#shield generator array

[sw5w]

Obi-Wan Lands at Tipoca City

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:41:20 - 00:41:27

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[astrstqr]

MAGIC 2͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏─── ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏禅 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏[ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ FANTASY DR ͏ ͏͏ ͏]

yoncé speaks: for the lovely anon who asked for more spells

SPELLS ! ✩

✶ Reality Warp: Alter the battlefield to your advantage by manipulating the environment. Create or destroy terrain, summon barriers, or change the properties of the area to hinder enemies and aid allies.

✶ Genesis Wave: A powerful creation spell that can generate new structures, landscapes, or even life forms. Use it to build fortifications, create allies, or reshape the battlefield to your liking.

✶ Eden's Garden: Create a lush, vibrant garden that heals allies, entangles enemies, and produces magical fruits that grant temporary power boosts.

✶ Quantum Shift: Alter the properties of objects and terrain, turning solid ground into liquid, walls into doorways, and weapons into harmless objects.

✶ Arcane Arsenal: Conjures an array of magical weapons that float around the caster, ready to strike at nearby enemies. The weapons can be of various types, dealing different kinds of damage.

✶ Prismatic Elemental Storm: Combine all elemental magics into a devastating storm of fire, water, earth, air, and lightning. This spell can target multiple enemies, creating chaos on the battlefield.

✶ Aurora Veil: A defensive spell that creates a shimmering barrier of light and ice around allies, reflecting and absorbing incoming attacks while slowly healing those within its radius.

✶ Elemental Confluence: Combines the power of the four classical elements—earth, air, fire, and water—into a devastating attack that deals massive damage and affects a large area.

✶ Verdant Surge: Causes a rapid growth of plants and vines in the area, which can entangle enemies, create cover, or provide a boost to nature-based magic.

✶ Glacial Prison: Encases a target in a block of ice, immobilizing them and dealing cold damage over time. Can also be used defensively to shield allies.

✶ Volcanic Eruption: Causes a violent burst of magma to erupt from the ground, dealing fire and earth damage over a wide area and creating hazardous terrain.

✶ Abyssal Tsunami: Control the ocean to create a massive wave imbued with dark energy, capable of engulfing and draining the life force of enemies.

✶ Thunderstorm Armament: Envelop yourself in a storm of lightning, increasing your speed and reflexes while discharging electricity with each attack.

✶ Gale Force Prison: Trap enemies in a swirling vortex of wind that immobilizes them and slices through their defenses with razor-sharp gusts.

✶ Frostbite Field: Create a vast area of extreme cold that freezes everything in its path, slowing down enemies and making the terrain hazardous.

✶ Quicksand Trap: Manipulate the earth to form quicksand beneath your enemies, pulling them down and immobilizing them.

✶ Meteor Shower: Call down a barrage of meteors from the sky, causing widespread devastation and igniting the battlefield.

✶ Fireball Volley: Launch a rapid series of fireballs at multiple targets, causing explosive damage.

✶ Ice Spear: Create a sharp spear of ice that can pierce through armor and freeze the target on impact.

✶ Lightning Bolt: Summon a concentrated bolt of lightning that strikes with pinpoint accuracy, stunning and electrocuting the target.

✶ Rock Barrier: Erect a sturdy wall of rock that provides cover and can be used to block enemy attacks.

✶ Water Whip: Control a stream of water to lash out at enemies, binding and restraining them with powerful currents.

✶ Wind Blade: Form a blade of compressed air that slices through enemies with the speed and sharpness of a razor.

✶ Flame Cloak: Envelop yourself in a cloak of fire, enhancing your physical attacks and burning anyone who comes into contact with you.

✶ Tidal Wave: Summon a large wave of water to sweep away enemies and create a barrier or path.

✶ Earthquake: Shake the ground violently, causing enemies to lose balance and fall while creating fissures that can trap or hinder movement.

✶ Blizzard: Create a powerful snowstorm that reduces visibility, slows down enemies, and inflicts frost damage over time.

✶ Thunder Clap: Generate a deafening shockwave of sound and lightning that stuns and disorients enemies.

✶ Magma Burst: Cause molten rock to erupt from the ground, creating hazardous terrain and dealing continuous fire damage.

yoncé speaks: hope you like :D

[the-jordas-trials]

teehee. More earthmovers. Reference time aswell YIPPEE!!! This is by all means not all of my stupid war horses, theres like so many more still in the back of my brain who i gotta design, that atop doing designs for each ones final moments/ Whalefall just vibing on the surface.

more info about each under the cut (poke me about any of these guys i WILL ramble more bout them)

Benjamin: here just for a height reference. Standard Civilian class earthmover. Just a littol man (bonus points if you manage to find V1 hidden on his ref. Carefull. V1 is like five pixels tall but it IS there)

Pyroclastic: Supreme Escalation Class. Ruthless and violent, known to stop at nothing untill his targets have been eliminated. Pyro's name sake was drawn due to his size causing extensive overheat, as a result, vents were built and installed post creation, allowing him to turn the tide of most fights by dumping superheated steam/blood and vapour directly onto the field, often melting or overheating rivals. Pyro is considered a 'failed' EM, having he failed the second 'hurdle' of an earthmover's coming of age. Winning a fight against the last made, Whalefall. Disgraced, he was often chased away from his kills and only gained respect after wiping out several Supreme class herds, earning the nickname Burning Devil. Starshine: early Greater Escalation class. SS is old for an earthmover, but by far not the eldest, old enough before the design was fully nailed down. She supports a prototype canon, opposed to the usual javelin, she was designed to get up close and personal before overloading a rivals shield with a canon shot, allowing a fellow herd member to later take them down. SS pingponged between herds, and was later wounded and found by Whalefall. She's rather squeamish, shockingly kind and was known to go without refueling and resting form months on end. Both she and Whalefall survived the long night and new peace, untill the machine uprising, where Pyroclastic cut her down. Whalefall: Supreme Scavenger/Civilian class later repurposed for escalation. Whalefall is an oddity, having being a dual class earthmover, and was later upgraded before the long night set in. She's deceptively fast, known to sprint down her rivals and body slam them. She's also one of the few earthmovers known to weaponize an old targeting glitch, rearing up onto her hind legs and using the sun as cover, forcing her foe's to loose agro and lo longer class her as a 'threat' due to the sudden lack of javelin. Whalefall is also one of the few earthmovers post Hell Invasion that're still alive and is somewhat able to move, she now rests overgrown awaiting for her last maintenance machine to return from its hell dive.

Cyclone: Lesser plateau class. Cyclone is apart of the last round of earthmover's before the refineries and factories were razed to the ground. Apart of the 'colt/filly' round, small due to the lack of resources to make a herd of full sized earthmovers. Typical for his herd, Cyclone sports massive electric generators along his flanks, allowing him to electrify rivals. His herd splintered early on, joining up with existing herds, he found himself in the care of Whalefall fairly early on. Perished during the long night after tripping and unable to follow Whalefall and Starshine. Divergent: Standard civilian class. She's nothing to write home about. Born, killed, earned respect, then left alone. She's bog standard. Often living a peaceful life protected by her two sisters. Converse often with other herds, including Whalefalls, her large antenna array allowing her to do so. She's a known peace keeper, and was able to talk sever herds out of fighting multiple times. Convergent: Greater escalation class. By far one of the most hyperactive earthmovers. Known sprinter, known escalator. She was violent and hot headed, often shot first, hailed for peace second. Horridly protective over her sisters. She was wounded early on in her life, having taken an unlucky hit to her neck and surviving by the skin of her teeth. As a result she cant look down nor does she have full range of movement within her neck. Transform: Supreme civilian class. Form had by far the largest population atop her back, and as a result could hardly move faster than a shamble. Before the long night set in, she had been gravely wounded on her hind right leg, resulting in an extensive limp. Despite that Form is one of the few Civilian class movers that're willing to fight, and fight often. References still to draw are: Tsunami, Geyser, Eruption, Habitat, Freeze, Solarflair, Pompey, Hurricane, Typhoon and Tropical. yeah... theres alot of these fuckers lmao.

[vshiftsss]

SOLANA’S MOODBOARD AND ABILITIES - (CAMP HALF BLOOD DR)

𝓢olana’s 𝓐bilities…

APOLLO

health regeneration: self-explanatory. i can both heal myself and heal others, though i have a faster rate of healing since the internal regeneration is innate. this, along with all my abilities in this section, are strengthened while the sun is shining down on me.

pain transfer: along with healing, i can transfer wounds to my own body or to someone else. this is used offensively — i transfer my wounds or my allies’ wounds to the enemies who inflicted them.

photokinesis: the ability to create and manipulate light. i can use this for an array of things, such as lighting up dark areas and blinding enemies. i can also create weapons out of pure light, or any object i would need in the moment. the item i create will be hot to the touch and will weigh the same as the item would normally.

solar energy transfer: i can use the energy from the sun and convert it into energy for myself. the solar energy can be converted into strength, speed, stamina, defense, or additional power for any attacks i would execute with the abilities i inherited from apollo.

master of melody: i have a perfect pitch, and i can automatically hear and play the tune of something just from reading a note sheet. playing instruments comes easily to me, even if i haven’t seen it before.

natural archer: i have an innate talent for archery and anything that requires aim.

prophecies: i can decipher prophecies naturally. this is how i knew immediately that i would be working with malakai on the next quest.

way with words: i’m a walking thesaurus. the perfect words come to mind when i need to use them, and i can create the most beautiful metaphors to put into my songs or my writing.

SOTERIA

danger sense: i have a sixth sense for danger. five seconds before anything dangerous happens to me or a loved one, there’s a hot flash behind my eyes. not necessarily painful, but definitely noticeable.

telekinesis: i can control any items with my mind to create a shield or a protective cover. i can control all safety equipment with my mind and i can sense all sharp/potentially dangerous objects through walls.

impromptu protector: if there are any animals or humans nearby, i can convince them to protect me or an ally from what i deem evil. it is up to the individual what they do to protect. they could attack, distract, or hide us.

shield generation: i can create force fields around myself and my allies. people inside/behind the force field cannot hear whatever is outside it, and vice versa. the bigger the shield is, the more energy it takes up. everything something hits the force field, more energy is consumed.

MORPHEUS

reflection of the gods: as i stated in my introduction post, this ability allows me to channel any god or goddess and “reflect” them, therefore giving me some of their powers and natural skills. sometimes i think of a specific deity, and other times the best deity for the situation reflects automatically.

dream travel and communication: while i am sleeping, i can travel into other people’s dreams and watch them, although this is an extreme invasion of privacy and only used when necessary. i can also send people messages through their dreams, in case i need to warn them of something.

minor hypnokinesis: if i want to see someone’s dreams or make them dream something specific, i can send them to sleep for a short period of time so they can experience the dream.

note: i got some of these ideas from a camp half blood roleplay server’s document on different ideas for characters! i’m not sure who exactly wrote it but creds to them!

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

tags… @avelineshifts @julianasversee @visualcve @miaojune

[scoonsalicious]

9.3 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, violence toward inanimate objects, real talk.

Word Count: 2.2k

Previously On...: You're Bucky's guide on his first trip to a rage room.

A/N: Early today. Ugh, my professional life is trash atm, lol. Please enjoy this foray into fantasyland that keeps me sane.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so much. Or, rather, he supposed, he couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed himself so much when it didn’t involve having sex with Major.

There was something so absolutely freeing about being allowed to smash shit to smithereens without having to worry about the repercussions of it, and Bucky was feeling liberated. He had to wonder if there wasn’t a secret part of Bruce that actually enjoyed it when “Hulk smash!” 

Once they’d donned their safety gear, Major had let them into the room, where a pounding rock track was blasting. The space was filled with… stuff. Everything from old televisions to china to fake walls.

Along the wall by the door they’d just entered was an array of tools under a painted sign that read “Choose Your Weapon.” There were baseball bats, sledgehammers, crowbars, axes– even a couple of golf club drivers. 

Nat had immediately gone for one of the axes, swinging it around and testing the balance in her grip. “This one’s mine,” she had announced delightedly. 

Bucky, meanwhile, opted for a sledgehammer, and Major picked up a wooden baseball bat. On her count, they set off to release any pent up rage.

Bucky immediately headed for one of the fake walls and began smashing away. The three shouted jokes and taunts at each other over the music as they went, and the hour that made up their appointment flew by in no time. 

Bucky watched as Major went to town on an old computer monitor, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. He couldn’t imagine how Lily could ever have a problem with him dating her, not when he watched her laugh and tease Nat over something the redhead had said. He gripped his sledgehammer tighter, anger at his best friend rising in his mind. 

She didn’t even know Major, he thought as he brought the hammer down onto a ceramic bust, shattering it. Where did she get off calling Major a bitch and a slut? He moved over to an old couch and began whacking on it. What gave Lily the right to say those things about someone she didn’t even know, just because he had feelings for her? Who did she think she was?

“Bucky!” Nat called out, but he didn’t hear her, his anger at Lily sending the blood pounding in his ears. He kept raising his sledgehammer over and over again, taking out his frustrations on the helpless piece of furniture.

“BARNES!” Natasaha shouted, and that permeated the fog,finally getting his attention.

“What?!” he snapped, unable to reign in his anger immediately, but instantly regretting it when he realized it was Nat who was speaking to him, and not Lily, like he had immediately imagined. 

“That couch do something to personally offend you?” she asked.

Bucky looked down. The couch before him was reduced to nothing more than splinters and stuffing. “Shit,” he laughed nervously. “I guess I let myself get a little carried away.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll say.”

Bucky sheepishly turned to Major, offering her an apologetic smile, but she was staring at the pile of debris before him, baseball bat hanging limply from her hand.

“Sugar?” he asked, but she didn’t seem to hear him, transfixed as she was on the destruction he had left in his wake. He took a step toward her, reaching out and putting his hand on her arm. At the contact, Major let out a gasp and pulled back, startled. 

“Sorry.” She blinked, seeming to come out of a trance. “I just… what did you say, Bucky?” 

He frowned, not liking the expression on her face. “You alright, doll?”

“Yeah,” she told him, a smile coming to her lips a little too late. “I’m good.” Her hesitation left a pit in the center of Bucky’s stomach. 

A beeping sounded throughout the room, indicating that their session had come to an end. 

“Alright,” Major said, looking around, her tone full of false cheer. “Let’s put our stuff back on the wall, and vacate the space so my staff can get it ready for the next group.” Without looking at either Bucky or Nat, she returned her baseball bat to its resting place on the wall. She opened the door and held it, waiting for them to follow.

Nat hung up her axe. “I’m going to run to the bathroom before we head down,” she told them both. She squeezed Major’s arm on her way out the door, leaving her and Bucky alone.

“Is everything alright, doll?” he asked her. 

She sighed and looked up at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I just didn’t realize how… strong you really were?” She inclined her head toward the demolished couch. “That… um… that was something.”

Her words concerned him. God, had he frightened her? He didn’t think he could live with himself if he had scared her. He dropped his head. “Oh,” was all he could manage to say.

“Hey,” Major said gently, taking a step toward him and reaching out a hand to touch his elbow. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I mean, I knew you had super strength, but actually seeing it was something else.”

“It didn’t scare you?” he asked her with some trepidation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to really know, if he could stand the way she might look at him if she, too, thought him a monster.

“Scare me?” Major laughed, but when she noticed the expression on his face, she grew serious. “You seriously think you scare me? Bucky, no.” She made a point of taking his metal hand in both of hers, bringing it to her lips, and then up to cup her cheek. “You could never scare me.”

Bucky closed his eyes and released a breath. “I’m used to people seeing me as a murderer, a monster,” he told her. “I’ve gotten to the point where it doesn’t bother me if it comes from strangers, but if it came from you…” He left his thoughts hanging, the words unsaid. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” she told him, putting a hand on each of his cheeks. “I see you, Bucky Barnes. Not some monster. I never could. Don’t ever think that. I admit, I was startled, but that’s all, I promise.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about anything, and most definitely not about that.”

“Thank you, doll.” Her words to him were a balm on a wound he thought he’d long healed, but apparently was capable of being reopened at any moment. 

“Of course, honey,” she replied, tucking her arm under his and ushering him out the door and into the hallway where Nat was waiting by the elevators. 

Bucky loved the feeling of Major pressed against him as they rode the elevator back down to the lobby, and though she told him he hadn’t scared her, he couldn’t shake the look she’d had on her face at his display of aggression. He never wanted to see a look like that cross her countenance again. 

The lobby was bustling with people waiting to be taken to their rage rooms when the three of them exited the elevator.

“I’m glad business is doing good,” Nat said, looking around the crowded lobby with a smile. “You deserve the success, Major.”

Major buried her face into Bucky’s shoulder, pleased. “Thanks, Nat,” she replied. “It still seems weird to think that we’re not operating in the red.”

“Was it difficult?” Bucky asked her, suddenly curious about what it had been like for Major at the beginning of her business. 

“Ugh, that’s a story for another time,” Major said. “When I’ve had a few drinks in me.”

“Hey, Major!” Zadie called once she had gotten the new group of people all checked in. “Package came for you while you were upstairs. I left it on your desk.”

Major let out a dejected sigh. “Well,” she said, turning to look up at Bucky with a forlorn expression, “I guess this means I have to get back to work. We’re still on for dinner tonight, though, right Bucky?”

He smiled down at her; as if he could have forgotten. “Of course, sugar. How ‘bout I meet you back here at five thirty, and we can figure out where to go?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, standing up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss while Nat looked on with a knowing smile. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, doll,” he replied. With a final farewell to Nat, Major turned and made her way back to her office, leaving him and the former assassin to make their exit.

“Don’t you dare hurt her,” Nat warned as they made their way into the lobby. 

Bucky turned to face her, halting in his steps. “What?” he spluttered. “Nat, I–I would never–”

“I know you don’t think you’d do it on purpose,” Natasha replied, “but your former girlfriends have a habit of getting their hearts broken and ending up miserable because of you. I’m telling you not to do that with Major. She’s a good person, and my friend. If you think that, once again, you’re going to let someone else call the shots on your relationship with her, you should let her go now, before she gets in too deep. She’s been hurt enough.”

“Nat,” he said, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sincerely didn’t. Who else would be calling the shots on any of his relationships if it wasn’t him? Yeah, it was true that his past relationships had ended messily, that the girls had been hurt, but… well, that wasn’t entirely Bucky’s fault, was it? Things just hadn’t worked out, for one reason or another. 

But with Major? Well, things were different with her. Bucky could feel it.

Nat gave him an appraising look, studying him as if she could read his mind through his facial expressions. “You really don’t, do you?” she mused. “It’s not my place to tell you her business, but Barnes–” she gave him a serious look– “if you let her get hurt because you can’t figure out where to draw a boundary, you and I are going to have a problem."

She gently pulled free of his grasp and made her way to the door of the building. Bucky paused for a moment, contemplating all that she had said, and wondering just what she had meant by any of it. Though, knowing Natasha, if she didn’t feel the need to explain it to him, there was no way he could get her to elaborate. 

As he was about to follow her out the door, he heard Major shouting for Zadie’s attention. He turned around and saw her angrily waving a thick manilla envelope in the air as she stalked toward the reception desk.

“Where did this come from, Zadie?” she asked in a tone Bucky had never heard her use before.

“Courier dropped it off, why?” Zadie asked. “What is it? Who’s it from?” 

“What company was the courier from?” Major continued, ignoring Zadie’s own questions. “Did they have a logo or anything like that?”

“Doll?” Bucky said as he stepped back toward the reception desk, concerned by the previously unseen agitation Major was displaying.

“Bucky!” Major exclaimed, as though surprised to still see him there. “I thought you left already.” She plastered on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and Bucky knew it was performative for his sake.

Bucky frowned. “What’s wrong, sugar? What’s in the envelope?”

Major’s eyes widened a fraction in alarm as she maneuvered to position the envelope behind her back. “It’s nothing, honey. Just… some business stuff. There’s no sender, so I need to figure out where it came from so I can make sure it gets dealt with properly.”

Bucky knew her explanation was bullshit, but he didn’t feel comfortable questioning her in front of her employee, so he let it slide. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No!” she exclaimed, a little too quickly, and then seemed to realize she’d nearly shouted at him. “No,” her voice was softer now, calmer, “but thank you. I appreciate that you want to help, though. That means a lot to me.”

Those words rang true; Bucky could tell that much. He sighed and took a step closer to give her a quick parting kiss. “If you’re sure, doll,” he said. 

“I’m sure,” she told him, then leaned in to whisper in his ear: “and if we were still having sex, I’d show you how appreciative I am.” She pulled back and grinned up at him.

“Gonna make me really regret that decision, huh?” he asked. He knew she was changing the subject, putting distance between them and the mysterious envelope, but he was willing to let it go for the time being. 

“Oh, most definitely,” she teased him. “At least until you change your mind.”

Bucky smiled at her. If she kept it up, he’d be changing his mind sooner than later. “Alright, I better get going before Nat comes looking for me,” he said, taking a step back from her. “I’ll see you at five thirty, yeah?”

“Don’t be late,” Major called after him. As if he would ever be late for her.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[saphronethaleph]

Pushmi Pullyu

“Allegiant General,” one of the bridge officers reported. “We’re detecting a small force of capital ships entering the area, through the safe corridor… they’re deploying now.”

“Small?” Pryde asked. “Small by what comparison? This fleet is one thousand and eighty strong, I think anything is small by that measure. Give me numbers!”

“Twenty-four capital ships,” the bridge officer replied. “They’re… the warbook is showing them as Starhawk class.”

“Starhawks,” Pryde muttered. “Thirty years out of date. Do they have any escorts?”

“Fighters only,” the bridge officer replied – Pryde couldn’t remember his name, and frankly he didn’t much care. “They’re maintaining a close formation and altitude, our primary guns can’t target them.”

Pryde smirked. “Then we’ll show them how much we don’t need our primary guns,” he said. “Ready the turbolasers!”

“We’re outside normal effective range, Sir,” his flag captain warned. “It’ll take time to batter down their shields, but we can do it.”

“Then advance to range, of course,” Pryde said. “Don’t let them get away, Captain.

“I’m reading a power surge, sir,” the bridge officer – Trach, that was his name – reported. “It looks like they’re firing up their main batteries?”

The whole of the Steadfast lurched, and Pryde staggered. The initial turbolaser volley missed entirely, none of the targeting systems ready for when the ship suddenly jolted by fifteen degrees.

Then there was an almighty crunch, and Pryde stared out the window.

Because the front of his ship had just been torn off.

“What just happened?” he demanded.

“It… it’s their tractor beams,” Trach said, and Pryde turned his attention left and right. Other Final Order ships were being torn to pieces, ripped apart or crumpled by the intense power of the tractor beam arrays being used by the Starhawks, and Pryde tried to focus.

Tried to think.

How was this happening? The New Republic couldn’t be this-

Then he watched as the front of his ship was launched by three Starhawk tractor beams right through the Sutta, causing a massive secondary explosion which gutted the Star Destroyer entirely, and something about that sight – besides the incredible contempt that it was displaying – made him realize something.

The Starhawks were operating in groups. Squadrons.

The Xyston-class had been equipped with upgraded shields, he knew that much… but, now that he thought about it, the original Starhawk’s one battle with an operational tractor array had seen it throwing around a Star Destroyer without significant difficulty and from outside conventional turbolaser range… through its shields.

And, yes, the Final Order’s battleships had had their shields upgraded so that a Starhawk couldn’t do that, but they hadn’t been upgraded to be literally three times too dense to let a Starhawk do that.

It was… humiliating. Intolerable. Decades of Imperial engineering and toil had been entirely circumvented by the simple expedient of the New Republic using more than one ship on the same Imperial ship.

There was another huge secondary explosion, this time on the Yarmosa, and Pryde’s eyes snapped to the main tac plot.

The Starhawks were using the forward part of his line as ammunition. Tearing off chunks of Xyston-class Star Destroyers, and his own Resurgent-class,and then flinging them right through other Imperial ships… aiming, by the looks of it, for the axial superlasers.

“All ships, full speed,” he said. “All ships that can still move, full speed! We need to close the distance, there’s not that many of them!”

The Steadfast jolted again, and someone shouted in fear from the engineering station.

“Quiet!” he shouted. “You are an officer of-”

“Reactor shutdown!” the engineer said, and Pryce paled.

Because the repulsorlift systems were powering down. He could feel it, feel the odd floating sensation of free fall – and knew what would happen at the far end.

Which would take, based on their altitude, about fifteen seconds.

“Commander, that one’s starting to rotate,” Syndulla said, tapping one of the Star Destroyers on her display board, and a few seconds later the Yavin, Galaan and Noctu shifted the focus of their beams. The indicated Star Destroyer shivered, surrounded by shield scatter as it tried and failed to hold off the assault, then all three Starhawks shoved in a synchronized manoeuvre and forced the targeted Star Destroyer back to crash into one of its fellows.

“Echelon four, shifting targets,” the force commander reported. “That one on the right suffered shield failure.”

“They’re getting lined up,” Syndulla noted. “There – Echelon two, Echelon three, push one into that knot of capital ships there, you should do significant extra damage.”

All six ships followed her commands, and Syndulla shook her head.

“For some reason, the Empire always assumes that everyone’s terrified of them,” she said. “You’d think they’d have learned otherwise… did they think the Starhawks evaporated?”

“I think they’re technically not Imperials any more,” Ezra pointed out.

Hera snorted.

“Yeah, but they’ll always be the same to me,” she said. “Echelon five, retask – that one looks like a command ship…”

Entirely separately to all that, of course, there was a rather wonderful irony in using a ship built around a single very powerful central weapon to defeat the Final Order.

The Empire had spent decades and untold billions of credits trying to make a superweapon starship work. And the New Republic had done it in months.

It was enough to make a girl feel proud.

[inkspiredwriting]

Halloween Shenanigans with the Hargreeves Family

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: The idea of ​​five and his children on Halloween is just too cute

Warnings: none

It was a crisp, autumn evening, and the Hargreeves household was abuzz with excitement. Halloween was upon them, and Y/n Hargreeves was in the living room putting the finishing touches on her children’s costumes. Maddie, their six-year-old daughter, twirled around in her sparkly princess dress, while Milo, their two-year-old son, waddled around adorably in his pumpkin costume.

Y/n, dressed in a sleek black cat costume complete with ears and a tail, looked up as Five walked into the room. He wore his usual stern expression, but Y/n could see the glint of amusement in his eyes as he took in the scene.

“Five, we’re almost ready! Are you sure you don’t want to join us for trick-or-treating?” Y/n asked, giving him a playful pout.

Five crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Do I really need to dress up to walk around the neighborhood?”

Y/n sidled up to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Oh, come on, Five. It’ll be fun! Besides, the kids would love it.”

Maddie ran over, her eyes wide with excitement. “Daddy, please come with us! It’s going to be so much fun!”

Milo toddled after her, looking up at Five with big, pleading eyes. “Pwease, Daddy!”

Five sighed, feeling his resolve crumble under the combined assault of his wife’s charm and his children’s adorableness. “Alright, alright. But I’m not dressing up.”

Y/n leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “Maybe we should keep your costume for later.”

Five felt a blush creep up his neck and quickly cleared his throat. “Let’s get going before I change my mind.”

The family set out into the neighborhood, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and the rustle of leaves. Maddie led the way, her princess dress sparkling under the streetlights, while Milo toddled along, occasionally stopping to investigate a particularly interesting leaf or stick.

Y/n held Milo’s hand, keeping a watchful eye on him as he waddled from house to house. Five walked beside Maddie, who excitedly approached each door and shouted, “Trick or treat!” with all the enthusiasm of a six-year-old on Halloween.

At one house, an elderly woman handed Maddie a large candy bar and patted Milo on the head. “What a beautiful princess and such an adorable little pumpkin!”

Y/n smiled and thanked the woman, while Five tried to hide his amusement. “This is quite the haul,” he remarked as Maddie’s candy bag grew heavier with each stop.

As they continued down the street, they came across a group of teenagers dressed as zombies. They groaned and staggered toward the Hargreeves family, but Maddie wasn’t fazed. “I’m a princess! You can’t scare me!” she declared, holding up her candy bag like a shield.

The teenagers laughed and moved on, leaving Five and Y/n shaking their heads. “She’s fearless,” Five said, a note of pride in his voice.

Y/n nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Just like her dad.”

They made their way to the final house on the block, which was decorated with an impressive array of spooky decorations. Skeletons, ghosts, and cobwebs adorned the front yard, and eerie music played from hidden speakers. Maddie approached the door with her usual enthusiasm, but Milo hung back, clutching Y/n’s leg.

Y/n bent down to his level. “It’s okay, Milo. They’re just decorations. Nothing to be scared of.”

Five knelt beside him, gently ruffling his hair. “Come on, buddy. I’ll go with you.”

With Five by his side, Milo summoned his courage and toddled up to the door. Maddie rang the doorbell, and the door creaked open to reveal a man in a vampire costume. “Well, what do we have here? A princess and a pumpkin! Happy Halloween!”

Maddie and Milo both received generous handfuls of candy, and they thanked the man before heading back to the sidewalk. As they walked home, Maddie skipped along, recounting her favorite moments of the night, while Milo clung to Y/n, looking sleepy.

When they finally arrived home, Y/n set about sorting through the candy with the kids, while Five made them all hot chocolate. Maddie and Milo soon drifted off to sleep, exhausted from their Halloween adventure.

Y/n and Five sat on the couch, enjoying their hot chocolate and the peace and quiet. “Thanks for coming with us, Five,” Y/n said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It meant a lot to the kids. And to me.”

Five wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Y/n smiled, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “So, about that costume…”

Five chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. “Happy Halloween, Y/n.”

“Happy Halloween, Five.”

[artbyblastweave]

Your recent posts made me remember that realistically, SHIELD would be the single most bulletproof office in US history. No one wants to entrust the superhumans and demigods running around the world to the regular degular CIA or FBI. Whenever there’s a fuckup (doesn’t matter how big) they’d simply reorganize the executive level of operations and give them more money year round so it doesn’t happen again.

Which is very funny because SHIELD is always getting decommissioned in canon.

I often feel as though SHIELD is used as the site where authors can launder criticisms that they'd otherwise be making directly about real 3-letter agencies- in the same way that Roxxon is the mirror version of Exxon that gets to touch and be touched by the capeshit, SHIELD is that for the CIA despite also frequently coexisting with them within the fiction, in a way that makes it difficult to assess how they'd behave as separate taken-at-face-value entities in the way you're doing here.

I'm currently reading Nick Fury Vs. SHIELD from 1988, one of several times I can think of where they've had Nick Fury go "oh my god SHIELD is nothing but the enforcement arm of a deeply unjust global status quo my life is a lie etc. etc.," It's generally fun and has some interesting worldbuilding ideas (standout so far being the idea that SHEILD's got a needs-of-the-many-fueled blacksite of low-rent psychics hooked up into a minority report array constantly scanning their entire staff for paranormal compromise, the intensity of which causes the participants to burn out and die within a year.) But there's a really funny beat where a CIA agent shows up and goes "Hey, what exactly have you clowns been up to lately? People are looking into getting your funding pulled," and I'm like. Alright, Mr. reasonable-authority-figure CIA guy we're clearly supposed to sympathize with. What's the blank-check line-item look like this year for replacing mutant skeletons in pursuit of a super soldier. How many hunter killer robots do you have infesting American airspace at this exact moment in time.

[greenapplespider]

(wip) To high powered mages, from Blood in Moderation, magic sounds like music. Which gives me a good reason to practice dynamic poses. This character is called Jeffery, he’s a bit of a savant when it comes to casting. The magic system in BiM I suppose is technically a low magic one.

—

The majority of magics are elemental in expression and generally adhere to the known laws of physics. All living beings have some amount of magic, as it is life, energy, blood- but only a small subset of humans possess the talent to wield it.

With most mages being inclined to certain expressions of magic over others, be it wielding fire, ice, or what have you. On the rarer side of things talents such as accelerating the bodies natural healing processes, reversing injuries, and even rearranging one’s magic to create quasi physical objects (such as energy shields or projectiles) exist.

Mages can pool their magic with one another to cast more powerful spells. With historical reports telling of Abufan savages using such techniques during the final Vanberg civil war to summon hurricanes.

It was rumored the Puppet King Jeffery had the ability to command storms himself, fully embodying the power of lightning and ether; that he could teleport at will without array or other casters. This is largely contested though.

On the darker side of things, exists alchemy; arrays drawn in blood which can help even the weakest mage cast feats well beyond them as well as certain other restricted practices, mostly lost to time.

[sw5w]

The Shields are Gone

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:26:15

[dragonshoard]

My head is STUCK on blue bird!Jinx AU with the new season coming out (if anyone remembers from WAY WAY back).

Summary for people who have no idea what tf I'm talking about: Basically, Powder dies via Silco the night Vander "dies". She's revived by Janna (wind spirit god who is a guardian deity of Zaun) and proceeds to spend x years getting up to international hijinks while playing politics. Powder/Jinx (she goes by both) remembers nothing of her past and is spirit blessed with the ability to turn into various forms of birds among other talents.

I had a picture of her a while back but I'm probably going to be changing her outfit and hair. I'm not fond of the top I gave her anymore. Also, she has so many tattoos. So many.

I've added to the AU since I last spoke about it:

Jinx is a magical conduit - not quite a mage, or a witch, but someone who is capable of using magic without generating it herself. She gets power from the Spirit Gods and Runeterra. It is also what is keeping her alive so if she's ever drained she will die :D

Her abilities/magic is very similar to Janna's in that, naturally, she has healing, shielding, and some control of wind. To do anything else the magic would have to go through specific runes, though it costs significantly more to do so (draining her faster). Her only other natural ability is her transformation, though certain transformations drain her more (big bird, for example)

Otherwise, she still loves her pistol and ALSO has a fondness for knives and never has less than ten on her person.

Jinx has a few titles, but her main one is "Storm Priestess". She is quite literally a religious leader and is treated as such. There are rules she has to follow, and if Janna tells her to jump - she will LEAP

Her hair is much more elaborate in this AU as it's used to enhance and add to the array of runes tattooed onto her skin. It's still in two braids (typically - specific circumstances may have her wearing more), though with threads of brightly colored yarns and engraved silver/copper/iron metal running through it. I'm going to playing around with the following concepts (don't look too deeply at the colors, just the patterns/styles/accessories):

Zaun and Piltover are bordered by Noxus and Shurima, so I'm going to go ahead and assume Piltover and Zaun's first generations were largely immigrants from Noxus and Shurima (and possibly Demacia). I'm assuming Shurima had the largest population as Zaun was once part of the Shuriman empire. However, as a note, Zaun and Piltover are largely mixing pot nations due to the nature of them being port cities with vast trade systems.

In this AU, Jinx and Vi's facial features are very region typical for specific parts of Shurima. Great-grandparents were immigrants to Zaun.

Jinx has political ties to three (I'm including the Undercity here) nations: Shurima, Zaun, and Piltover. Her religious leader position grants her relatively high status/respect and a voice in all three nations; however, her connections with Silco in Zaun and Caitlyn in Piltover also give her some additional legitimacy.

Shurima is currently heavily divided and largely in ruins. However, with the rise of Azir the empire is slowly rebuilding. They were once a very prosperous and rich culture, so its implied that there will be a resurgence of that golden era. Her involvement in a certain conflict will grant her status with the empire where most followers of spirit-gods wouldn't have. There will be conflict there, but as I understand it Azir is largely seen as a benevolent dictator. I'm not 100% sure what his perspective is on spirit-gods, but I'm going to assume he isn't the ungrateful sort.

In terms of relationships...

Jinx has a very close relationship with Caitlyn. They've known each other since Jinx was about 13 and have been friends since. Caitlyn has considered adding Jinx to the family registry for both political and personal reasons. Caitlyn is a bit more familiar with Zaun in this one, as she's spent a number of years exploring Zaun pre-independence and learning the culture. Also has more political savy.

Vi is in Stillwater for at least 2 more years than in canon.

As mentioned before Viktor and her are good friends in this one but she's gonna get nervous when he starts poking at the arcane in a very unsanctioned way (and I mean her as a person, not her as a priestess - the spirit gods and spirits are quiet about his actions for now).

I'm thinking about how to integrate parts of season 2 into this AU. There will be a period of time in which Jinx will be unable to return to Zaun due to conflict in parts of Shurima, so I'm thinking that this is when the conflict between Zaun and Piltover starts to boil over. I'm thinking a situation in which Piltover and Zaun sign a formal declaration of independence but problems begin to boil over due to foreign and domestic issues. Not 100% on whether or not Caitlyn's mom dies in this one, but there is a chance of it.

I'm also not sure how much I'm going to keep to the "magic leads to destruction" angle the show is starting to go towards. Pending! Right now Jinx is very pleased with the progress of hextech and chemtech so far in the shows. Some things are subject to change as Arcane season 2 progresses :D

[chilling-seavey]

I got a TWIG fic where paparazzi keeps on interrupting your and George's lives with wanting pictures of your family out and about.

Ooh, I love this idea so much, anon. And it's so realistic and fitting which is right up my alley, especially in this universe!

I mentioned before that in the TWIG universe, you and George had decided to raise your kids out of the public eye — they won't be on his social media feed, they would be taken into the paddock through the back ways to avoid the cameras, and things like that.

Generally, fans and professional media would respect this. If you're out for lunch or something as a family and a fan approaches for a picture with George, they would obviously see what your kids would look like but 99% of the time they would be respectful and not take pictures or anything of the sort.

But, as usual, paparazzi aren't always as respectful as that 99% of fans. This is their job, after all, no matter how questionable in its morals.

I can imagine it like you're all out at some farmers market one weekend off. Little boy in a little bucket hat and khaki shorts (so freaking adorable) and George 100% has baby girl strapped to his chest like an absolute dilf—

Your son would be obediently holding your hand as you navigate the stands, wanting to look at and touch everything he could. Lifting up on his little tip toes to see the colourful array of tomatoes or jars of homemade jellies. You'll constantly have to remind him "we touch with your eyes, not our hands" to keep him from knocking over everything that catches his eye. You're so focused on him and making sure the little guy is in line that you're unaware of anything else going on around you.

George, however, only having to pay attention to the quiet baby cuddled against his chest, is more aware of the bustling farmers market around you. He'd have one hand under baby girl's bum in the carrier just to feel an extra bit of support while his other hand drifts over the various stands of produce, picking up an apple or a squash to inspect it. In his own little world, he'd show each thing to the baby, telling her what it is as she reaches out a little hand to touch the produce item.

But after a bit, his wandering gaze keeps finding this one man in particular across the stalls of produce. It's that unmissable feeling of being watched that George has grown accustomed to over his career. Finally, as suspected, he sees the professional camera in this stranger's hand and without a second thought, George has his hand shielding his daughter's face from the shot.

Figuring it was just a one off, George would drift over to where you were still with your son, wanting to put a bit of distance between himself and the stranger. His suddenly slightly tense demeanor wouldn't go unnoticed by you and you'd give him a little look but he'd reassure you with a gentle hand to the small of your back. Your son would steal your attention away again as he calls your name and grabs a cucumber from the nearby stand and proceeds to almost make the whole abundance of cucumbers to toppling down.

The second time George notices the man with the camera, he's feeling a lot less patient.

"We have to go." he'd whisper to you calmly.

"Go? Already? We haven't picked up everything on the list yet." you protest softly, clinging onto your son's hand as he tries to run off.

"I know but," George sighs, absentmindedly soothingly patting your daughter's bum as she snuggled against his chest in the carrier, "there's a camera that's been following me for the last ten minutes. I can only hold my hand over the baby's eyes until she starts to get annoyed with me."

Your own parental concern skyrockets and you look around, "Where?"

"By the pottery." George answers quietly. "Green shirt."

You glance past him to look and when you spot the man with the camera, you look back to your husband with a frown, "It's not fair that we have to leave when we're not doing anything wrong."

"I know, love, I'm sorry." George would sigh, even if there was nothing he really needed to apologize for.

Before you knew it, the stranger was approaching you, camera in hand, like he was some long-lost friend. George bristled at his presence, trying to be polite while still somehow keeping a large hand over your daughter's face. Someone who took creepy pictures without permission from a distance could not be trusted. The baby let out a displeased cry at being shielded.

"Quite a cute family." the man complimented, turning to your son still holding your hand. "And whatta handsome little fella."

Your son gave him an unapologetic confused glare and stepped a little behind your leg. Shamelessly, the man raised his camera, the lens pointed towards the little boy.

Before wither you or George could intervene, your well-taught four-year-old held a hand up to the man and turned into your thigh with a matter-of-fact, "No pictures, thank you!"

George was right there, holding his own hand in front of the stranger's lens with a firm and unwavering, "Yeah, we're not going to take pictures of my children. I think you should go."

The man would offer some half-assed excuse in protest, claiming he can take pictures of whoever he wants in a public setting. But before any confrontation could occur, George and you would share a look that had you both walking back to the car without the rest of your things you had planned to buy.

His knuckles would nearly be white with how tight he was gripping the steering wheel on the journey home. It just wasn't always fair, the life that came with the career he had worked so hard for.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sam Levin at The Guardian:

Steven Hotze, a Republican donor from Texas, has spent decades fighting against LGBTQ+ rights, with campaigns seeking to roll back protections for people he has deemed “termites”, “morally degenerate” and “satanic”. The Houston-area physician is not well-known in mainstream politics, and his efforts targeting queer and trans people have generally been local, with limited impact. His latest cause could be different. Hotze, 74, has sued the federal government to roll back healthcare coverage for pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), the HIV prevention medication. The case is now before the US supreme court, which is expected to rule in the coming weeks. A decision in his favor could upend healthcare access for LGBTQ+ people across the country – and derail a wide array of preventive treatments for tens of millions in the process. “People will die,” said Kae Greenberg, staff attorney with the Center for HIV Law and Policy, which filed a brief in the case. “Preventive healthcare saves lives, and this case is about whose lives we consider worth protecting. It’s about cutting off people’s care based on them being gay or substance users or living their lives in a way the plaintiffs do not approve of. It’s using the law to legitimize bigotry.” The case, Kennedy v Braidwood, originated with Hotze’s Christian healthcare firm, Braidwood Management, which filed a lawsuit in 2020 objecting to the federal requirement that his company’s insurance plan cover PrEP. Braidwood, another Christian business and two individuals argued the daily PrEP medications “facilitate and encourage homosexual behavior”, saying the government violated their religious beliefs by making them support “sexual promiscuity”.

Braidwood challenged the requirement under the Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare, that insurers and group health plans cover preventive services, a provision that includes diabetes and cancer screenings, medications to reduce heart disease risks, contraception and vaccinations. Along with opposing PrEP, Hotze explicitly objected to STI screenings, counseling for alcohol use and childhood obesity interventions. A Texas district court sided with Braidwood, saying the US violated the firm’s religious freedom. The ruling also found that a taskforce of medical experts that recommended the preventive services covered by the ACA was unconstitutional because the experts hadn’t been confirmed by the Senate, and therefore health plans should not be required to cover the care.

The US government appealed the ruling on the taskforce, which is the issue now before the supreme court. The coverage mandates have remained in effect as the case has progressed, though the individual plaintiffs have been shielded from covering the services. The Trump administration has continued to defend the taskforce’s constitutionality, and the supreme court is not weighing religious objections. If the supreme court sides with Braidwood, it could lead to widespread loss of access to free preventive healthcare, with one study finding 39 million people received the threatened services. A 2023 Yale study estimated the loss of free PrEP could result in more than 2,000 preventable HIV infections within one year.

[...]

A decades-long mission

The high-stakes case, and Hotze’s role in it, have flown under the radar. But research from the progressive watchdog organization Accountable.US, which shared its findings with the Guardian, reveal the rightwing activist’s long history of pushing fringe ideologies before getting a signature cause before the supreme court. Hotze and his lawyers did not respond to requests for comment. In 1982, 31-year-old Hotze launched a petition in the city of Austin to legalize housing discrimination against gay people, the AP reported at the time. Heading a group called Austin Citizens for Decency, Hotze called gay residents “criminals” and “sodomites”, saying: “The issue is not housing. The issue is whether we allow our city council to grant public sanction to homosexual activity.” He said protecting LGBTQ+ people from discrimination is “like thieves or murderers trying to gain political power”. Hotze said in one interview he was less concerned about “property rights” and more worried about the “deviant, perverted lifestyle”. Voters overwhelmingly rejected his referendum. In 1985, Hotze backed a group of eight “anti-homosexual” Houston city council candidates identified as the “straight slate”. On ABC News, he stated, “We’re intolerant of those who participate in homosexual activity.” All eight candidates lost. Hotze runs the Hotze Health & Wellness Center, which has been in operation since 1989; Braidwood is his management firm that employs the center’s staff. He has marketed hormone therapies to treat a wide range of conditions and sold a vitamin product called Skinny Pak, the New York Times reported. Over the years, he has donated extensively to the Republican party and Texas politicians, including Senator Ted Cruz. Hotze’s public anti-LGBTQ+ activism picked up after the supreme court legalized gay marriage nationwide in 2015, with Hotze launching a “Faith Family Freedom Tour” and using the same homophobic language from his activism decades prior. Hotze said he was fighting a “wicked, evil movement” that celebrates anal sex, telling the Houston Chronicle: “Kids will be encouraged to practice sodomy in kindergarten.”

During the tour, he said “satanic cults” were behind gay rights, brandished a sword during a speech, and likened his fight to battling Nazis, the Texas Observer reported. That year, he and other rightwing activists successfully campaigned to repeal an equal rights Houston ordinance. At a 2016 evangelical conference, Hotze was filmed describing the LGBTQ+ rights movement as “termites [that] get into the wood of the house and … eat away at the moral fabric”. In 2017, Hotze rallied for Roy Moore, the failed Alabama senate candidate accused of sexually coercing teenagers in the 1970s. Hotze has also recently promoted anti-trans causes, testifying in 2023 in favor of a school district policy requiring staff to notify parents if students change their names or pronouns. Trans people, he said, “have a reprobate, perverted and morally degenerate mind”.

[...] In that case, and in the one now before the supreme court, Hotze has been represented by America First Legal, the rightwing legal group co-founded by Stephen Miller, Donald Trump’s influential adviser. The organization has brought a string of lawsuits, including efforts to undo trans rights and complaints accusing companies of discriminating against white men. Hotze has also been represented by Jonathan Mitchell, an anti-abortion lawyer behind Texas’s so-called “bounty hunter law” that allows private citizens to sue providers or people who “aid or abet” the procedure.

Houston-based right-wing anti-LGBTQ+ extremist Steven Hotze has been on the scene for decades waging a war on the LGBTQ+ community. Now, Hotze has set his sights on healthcare coverage for PrEP in Kennedy v. Braidwood Management.

[usafphantom2]

U.S. Approves Foreign Military Sale for South Korean F-15K Upgrade

The State Department has approved the possible sale of components that will allow South Korea to upgrade its F-15K Slam Eagle fleet to a configuration similar to the F-15EX Eagle II.

Stefano D'Urso

F-15K upgrade

The U.S. State Department has approved on Nov.19, 2024, a possible Foreign Military Sale (FMS) to the Republic of Korea of components that will allow the upgrade of the country’s F-15K Slam Eagle fleet. The package, which has an estimated cost of $6.2 billion, follows the decision in 2022 to launch an upgrade program for the aircraft.

The State Department has approved the possible sale of components that will allow South Korea to upgrade its F-15K Slam Eagle fleet to a configuration similar to the F-15EX Eagle II.The F-15KThe new capabilities

The Slam Eagles are the mainstay of the Republic of Korea Air Force’s (ROKAF) multirole missions, with a particular ‘heavy hitting’ long-range strike role. According to the available data, the country operates 59 F-15Ks out of 61 which were initially fielded in 2005. In 2022, the Defense Acquisition Program Administration (DAPA) approved the launch of an upgrade program planned to run from 2024 to 2034.

In particular, the Defense Security Cooperation Agency’s (DSCA) FMS notice says a number of components were requested for the upgrade, including 96 Advanced Display Core Processor II (ADCP II) mission system computers, 70 AN/APG-82(v)1 Active Electronically Scanned Arrays (AESA) radars, seventy 70 AN/ALQ-250 Eagle Passive Active Warning Survivability System (EPAWSS) electronic warfare (EW) suites and 70 AN/AAR-57 Common Missile Warning Systems (CMWS).

In addition to these, South Korea will also get modifications and maintenance support, aircraft components and spares, consumables, training aids and the entire support package commonly associated with FMS. It is interesting to note that the notice also includes aerial refueling support and aircraft ferry support, so it is possible that at least the initial aircraft will be ferried to the United States for the modifications before the rest are modified in country.

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle drops two GBU-31 JDAM bombs with BLU-109 warhead. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The components included in the possible sale will allow the ROKAF to upgrade its entire fleet of F-15Ks to a configuration similar to the new F-15EX Eagle II currently being delivered to the U.S. Air Force. Interestingly, the Korean configuration will also include the CMWS, currently not installed on the EX, so the F-15K will also require some structural modifications to add the blisters on each side of the canopy rail where the sensors are installed.

“This proposed sale will improve the Republic of Korea’s capability to meet current and future threats by increasing its critical air defence capability to deter aggression in the region and to ensure interoperability with US forces,” says the DSCA in the official notice.

The upgrade of the F-15K is part of a broader modernization of the ROKAF’s fighter fleet. In fact, the service is also upgrading its KF-16s Block 52 to the V configuration, integrating a new AESA radar, mission computer, self-protection suite, with works expected to be completed by 2025. These programs complement the acquisition of the F-35 Lightning II and the KF-21 Boramae.

Ulchi Freedom Shield 24

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle, assigned to the 11th Fighter Wing at Daegu Air Base, takes off for a mission on Aug. 20, 2024. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The F-15K

The F-15K is a variant of the F-15E Strike Eagle built for the Republic of Korea Air Force’s (ROKAF) with almost half of the components manufactured locally. The aircraft emerged as the winner of the F-X fighter program against the Rafale, Typhoon and Su-35 in 2002, resulting in an order for 40 F-15s equipped with General Electric F110-129 engines. In 2005, a second order for 21 aircraft equipped with Pratt & Whitney F100-PW-229 engines was signed.

The Slam Eagle name is derived from the F-15K’s capability to employ the AGM-84H SLAM-ER standoff cruise missiles, with the Taurus KEPD 350K being another weapon exclusive to the ROKAF jet. The F-15K is employed as a fully multi-role aircraft and is considered ad one of the key assets of the Korean armed forces.

With the aircraft averaging an age of 16 years and expected to be in service until 2060, the Defense Acquisition Program Administration (DAPA) launched in 2022 an upgrade program for the F-15Ks. The upgrade, expected to run from 2024 to 2034, is committed to strengthening the mission capabilities and survivability of the jet.

The F-15K currently equips three squadrons at Daegu Air Base, in the southeast of the country. Although based far from the demilitarized zone (DMZ), the F-15K with its SLAM-ER and KEPD 350 missiles can still hit strategic targets deep behind North Korean borders.

An F-15K releases a Taurus KEPD 350K cruise missile. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The new capabilities

It is not yet clear if the F-15K will receive a new cockpit, since its configuration will be similar to the Eagle II. In fact, the F-15EX has a full glass cockpit equipped with a 10×19-inch touch-screen multifunction color display and JHMCS II both in the front and rear cockpit, Low Profile HUD in the front, stand-by display and dedicated engine, fuel and hydraulics display, in addition to the standard caution/warning lights, switches and Hands On Throttle-And-Stick (HOTAS) control.

Either way, the systems will be powered by the Advanced Display Core Processor II, reportedly the fastest mission computer ever installed on a fighter jet, and the Operational Flight Program Suite 9.1X, a customized variant of the Suite 9 used on the F-15C and F-15E, designed to ensure full interoperability of the new aircraft with the “legacy Eagles”.

The F-15K will be equipped with the new AN/APG-82(V)1 Active Electronically Scanned Array (AESA) radar. The radar, which has been developed from the APG-63(V)3 AESA radar of the F-15C and the APG-79 AESA radar of the F/A-18E/F, allows to simultaneously detect, identify and track multiple air and surface targets at longer ranges compared to mechanical radars, facilitating persistent target observation and information sharing for a better decision-making process.

F-15K upgrade

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle takes off for a night mission during the Pitch Black 2024 exercise. (Image credit: Australian Defense Force)

The AN/ALQ-250 EPAWSS will provide full-spectrum EW capabilities, including radar warning, geolocation, situational awareness, and self-protection to the F-15. Chaff and flares capacity will be increased by 50%, with four more dispensers added in the EPAWSS fairings behind the tail fins (two for each fairing), for a total of 12 dispenser housing 360 cartridges.

EPAWSS is fully integrated with radar warning, geo-location and increased chaff and flare capability to detect and defeat surface and airborne threats in signal-dense and highly contested environments. Because of this, the system enables freedom of maneuver and deeper penetration into battlespaces protected by modern integrated air defense systems.

The AN/AAR-57 CMWS is an ultra-violet based missile warning system, part of an integrated IR countermeasures suite utilizing five sensors to display accurate threat location and dispense decoys/countermeasures. Although CMWS was initially fielded in 2005, BAE Systems continuously customized the algorithms to adapt to new threats and CMWS has now reached Generation 3.

@TheAviationist.com

[nerdanel01]

Another great day to practice necromancy 💀. How do you do? 💚

So, we know that Emmrich, as an esteemed member of Mortalitasi, is expected to attend the gatherings of the Nevarran nobles from time to time or visit them in their estates. Has Emmrich ever met Lord Halkias then, I mean Agnes's father? Was Agnes present? If not, did he tell her about it afterwards?

Or maybe they've met during or after the events of The Veilguard? How would such a meeting play out, I wonder?

in short: badly! 3.5k+ below the cut

9:51 Dragon

Emmrich had been told the extravagant excess of Tevinter’s Altus class made the indulgence of the Nevarran nobility look quaint by comparison—but truthfully, it tested the bounds of his creativity to imagine exactly how that could be the case. 

At the Dietrich estate, the nobility glittered like a swarm of beetles, jewels dripping from fingers and ears and necks, women swanning in crystal-crusted dresses that gleamed from a distance like the most brilliant carapace. Two quintents had been booked, instead of the customary one, so that the music would continue ceaselessly when the first group of musicians took their rest. The wine flowed freely from two golden fountains at either side of the wide hall—both red and white. Flanking the walls were banquet tables piled high with food that looked almost too good to eat: butter and ice and sugar carved into elaborate shapes (the Necropolis; the Nevarran palace; the face of a revered Dietrich ancestor); pyramids of glacé fruit preserved at the peak of its freshness; flaky finger foods arrayed on plated towers. Indeed, it appeared that hardly anyone had touched it, preferring (if the general atmosphere of the room was any indication) to indulge in libations instead. 

Emmrich himself had avoided the wine. He had never been a wistful drunk, not really… but over the past year or so he had learned that even the slightest taste of alcohol was likely to turn him morose. 

And Johanna had dragged him here to be the opposite. It was a precarious time in Nevarra, with King Markus in such ill health, and still no clear heir to replace him. Already there were political machinations, assassinations and deals being cut to determine whom among the Nevarran nobility would be left sitting on that throne once King Markus passed, and who would wield the most influence over the country’s new regent. Worse, in recent years, the accusations that the Mortalitasi ruling by proxy through the weakened King had reached a fever pitch… not whispered as they used to be, but speculated out loud in the open. For his part, Emmrich could not say whether or not those rumors were true. That was the business of the priest-mages, not the Mourn Watch; and anyway, Emmrich had never been keen on politics. 

But, “You are charming,” Johanna had implored him, though Emmrich thought that was not quite accurate—he had, perhaps, been charming once upon a time, but he felt himself growing more and more into a bitter, withdrawn old man with each passing month. “The nobles adore you,” Johanna had continued—that, maybe, was still true. He had spent much of the past year in seclusion, and had not yet burned the bridges of amicability and influence he had so carefully built during his time as part of the Mourn Watch. Finally, the coup de grace, her plea: “Please do not make me attend Lady Dietrich’s party by myself.”

Emmrich wanted nothing to do with parties—it was difficult to imagine he would ever be light hearted and mirthful enough to enjoy the gaiety of such gatherings ever again—but he did love Johanna with a strong, brotherly affection that was difficult to deny. She had been patient with him, this past year, as he had crumbled into a shadow of his former self. For as long as she could, Johanna had shielded him from the social responsibilities of his role, giving him time to grieve Agnes’ absence and the smothering guilt he carried for having caused it. More than once in the past year, he had behaved in such a way that Johanna could have dismissed him from the Mourn Watch—it would have been entirely right of her to do so—but she had not. She had protected him. And it was so small a thing: one evening, swanning among the nobility, eating fine food and pretending to laugh at bad jokes. It would not be pleasant, certainly, but it would not be terrible. 

Or so Emmrich had thought. 

Lady Dietrich had cornered him; literally, had backed him into the corner of the room and now stood in front of him, gesturing in such a way that it was difficult to get past her. Her efforts to bed him, never particularly subtle to begin with, had become more overt and outlandish in the year since her husband had passed. Regrettably, by now, Emmrich was quite used to her flirtations; he knew how to make her feel heard without really listening, when to nod his head or smile for emphasis, when and how demure in the face of her more lascivious suggestions without offending her. He occupied her thusly now as his eyes scanned the room, wondering how Johanna was fairing.

His eyes locked first, however, on a man he had never seen before. That was odd. Emmrich had been part of Nevarran society by blood before he had ever become Mortalitasi; there was scarcely a family in the noble class with whom he had not been acquainted since childhood. And yet there he was, this old man standing beside the nearest fountain and filling a wide goblet to the brim with more wine, his wrinkled face ruddy with drink, cheeks looking all the more splotched and red in contrast with his white beard. 

Strangest of all was that—although Emmrich was quite sure he had never met the man before—there was something painfully familiar about him. 

“Forgive me, Lady Dietrich,” he interjected, interrupting her as she was telling him (rather too pointedly) that the extravagant decorations she had imported from Minrathous for the party extended even to the estate’s bedrooms, “That gentleman over there, beside the fountain. I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting him before. Who is he?”

Lady Dietrich blinked in surprise—Emmrich rarely interrupted her, and when he did, it was often with far more grace (or “charm,” he supposed, to use Johanna’s words)—then turned to follow his gaze. When she saw the old man, her lips curled back in distaste. 

“That is Lord Halkias,” she answered disdainfully. “His estate is out west, you know. Far west, in the borderlands. Practically Orlais,” she intimated, her sense of superiority dripping from every word. 

Emmrich had not drank a sip of wine yet that evening; suddenly, he dearly wished he had. Now that he had the man’s name, the resemblance between Halkias and his daughter was undeniable: the arch of his nose, the v-shaped peak of his hairline over his brow. The deep, sensual bow of his upper lip. It was not in fact Lord Halkias who had been painfully familiar to him; it had been the ghost of Agnes, staring out of her father’s face. 

“His wife just passed,” Lady Dietrich continued, rattling off gossip; Emmrich barely heard her. “He accompanied her body to its final resting place in the Necropolis last week. Did you not know?”

He had not. He did not think for a minute that it was a coincidence. Johanna would have done everything in her power, no doubt, to prevent Emmrich from having anything to do with Lady Halkias’ last rites. 

Emmrich tried and failed to keep the bite from his voice when he replied: “He does not appear to be grieving the loss of his wife too terribly.”

Lady Dietrich shot him a glance, surprised at the uncharacteristic venom in his tone. She leaned closer, whispered to him conspiratorially, not bothering to hide her distaste: “He has extended his visit to the city. There is great speculation he has done so in order to hunt for a prospective bride—although he is kidding himself if he thinks to accomplish that aim in this household. None of these self-respecting families would marry a daughter into a family such as his.”

Emmrich was staring. He knew he was staring. He could not pull his eyes away. Could not help but think how much it must have pained Agnes, to grow up and see the resemblance to her father marked so plainly on her face—her father who had abused her mother, her father who had been anything but fatherly to Agnes herself. Who had made every effort, for his own personal gain, to see Agnes forced into a marriage that would ultimately serve him. That Lord Halkias had failed spectacularly in his aim to sell off his daughter like a common whore did not make it any less despicable. 

“Are you alright, dear? You’re looking rather pale.”

Lady Dietrich was looking up at him again, her watery blue eyes filled with uncharacteristic concern. Were Emmrich not so consumed by this feeling building inside of him (unnameable; ichorous; dark) he might have been touched. Instead, he made a hasty retreat. 

“Yes, Lady Dietrich, I'm alright—just feeling a bit peckish—if you’ll excuse me…”

And he slipped past her, making his way towards one of the banquet tables. But he had no interest in eating. His heart was racing, his pulse thundering in his ears. He held his fingertips to his temples, rubbing them gently, trying to slow his breathing. But it was impossible. The food, the drink, the luxury, the excess—and the memory, seared into his skull, of how Agnes’ father had reacted to her desertion. 

…because of course, though Emmrich had told Johanna emphatically and repeatedly that Agnes would prefer to die in the gutters of Nevarra City rather than return to her father’s estate, Johanna had sent guards to check it nevertheless. ‘Due diligence,’ Johanna had called it. 

Lord Halkias had called it a ‘grave insult.’

Among the many gems of hard, crystallized hatred that had made up the missive he sent back with the soldiers, Emmrich would never forget how he had concluded the message:

‘If that ill-conceived, misbegotten issue of mine had dared to come back here, I would have beaten her bloody and senseless for the disgrace she has brought upon our family and my own good name. Whatever was left of her afterwards I would have returned without delay to the Mortalitasi, happy to be rid of her and happy for whatever additional punishment you sought to bring to bear upon her for her betrayal and her cowardice. When you do find her, be harsh with her. Tranquility is too mild a punishment for that thankless slut.’

At the memory alone, Emmrich was clenching his fists so hard his nails threatened to draw blood. 

Food was not going to help him. Drink was likely not going to help him either, but at this point he was going to take his chances. Morose was not good company, but it was still preferable to murderous. Spinning on his heel, he let his feet carry him to the far fountain, opposite the fountain flowing with red wine that Lord Halkias was still lurking beside. Emmrich did not prefer white wine, but he also did not trust himself to secure a cup of red while fully resisting the urge to grab Lord Halkias by his white hair and hold him beneath the fountain’s surface, drowning him in the drink he was so besotted with. 

But as he stood with his back against the wall, taking polite sips from his goblet (resisting the urge to down the glass in one long swallow) Emmrich did not feel his mood mellowing. On the contrary. As usual, the drink summoned visions and phantoms, memories. How Agnes would side-step any questions he used to ask her about her childhood; the cursory answers she would give about her family, her step-siblings. The upheaval that followed her mother’s death; the trauma of learning exactly who and what her father really was; the fear and injustice and lovelessness of being kept under his roof. Her obsession with neatness, with cleanliness, with cleverness; the remnants of the impossible standards she had been held to in Halkias’ household, never good enough, never as good as her legitimately born siblings. The last argument they had before Agnes had left: “you are not my father,” the words spat with more hatred and vitriol than Agnes had ever used with him before. 

‘Indeed, I am nothing like her father,’ Emmrich thought to himself darkly, brooding over the rim of his goblet. ‘Unlike him, I loved her.’

And he should have told her that, then. Should never have tried to keep his love secret from Agnes, who had lived so much of her life starved of the love that her family should have given her, who had spent so many of her years feeling alone and was now alone again, for all Emmrich knew. 

Perhaps if she had a father who loved her, Emmrich would not have felt obligated in some way to step into that role himself. To guide her. To protect her, to watch out for her in a way that no one else ever had. To protect her even from himself, when Emmrich’s desires and feelings for her became anything but fatherly. Perhaps he could have been honest with her, then; perhaps she would not have had to leave. Perhaps she would still pass her days in the Necropolis, safe and loved and cherished by him. Perhaps….

But ‘perhaps’ meant nothing now. Agnes was gone, and more likely than not, Emmrich would never see her again. His fault. More than a year had passed since her departure, but time had not blunted the ache of her absence one bit. 

The ring Agnes had gifted him—the one he could not bear to wear on his fingers, that he could not endure the sight of any more than he could discard it—felt twice as heavy on the chain it hung on around his neck, resting beneath his shirt, close to his heart.

…and here was her father. Drunken, merry, undisturbed in the least by her disappearance. Worse than that, maybe. Gleeful that she was gone at last, that his bastard child, his eldest, his firstborn, had removed themselves from the picture and would never darken his doorway again. 

“You are charming,” Johanna had said, “the nobles adore you.” But over the past year, Emmrich had discovered he was much more than that. Capable of a darkness he had never quite acknowledged before he sank into it. He had been charming, upbeat, optimistic, inquisitive. Now, he knew he was also spiteful, prone to isolating himself from others—and, occasionally—inclined toward acts of great cruelty. 

The wine had loosened him up just enough that he no longer felt any inclination to resist those darker impulses. 

Emmrich tucked his right hand behind the small of his back, near to the wall where no one else could see it. Affecting a calm and collected demeanor, he sipped politely from his goblet as behind him, his fingers curled, wrist revolving, spinning the magic out of the Fade into the waking, shaping it into horrors. It had been so long since he had cast magic without the foci of a staff. The danger and thrill of it was exhilarating. 

No one else witnessed him, nor the curse, as it curled around the party-goers’ feet, slithering like an adder across the room towards Lord Halkias. Into it Emmrich poured all self-hatred, all his rage and his loneliness, all of his regret. Let Lord Halkias take a wife, if he so desired. She would never know a night of peace while she shared a bed with her husband. 

Johanna grabbed him by the shoulder so tightly and abruptly he nearly spilled the rest of his wine over the front of her gown. 

“What,” she hissed, low enough so that she would not be overheard, “do you think you are doing?”

“Nothing!” Emmrich answered, a little too loudly and perhaps too quickly. “I’m not doing anything.”

Emmrich could see her fighting to keep her face pleasant, just in case any of the other guests should look in their direction. But her nostrils were flaring, and the fixed grin on her face looked more like a grimace by the second. As a servant passed by them, Johanna plucked Emmrich’s wine goblet out of his hand and set it down upon the serving tray, the wine sloshing over the rim with the force of the impact. Then, with just as much authority and force, she steered him out of the main banquet hall, guiding him down the hallways of Lady Dietrich’s estate until she was satisfied they had found a corner where they would not be overheard. 

Then she turned on him. And Johanna may have been a full head shorter than Emmrich, and he may have loved her like she was his sister, but she was still utterly terrifying to him when she was furious. 

“I would not call hexing Lord Halkias nothing,” she said, her eyes shining with indignant rage. “Maker’s breath, Emmrich—the rumors about the Mortalitasi are bad enough already. Do you have to make it worse by putting a curse on one of the nobles in public? At a party?”

Emmrich folded his arms defensively over his chest. “It was a very light curse,” he lied through his teeth. This much, at least, was the truth: “He would not have even noticed it—not until he laid himself down to sleep tonight.” With a self-satisfied smirk, Emmrich could not help but add, “Or, well, until he tried to sleep. The night terrors would have kept him from true, restful sleep until the end of his days.”

Perhaps he should not have been so bold in public, that much was true. But Maker preserve him, he had been so close to succeeding, and it had felt so good. 

And he had expected Johanna—all command and spitfire—to argue back at him. Instead she just stared at him, stunned. 

Somehow, that was worse. 

“And do you think that is appropriate behavior from one of the most senior ranking Mortalitasi of the Mourn Watch Guard?”

Probably not. But sometimes, exceptions needed to be made. “I think it is entirely appropriate, given what a brute he is. You are aware, are you not, of how he violates his servants?”

Or at least, that he had violated one. Forced her into submission more than once under the hot countryside sun—

“Emmrich…” Johanna began, entirely too much pity in her voice. She closed her eyes and sighed. “This is my fault. I should have known he would be here, after his wife’s final rites earlier this week—”

“—strange,” Emmrich interjected, “since as a senior ranking member of the Mourn Watch, I’d have thought I would have known about any recent interments—”

“Not strange, but calculated,” Johanna countered, the heat returning to her voice. “Brilliant, to keep it from you. Fucking prophetic of me, really, because I just knew you would not be able to act professionally about it, to get through it without pulling some shit like this.” She bared her clenched teeth, sucking an unsteady breath in to try and calm herself. 

“It is my fault,” Johanna repeated, at last. “I should not have asked you to come. So now I will correct my mistake. Emmrich, go home.”

“What?”

The night was yet young. He had not yet had a chance to greet each of the nobles properly, as was custom. If he left now, his absence would be noticed… not least of all by their host, Lady Dietrich herself—

“I said go home, Emmrich!” Johanna was not shouting—she would not raise her voice loud enough to be overheard—but she was close to it. “I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“I don’t need you to—!”

“Agnes is gone.” Johanna articulated each word carefully, brought them down in him like a hammer in an anvil. “You are not defending her from anyone. You are not protecting her from anyone. And as I suspect she is not likely to return, you are unlikely to have the chance to regale or impress her by recounting your clever ‘little’ curse in the future. Your judgment is compromised; I am, quite frankly, embarrassed for you. Go home,” Johanna repeated, turning him around and shoving him in the direction of the estate’s entrance, back towards the street and the city. “I will not repeat myself again. And you will not enjoy the consequences if I am forced to escort you.”

On the carriage ride back to the Necropolis (the city streets at night were too haunted with memory for him to walk) Emmrich found himself replaying the argument with Johanna in his head over and over again, incensed. She was wrong, he was certain of that much, no matter how well she thought she knew him. Emmrich was not a fool. He knew Lord Halkias posed no further danger to Agnes—that cursing him, as Emmrich had intended to do, was not something he had done to defend or impress her.

But that left him with the nagging question of why he had done it. Because he did know better, or should have, had he not still been deep in the throes of his grief. With Agnes gone, his position in the Mourn Watch mattered more to him than ever. The work was the only reliable distraction, the only thing that kept his head above the waters of despair. What had possessed him, to make him risk it with so little thought?

The answer, as it turned out, was worse than anything Johanna had accused him of. It was guilt.

Guilt that he had driven Agnes away. Guilt that he had not seen her love for what it was and returned it with every breath, with every beat of his heart. Guilt that there was no amount of self-hatred or debasement or shame that would bring her back; guilt that he would never get the chance to tell her how sorry he was. Guilt for whatever it was she now suffered in the world, shut out from the shelter of the Mourn Watch that had been all she had known for over twenty years.

He could not punish himself enough for having caused her departure. And so he had tried to turn at least some of that pain and punishment upon her father.

…but what was the greater sin? To have never loved her, as a father ought to love a daughter? Or, as Emmrich had, to have loved her deeply—to have blindly spurned her love—and sent her to wander the wide and dangerous world, feeling rejected and unloved and alone?

Johanna was right, of course. No curse would ever fix that mistake.

Nothing would.