Keep this past week,” Aegon replies, splashing the table with red wine as he fills both their cups messily.

“I have not been skulking,” Aemond says petulantly, taking a sip of his wine.

“You have,” Aegon tells him, gulping from his own cup. “If you are this saddened by Lorra’s departure then why did you allow her to leave?”

Aemond sighs. “Because…because I cannot give her what she desires in a husband. My only examples of what marriage really looks like is what I have seen of mother and father, and you and Helaena.”

“That is exactly why you should strive to give her what she desires. Those are poor examples to set the basis of a marriage upon.”

“And how would you know?”

“Do you know what I know? I know that you have made yourself at home in a lifetime of misery and isolation, so much so that the very idea of happiness frightens you.” Aegon titters as he takes in Aemond’s annoyed expression. “Can you believe it? Aemond Targaryen, the boy who claimed the world’s largest dragon at the age of ten is afraid of happiness.”

“I am not afraid,” Aemond glowers.

“Then what is it? Because it seems ironic to me that you have spent your entire life coveting what I have and resenting me for not wanting it, and then when you find yourself in a position that I so desperately want for myself you do not want it either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love, Aemond. The love of a good woman. I had that once, and due to my own cowardice it slipped away from me.”

“You were in love?”

Aegon nods, drinking deeply again. “There was a reason I used to frequent that one particular brothel. There was a woman there that I loved, and she loved me.”

“She loved the golden dragon you paid her each time she let you rut atop her like an animal.”

“No, it was not that,” Aegon shakes his head. “I wanted to marry her, she was with child. But when mother and grandsire found out they had her taken away from King’s Landing. I never found out what became of her, or the child she was carrying.”

“I had no idea.”

Aegon scoffs. “You would not. Mother did a thorough job of ensuring no one ever found out. But my point is, I was a craven, I should have boarded a ship to Essos the moment I became aware of her condition. I would be rid of a life I hate and free to be with the woman I love. Do not let your own cowardice deprive you of happiness. Goodness knows you have enough reasons to be a miserable twat as it is.”

Aegon claps Aemond on the shoulder as he rises from his seat, taking both his cup and the jug with him as he staggers away from the dining hall.

Aemond sits at the table a while longer in silence, contemplating his brother’s words. He is shocked at what Aegon has divulged, yet there are rare pearls of wisdom to be found in what he has said. He is right, Aemond does want Lorra, and it is time he casts aside his pride and apprehension to ensure she knows this.

He goes back to his quarters that night, with a plan in mind. Sitting at his writing desk, Aemond places quill to parchment and begins to write.

Chapter one || Chapter three || Series masterlist

[foursaints]

saints I was fighting off sleep last night to write down questions I had about your OCs I would be honored if you’d indulge me in answering a few of them-

1. How did Theo and Freddie meet? Was it before/after their angel/devil entanglements?

2. What’s the magnetizing force(s) behind their friendship/situationship? What makes them feral about one another?

3. I can’t remember if you’d mentioned this before but how tall are they respectively?

I’m here to learn 📝 🥰

this is saints foursaints dot tumblr… you KNOW there has to be a size difference (^their morning routine)

i can’t believe you were thinking about them.. that is so crazy to me. just know that me & oz are having a meltdown every time you guys send an ask like this..... um. they're deeply unserious characters and we smack them around like barbie dolls

in any given au, they always meet at a halloween party :,).. in this one, they're dressed as each other's respective mystic entanglements. theo (avoiding socializing by going upstairs to quietly look at the diff. bedrooms & get sentimental about the lives of strangers) found freddie (super plastered & spilling tequila everywhere & in a sequin halter top & actively stealing family photographs as part of an elaborate revenge plan after the host insulted his haircut once several weeks ago) and they spend the rest of the night locked in the upstairs bathroom together. theo takes him home but they don't sleep together and that surprises freddie. freddie sleeps in theo's bed & likes how it smells & falls asleep with his hand dangling off the bed, holding theo's where he sleeps on the floor.

it's because they cannot STAND each other lol.. but also bc they are also more alike than they realize. freddie is a caterwauling diva who cannot tolerate not being Taken Extremely Seriously and theo is addicted to riling him up & making him blush & curse him out. theo cannot handle being proven Wrong and yet freddie is always on some 5d chess machiavellian mind-game shit & a few steps ahead of him. but it is punctuated by these rare & random moments that are disconcertingly tender (like halloween) and it freaks both of them out + they have a lil thing wherein they're immune to each other. theo has a bit of a halo effect on people & freddie tends to always get his way BUT because of their own situations it doesn't work on each other. but they're unaware of each other's situations. so they are both hysterically like WTF IS WRONG WITH HIM? I NEED TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS. <- excuse 2 see each other

3. freddie is 5’10 & theo is 6’3. if u see me exaggerating the height difference.. Hush..

IM SORRY FOR THE MUCHO TEXTO IM LITERALLY INSANE ABOUT THEM. but I suppose I am this long-winded with rosekiller as well so that might just be my personality. im not on my ipad rn but i will give you some ancient teddies that are in my laptop files

^ this one is literally from ?? 2020?? I think?? but it makes me laugh

[solradguy]

I saw your post about the Internet Archive and Archiving GG stuff for future Generations and i wanted to ask some stuff regarding the Archiving, i hope thats ok

Probably the dumber question but do you know if Daisuke has ever been involved in the Archiving of his series? I know the series started as a Passion project for him but Idk how active he would be with helping archive or fill in missing pieces, especially in the english world.

Just as a General question, are current online archiving groups mostly relying on being connected to one another in some way to reestablish fallen sources? Since very little of the internet if any is as stable as we like to believe and any service storing data may shut down somehow any day like Drive, when one host site does go down do the archivists rally together and find a new spot or do you kinda have to hope people can find the new host?

Also are there any larger scale Archivist groups someone with less ability to physically help could donate to to help preserve our online histories?

thank you and apologies if you dont like questions

Hello! Questions are fine ^^ Sometimes it takes me a million years to reply, but I don't mind them.

My answer to this got kinda long. Excuse the readmore.

We don't have any strong evidence either way what the condition of the official Arc System Works library of Guilty Gear media is like, but there have been a few times where the images they've used for things have been worse than the images us rogue archivists have. This ML illustration is definitely one they either no longer have the physical/original piece for, or they might not have a way to rescan it, because the file they use when they reproduce it is pathetically tiny. Example from the Steam release of Strive's bonus Digital Artbook:

Compared to other illustrations in the same book (two pages here):

This Ky from the website for the 20th Anniversary Pack release of Missing Link for the Switch was taken from the Guilty Gear Bible:

We know this because... He's on page 12 in the Bible and...

...they didn't erase the page number off his shoe.

So, at the very least, some Missing Link era works are likely gone/lost/destroyed/etc. It's possible some GGX thru GGXX artworks are lost too, but we don't have a concrete catalog of XX works because they never released a complete artbook for XX. It's also rumored that Keep The Flag Flying's original master file is lost but I've never been able to find a source for that. Daisuke has never reached out to any of us about our image archives and we've never offered.

Archiving is very much a western concept and it's a common thought in Japan that saving copies of another person's works is extremely bad; I've been chewed out and blocked by Japanese fans for it. It's just a cultural difference, I don't take it personally. If ASW contacts us about it though we'll definitely give them our files or take down anything they request of us. We don't want to poke the bear and risk the entire archive if we can. They seem to be turning a blind eye to our archives though, as long as it's not an upload of something extremely recent (I got DMCA'd for the Strive Artworks Archive scans).

The core of the Guilty Gear archive group works on the new GG wiki and/or are admins of the new wiki, so we're in pretty close contact with each other. Most of the archive is in my hands and, unfortunately, my hands alone. With the announcement of the Internet Archive v Hachette ruling, we've been planning on making copies of my GG archive hard drive and sending it out to the other archivists in our circle. I don't have a PO box, I can't do this for people outside the group because I don't want my physical home address to be that accessible.

That said, there are redundant digital copies of a lot of files and I have a backup hard drive of the main GG archive drive; the main drive is a relatively new 2tb Western Digital My Passport external drive and the backup is a 1tb WD My Passport that's a little older. A lot of people have downloaded copies of the files currently online (via my masterpost) and can reupload something if it goes down even if I'm not around to do it. We rely on Archive.org a lot but aren't against using Dropbox, Google Drive, mega.nz, Neocities, file.garden, or, if we absolutely must, Discord. I do not like relying on Discord and Discord files are generally extremely temporary.

The files that aren't in the archive include software or game asset rips, image files, music, and random bits and bobs. I'm working on getting the images up on the wiki but everything else is kind of in a weird zone where I don't really know what to do with it.

As for donating to support broader archivism: We use Archive.org (and their Wayback Machine) the most, so donating to them would benefit both the GG archive as well as hundreds of thousands of music, literature, research, and art groups too. Their donate page can be found here: https://archive.org/donate?origin=iawww-TopNavDonateButton

Supporting your local libraries, museums, and conservatories also supports archivism. Most of these places accept public donations of any amount and could probably direct you to other local archiving groups/associations.

Donating to Wikipedia also supports broader archivism to a lesser extent. They write about events as they happen, with sources/citations, and older versions of this information is permanently available on every article and file without having to rely on things like Wayback Machine. Their donation page is here: https://donate.wikimedia.org

I also have a donation page via Ko-fi and any money donated with a note about it being for Guilty Gear will go back into Guilty Gear (via book/magazine purchases for scanning, usually). Donating to one of the above groups would be better for archiving as a whole though. My page can be found here: https://ko-fi.com/somnivagrious

Hope this answers your questions!!

[connectionterminated13]

Arcade machines/ Costumes

Talbert files fan fiction yes I have sunk into that low oh friends... Specifically this is for the #7nightsoffrightsprompts Thing hosted by @driftingvoid-155 . And before we get into it warnings. I missed any tell me in the comments below

tw, Body horror, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, mental illness, Cigars, Talbert being Talbert.

It was the noise Michael hated most. No it wasn't the noise of the others or the noise of the man blabbering about whatever smart thing he had thought he had come up with and that stupid little room no it was the arcade machines. Every time he found himself crawling through one of those vents it made his head pound and scream.

The noise of those stupid children seemed to shake the building. All the sounds made Michael want to do nothing more than curl up with Fredbear and cry. But then if he did so, Fredbear would yell at him and call him all kinds of names like a stupid bleeding coward until he had to crawl through these dastardly vents once again. God in heaven why couldn't he just roll over and die already. For he was nearly sure that when he did die and walk through the gates of hell the devil would weep at challenge he presented, for there was no greater torture than the screaming, metal, cramped tube he was now wandering through.

He was lost in these thoughts when he bumped into the Great. He let out a sort of strangled yell and shrunk back slightly looking closer at the thing that had hurt his head. It was a vent grate opening up onto the arcade floor. He could see the kids there so many of them yelling and screaming and playing their loud machines and wearing their costume. 

Gosh it was Halloween and somehow he had forgotten! Halloween had been his favorite time of the year as a child, as a human and now Halloween was one of the few times in his miserable excuse for a life that he could be among the people. Every other year Halloween had been something Michael had counted down to in his head. Every other year he had spent what little money he could steal from the bodies of his victims on a costume. Every year he had just done things like sat on benches and walked into stores and been unnoticed...

It was the one time of year where someone like him could be a man and not some kind of horrible disgusting Beast that was better to be ignored or shot. Oh That's what they thought of him the children running and screaming, yelling at each other about nothing in particular or at least that's what fredbear said. Michael continued to crawl through the vents looking for another way. Way to what he wasn't sure. possibly out this time…

Wouldn't it be grand to get out of these interlocking holes of nothingness out, of the cacophony of screaming children and the sounds so distant yet so close of that stupid God damn man that had lured him here.

Michael had found out almost 2 days after arriving that the man's name was Talbert. He was of average height and slightly overweight with brown red curly hair and obnoxious sideburns. He had an even more obnoxious Irish accent to match and seemed to think that he was the best thing to have ever existed. But no he wasn't anything! at least that's what fredbear said. 

Michael stopped ahead of him, was the other one. The tangle of wires and dried blood and screaming children that had so long ago ruined his life in every conceivable way. If he was a good man, like the heroes and those children's games he would have fought the thing. He would have killed it but he was not so..

He waved at it. 

Wave back before slithering down a different vent to their right. 

Fredbear said this was a good thing to do. Michael agreed. 

Fredbear had started talking shortly after the horrible wire thing had buried its way in and out of Michael's chest. Specifically Fredbear had started talking after Michael had ran home After nearly 3 days of running about the woods. He had collapsed on the ground and cried his horrid hideous black tears and begged in his breaking voice for someone to come and help him. 

Fredbear had come like an angel from heaven. And told him to start “making friends”. 

Michael had it first objected, he had swore and screamed and begged for fredbear to stop yelling at him to make friends until eventually he had given up. 

After all as Fredbear said he was no longer a person no man living or dead would ever look upon a wretch like him and take pity on it. What was even the point of trying to hold himself above men like his father if he was no longer a “son” in the first place. Was it not better to slip his mind Into Darkness and lose himself in the taste of blood and the joy of death. 

And yes sometimes it was sometimes fun, But most of the time it was utterly miserable. He'd give anything to be a kid again or not even a kid, Just a human again. What Michael would trade for just one single token even if the noise made his head split for a moment to just be Michael again really truly Michael.

But Fredbear told him to claw on and continue his crawl. 

So he did… And yes he did try to look for some way out but it was impossible. This place was like some kind of horrible awful maze meant to trap him in particular. Every time Michael thought he was coming close to a real way out he would bump into that room again with the screaming children and he knew if he got in there. Well, he would not be treated with kindness even on or at least close to one of the few times of the year where he could exist out in the sight of man.

If he fell out of the vent their fathers would gang up and beat him to death probably or at least that's what fredbear said and Fredbear was always right about this sort of thing.

So he continued his crawl and continued his thought. 

Halloween used to mean a lot to him.  Halloween used to mean times with his father and brothers And their family friend's daughter Cassidy. How he had missed all that when they had all slowly started to die off and then how he had grown up into a man, And Halloween's meant time with friends. He had so many friends.

But if he Remembered the names of his friends he would cry and Fredbear would yell at him again because of what those friends would think of him now. Oh he was not the hero of the story he was the villain the thing to be slain in those arcade games. But Halloween was the one time of year where he could put on a costume and not be that. He was just a regular old zombie or a zombie pirate or a zombie astronaut. He was someone in a costume!

No this year Talbert had called. Dirty evil Talbert who in his Everlasting cruelty had dragged Michael to run around this stupid maze like some kind of rat! Probably for his own sick enjoyment! Because that's what everyone thought of Michael! For either they're sick enjoyment or they're Terror wasn't it!?

At least that's what fredbear said and fredbear had to be right. Oh the things he do to Talbert when he got him he would rip the man limb from limb and Stitch the ugliest plushie he could from the man's innards then, he would throw the plushie off of bridge! He made a horrid strangled giggling noise at the thought of it. 

-

Christopher Talbert lit up another cigar. And chuckled to himself this was the most fun he had had in years. Halloween after all had been quite boring since the death of his daughter. 

After her unfortunate passing Halloween had turned into monotony with the interruption of the posts and His science experiments. Halloween was always the best time to post the misinformation he was fed. After all, people loved stories of missing children and men looking into ghosts around Halloween.. Also he could dress up which was fun. This year he was like last year Frankenstein!

Not the monster mind you, he was the doctor. After all he was human and the only monsters here were the ones crawling in the vents. He could hear them clumping about letting out the occasional inhuman scream or plead in a child's voice but he wouldn't listen.

They were animals, nothing more and nothing less it was his job to watch them and the job paid handsomely.

He let out cigar smoke into one of the vents. He was probably saving people after all by watching these things climb around since this was the one time of year they could almost blend in.

Oh this would be a year to remember. Emmett, foolish old Emmett had tried to trick him you see, thinking that Talbert wasn't aware of this little act he was putting on.

And that was the double entender to the costume you see! For well Emmett thought himself the Creator the Frankenstein of this event if you will, Talbert was the man really in control! or at least that's what he told himself because of course he had never actually read Frankenstein and had just made up the extra details about his costume to sound smart.

Honestly Talbert was very proud of himself for coming up with the costume idea in the first place. Even though it was probably the second most obvious thing a person would pick for Talbert as a Halloween costume.

He continued to sit and smile to himself not doing any work until he heard one of them crawl too close..

It was Michael or that was its former name. Local Legends called the thing the Stitch Wraith. Talbert had found quickly that calling it this made it quite mad. 

So Talbert swiveled to face the thing and smile, his most cruel smile. No, it was hard to keep on his face since the thing was so Goddamn ugly. Its skin hanging off its remaining bones loosely and it wore a large dirty overcoat and hoodie in a vain attempt to hide that ugliness. Also carried around a little fredbear plushie that honestly Talbert felt quite bad for.

“Hello there Stitch Wraith. I think it's a bit too early to be trick or treating don't you?” Before the thing could even let out an angry growl Talbert hit his hand down on the controlled shock button and the vent lit up with a static crackle making the thing squeal and slink back quickly.

Talbert smirked for the 100th time, Right before the thing disappeared from view.. 

“Have you no shame man? I suggest you at least try to put on some kind of costume. I mean no self-respecting man would give you anything dressed like that!” Talbert Yelled after the thing before breaking into laughter at his own joke.

[ladykailitha]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames or specific AUs your WIPs; not titles, filenames (eg werewolf AU, unnamed mafia omegaverse, or Steve's Rizz vs Eddie's Zero Filter.)

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write at least 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My only problem is that I tend to file name what the title is so I can find it easier, so...here’s what they were called before I titled them.

“File” Names

Nanny AU

Stripper AU

Sugar!Baby AU

Game Show AU

Olympic Swimmer AU

Snippet

From the game show AU! Can you tell this is on a streaming service like Max or Netflix lol?!

“Hey, everyone!” Bob said. “Welcome to a brand new season of ‘Love Connection’ where we help lonely people make that special connection. This season we will be focusing on getting all those fancy letters LGBTQ+ a chance at love. We have your gays, your lesbians, your non-binary folks, your trans people, and one very special ace lady just looking for love.”

The audience politely clapped.

“I’m your host Bob Newby and today we have one very lucky catch. Steve Harrington from Hawkins, IN. He’s a middle school teacher who recently became a cat dad, to the adorable Odie.” A picture of Odie sleeping on Steve’s chest under his chin is shown on the screen behind them. “He coaches basketball and the swim team. And yes he does look hot in a Speedo!” A picture of Steve in a blue Speedo and wearing a white jacket and his whistle.

Steve decided he was going to murder Robin and/or Chrissy for that photo alone. Especially when the crowd goes wild, complete with wolf whistles.

“He enjoys watching sports, swimming, and reading in his spare time,” Bob continued. “He has tried everything to get a partner in this hellscape we call modern life, apps, bars, clubs and not just the ones with a dance floor and sick beats. So he came to us, so let’s see if we can match him to any of our suitors.”

It's that great and wonderful time of the week again! WIP Wednesday!

The game runs from 8am-11pm EST.

Send in as many asks as you want as often as you want.

@mira-jadeamethyst @zerokrox-blog @forgottenkanji @w1ll0wtr33 @thesecondfate

@acingthecounts @beelze-the-bubkiss @just-a-tiny-void @kultiras @niniel-karenine

@dreamercec

[nowoyas]

vespertine: evening blooms prologue - nishinoya yuu/cat hybrid!reader

Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: she's here! housekeeping: right now, I hope to update every other wednesday until I've caught a rhythm with this fic, so we're hoping next update will be 10/9. it may come a week sooner, but shouldn't be any later than that--the next chapter is already written, and the ultimate goal is for this fic to update weekly once I've got a more clear plan set in place for it.

Summary: Yuu feels like he's at a dead-end in his life, despite his many accomplishments ranging from a middle school volleyball award to losing his virginity in high school, the proudest of these being befriending the mother cat in the alleyway beside his apartment. She rewards his friendship by introducing him to the dying hybrid behind the dumpsters.

Warnings: blanket series warnings (see vespertine masterlist for details), implied alcohol abuse, light mentions of blood/hospitals

Words: ~3000

prologue: alley cats

Nishinoya Yuu is on the precipice of a mental break, and no one seems to have noticed.

He's not sure anyone would believe him if he bothered to bring it up. He's Yuu, the bright, unrelenting baby of the Nishinoya family and the single best brother his sisters have ever had. (Unrelated, the only brother they've ever had.) He's that Nishinoya, talents ranging from a middle school "best libero" award (the highlight of his life so far, even though he doesn't really play anymore) to finding the wrong time to be at the wrong place and get blamed for shit he had nothing to do with, all because of his kickass hair and inability to keep to himself. He's Yuta, second most popular host at Nakamoto's and soon to be the first, if he keeps up the good work.

It's funny, really, how easy hosting is. He spent all of high school growing used to a reception anywhere from "total disinterest" to "actively making fun of him" if he dared trying to pursue a girl while being only 159 centimeters tall, and here he is, four nights a week, leaning in with bright eyes and nodding along while some beautiful married woman (Misaki, her name is Misaki) tells him he's so cute over a glass of wine. Yeah, he comes back to the apartment most nights totally exhausted, sleeps until noon, is basically forced to drink for work, and has no idea where he's going in life, but what fun is there in knowing that, anyway?

So he leans in. He smiles. When Misaki or one of his other clients comes in for him, he compliments her hair and asks is that a new dress? and flashes a smile, and on his days off, he does what he can to keep the apartment clean enough that Mei doesn't ask questions and forget the taste of alcohol in his mouth.

"Yuta-kun?" Misaki tilts her head with a pout. "What are you thinking about?"

He blinks. Laughs it off. "Sorry, Misaki-chan. You just look so lovely tonight that I keep getting distracted. I'm really lucky that you choose me, you know?"

"Oh, please," she says, a bubbly laugh leaving her lips. "There isn't anyone else for me. You know, the other day, my husband…"

She launches right into another story. He frowns appropriately, files away the details without really processing them, tops off her glass for her when it starts getting low. He's grown skilled at making the mechanical look fluid.

When he tunes back in, she's talking about that damned hybrid, the one her husband brought home and fell in love with. According to her, the single source of every problem in her life: if not for her, her husband would still be interested in her, but instead, he focuses all his attention on a pretty young thing just because she's got doe eyes and a twitchy tail.

"I mean, we have kids! What, am I supposed to tell them their father's sleeping with a deergirl instead of their mother?" she snaps, then sighs. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear about this."

"No, no, tell me. Is Nara still making trouble?"¹

"You wouldn't believe it." She pauses, takes a dramatic sip of her wine glass. "I'll need another bottle tonight if I'm going to get into the stunt she pulled last night. Any recommendations?"

He flashes another toothy smile, reaches for the menu. "Let's take a look."

The night drags on that way—Misaki for two hours, then another regular, then a new customer who blushes and smiles too sweetly to have ever done anything like this before, who looks at him with hearts in her eyes when she names him her preferred host. It's a victory that feels too, too empty, nearly forgotten by the time he's unlocking the door to his apartment and kicking off his shoes, muttering a quiet tadaima! into the room.

No response comes, not that he expected it. Mei left for another business trip this morning, so it's just him here, and she'd be asleep this late, anyway. No one to talk to when he strips off his suit jacket, or tease him for throwing it on the floor, only to immediately pick it back up and gingerly hang it on the coat rack.

He flicks on the lights in the living room, collapses onto the couch. Mei left a note on the whiteboard, enough words to make his head spin with the last vestiges of alcohol in his system. He'd done good tonight, he thinks, managed to get away with only drinking about two glasses' worth of whatever shit his clients had ordered, managed to come home only a little buzzed.

His alcohol tolerance is basically fucked, he thinks as he stares at the note and doesn't comprehend it.

Right. Focus.

Her handwriting, smooth and font-perfect, fills the board.

Yuu! I had to jet out for another trip! I'll be in Hawaii with a client until 9/22. I wasn't able to take the trash down before I left and trash day's tomorrow, so please run that down so it doesn't start to smell! I'll be 19 hours behind you, but just think of me as 5 hours ahead! Please let Mom + the girls know where I'm at and that I'll bring back souvenirs! I'll call when I've touched down. There's leftovers in the fridge and if you're not gonna cook the chicken tomorrow, you should stick it in the freezer. Be good, okay?

PS. The neighbor in 802 was looking for you. I think he wants to hang out next time you're off work!

He groans. Lets his head drop against the back of the couch.

He'll get to it, all of it, in a minute, once he gets changed out of his work clothes and heats up something to snack on. Gone is his button-down, the silver necklace, the too-nice pants and belt. Before he steps into the shower, his reflection catches his eye, and his stomach turns.

He never recognizes himself after work. The stupid one-day hair dye shit he uses to cover his blond streak is convenient—it lets him walk around on his days off with a certain plausible deniability. Misaki or one of his other clients might recognize his face on its own, but given how much they drink with him, it's doubtful. Still, he covers the blond with black on work nights, runs some product through to make it all… swoopy and dreamy, or whatever, instead of the trademark spikes-and-tuft he wears off the clock. It works well, it washes out easy, and it looks fucking nothing like him.

Nothing like him at all.

"The commission's good," he says out loud. "It's good."

He drops the stupid fucking wristwatch a client gave him into the handmade jewelry dish Mei gave him for his "birthday" earlier this year.² The last work thing weighing him down. It doesn't prevent him from feeling the disconnect when he meets his reflection's eyes.

The commission is good. Good enough that it shouldn't matter how long he has to stand under the running water to wash off the shift, the feeling of the alcohol, the cling of twenty women's perfume on his skin, his clothes, in his hair. It shouldn't matter how his nice, expensive, gift-from-Aya watch feels like a cuff on his wrist by the end of the night, or that he can't skip wearing it even one night for risk of losing a client. It's good.

He doesn't need to worry about affording repairs or maintenance for his bike, can go toe-to-toe with Mei for paying the bills, even with her cushy jetsetting consultant job. His clients bring him gifts and spend money just to spend time with him, and none of them are objectionable-looking in the least. Not that he's ever seen a girl he didn't think was at least a little pretty.

He steps out of the shower, slings a loose towel around his waist. His reflection looks a little better now—still clearly exhausted, but at least he can recognize Yuu looking back at him. He finds basketball shorts, a hoodie. His keys and wallet. Throws a burrito in the microwave, throws his towel on top of the hamper.

While his burrito simultaneously over- and under- cooks, ensuring an ideal 3 AM trash-and-cat-run eating experience, he finds a can of cat food in the pantry and dumps it on a plate. He made good money on commission tonight; Mama Kitty can have some of the top-shelf wet food.

One final pat of his pockets as he kicks into some sandals: wallet so he can open the side door after hours, phone, keys, wrapped burrito. Trash bags in one hand, plate of food for Mama Kitty in the other.

She doesn't greet him right away when he makes it outside. Probably, she's tending the kittens and will be with him soon. He sets down the plate on the stoop, flings the trash bag into the dumpster, takes a seat, and waits. She'll probably come out around the time he burns the ever-loving fuck out of his tongue on his burrito.

It's a balmy night. Quiet, for the city. Quieter in contrast to Nakamura's, to obligate conversation, laughter, serenading women with enough money to afford it, or in contrast still to the roar of his motorcycle carrying him back to the apartment. The trains don't run when he gets off work. More small talk at the end of a shift is the last thing he needs. It's too dark in the alleyway to see whether there's clouds in the peek of sky overhead, but there's definitely the sting of rain amid the smell of garbage. It's just bright enough to see Mama Kitty when she hops up on the stoop beside him with a hoarse nyaugh.

He laughs every time he hears it. She meows like a lifelong smoker, like she pulls eighty hour work weeks at the factory and sleeps ten hours a week, tops. Noya takes another bite of his burrito as she watches him expectantly. "Me too, Mama Kitty, me too. Kittens doing okay?"

Mama Kitty doesn't reply. She's tired, too, at three in the morning, but something feels different tonight; it's in the way she doesn't turn to scarf down the food she's brought, the way she stares him down. Ungrateful, he thinks with a quirk of his lips as she eyes his burrito instead.

"You don't want this, sweetheart. It's somehow the hottest thing I've ever eaten and still frozen in the middle. That food you've got there? It's some fancy American brand. Kaede hand-picked it for you. Said it's good for new mothers. Helps them produce enough milk and rebuild their energy so they can take care of the babies. This cat food will change your life, Mama Kitty. You just gotta eat it instead of my dinner."

Her tail flicks at the air, agitated as she lets out another death rattle of a meow. She's insistent, tail flicking even faster.

He raises a challenging eyebrow. "You're not getting my burrito."

Mama Kitty's eyes focus. Her shoulders drop. Sensing that she's about to pounce, he closes his hand over his burrito protectively, letting his keys rest on his lap.

She lunges, instead, for those keys, and, protective as he was of his shitty 100 yen burrito, he doesn't move quick enough to catch her. He lets out a shout, springing to his feet and narrowly snatching his phone out of the air as it slips out of his pocket with the movement.

"Oi, Mama Kitty! If you don't like the new brand, just say so!" he shouts after her as he chases her further down the alley.

He's never really gone this far down. The one time he tried, Mama Kitty had hissed at him something monstrous, sounding close to a horror movie monster and very visibly prepared to make him find out if he dared fuck around any further. That had been after she had her kittens, so he'd always just assumed that she didn't want him near them. No problem, he just wouldn't go past the dumpsters.

This time, she doesn't hiss, doesn't spit; doesn't turn to him with ears pinned and ratty fur fluffed and perfectly replicate the noise the zombies from one of his shooters make. She drops the keys a few meters ahead of the end of the alley, comes to sit just in front of a lump of something he doesn't recognize. He scarfs down the last of his burrito, proud of how easily he manages to fit half a burrito down his throat without choking, and shoves the trash in his hoodie pocket so he can scoop his keys up.

A noise gives him pause.

It's not one of Mama Kitty's—it's too high and not nearly crunchy enough. It doesn't quite sound like a kitten, either—he's caught the kittens' meows once or twice and they're more like squeaky toys, though they've been growing a bit sweeter lately.

No, this was more like a whimper, like a human whimper, and his blood is tinging cold as he looks for the source.

He stuffs his keys in his pocket with the burrito wrapper. It's dark back here, dark enough that Mama Kitty's all but disappeared except for the white in her tabby coat and the reflection of a distant streetlight off her eyes, so he fumbles for his phone's flashlight.

A chorus of the squeaky meows he'd expected to hear raises in protest as the light shines on them. Later, he'll try to remember back and be sure there was four kittens to report to Kaede, but for now, he's focused on the lump they're curled up with, on not dropping his phone as he takes in the sight.

There's the peek of skin, a tangle of hair. What's not visible, as he tries to make sense of what he's half-convinced is a dead body in the alleyway beside his apartment, is draped in hospital gown blue.

Human. A kid, maybe a teenager.

Then: large ears flicking, almost like Mama Kitty's. One ear torn, though where Mama Kitty's left point is jagged from one fight or another, the lump's ear is torn in a way that looks clean, purposeful. Like someone held it down and just snipped the point off.

Another whimper, or maybe a groan. A tail flicks up, wraps over the human-shaped lump's side.

Not human. Hybrid.

"H-hey," Noya says, clearing his throat. It's coated with cheese—fucking burrito—and that's what he'll tell anyone who might ask why he stammers, why his tone comes out sounding so much like fear when that's not a thing he feels. "Are you—are you alright?"

A flick of the ears greets him, but no other movement. He looks to Mama Kitty, who watches him cautiously. No hostility yet. He crouches, reaches for the hybrid, and when his pinkie brushes one of the kittens, he hears a half-hearted hiss from behind.

Message received.

He swallows thickly. "Alright. Help the hybrid, don't touch the babies. Loud and clear, Mama Kitty."

Nyeeaughh.

A soft huff. He shakes the hybrid's shoulder gently—it doesn't react, except for its tail to flick and drape over his forearm. It shivers under his hand, too violently for the weather.

"Hey, c'mon. You gotta wake up."

No response.

He sets the phone aside, tries his best to sit the hybrid upright without too much force or jostling. The good news is that it's light, concerningly light. Clearly a cat hybrid, which, sure, he thinks he remembers they're supposed to be smaller than your average human, but he'd swear that he's slung around toddlers that were heavier. Makes it easy to lift, even as he wonders whether any hybrid is supposed to be this light.

It's awake, he thinks. It looks at him with bleary eyes, pupils constricting harshly when he raises up the flashlight again. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

No response, except to track his lips with its eyes. It occurs to him, belatedly, that some hybrids never learn to talk, and this one might be one of them.

"Can you, like, blink twice at me if you understand me?"

Two blinks.

He exhales a sigh of relief. "Okay. Alright. I don't know what happened to you, but I'm here to help, okay?"

The hybrid's eyes flick to Mama Kitty, and for a split second, Noya swears she nods back.

The hybrid nods in reply.

"Are you hurt? Can you show me where you're hurt?"

It glances down. Noya follows the eyes to the pricks of red beginning to seep into and stain the hospital blue covering its abdomen, and… well, fuck.

He's gonna have to call Kaede for this one.

Footnotes

1. Nara is a deer hybrid, "adopted" from the Nara prefecture itself. Misaki's husband is not very creative with names.

2. Noya, mostly on Mei's insistence, tells clients his birthday is April 10th, six months before his actual birthday. He maintains it half for privacy (if a client tracks him down they're likely to cause issues for Mei, too) and half because it's sort of nice to have a half-year birthday.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[starleska]

stop all this wholesome >:( I wanna know your hcs on Dark!Wally. Explore how evil he is. What kinda horrible agenda he has goin on. Your choice if its still a x reader im just curious how you'd interpret it- ... Dont feel forced to do so btw feel free to ignore this if it aint yer cup of tea ToT

hahahaha, this gave me a great laugh!! you've caught me, anon - i am very much a fan of evil, devious, villainous, morally bereft and just plain dreadful characters. you'll see from my f/o tracker that i'm quite the bad guy connoisseur - i just haven't explored that with Wally yet because we know so little about what his agenda is!! it's Wally's ambiguity that makes him so fun to play with;;;

i'd love to fill this out with some potential theories, if you'll humour me 😉 gonna pop this under a spoiler tag as well just in case this speculation turns out correct, and for the warnings!!

content warnings for potential Welcome Home spoilers, scopophobia, stalking, murder, cannibalism, and cults:

Dark!Wally (or potentially, just Wally) Darling headcanons:

⭐ Wally is using us as food. ever since we found out about Wally eating with his eyes, i haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. everything from everyone looking up at the tracker on the website, to Wally watching us from the other side of the screen, has me wondering exactly why he loves us so much, and why he seems happy to engage with all of us pouring in to look at the site. i'm wondering if Wally is something of a psychic cannibal - someone who is able to devour essence through attention, particularly through eye contact. there is something he's getting from us interacting with him on the website, and i feel like his love is of the possessive variety...he needs us for something that we don't understand yet. ⭐ Wally 'fed' his neighbourhood friends to his Home, and is play-acting as if his friends are still alive by interacting with us. some eagle-eyed fans noticed recently that in one image, Wally's armchair has a stitched-on patch that looks suspiciously like Barnaby's skin. likewise, there's a very strange file name on one of the drawings Wally did on the Guestbook, in a comment talking about Eddie, where he says he 'runs too much'. we know that Home is alive, and that Wally talks to Home. we also don't know why Wally's house is the only one with apparent sentience. my question is...how is Home fuelled? and why is Wally the only one talking to us through the Guestbook if his puppet-self is alive - where is everyone else? my (very thin) speculation is that Wally may have sacrificed his friends to keep Home alive, but suffered a mental breakdown as a result, and wants to preserve their old life through the website as if nothing is wrong. ⭐ Wally is a vain attention hog who wants to be back in the spotlight. this one is bare-bones, but hear me out - this can go a couple of ways! if we choose to believe the Wally speaking from within the website is, somehow, a sentient puppet (or his consciousness is infused with the website), we could also believe that he may miss his apparently peaceful, love-filled life from another time. perhaps Wally was alive during the original run of Welcome Home, and somehow remained alive following its cancellation. perhaps he feels spurned now he's no longer the friendly neighbourhood host of the television show long-forgotten to the public...where better to try and gain a new audience than online, under the guise of a restoration project? we could even make a potential cult leader argument here... again, this is all pure speculation!! we have no idea at all what Wally's agenda is at this stage, and that's a good thing;; it's going to be loads of fun learning more about Wally and what his intentions are. i'd love to hear people's theories 😉

[humanmorph]

PAL46 posting

Intro Talk

At the beginning of a Media Club+ episode Keith said something about sounding like an idiot because he'd go "these episodes were amazing" every single time & that is how I feel about PALISADE intros. But this one's. It's really good. I love when Friends at the Table is so good it makes me grimace. I've said it often now but the intros this season are just next level… They started SO incredibly strong with the podcast framing in the Road to PALISADE & then while going back (for the most part!) to a familiar structure did not let up on quality even a little.

The character intros + hooks reaaaally got to me what a smart way to point back at the history that these characters have and are bringing with them now to the finale! It's just so well done. + what a last line. "Do you miss home?" like damn!!!! okay!!!!!!!! I haven't went around to read posts yet so I'm curious if people have a guess at the speaker, if there even is an in-universe one? But I thought of it as adressed to Perennial.

The og Phrygian description is still so good btw. I remember being extremely delighted when I first heard it in PZN

"Wires and cables ripple and snap, sympathetically vibrating with the noises around them, contained within a buttoned white shirt and a tailored velvet jacket. The dancing components make an altogether convincing face."

Also I think "Eclectic. And easily." is just a cool thing to say. I think I was laughing about it at the time. But it really was cool I love the tryhard cool but also actually cool weird robot detective guy I'm truly so fond of him. I'm glad he's the one to follow up Phrygian who I DO still miss… but I would be a lot more upset about their end/the character switch if I didn't genuinely enjoy Eclectic.

The fact that all (most? does he speak at the beginning before Future talks? "You stole my power. I stole your voice." is adressed to Gur, but is it in response to something? Truly can't make out most of what's being said there.) of what we get from/about Gur here is the moment of their death that they've seen over and over and over again is honestly just. Oh it hurts. He's not a PC obv so it's not the same but it being played next to the character introductions & their hooks as most important convictions it's really like… this defines them in a way they can't escape (especially not now). As an aside I'm curious if Austin did another read on those lines or if this is from the old file? You can't make them out as clearly in the intro they're from (they're more heavily layered). Loooooove the desperation & sudden force on the "Don't!" still. I'm happy that R2PAL intro got this shoutout - with the narration from Layer Luxurious finally not being warped & completed too! I've heard that intro SO many damn times there was a real feeling of... not comfort necessarily but strong familiarity? To me it looms maybe as large over PALISADE (season) as the actual episode 01 intro (Nothing is stationary. Not even corpses are stationary! But we gotta start moving now. 1500 days since etc. etc.). Oh!!!!! Gur Sevraq!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hearing this I also immediately thought of the most recent clapcast where Austin talks about having notes for intro narrations like yeah damn I bet those were really needed with this one. And these overlapping ones must be really wild to edit/produce too - because the effect of a cacophony of sorts is obviously intended ("But is too loud on Palisade.") but you do want the listener to pick out what's actually being said. And then what overlayers of course has to match too. It's just good shit!!! I honestly always want more producer chat from Ali it's so interesting to me. It's sad she can't interview herself though she of course shares stuff when talking to the others on Gathering Information, it's not quite the same... She just asks good questions & does a great job as a host, but she can't really do that for herself.

General Thoughts…

It's fun to have everyone there : ) I enjoy it generally and also to have Art & Jack playing characters again.

listening to the recent Gathering Information Jack doesn't say who they play but it was on my mind until I listened to the episode & I was hoping they'd pick August over General Morning (who I STILL mentally mix up with Mourningbride. Like not actually the characters but I keep picturing her as a Hypha even when I know she's not) or just go with something entirely different. This is good though

for some reason I was so sure Austin would also play a character (maybe Elle?) but it makes sense he doesn't (is facilitating) (7 people are already more than the game intends to be played with).

Questlandia sounds cool so far. I like the preferred weaknesses (& the weaknesses as a move you can make in general!) and the controlled facets a lot. Curious how the relationships play into everything. This has me exited because I didn't particulary care one way or another about the PZN finale game & I do think it impacted my enjoyment somewhat… It is actual play after all so it's always more fun when I can get excited about mechanics and not just the story, and to see how both interlock.

ALI: And then I can play Broun as- Broun can be as doubtful as they need to be now, hehe. AUSTIN: Wait a second, who? ALI: (panicked) Who?! (laughing) I gotta go. I'm sorry, I can't do this tonight. I gotta- (laughing)

^This was sooo funny. I extremely didn't notice until Austin said it either. Also. The hehe : J… I'm so excited for finale Brnine. Absolutely no clue if they're gonna make it through this.

Happy about both Delegates and Afflictions being facets : )

also pretty happy with the relationships (everyone going we NEED Brnine/Thisbe here was so real. There's so much history & their bonds have, ever since PZN, been bangers and so important to both characters… Very fun that it starts out exhausted on both ends too). I think Eclectic & August could have worked out a relationship on account of them both being Delegates - one who lead their revolution and one who left Palisade behind at the first possible opportunity - but I digress. I'm glad for the Brnine-Eclectic connection instead. The Cori & Clem ones are really good too.

They're having fun this episode. They're being so funny and I don't want to keep writing out bits I laughed at but "He's a teapot" in the tone of well OBVIOUSLY Eclectic is cool was. very good. So true : )

ALI: Uhm yeah, I've written three [goals] to be annoying, (AUSTIN: You gotta pick one.) but I'm - I'm now considering the first one Valences and the second one is Phrygians, so I'm allowed to have all of them. AUSTIN: (cross) No. You do not. SYLVI: Oh my god. KEITH: Wow. ALI: And I've written - (laughing) I've written: "Make life better", "Bloody their noses" - I can still read it! - and then "Connect to the wider network of Millenium Break". (SYLVI laughs) And I will be taking six obstacles, please. AUSTIN: No, you will not. There we go. Connect to the wider network - SYLVI: (cross) Brnine is addicted to the trenches, like… (ALI & AUSTIN laugh) ALI: (very genuine) Come on…!

^OBSESSED with this so I DID have to type it out. I know it's like not feasible mechanics wise but ooohh i wish it was real... I wish she could've kept them... it's both so funny and extremely good. Ali rules. And I love BRNINE Also Austin's very resolute 'you can't do that.' tone really makes me laugh

Overall very enjoyable episode. Relaxing even, I love getting rules explained to me. I love when Friends at the Table character creation/set-up takes over 2 hours. I hope the finale is over 6 episodes long (maybe finally beating out the Second Spring?) & I hope at least two of them are over 3 hours long. None under 2 hours. This kind of feels like I'm putting a curse on them honestly but I do want it

& lastly if you read all the way through here's some haters (unrelated) (i just think of them often)

[mariacallous]

After the Summer Olympics’ opening ceremony, drag artist Nicky Doll felt she was on a cloud. Her makeup had survived 45 minutes of torrential rain as she performed on a bridge over the Seine River and she’d just witnessed waacking and voguing, both dance forms with queer roots, reach a worldwide audience of billions of people.

Back in the dressing room, which was on a boat, the mood was celebratory. “We were all so proud that in 2024, we were given the platform to be,” says Doll, known for her appearance on the reality show RuPaul’s Drag Race and as the host of Drag Race France.

It wasn’t until the next day that Doll realized she was also at the center of an Olympic-sized backlash. French Catholic bishops decried the ceremony’s “derision and mockery of Christianity.” Donald Trump called the show “a disgrace.” Critics focused their anger on one scene, where Doll posed alongside other Drag Race artists, interpreting it as a parody of the Last Supper, a painting by Leonardo da Vinci and an important image in Christian iconography. Organizers denied that was the inspiration. But by then, it didn’t matter. The online mob had its momentum.

On Doll’s phone, that momentum took the form of a slew of notifications. Her name was getting tagged. Personal attacks were filing into her DMs. Then came the threats: “we know where you live,” “we have guns,” “we will cut your throat.” Other performers were getting harassed, too. A special police unit dedicated to fighting hate crimes was tasked with investigating online abuse targeted at lesbian activist DJ Barbara Butch, the Paris prosecutor's office told the Associated Press.

“As queer people, we are used to being criticized on social media,” says Doll, who is from Marseille but now lives in New York. “But when we saw they were using religion … in order to attack us, this felt like a low blow that we didn't see coming.”

Behind the messages were the usual crowd of anonymous trolls, hiding behind accounts with no names or profile pictures. But among them was also Laurence Fox, a British actor turned right-wing commentator, who has become notorious for making misogynistic and homophobic comments. On the night of the opening ceremony, amid the backlash, Fox posted a video of the catwalk scene on X, calling the cast “little pedos.” The post remains visible on the platform with a fact-check label that says: “There is no evidence that any of the people in the photograph are pedophiles.”

In response, Doll, who features in the video next to Butch, decided to sue Fox for defamation in France. “I want to sue him personally, because I want him to understand that he cannot continue to use us for his personal agenda and his words matter,” she says, “The message that he sends to his fan base matters. He's an enabler for hate and homophobia and transphobia.” Representatives for Fox and X did not reply to WIRED's requests for comment.

For Doll, the concern is that the type of rhetoric that came in response to the opening ceremony, if left to spread unchecked, could inspire offline violence. “Queer people could be literally murdered in the streets,” she says. “It’s very important that we stop allowing this kind of rhetoric to demonize queer people. We are not demons. We are not trying to attack religion and families. We are just trying to live our lives and to have representation in the media for other people who are not loved or have not even come out to feel like they are seen.”

This is not the first time Fox has been sued by someone in the drag community. In April, a British court ordered him to pay £180,000 ($200,000) to Simon Blake, incoming CEO of British LGBTQ+ campaign group Stonewall, and Crystal, another star in the Drag Race universe, after calling the pair pedophiles on X.

Doll is hoping her case can dispel the idea that online mobs have to be endured alone. “I am showing them that the law is an option they can [pursue],” she says. “The government is on their side and there are things they can do when they are being attacked.”

Doll, who received the majority of the attacks via Instagram and X, says the two platforms have not been equal in their attempts to contain the abuse. “I think that Instagram and [parent company] Meta are doing as much as they can,” she says. After reporting DMs she received through the app, the company responded to tell her those profiles had been removed.

On X, however, she feels like there are barely repercussions for people spreading abuse. “I think that Twitter is a trash can of negativity and allows so much hate,” she says, using the platform’s previous name.

Yet this is not just about abuse targeting celebrities. “What worries me is that people are going through things like this,” she says, “who do not have the power that I have.”

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

Toji x Reader Preview

Author's Note: Hey people! So I've been watching a lot of LA Law recently and I got this idea in my head for a Toji x Reader where Toji is a private investigator and Reader is a lawyer. This is just the intro so the next part will be Toji being convinced by reader to take on the case. Eventually I'd like to do a timeskip with an older mellowed out Toji being a husband and father. Let me know what you think.

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of pregnancy, MINORS DNI

Higuruma looked down at the business card to check if he had the right address. The two of you stood outside a worn down building in a seedier part of the city. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked.

Before your associate could reply the door swung open.

A man with a sparse mustace and a cheap brown suit stood before you.

“Mr. Shiu Kong?”

“Who’s asking?” 

“We spoke on the phone earlier-”

Shiu nodded, motioning for him to stop.

“Yeah. Yeah. The public defenders on the murder case. Now come inside before people start asking questions.”

~

The inside of Shiu’s office was cramped with files and loose documents stacked up in piles, which seemed like a safety hazard next to the multiple ashtrays scattered around the office, about four to five cigarettes in each one.  Your host gestured to the two chairs in front of a faded desk before taking a seat behind it.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” you declined.

“Well do you mind if I smoke?”

“Actually-” Higuruma started.

“Great,” Shiu mumbled, lighting up another cigarette. 

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

“So, let me refresh my memory. A pregnant woman is found standing over her husband’s bloody corpse holding a butcher knife. And you two are given the task of representing her. Sounds like an open and shut case to me.”

You leaned forward. “The tabloids many be painting it like that Mr. Kong but there are other factors here.”

Hiromi opened his briefcase and pulled out the case file the two of you had been studying over the last few days.

“Our client claims her deceased husband was physically and verbally abusing her. Prior to her most recent pregnancy she had either miscarried or been forced to terminate her pregnancy aproximately ten times.”

“Does she have any proof? Medical documents? Recorded conversations? Anything?”

“No,” you responded. “The plaintiff is keeping any type of information under lock and key.”

“Your client really thinks she’s going to win against the Kamo group?” Shiu asked. 

“Even if she doesn’t she wants to taint the name,” Hiromi clarified. “Of course we’ll try to win.”

“I’m assuming the reason you two didn’t get a detective is because the plaintiff has some sway with law enforcement.”

“And the entire legal system,” you added. “Which is why we were seeking out other avenues.”

Shiu skimmed the documents again. “I’ve got a guy who could get anything out of anywhere. He’s great. But he’s a bit of a flake.”

Shiu wrote scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to you. 

“That’s his number and address. If you can convince him to take this on. Consider us in business.”

~

The End.

[wolfjackle-creates]

The Two Ghost Motel Chapter 3

Summary:

Danny is tired. Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over. “I’m fine, Ember.” Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really. But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel. He checks in. “Welcome.”

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Minor Original Character Death

Fandom: DPxDC (though no knowledge of DC is necessary for this fic.)

AO3, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

-----

All morning, they tried to catch the attention of any ghost they saw. They even knocked on doors if it seemed like someone was inside. After his fight with the receptionist, Danny was so low on energy he could feel his transformation pulling at him, but he refused to succumb to it.

Most people they saw ignored them entirely. Others would look in their general vicinity for a few seconds before continuing on their way. And some, usually the ones in more modern clothes, could be convinced to speak a few sentences.

Most only spoke about what they were currently doing. A dog walker told them about his dog, a smoker told them about his favorite brands of cigarettes. Sometimes they’d give a name, sometimes not. No one reacted to his questions about Tom and Alan.

The sun was much higher in the sky when they’d covered the front half of the building, still avoiding the office.

“Should we do the same for the back half?” asked Jay.

Danny groaned and leaned against the wall. “Let’s not. If I have one more person ignore me when I ask about Tom and Alan, I will punch something.”

Jay bumped their shoulders together. “Do you think there’s a way we could steal the log book from the receptionist?”

Danny chewed his lip and considered. “Let’s go back to one of our rooms. We need to plan. Do you know where all the entrances to the restricted areas are? Maybe we can find some answers there.”

“Duh, of course I do. That’s, like, the first thing you learn.”

“First thing you learn for what? I certainly never had anyone teach me stuff like that.”

Jay hesitated. “I— I don’t know. I think I had a job. Before, I mean. There was something I did. And I had to train a lot for it.”

“So you lived in an Alley that was also a Park that was near the ocean and you had a skilled job at fifteen. And you’re bird.”

“And there’s someone waiting for me,” added Jay.

“And there’s someone waiting for you,” agreed Danny.

“What are you trying to figure out?”

“I just, if I can figure it out, I’d like to know who you were. Maybe one day I can leave flowers on your grave or something.”

Jay shook his head. “Not my grave. I remember talking to a stone statue. It had wings and was up high. A…gargoyle? That’s where you should leave anything. And not flowers. Leave something cool, like a knife or a good book.”

“A gargoyle.” Danny raised an eyebrow, knowing Jay couldn’t see it. “Another clue.”

Jay grinned at him and grabbed his hand. “Come on,” he said as he pulled Danny up the stairs at the end of the building. “Let’s go and start planning.”

“Okay, okay!” Danny laughed as he ran after Jay. “I’m coming!”

Jay brought them to his room this time. It was much messier than Danny’s, more proof he’d been here for a long time. His bed was unmade and the drawer in the nightstand half ajar.

“The nightstand always had a favorite book of mine in it.”

“You like reading, then?���

“Yeah! It’s great. I used to spend so much time in the library before. They’d let anyone in and it was always warm in winter and cool in summer.”

Danny just hummed as he filed the information away.

Jay ignored the nightstand and book, though, and ran to the desk where he pulled open and slammed drawers shut. Until he pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil with an exclamation of success.

Quickly he began sketching out what Danny recognized as the general shape of the motel.

“How are you with heights? We should check the roof for other access points, too,” Jay said as he drew. When the general shape was sketched out, he added arrows. “This one is the office, obviously. Then here”—another arrow pointed near the right end of the motel—“Is a service door, but there’s no external handle on it.”

“Ghost can fly, birdie. Heights aren’t an issue.” He pointed to the side door. “And my intangibility seems to work here, so we can start there.”

Jay nodded. “You should teach me how to do that, too. If we get trapped or you get in trouble, I need to be able to help you.”

“You’re right. And it should be instinctual, so it won’t take long. When I first died, I had a harder time staying tangible than not. Dropped so many glasses. Got banned from chem class; it was a disaster.”

“Would there be a way to get past the receptionist? It’d make sense if she’s guarding the area we really need to get to.”

Danny tapped his fingers on the desk. “I could. But it would be loud and attract attention. And something about this place makes me more tired than I usually am. The fight this morning… I should’ve been able to redirect that fire with ease. She’s no where near as strong as some of the people I fight. But it was hard.”

Jay nodded and tapped his pencil near the office arrow. “We’ll leave it as a last resort, then.” He paused, then added, “Do you need to rest? If the fight took more out of you than you expected?”

Danny looked towards the bed and chewed his lip. It was edging into early afternoon. Jazz would know he was missing by now. Possibly his parents, too. But he could also feel the exhaustion under the surface. “I just need a bit of ectoplasm. And some food wouldn’t go amiss. Anywhere to get stuff like that besides the office?”

Jay hummed and looked towards the ceiling, only to shake his head. “No, I think the vending machine is the only option.”

“Think it’ll be safe to go back?”

Jay considered his question, then shrugged. “She calmed down at the end and then didn’t seem to give us a second glance. If we don’t try and cross her, it’ll probably be okay.”

“And I do need the ectoplasm…” Danny sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s go.”

Jay nudged him with his elbow. “It’ll give us a chance to scope it out again before we have to attack later.”

“If we’re lucky, we won’t have to.”

Jay snorted. “Yeah, luck never works out like that. But we’ll do the other areas first. Now, intangibility?”

Danny laughed. “You just want superpowers.”

“Duh!”

“Intangibility and flight are easy. You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t belong on Earth and don’t have to follow the physics of this universe. So just… remember that gravity is optional and your physical body doesn’t really exist here unless you want it to.”

Jay blinked at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh.” Jay looked at his hand in wonder. Then he touched the desk. His finger was stopped by the wood. Jay scowled and jammed it again to the same results.

Danny shook his head with an unseen grin. “Let me show you.” He took Jay’s hand and extended his intangibility to the boy. “See how that feels? You’re not really here unless you want to be. So let go.” He plunged both their hands through the desk before withdrawing his and leaving Jay’s.

“What the fuck!” exclaimed Jay as he tugged at his hand, solidly encased in the wood of the desk.

“Focus, birdie,” said Danny. “If it’s hard to think that you don’t exist, imagine it’s the desk that doesn’t exist instead. After all, for you, it doesn’t. You’re not from the same dimension, the same universe. The laws that govern the desk don’t apply to you.”

Jay glared at him, but then closed his eyes and focused. A moment later, he successfully pulled his hand out of the desk.

“There you go! Told you you could do it.”

Jay looked at his hand in wonder. “I did, huh? That’s so cool! It’s like I’m a Martian or something.”

“Not really,” said Danny. “When I first died, I looked into how Martian phasing works. It’s totally different to ghostly intangibility. Even if the end results are the same.”

Jay stuck his tongue out at him. “Shush. Let me have this.” He plunged his hand back through the desk and out. Then he turned to the wall and ran through it into Danny’s room.

Danny laughed and flew through the wall after him. “See told you it was easy!”

Jay grinned. “And I can fly, too? Like you are?”

“Yep. Gravity only applies if you want it to. Just, now that you’ve mastered intangibility, try not to sink into the ground. It can be hard to figure out which way is back to the surface if you’re not tuned into the gravitational force of the Earth.”

Jay nodded with a thoughtful expression. Then he jumped into the air, only to fall back to the floor. “Give me your hand,” he ordered. “Let me see what flight feels like.”

Danny obligingly reached out and took his hand, raising him up until they were both floating a few feet in the air. “See, no gravity. You don’t feel that pull towards the ground at all. In fact, you might as well be on solid ground.” He flipped them upside down. “And even like this, there’s no blood rushing to your head. It feels no different than having your feet oriented towards Earth’s ground.”

“Huh. I do see.” He pulled on Danny’s hand until they were floating over the bed, then turned right side up again. When he let go, he remained in the air. He grinned. “Damn, this is so cool. I’ve always been jealous of those who can fly!”

“Flying is my favorite power. I like to just fly high above the town and look up at the stars. Plus it’s way faster than walking and easier than running.”

“I can see why.” Jay landed on the floor and took a few steps before rising back up until he was level with Danny. “This is so cool! But, come on. Let’s go get you that food you want.”

“I want one of those ectodrinks more,” commented Danny. “But yeah, let’s go, Birdie.”

“What is ectoplasm, anyway?” Jay asked as he opened the door.

Danny shook his head. “You really don’t know anything, do you? I’ll have to ask Frostbite about it next time I see him. These things are supposed to be instinctual. Ectoplasm is what ghosts are made of. It’s what everything in the Ghost Zone is made of. Those plants growing through the asphalt in the parking lot? Ectoplasm. Your body? Ectoplasm.”

“Does that make you a cannibal if you eat it?”

Danny rolled his head to show he was rolling his eyes. “First of all, I will be drinking it. And second of all, no.”

“Seems like it would.”

Danny just ignored him and kept walking. When they got to where Matt still sat playing jacks, he stopped to watch.

When Jay joined him a moment later, he was frowning. “Hey, Matt,” said Jay.

Matt ignored them. Danny and Jay exchanged a look and Danny repeated the greeting. Matt still didn’t respond.

“Let’s just get something to eat,” said Danny after a moment. When they reached the door, took every ounce of will power he had to keep from hesitating before reaching out for the doorknob. Just as it had that first time, it stuck slightly under his grip, but opened easily enough.

Inside, the ghosts on the couch had changed out again and now there was someone else standing and staring at the coffee bar.

The receptionist didn’t react to their presence, and Danny let out a low breath. “What do you like?” asked Danny as they made their way to the vending machine.

“I’m gonna take a Zesti,” said Jay, punching in the code. Again, the machine activated without Danny putting any money in.

Danny got himself an ectodrink, bag of chips, and a packet of m&ms. “Okay, that should be good. Let’s go.” He shot another wary glance at the receptionist who was still frozen in place.

“Give me just a sec,” said Jay. He opened his can and looked around the room. “Who chose the wallpaper here, do you think?”

Danny shrugged. “How should I know? Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Jay looked around one more time as he sipped from his drink. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Finally being able to close the door between him and the receptionist helped, though he knew walls and doors didn’t mean much to ghosts.

“Let’s go check out Matt’s room,” said Jay.

“What? Why?”

“Why not? We learned he was staying in room 117 and apparently we can still phase into other people’s rooms. After all, we got into yours from mine. Maybe he and Alan were staying together and just never checked Alan in. Would explain why he won’t talk about him.”

“Huh, it would. Let’s do it.”

Jay grinned at him and sprinted down the sidewalk. Danny outpaced him easily by flying and laughed when Jay scowled at him and called him a cheater. Neither bothered to knock before phasing through the door.

At first, all they could see was blackness. Then the room seemed to form around them as their eyes adjusted to the low light that the drawn curtains allowed through.

It was empty. Obviously it had a bed and desk and dresser. Really, it was just a carbon copy of Danny’s room. The bed was neatly made and every thing was in its proper place. If Danny didn’t know better, he’d have assumed no one was staying in this room.

“Do you think more people leave their rooms like this or messy like mine?” asked Jay.

“Only one way to find out,” Danny replied, grinning.

Jay laughed and ran through the wall into the next room. For a moment, he thought he saw a cape flare behind his friend.

The next room looked more lived in, though not by much. The bed was still made, but a book sat on the nightstand and the TV remote was on top of the sheets rather than the dresser.

In the third room, the resident was sill present and Danny walked in on Jay already stammering out apologies.

The woman barely glanced up from her book before looking back down and flipping a page.

“What book is that?” Jay asked.

She lifted it up so they could see the cover.

“Oliver Twist? I read that book. Love and hate it, to be honest. Lotta weird feelings about that one.”

She looked up and actually made eye contact this time. She tilted her head as if to ask why.

Jay shrugged. “Did the musical one year at school. Too many people tried to compare me to Oliver. Do you know how annoying it is to have people look at you and ask ‘Please, sir, can I have some more?’ in a fake British accent every lunch period?”

Her mouth twitched into a faint smile.

Danny’s Midwestern manners meant he had to give his own apologies as well. “What’s your name, Ma’am? I’m Phantom and this is Jay. So sorry for barging in on you.”

She looked back at her page, but said, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia? Cool name,” said Jay. “Is this your first time reading Oliver Twist?”

She shook her head slightly. “It’s my favorite.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “The motel is good about always having your favorite on hand, isn’t it?”

She nodded and turned her page.

Danny shifted from foot to foot. “Look, not to interrupt or anything, but have you met any of the other guests here?”

She shrugged and didn’t look up from her book.

“It’s just, I’m looking for a kid named Alan. He was one of the two playing jacks over near the office. And a man named Tom. I met him the night I checked in, but he disappeared in front of me just a few hours ago.”

“People always leave. Oliver’s mother left. His friends abandoned him.”

Jay nodded. “But his grandfather didn’t. And Phantom here, he won’t leave either—not until he can confirm they’re safe.”

She just shrugged again. “I don’t know. Guests come and they go. No one comes here intending to stay for more than a night or two.”

“But they do stay for longer,” said Danny.

Sylvia shrugged and turned her page.

Danny let out a groan of frustration—the mask made it sound even more angry and Jay glared at him.

“Sorry,” said Danny. “How long have you been here, Sylvia?”

“Just a night or two.”

“Where are you in the book?” asked Jay.

“Oliver is with Fagin.”

“Have you ever seen the musical? Or the movie?”

Sylvia didn’t reply and kept reading her book.

“They’re like NPCs in a video game,” said Danny. “Once you complete all the dialog options, they stop interacting.”

Jay couldn’t quite hold back his snort. “Enjoy your reading, Sylvia. It’s a good book, even if it’s not one of my favorites!”

She didn’t react and the boys left. Through the door, this time.

“We should probably not go into random rooms anymore, should we?”

“Probably not,” agreed Jay. “Besides, I think we’ve confirmed that none of the other ghosts know anything about the other guests. Continuing to chase them down is pointless.”

“Let’s go back to our rooms. I need to eat my snacks and then we can pick back up with our investigation.”

Danny flew up to the second floor, forcing Jay to follow him, rather than waste time walking to the stairs.

“You’re getting the hang of that,” he commented. Jay grinned at him with pride.

Once in his room, Danny took off his mask. “What?” he asked when he noticed Jay staring at him.

“You look so different without the face mask.”

Danny raised an eyebrow at him. “I look different when you can see my face instead of safety goggles and a respirator?”

Jay waved off his sarcasm. “You know what I mean. You feel more human this way. Why don’t you take it off more?”

“The mask is part of me now. I have to focus on keeping it off or it’ll reform over my face.” He pulled out the ectoplasm first and frowned when he noticed it was much more watery than he was used to seeing. “That’s odd…”

“What’s odd?”

“Ectoplasm doesn’t usually look like this.” Danny carefully unscrewed the cap and sniffed the open bottle. The scent burned, ozone and garbage and dirty toilet all in one. Danny gagged and quickly screwed the cap back on. “What is that?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“It was rhetorical! That’s rancid. Gross.” He sighed. “Looks like we’re doing this while exhausted. Not my first time, won’t be my last.” He opened his bag of chips and practically shoved his nose into it to overpower the smell of the not-ectoplasm.

Jay sat on the bed. “So where are we going first? The side door with no handle?”

“Yeah, might as well. That and the roof are where we’re planning to start, right?”

“From what I’ve seen, yeah. Only other place is behind the desk in the office.”

Danny shuddered remembering the receptionist’s transformation. “Hopefully not.” He shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. Enough ghosts liked to attack during his lunch period at school that he’d learned to eat fast. In no time, the chips and candy were gone and his mask was back in place.

Jay stood. “Let’s go, then.”

“Hang on a sec,” said Danny. “I want to go through my bag. See what supplies I have handy. Might have a weapon for you.”

“Ooo! Weapons! Let me see!” Jay bounced over to peer at the closed bag.

Danny laughed. “Hold on a minute!” Before touching his bag, he pulled the ectoknife out of his pocket and passed it over. “Have you used a knife before?”

Jay grabbed it and flicked the blade in and out. “Duh. You never left home without at least two weapons where I grew up. Been handling knives since I was a toddler.”

“Right. I’m not touching that one.” A quick feel around his pockets revealed nothing else useful. Turning to the bag, he quickly discarded most of the clothes he’d shoved in the top, though he paused on the socks.

He stood and grabbed the not-ectoplasm from where he’d left it on the desk and wrapped the bottle in the socks as protection before putting it in a pocket of his suit. At Jay’s confused look, Danny explained, “I can study it when I get home. See how it’s similar to and different from normal ectoplasm.”

Jay nodded, but asked, “Why do you even have clothes, anyway? I haven’t seen you change at all. And I know I haven’t.”

Danny shrugged. “I told you—I’m weird for a ghost.” Under his clothes, he unearthed a thermos which he immediately clipped to his hip.

“What’s that?”

“A containment device.” Although the answer clearly didn’t satisfy Jay, he didn’t ask any further questions. Unfortunately, Caspar High had banned blasters after some of the students had begun shooting each other with them, but he did find a lipstick laser he’d been meaning to give to Sam. For over a month now. “Here. Take this, too.”

“Lipstick?” asked Jay as he removed the cap.

“Wait! Don’t do tha—”

A laser shot from the tip and burned a mark in the wall. “Dude! What sort of movie-spy shit is this? Why do you have it?”

“My parents are ghost hunters. They like making stuff like that.”

“Ghost hunters? But aren’t you a ghost now?” The concern was practically oozing off Jay and it made Danny grimace.

“Look, it’s fine. My sister and friends know about me and my parents have a ton of useful things I can use to help fight ghosts.” He continued rummaging through his bag. He found his phone, but it was dead. Which shouldn’t have been possible since he’d switched to an ectoplasmic battery that should’ve kept it powered for years. Nothing he did would get it to work, though, so he shoved it back in his bag. He and Tucker would figure it out later.

“What’s that?”

“My phone. But it doesn’t seem to be working right now. And I don’t have anything else remotely useful on me. I need to figure out how to sneak a blaster into school or something. This is pathetic.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s better than I had before. And we’re just doing reconnaissance, right?”

Danny huffed out a half-laugh. “How often does reconnaissance stay reconnaissance?”

“Touche,” agreed Jay. But he still grabbed Danny’s hand and pulled him out of the room. “But that’s what makes it exciting.” He jumped over the railing, stopping their fall a few feet above the ground.

“You’re really getting the hang of flying.”

“I’m used to jumping off tall buildings. Even easier now that I can fly!”

“You jumped off tall buildings? Why!”

Jay grinned at him. “Yep. Don’t remember why, but I did it all the time. Now, let’s go!” Without waiting for a reply, Jay flew towards the end of the motel, leaving Danny to follow.

The area along the side of the motel hadn’t been cleared in a long time. The bushes, their leaves a bit too luminescent to be native earth plants, were overgrown and the grass reached halfway up their calves. Right in the wall where Jay had said it would be sat a solid, metal door without a handle. Jay didn’t hesitate before moving towards it, but Danny grabbed his arm to stop him.

“I’m gonna look in first. I’m better able to defend myself if things go wrong.”

Jay groaned. “Fine. But I can look after myself.”

“I’m realizing that, but this is my area of expertise.”

Jay pouted but didn’t argue, so Danny turned just his head invisible and looked through the door.

Only to be faced with pitch black. Absolutely no light made it’s way into the area behind the door. With a mental curse, he brought a hand through and pulled up an ectoblast for a bit of light. Dusty, cement stairs led down into a cellar. Wires hung from the ceiling and green ectoplasm, or maybe that not-ectoplasm—his mask effectively blocked scent so he wasn’t sure—dripped down the walls.

Danny pulled out. “I don’t see anyone. But there’s a steep stairway, so be careful.”

Jay nodded his agreement and the two stepped through the door. Danny used an ectoblast for light again, and the two picked their way down the stairs.

Danny reached out a gloved hand to touch the green fluid on the walls—it had the same consistency of the not-ectoplasm.

“Can you smell anything rotten?” asked Danny.

Jay sniffed. “I don’t know if I’d call it rotten, but it smells like old blood and fire.”

“Try not to touch anything, I don’t know if it’s dangerous to ghosts or not.”

“Trust me, Phantom. I had no intentions of touching it. Nothing good comes of weird, glowing liquids. Everyone knows that.”

Danny huffed a laugh. “Not in Amity. We’re used to it there.”

They fell silent as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Pipes ran along ceiling, and the floor was made of cheap linoleum. He still couldn’t see any light fixtures. The hall went on for a few dozen feet before ending at another solid metal door.

The breathing from Danny’s suit seemed to echo in the hallway. And his boots were nearly impossible to walk silently in. Each sound made him wince internally, especially since he had to look back to confirm Jay was still with him. When they reached the door, it was locked. Danny turned intangible again and tried to stick his head through, only to bang it hard on the door. “Ow,” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head and, more cautiously, tried to stick his hand through instead. It also hit resistance.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Jay.

“It’s warded against ghosts,” Danny replied. “Can’t phase through.” With his hands intangible, he started at the center of the door and reached outwards, then up to the ceiling, then to the floor. When every inch seemed to be blocked to him, he moved to the walls bordering the doorway, only to have the same problem.

“What do we do now?” asked Jay, who had reached out to try as well. His attempts were no better.

Danny worried at his lip. Even just maintaining the ectoblast for light was requiring constant focus. And the pull was taking far more energy that it should. “We’ll have to go back. Or figure out where the shield is generated from. If we can disrupt that, we may be able to get through.

“Damn. How would we know what the shield looks like?”

Danny shrugged. “I know what the ones my parents and the GIW use. But those designs were invented in the last two years. I’ve no idea how old this place is or what technology they’re using to ward off ghosts. Let’s go back outside and we can reassess.” Maybe something would come to him if he didn’t have to focus on making their light.

Jay nodded and the two navigated their way back out. Danny kept his hands on both walls, but at no point did the shield break. Not until they reached the exit door which only allowed them back outside.

“That was pointless,” Danny said as he collapsed on the ground. If he’d been human, he would’ve been panting.

“No it wasn’t,” argued Jay. “We know there’s something important down there now.”

Danny groaned. “But we can’t get to it. If only we were back in Amity. If I had access to the full Fenton arsenal, I could maybe do something.”

“What’s the Fenton arsenal?”

“My parents’ weapons vault. You have the laser. The thermos”—he gestured to his hip—“is another invention of theirs.”

“They have an entire weapons vault? And they just let you access it?”

“They’re ghost hunters and scientists,” said Danny with a shrug. “It’s my normal. Part of my chores growing up were to help clean the lab.” Danny groaned as he pushed himself up.

He swayed once on his feet and Jay helped steady him. “Woah, are you okay?”

Danny yawned. “I’m more tired than I thought.” He was close to transforming unwillingly, but he had enough control to force it back. “This place is doing something to me. Let’s go back to my room. If I can’t get any ectoplasm here, I need to nap for an hour or two. My core needs to recharge somehow. Then we can check out the roof.”

“Will I get tired like you if I keep flying and using intangibility?”

“Normally I’d say no. But I’m also never this wiped out from a minor fight, so…” He shrugged. When they reached room 114, he flew to the second story and walked through the wall into his room and collapsed face-first onto the bed.

Only to let out a grunt of pain when his mask pressed awkwardly against his face and his goggles dug into his eyes. He rolled to his side. “Sometimes I really hate that I died in this suit. It is not comfortable.”

Jay laughed and poked him in the back. “Get some rest, sleeping beauty. I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

“Thanks, birdie. Night.”

If he replied, Danny didn’t hear it.

---

“Jus’ five m’r minutes, Jazz,” mumbled Danny as he tried to shift away from the person shaking him awake.

“Phantom!” called out a male voice.

Not Jazz. Tucker? But he wouldn’t call him Phantom. Danny yawned and opened his eyes to see a black-haired, blue-eyed boy staring at him and an unfamiliar ceiling.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to wake you for ages.”

“Birdie?” Danny pushed himself up until he was leaning against the headboard.

“Yep! Since you were sleeping so hard, I went to the roof. There was a vent up there I was able to climb into. And guess what? It leads to an area over Ms. Creepy Receptionists’s desk! Could probably jump down from it and land behind her, giving us access to the forbidden area.”

Danny blinked a few times, his brain struggling to shake off the his nap. “What time is it?” he asked.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Are you even listening to me? It’s like six or seven or something. Not quite dark out yet.”

Danny yawned. “Sorry I slept for so long.”

“It’s fine. I figured you needed it. But come on! We have to get going now. There’s people waiting for us.”

“Right. Tom and Alan.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Them, too. I guess.”

Danny yawned again and lifted his goggles to rub at his eyes. “So a passage to the receptionists office? You shouldn’t have explored without me.”

“I’m not some untrained kid. Besides, you gave me two weapons. I was perfectly safe. And aren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

Danny rolled out of the bed and stretched. “Yeah, yeah. I need to get home. I’m sure there’s already people looking for me.” He closed his eyes and reached for his core. He didn’t have as much power as usual, but he had enough. More than before his nap at least. He let it’s coolness center him. “I’m ready.”

Jay grinned and held open the door, following Danny out.

This time, Danny led them towards the stairs rather than flying down. Evening had settled in and the the overcast skies were darkening, though the horizon was still light. “Let’s try talking to Matt one more time. I’d like to avoid fighting the receptionist if at all possible.”

“But the kid doesn’t remember anything!” protested Jay.

“Then it won’t take long.”

Jay groaned theatrically, but he followed Danny to where Matt was still playing with his jacks.

“Hey, Matt,” greeted Danny. The boy didn’t react and Danny sat across from him on the ground. “Mind if we join in?” he asked.

Matt still didn’t respond, but he caught the ball and picked up all the jacks before tossing them back out. He handed the ball to Danny.

Jay took a seat between them. “Sweet, another round! Hey, Matt, how’s Alan doing? We’ve been all over the motel today and haven’t seen him.”

Matt looked at Jay and Danny tossed up the ball to play the onsies round. Matt never verbally replied, though Jay continued to ask more questions. He asked about Matt’s mother, where he lived, what classes he took in school. All of it was met with silence. Though the few times Danny was able to look up, Alan was staring at Jay rather than the game.

When he finished his round, Danny let out a celebratory, “Yes! Got it!”

Jay clapped his hands slowly. “Good for you. You managed to complete the easiest round,.”

“Shut up,” said Danny. “I’m still learning. Just for that, I vote Matt goes next. What do you say, Matt?” Danny held out his hand with the ball.

He didn’t say anything but did take the ball.

Danny and Jay watched as he tossed the ball up and let it bounce once before grabbing a jack and catching the ball.

He’d repeated the action twice when Jay asked, “Matt, are you feeling all right?”

Danny looked over at Jay in surprise before turning his attention back to Matt. The kid was pale, but not an unusual color for a ghost. Though… he rubbed his goggles. Was he blurry around the edges? A quick glance at Jay proved his goggles were fine. Matt was a bit faded around the edges.

“Are you turning invisible on us?” asked Danny, forcing his tone to be light and joking even as his core thrummed in fear.

Matt, as expected, didn’t reply to either of them. Jay and Danny exchanged a look, but neither could stand to take their eyes off the boy for long. With each toss of the ball, Matt looked more and more out of focus.

Then, when he was down to the last jack, his body disappeared entirely when he threw up the ball. All that remained visible was his shining core. Danny lunged forward even as the core and ball both fell to the ground.

His fingers only just brushed Matt’s core as it hit and shattered into sparkling dust.

The sound of the ball bouncing on the cement next to his head echoed in his ears as he stared.

The dust from Matt’s core flickered with light, though it kept getting dimmer and dimmer. Danny grasped at it, trying to gather it up in his hands. Jay joined him. But there was nothing they could do. The dust fell through their fingers and disappeared faster than they could gather it.

But Danny kept trying until the last speck faded and nothing of Matt remained. The ball finished bouncing and came to a rest against the wall.

“What just happened?” asked Jay.

The question was enough to jolt Danny back to motion. He snatched the bouncy ball and shoved it in his pocket then jumped to his feet. He grabbed Jay’s hand and pulled him up as well.

“We have to leave. Now.” He ran, dragging Jay behind him.

-----

Chapter 4

The ending of this chapter is one of the first scenes I planned for the fic. It may be the darkest thing I've ever written (and shared). Please let me know what you think. I've never written this genre before, so I want to know if something didn't hit right.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 13

When Sheppard left his conversation with Teyla, he stumbled slightly heading toward the door. Here, we find him and Chaya seated on a balcony or a protuberance of some kind with a view of the city. What is interesting is that the picnic basket is behind Chaya and not behind Sheppard which is what one would expect if he was the one hosting this midnight picnic. The basket should be behind him and he should be the one offering things to her.

They have a lot of things laid out between them. Chaya even makes reference to "such variety of foods" indicating that there's comprehensive selection of every kind of delicacy they have. Chaya also tells Sheppard that she has been perusing the "information machine" Weir got her "on" which means that she's getting a really thorough insight into all things earthling.

The picnic, tasting earth foods, is also gathering intel since she is "a being of pure energy". We don't even know whether she's actually capable of tasting things, but she sure is putting up an act:

Chaya: This is delicious. Sheppard: Well, enjoy it while you can, 'cause it's the last of what we have. Chaya: Then I am honored. Sheppard: When McKay finds out, he's going to kill me.

The thing is, although Sheppard seems to pour her wine made from grapes they have traded with the Athosians later, his comment here that this is the last of it and that it's something McKay would care about indicates that what she is drinking to start with is coffee. Him referencing Athosian wine here would make no sense.

But what's really worth highlighting, and is entirely on brand for Sheppard, is that he has to mention McKay. Anywhere he goes, anyone he speaks with, he cannot not mention McKay. Things McKay does, says, or thinks, or has done, has said, or has thought, is something that Sheppard needs to report to other people at every available opportunity. Even here in what he calls a "romantic situation with a woman from another planet". It's a strange new situation but it's not enough for him to not want to talk about McKay while it's going on.

It should also be pointed out that it's when he lays back on his elbow and seems to relax into a lean that he brings up McKay. It's either the thought of McKay that made him lean into it or the leaning is what reminded him of McKay. And as soon as Sheppard has brought up McKay, she brings up Athar. She gives him a seductive smile and tells her that Athar will save him from McKay. Which should mean exactly nothing to Sheppard who hasn't made it a secret to her that he's not a believer.

In fact, even though Sheppard told her earlier that he respects that she believes, he doesn't share that. He has shown no interest in talking about religion or religions, and yet she persists.

Chaya: I'm fascinated by your many religions. So many beliefs. So many philosophies. Sheppard: Yeah, we've got a few of those. Chaya: So many contradictory faiths. Sheppard: Yeah, it's a bit of a mess. More?

He gives noncommittal replies. He has not consented to discussing religion. He hasn't consented to much of what has been happening recently.

Whether or not one sees Chaya as using supernatural means or just her feminine wiles, this is where the attempted seduction happens. The one that Sheppard mentions in the case file that Lucius read (and it is not coincidental that we return to this episode in connection with Lucius who bedded several women without their consent; "sometimes all at once"). She has a sultry look about her, keeps her gaze intensely on him. It doesn't seem like she has total control over him because we see flashes of him breaking free of her influence but it is clearly making him more open to suggestion. One of the most notable times comes when she first mentions truthfulness:

Chaya: I wasn't completely truthful with you about something.

And then loneliness.

Chaya: On Proculus, when I told you I did not feel lonely… Coming here, and being with you… it reminded me what it was like not to be alone.

Sheppard springs up and puts distance between them, taking several steps away from her. John Sheppard is lonely. This feeling he shares with her. He's lonely because he has chosen to be alone rather than let people get hurt for being anywhere near him. He had isolated himself in the most remote part of his world. But this is not something he wants to discuss with anyone, ever. His reaction clearly surprises her.

Chaya: What? Sheppard: Well, I mean, nothing. It's just that… this is the first time I've been in a romantic situation with a woman from another planet, and it just strikes me as really, um… Chaya: Wrong? Seppard: No. God, no! Just… just… funny. I'm sorry. I just thought that I would…

He feels funny. He feels funny being in this romantic situation with her. It's weird. It's strange. Even with the full force of her seductive stare, the wine, the night sky, the gentle ocean breeze what he feels is funny. He says "I just thought that I would--" and shakes his head. He can't find the words. Any words.

He doesn't know what he's here to do. Yes, he said that he had no intention of taking no for an answer from her but it's doubtful he ever intended for it to get this far. He's not heartless.

She is. She is literally without a heart, a being of pure energy. Even in a suggestible state (even if just for the wine and her lovely company), his reaction made it pretty clear that his intention was not to make out with her (he holds his hand up and says "No, God no."). It's also worth mentioning that it's a lie ("You said it yourself -- we're both human") that she uses to draw him in. And the last thing she tells him before he kisses her is a command ("Don't [leave]").

When he says "I'm not going anywhere" here, it's in response to her direct command.

Interestingly, this is the only time we see Sheppard kiss a woman other than when he's possessed by something (although an argument can be made here that he's not doing this out of his own volition either). Every other time, he is the one that is kissed. And twice when this happens, he confesses that he never sees it coming when they do. Even with the women that have the Ancient gene that seem to be drawn to him and that we can assume he is similarly physically drawn to. John Sheppard does not actively pursue women. All of this comes later, though.

So far, we haven't really seen him express interest in a woman. We were made to think that he had once had a crush on a woman on Earth who hadn't reciprocated it, but it's not made clear that was a woman, and once he smiled at a nurse. A few times he has introduced himself to women with a charming smile. Because he uses charm to gain something, it's difficult to tell whether or when he actually feels attraction. But this still seems out of character for him, on multiple levels.

Continued in Pt. 14

[writtenbynath]

The problem with Nimja teaching hypnokink at an event

He has been a known predator in our community for years now. You can just google his name and the word 'abuse'  and you can find a whole page of stories from victims and people who have had run ins with him.  Any event organiser who has never heard of these stories by now, we can safely assume that they have not done the research, or they are just ok with hosting a charismatic predator who brings all his fans to the event.

You might think that's a little harsh of me. But women talk about these things to each other, and that's how I have heard so many stories of little interactions where the woman in question concluded that Nimja was a creep she should watch out for. Literally countless stories like this keep being shared by women online and I hear more of them every time I speak up about his abuse.

Sometimes I hear a story of real abuse like this. A story of a young woman who really fell in love with Nimja, because being hypnotised is just likely to give you crushy in love feelings sometimes, and because of the flavour of D/s play he tends to do. These women were in love, very impressed by all his files and tremendously honoured that he would take time to play or record a file with them. And when it went sideways, he'd just abandon them, no aftercare, no trigger removal, sometimes he'd even forbid them to contact him again. These young women had to handle the shame of being conditioned online by this man and not knowing how to get his commands out of their heads alone.

In 2019 a woman gave me permission to share her story, the other six victims are too afraid of Nimja and don't want to share any details. This woman played with him online with D/s and orgasm control. This went so far that she couldn't even go to the bathroom without listening to one of his files. She needed his voice, his permission, to simply be able to pee. And he cut her off at that moment. She literally told me that he punished her when she tried to contact him because she wanted it to stop, she needed it to stop. So she had to find another way of getting his triggers and commands out of her head, of getting her life back together. The other stories are a lot like this one, and yes, they are recent.

Because of these stories centering on online play with him, some people don't take it very seriously. Perhaps including Nimja. It's hard to explain how much impact hypnokink can have on your life, especially when it comes to files and conditioning. It's hard to explain how difficult things get when you have to listen to a file multiple times per day or you'll start to feel awful. It's hard to explain how much shame and pain that causes, because it's not like a physical addiction, is it? You can just stop, right?

I'm worried that Nimja underestimates the impact he has on the women he plays with. It seems like he's just going to continue playing with more women like this. He just a guy who doesn't think he's doing anything wrong, and he gets older just like the rest of us, but it seems like he keeps playing with these really young women. And maybe he's not consciously looking for girls who don't know how hypnokink works yet, and who don't know what they want out of kink yet. Maybe it's not on purpose. That's possible. Right?

But the predatory pattern is there. The cult of personality discord server full of fans who enable his bad behaviour is there. So that's a problem. And I honestly don't know if he teaches hypnokink in a way I'd encourage. He's teaching at an event in Germany and in Wales where I really respect some of the other teachers. But I think every impressionable young woman at those events is at risk of being hurt in the exact same way described above.

[jpitha]

The Dreams of Hyacinth 6

First / Previous / Next

The morning found all three of them sprawled asleep on Eastern's couch. They wound up just sleeping where they fell. Nothing other than sleep happened the night before - they were much too sore and tired for that but Nick was surprised how... comfortable it was to share space with the two of them.

All three got up and made their way into Eastern's tiny kitchen as Eastern's coffee maker bubbled and hissed. Eastern bustled and got tea going for Selkirk.

Nick's head was still sore, but the weakness and tiredness was much better. He felt almost normal. After the drinks were made, they all sat at the small table and woke up. "Okay Sel." Eastern takes another sip of her coffee. "We have to find an AI, her name is Yon." She looked up at Selkirk. "She's Jameson's daughter."

Sel's ears pricked up. "What? He has a daughter? How the hell does that work?"

Nick looked over at them. "Takes all kinds to be a family Sel, you know that. Yon's his daughter, we're not going to quibble."

"Fair enough." Selkirk flicked her tail and took a sip of tea. "So everyone thought she was in the coffin box, but she wasn't? Did Jameson let you keep the box?"

Eastern nods. "It's in my bag. He said we can use it to box her up if we need to."

Selkirk makes a face. "If we need to?"

"If she's been placed in a ship. Can't bring the wayward child back to their father if they're a Starjumper, now can we?"

Selkirk looks out the window. "I don't like that. I don't know much about coffin boxes, but I do know that most AIs hate being in them. I hope it doesn't come to that." She takes another sip of her tea. "Good on having it though. I can scan it and see if we can get some file data. Maybe find out how long ago she was moved off it, or if she was ever even on it." She stands up and stretches, all her fur poofing out as she does. "I don't know about you, I'm starving though. Let's throw on some clothes and get breakfast first. I do all my best work on a full stomach."

The three of them got dressed - Nick once again marveled at how... comfortable it was to be together, the three of them, naked in the room, putting on clothes and getting ready - and went out into Hyacinth.

This time, Selkirk took the lead, and brought them to a cafe a short metro ride from Eastern's apartment. As they walked, Nick looked around. Eastern lived off Gladiolus square, near the end of the arm.

The further away from the base of Hyacinth you were, the less expensive the housing was, but also the less desirable it was - until you got to the very end. During rush hour, a metro ride from Gladiolus to Congregation took more than an hour. An Omnibus ride that far took maybe two. One of the biggest benefits of living that far up the arm was that the apartments were bigger. If you were willing to live all the way near the top of the arm, you could own a house with a yard. Born and raised a city kid, Nick always thought that was odd. Why pay extra to live super far away and have to do more maintenance on your own place? Nick's place off Laurel was just about the size of Eastern's bedroom and bathroom together.

Nick realized that they'd probably have to go apartment shopping soon if they were going to keep giving this a shot. They might be able to save some money on one rent instead of three and be able to get a nicer place further down the arm.

The cafe Selkirk lead them too was small, and had a decent mix of K'laxi and Humans inside. It smelled like breakfast. A host sat them by a window, and a server brought steaming pots of coffee and tea and left them on the table.

"I've lived in Gladiolus for a year now and I never knew this place existed!" Eastern looked around. "Sel, you really do know everything there is to know about Hyacinth."

"Everything that matters at least." She flicked her ears playfully as she took a sip of tea. "This place goes pancakes and waffles with real Maple syrup. I don't know if it's Gord's Reserve, but we're close enough to Earth that we don't have to worry about it being fake."

Nick glanced at the menu while Selkirk talked. For what an order of pancakes cost, the maple syrup had better be platinum plated. "I'm just going to get a breakfast sandwich." Nick looked up at them. "You two go nuts though."

Selkirk rolled her eyes. "You can't go to a place that's famous for their pancakes and get the breakfast sandwich, Nick. This is my treat. Live a little. Get the pancakes. In fact..." Selkirk made a complex gesture with her hands and ears and tail.

A K'laxi server noticed and came right over. Surprising Nick, Selkirk ordered for everyone. It was pancakes for the table, extra syrup, a fruit plate and some Near Bacon. Selkrik knew Nick was a Lacto-ovo vegetarian, so she kept meat off the order.

A little while after that the food arrived. As the plates were placed down Eastern looked serious. "No business until after we eat, okay? I don't want to talk shop on an empty stomach." Nick and Selkirk nodded and they tucked in. It really was a good meal. Nick wasn't usually the type to eat a big breakfast, he was more a coffee and pastry kind of person. Selkirk was clearly in her element though. She tore through the pancakes and syrup, making sure there was no leftovers. She made sure Eastern and Nick got what they wanted and they didn't feel deprived, but this was an... event for Selkirk.

"I never had you pegged as a foodie, Sel." Eastern smiled and finished off her coffee."

"I fucking love pancakes." Selkirk said after finishing a bite. "I swear it's the best thing humans ever created. I could eat them every damn day."

Nick smiled. "Okay, now that we've eaten. We should talk next steps. Where do you want to talk?"

Selkirk looked around the cafe. It wasn't crowded but... "Not here. Let's go to your place Nick, you live down-arm, I bet your place is nice."

Nick was startled. His place was decidedly not nice. "Uh okay, but just to manage expectations, it's a little messy."

Eastern laughed. "Nick, if it's anything like it was when I saw it last, 'a little messy' is doing some heavy lifting." She stood. "Come on Sel, let's go see Nick's hovel. I'm sure you'll be horrified." Selkirk flipped a chit onto the table and they left.

They weren't in a hurry, so they took the omnibus down arm to Nick's place. He lived on the third floor of a 5 story apartment block, a couple minutes walk from the center of Laurel Square. On the bottom level of his building was a shop that sold kitschy antiques from Earth (all fake) and in the back had a small video game arcade of vintage games and consoles (all reproductions) They were never rowdy and the shop closed up right after dinner, so Nick never really minded.

Selkirk looked at the building as they walked up. It was anonymous with few windows, and the shop on the ground level had no customers. "Nick... Why do you live here? You're probably paying an arm and a leg for a place that looks like any other of the millions of anonymous apartments on Hyacinth. Yours is just closer to the base."

Nick shrugged. "I got it when I moved here. Then, I didn't know any better. Now?" Nick looked up at it. "I dunno. inertia I guess?"

Selkirk shot a look at Eastern who shrugged her shoulders.

"Nick, if this place is half as bad as Eastern makes it out to be, we're going to have to accelerate getting a place together. You can't live here."

"What? Why? At least look at the inside first." Nick was feeling defensive about his apartment and they haven't even gone inside it yet.

They went into the building. It was completely anonymous. They could have been in any of thousands of apartment buildings on Hyacinth. They went up the stairs and Eastern joked with Selkirk about how Nick lived in a 'Default Apartment' and she giggled.

Nick unlocked the door and Selkirk walked in.

"Oh Ancestors, Nick!" Selkirk coughed "This is a little messy??"

Nick stood in the doorway, mouth open.

His apartment was trashed. All the drawers open and tipped out, desk overturned, everything strewn about.

Eastern peered around Nick's shoulder and laughed. "Nick! What did you do? This isn't normal is it? Why is your place trashed?"

Nick whirled to Selkirk and Eastern. "No! Something happened! This isn't how my place usually is! Someone must've come in and... trashed it."

Selkirk turned back to look at Nick. "But why?"

"I have no idea. The last job I did was boosting the coffin box from Houndstooth and... I got... away clean..." He whirled. "Eastern! Do you still have the coffin box?"

She looked into her shoulder bag. "Yes, it's right here, why Nick?"

Nick gathered Eastern and Selkirk. "The only job i've done in at least two weeks is boost that coffin box. Whoever trashed my place must be looking for it. I think there's more to this than what Jameson is letting on."

Selkirk rolled her eyes. "Nick, it's fucking Jameson Winters. He runs all of Hyacinth that isn't owned by Houndstooth. If you thought things were on the straight and level, that's on you hon." She put her arms on her hips, mimicking a human gesture. "It sure is a good damn thing you're attractive, Nick."

Eastern looked around. "Well, we certainly can't stay here. Nick, grab some clothes, leave everything else. You're moving out."

Nick reached down and picked up a shirt. "But what about-"

Eastern shook her head. "No Nick. We don't know if they bugged anything. Everything here is suspect. I hope none of it was a memento or an antique, because it ain't coming with us."

Sighing, Nick went through the apartment. He really didn't have much to begin with. He kept his pad on him so he didn't have to worry about that, and it's not like he kept stores of currency or valuables here. He stood in his bedroom and looked at a photo on the wall. It was two adults standing stiffly proud, with a small boy, maybe 10 holding a trophy.

"Eastern, what about the photo? It's my only one I have of my parents."

Eastern yelped. Selkirk whirled around. "What is it Eastern?"

"Sorry sorry. Nick used our link to talk and I... forgot we had it." She sounded sheepish.

Selkirk flicked an ear. "You two can chat silently to each other? Don't forget about your girlfriend Selkirk now"

"No no, you're right Sel. We'll try not to use it unless we need to," Nick was sheepish. "I think you'll be able to chat too if you're wearing that coronet Jameson gave you. I just asked Eastern about taking this photo. It's the only one I have of my parents."

Selkirk and Eastern walked up to it and looked. Eastern took it off the wall and flipped it over. She sighed and looked at Nick. "Sorry." Then she threw it on the ground as hard as she could, and it came apart with a tinkle of smashed glass."

"Eastern? What the fuck?" Nick was aghast.

Selkirk reached down and picked up the shattered remains of the photo. She flipped over the frame and gasped.

On the back, under the cardboard, in between the photo and the backing was a wafer thin piece of plastic with lines and miniature components embedded on it. It was no larger than 3cm square.

Eastern gently took it from Selkirk and showed it to Nick. "They know you Nick. They know you're sentimental. Use your Pad to take a picture of the photo. Do it to any other ones you'd want to keep, but the originals have to stay. Like I said, this whole place is compromised. In fact-" Eastern looked at the clothes in his hand. "-put those down, we're going to buy you new threads" She looked around. "Everything here is burned. We can't take it, we shouldn't even touch it."

With a sigh, Nick tossed the clothes back on the floor and took out his pad. He went around the apartment and took a few quick pictures of his photos and mementos. After no time at all he was back in the kitchen. "Okay, I'm done." He turned back to the apartment and looked one more time. "Let's go."

When they came back outside Nick looked at Eastern and Selkirk "So, uh, what do I do about the trashed apartment?"

Selkirk waved a hand dismissively. "We'll call a cleanout service. They're around for when people die or fuck off without getting rid of their stuff. Were you on a lease or month to month?"

"Lease ran out 6 months ago, I was month to month."

Eastern nods. "Good. We just won't pay next month and you'll be free and clear."

Nick looked between the women. It was all too easy to erase any signs of his life. "But, how are we going to pay for it?"

Selkirk grinned. "Our lovely, scary, benefactor is going to pay for it. Jameson gave us a modest expense account. All the better, his people probably know cleaners who are... discrete."

Eastern looked out towards nothing as they walked. "And if Jameson was the one that did it?"

Selkirk flicked her tail. "Then he'll know why we're hiring the cleaners. They didn't get what they were after - I assume - so we should lay low and keep a look out." She sighed. "Our places are probably next - if they haven't been hit already. Come on, I want to go to my place and pack up some stuff before it gets trashed."

The three of them continued on into the morning towards the Metro station.

Figuring time was of the essence, they took the Metro to Selkirk's place. She lived in a K'laxi neighborhood just outside of Tulip square on the top floor of a 10 story apartment building. When they go to her door, Selkirk motioned for silence and her ears flicked. After a moment she slowly put her hand on the pad next to the door. With a chirrup and a click, the door unlocked.

Her apartment was neat and tidy and seemingly untouched. Being careful, they walked around looking, not touching anything. After making sure nobody was inside with them Selkirk looked at Nick and Eastern. "Can you two do something with your fancy new tech and see if there's anything off about my place?"

"Um, maybe?" Eastern thought a moment, and her eyes flashed blue as she accessed her implants. After a moment she said "I don't see any entries logged since you left yesterday Sel, but that doesn't mean they didn't come in any other ways. Nick, see what you can find."

Nick had spent time time reading over the tipsheets that Jameson's people had left him. He leaned his awareness back and accessed the implants. How do search? Hmm. Eastern checked out the door records, what about the windows? Looking, he saw that her security system had window sensors. The logs show no unauthorized access, but at 20:00 last night, they recorded an open and a close in her bedroom. Selkirk was at Eastern's place then.

"Looks like your bedroom window recorded an open and a close around 20 last night Sel. It wasn't marked as unauthorized though.

Selkirk's tair flicked irritatedly. "Looks like the goons that searched my place were less rowdy than the ones that ransacked yours Nick. Still, I think I have to assume my place is out of commission too. Come on."

Selkirk turned on her heel and walked out the door. Shrugging Eastern and Nick followed her.

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