#slash the source of his virtues

[llycaons]

also I don't usually defend the writing of lan sizhui, possibly the most flavorless character in the text, but I feel like fics and fandom really misread him and emphasize how he's 'the PERFECT lan disciple who's SO well-bred' which considering his origins is even more sad when in fact the important part of his character is that he's a nice sweet boy who is careful and nonjudgemental around other people, open to learning new things from widely reviled and feared people, bringing warmth to every interaction he has with others, and respectful of everyone no matter their class or how society views them. he's a well-behaved and diligent disciple, but his most important traits are not specifically a lan thing the way wwx knew it, it was just how lwj was trying to direct the new generation. and since he had such a close bond with lzs, and since lsz was already at least inclined to be gentle and sweet person, that's the kind of person he is as an adult. for an example of 'the perfect lan disciple' in the traditional sense I feel like it was pretty clear that was lwj age 16 and we see how long THAT lasted

[ofrandomthought]

I love the detail about how the dragon gods choose to present themselves to Yona.

They are desperate to get the crimson dragon back and so they are doing everything in their (considerable) power to force yona to stay in Heaven.

Thing is, they don’t want yona, not really, they just want what she represents— Hiryuu’s soul. Which is why when they do this, when they take the form of the people yona loves the most, first in order to deceive her into thinking that she’s finally been reunited with them and could now live with them in peace and harmony forever more in this place of perfect beauty and tranquility

And then, when that fails, they wear the faces of her loved ones still to try and get her to let her guard down, to trust them, because not only are they all powerful, they’re familiar and safe and dedicated to her and her only.

They use the identities of the people whom Yona holds dearest to her heart as masks and from there they set off on trying to convince (manipulate) her into staying. But even for all the lengths they’re going to, you can see they will fail because even their masks betray them.

The longer they keep on negotiating with her (threatening her into staying) the more the masks slip. At most panels they look like they’re melting right off, collapsing inwards

and it’s not for a lack of trying to cling to the lie — even as their forms oscillate back and forth you can still see some parts of the disguise holding on; the shape of hak’s eyes, his hair, kija’s face, the slash of a smile that should be familiar……..

All parts of her family, all dearly beloved, all deformed almost beyond recognition by the obsession of the dragon gods.

And I like to think that that is a direct reflection of the way our perception of the four dragon gods has changed throughout the story.

Kusanagi has managed to expertly craft this journey that took us gradually but seamlessly from the beginning where the four dragon gods started off as this legendary beacon of noble hope and righteousness, this ever watching eye sworn to protect Yona and all those loved by her, this source of vindication that yes! You’re rooting for the right person! Look at her! She is divine! She is the chosen one! She is Heaven’s Will made flesh!

To this

Something other. Something cruel. Creatures so far removed from humans’ understanding of them, so apathetic to human’s pain and suffering and love and joy (even that of the human they are currently obsessed with by virtue of her soul), so wrapped in their loneliness and self imposed isolation that they have become the very destruction we thought they were guarding against.

[noneatnonedotcom]

just having fun with an idea.

for as long as jaune could remember his path was straight forward. he would grow up, training every day of his life since he was seven. he would take up his oaths to protect his country along side his family. he would grow older and find a wife, and raise his own kids in the same way.

the cycle of his life and inevitable death were put in place because of his power, the power that all his family had. It was two different abilities that overlapped with each other. the first was called the binding oath, it was simple, a vow was made the more it restricted you the greater your physical abilities you would increase. it was in reality a tool to enhance virtue and restrict vice. a means to enhance the character of the user rather than something to provide temporal power.

the other was called white martyrdom, it was the sacrifice of abstract advantages in exchange for straightforward power. like explaining the source of his powers, he'd sacrifice his secrecy in exchange for physical prowess.

for most of the family the oaths they made, marriage, the oath of loyalty to the constitution, perhaps even limiting themselves to only a single weapon system was the extent of their oaths. putting them well into the upper echelons of physical abilities.

jaune had a different calling. from the time he was seven, he knew that his first oath would be to the code of chivalry. it was all he could think about, the all-consuming obsession that called to him above all others.

as it would turn out the flowering of his chivalry would be the signal for the return of magic. the return of the family sword and the path to the Fae wilds.

His oath would lead to the dangers his country now faced.

and so he took up the sword. swearing on it to protect the innocent and the divine. to fight with loyalty to those elected by the people of the United States so long as they both served the Constitution. to use only the sword in combat. to choose mercy when possible and take his foe alive if at all actionable. to be a knight in the now dark times he lived in.

the sword would empower these oaths to even greater heights, and he would find that his childhood of training and study would only give him the right to stand at the starting line.

which is why he was here, fighting some beast made of shadow as he tried to kill it before it could make it to the frightened civilians behind him.

the issue wasn't just the one creature fearsome though it was. the issue was that they always came in hoards, striking at distant towns that the other heroes of this age could not reach in time.

each strike had to flow into his footwork as his blade met no resistance moving through the shadow-given form, dissipating the beast back to its base components of mist and darkness. any inefficiency would be paid for in blood.

not his but the blood of the innocent. such things could not be allowed.

a twisting step brought him forward into the next beast cutting through it as more civilians fled past him. his speed such that they all seemed to be moving in slow motion as he stabbed through another with a lunge followed by a vertical slash as the beast behind the one he killed pounced on him through the dissipating shadow.

a dash to the left had him bisecting another, followed by a spin to kill the one that took its place. a jump over a beast that came low opened him up to a diving crow that he had to deflect with a swing of his own knocking him off balance in the air and setting him to a tumble.

in a feat of athleticism, he tucked into a spinning flip and landed on his feet before dashing forward and slashing through four more of the creatures before having to jump back as the long arms of a massive creature he had not noticed before struck the ground he had seconds to hop back further as massive hooves took up the space he had just stood.

the twisted creature was a knuckalavee something held back by the miasma of the ocean in most cases, here the only protection might come from the river.

or his blade.

he jumped for its neck ready to end the fight immediately with his greater speed before he was tackled by a bear-like creature from the side pinning him to the ground as the asphalt cracked beneath him.

this was bad, he was a skilled warrior but even he was still bound by the laws of physics, he immence power meant nothing if he was not in position to use it.

struggling to keep the massive jaws of the beast away from his throat jaune desperately searched for some sort of advantage that might save him. his life flashing before his eyes as the remaining fae beast closed in. It couldn't end like this from just a stupid mistake. the people needed protection!

just as he was about to force the urserin adversary off of him a silver light shown turning the creatures around him to stone before they crumbled away under their own weight.

right... he'd forgotten he was on a date with Ruby when these things attacked.

he'd owe her so many trips to the bakery when he woke up.

darkness took him as he thought that, Ruby's eyes disrupting the magic granting him his strength momentarily resulting in the accumulated damage and exhaustion of his fight hitting him all at once.

there were consequences to having a girlfriend who was anti-magic

[theclassicalreview]

Was Plutarch a professional hater?

Sources say yes. What sources you may ask? All sources everywhere.

Let us begin with Plutarch's 'Life of Pericles' written within his work of 'The Parallel Lives'- when after listing Pericles family tree his next immediate comment was on the apparent largeness of Pericles' head. Not only this, but he proceeded to offer multiple examples towards this disproportion.

e.g. 'The comic poets of Attica used to call him Schinophalus (squill-head)'

He was also proudly biased towards Greece, and this is exemplified in 'On Herodotus' Spite' wherein he offers a slashing review of Herodotus (on both personal and professional grounds) for his critique of Grecian living. R.H. Barrow (a Plutarch scholar) said how he was 'fanatically biased in favour of the Greek cities'.

To be fair to him, he was proudly prejudiced, saying 'the most glorious exploits do not always furnish us with the clearest discoveries of virtue or vice in men' (basically admitting he was embellishing the ... out of his stories)

Don't fear! He didn't restrict himself to scathing reviews of historians, but was equally happy to break philosophical ideas. The title 'You Cannot Live a Happy Life if You Follow Epicurus' really says it all I feel.

Plutarch was the OG instigator of Cleopatra's myths, with his (largely misrepresented) view of her informing popular opinion down to the present day, after Shakespeare practically copied his writings. So if your claim to knowledge of Cleopatra is that she was a harlot who seduced Caesar, then well done for your knowledge of Plutarch!

In defence of his gossiping lifestyle, he said how 'we shall be all the more eager to watch and imitate the lives of the good if we are not left without a description of what is mean and reprehensible'.

In conclusion... he was a professional hater and I (and you) respect him more for it. Even in his time, his scathing inditements within 'Lives' was so popular in Rome that he gained honorary Roman citizenship (despite knowing next to no Latin).

[cerastes]

Which defenders and supporters do you recommend?

Defenders:

Mudrock remains relevant forever on virtue of being Mudrock. Damage, bulk, self-sustain, you name it. On the same note, Penance is pretty good, and her S2 remains active even if she's stunned, making it good at dealing with Stun-heavy maps. Still, keep in mind they cannot be healed for their Elemental damage (but they still get the Elemental damage mitigation from being in Mulberry's S2 range, for example).

Blem is always solid due to her good damage and ability to heal herself and others.

Spot is damn good still, his ability to heal and 3-block at 0-1 Hope cost is simply too damn good. He's probably the best 3* on higher Waves.

Horn is REALLY damn good. Practically THE anti-Highmore machine as long as you can ground her. Horn's range and sheer damage make her an amazing unit, especially in the latter floors where maps get bigger and you can do more stuff with her.

Saria remains relevant forever on virtue of being Saria. You know what Saria does. She still does it very very good.

TBH Cuora being a stone wall actually finds plenty of spots to shine.

Supporters:

Gnosis can Freeze the floaters and Highmore, grounding them (watch out with Highmore, though, you'll need ASPD artifacts and set-ups to let him survive being that close to her in order to actually be able to freeze). Gnosis is just very good in general besides this.

Skadi the Corrupting Heart remains relevant forever on virtue of being the Corrupting Heart. S2 will be your main tool with her, giving you VERY important stat heft to handle higher Waves on more equal footing, with S3 finding some really good chances to shine (Piper's Call, Highmore if you have the team for it and don't need her S2 for her, among others).

Ling "Blue Woman" is always very powerful, though keep in mind that her effectiveness declines on higher Waves due to increased enemy RES as well as stat heft, making her summons not instawin buttons. She's still VERY good, though.

RRRRRRRROBERTA GAMING

Shamare with investment, particularly S2M3, is a very reliable source of a rare ATK debuff. She slashes enemy ATK in half in an area, this is immensely powerful, especially in higher Waves.

Scene is strong, her cameras help a lot with their utility.

Podenco remains, as the youth say, Based, because her S2 Slows and Silences. VERY strong tool in IS3.

Suzuran is always useful to have thanks to her Supporter Skill Aura, multitarget slow+fragile with S2, and her huge area slow+fragile+heals S3. Her S3 in particular is very good against Last Knight, since making him slower and more susceptible to damage is exactly what you want.

[rig-a-rendal]

ok. this is my 500-word essay response to "what do you think of davy's accent?"

Right off the bat: Davy doesn’t have an RP accent. I’m not trying to say he does. I’m also not trying to say that he’s even trying to go for one (because, if he were, he would be failing spectacularly). I am trying to say that he has what I personally might refer to as a “gentrified mancunian accent”, which he maintains with constant conscious effort.

In an interview where two of his sisters, Beryl and Hazel, are asked to speak about their upbringing for an english television special (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjAu6WqYS-s), it quickly becomes very apparent that Davy’s accent does not match up in certain key areas. These being: the ‘strut’ vowel, the ‘bath’ vowel, the ‘northwestern g’ and the tapped ‘r’ sound.

Thus, Davy Jones (Monkee) is a performance by Davy Jones (actor) that includes a masking of dialect - something very in-line with british english culture, especially within the entertainment industry. This study (https://asa.scitation.org/doi/abs/10.1121/1.2722209)(2007) found that northern english university students tended to modify and change their accents to a more southern sound within two years of their educational program. This is indicative of both current and historical social pressures on british-english speaking people specifically to conform to the (moral, societal, virtue-signaling) belief that a southern accent is generally ‘better’ than a northern, scottish, welsh, or irish accent

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3gyQLgr8m8).

(Again, this was a study conducted on university students in 2007. What this may imply about entertainment industry standards in the 1960s is not going to be explicitly stated here, but as always, I encourage my audience to draw what conclusions they will.)

You see some of the same stuff with the youtuber Abigail Thorn/Philosophy Tube (https://www.youtube.com/c/thephilosophytube), who maintains her “theater”/”industry” accent with constant effort (given that she slips sometimes on the “work” vowel, fronted struts, etc.). People who are speaking naturally tend not to change their vowel sounds so often, so drastically, or so much that it’s noticeable enough to be a ‘tell’. (Source: I have spoken to multiple human beings with a variety of different accents throughout my lifetime. This is something you and I both understand intrinsically. I will not infantilize you by trying to explain this any further.)

The aforementioned ‘masking’ effect is also made clear when Davy sings. On certain songs (and, indeed, in certain lines of dialogue within the show - i.e. “suppose Ludlow doesn’t come back in time” (“The Prince and the Paupers” (1967)) - he tends to ‘slip’ back into more classically northern-sounding fronted strut vowels. These specific vowel sounds are - and have historically been - the primary colloquial ‘tell’ for distinguishing between the general groups of ‘northern’ and ‘southern’ british-english accents (https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1179/1759753612Z.0000000001). 

(Two examples of Davy giving this ‘tell’ are: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PNfnNBDatY, line: “when I grew UP to be a man”, and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvqeSJlgaNk, line: “BUT it rings”.) The reason for this switch in dialect is most likely physiological, having something to do with some aspect of singing performance that I have neither the credentials nor the desire to delve into much further.

In his commentary on the season two episode “High Seas” (1967) (timestamp 20:00-20:07), Davy explicitly refers to the posh-accented ship captain who appears at the end of the storyline as “his competition”, stating “[he spoke] exactly as I wanted to have done” - thus implying that he is-slash-was very aware of the manner in which he spoke-slash-speaks. This same sentiment also implies that Davy was already putting some amount of effort into sounding a certain way, and that he was not satisfied with his own performance (or that, in a blatantly co-opted sense of the term, he didn’t think he “passed”).

[microstmnt]

Timeskip Turtles Part 1 (Part 2 will have April and Casey, and everyone in lineup to showcase their heights)

Oh boy, these bad boys can fit so many plot points in three years... I’d said that at this point everything is said and done... Unless (I don’t know, there’s only so much you can do and thinking back perhaps I should have made their versions during the encounter with Bishop, or during the alien invasion instead of whipping these guys and going “yes, that all already happened lmao”.. But then again, I’m making these on the fly so... Imagine me rambling in an empty theater and you guys are the rats that inhabit it, listening with curiosity, I love you but ultimately this is for me)

More tidbits over here

Leo: Still the fearless leader, but now with the knowledge that his family is not gonna fall apart if he’s gone. After the defeat of Shredder (that came with its consequences, yay new scars and traumas...) came quite some more issues, like the Foot Clan being disbanded and it’s former members looking for revenge, or the rise in mutant population by an unknown source, but all problems that seemed tame and easily resolved in comparison to the Shredder. So Leo took the opportunity once he thought things had quieted down to take a trip to train, leaving with Casey for about 8 months (8 months that are going to be hell for your brothers baby lmao). Notable scars: Broken plastron (he was sure he was not gonna make it but eventually recovered) by Shredder, some various slashes across his arms by Slash, a nick on the lips by a random foot ninja (he’s embarrased by this scar), the scar in his eye that left him blind by Karai prior to the Battle Nexus arc

Raph: Took the title of leader during Leo’s 8 month absence, in wich the boys had to deal with a mutant uprise, a crazed secret service guy obsessed with “protecting the earth” from aliens that is creating the mutants, the turtles secret fifth sister that was used by the aformentioned crazy guy, and an actual alien invasion so I guess the crazy guy wasn’t so crazy after all... All while your big bro and your best friend are probably having the time of their lives in their little fun trip (so it turns out that Leo is right and being the responsible one is never fun but whatever). Notable scars: Big plastron slashes by Krang, electrocution scar on right arm by Shredder, small scar on the face by a random Foot Ninja, slashes on left shoulder (and shell) and the underside of right arm by Slash, bullet wound by Bishop, and the infamous neck scar by Donnie that he hates looking so is the only scar he purposefully covers

Donnie: Hey, looky who needs glasses (embarrased by this), has fully accepted that he and his brothers are only going to rest when their dead. Not really as affected by Raph that Leo left on a trip, but still prefers when the team is all together, after one too many times where his brothers lack of preparations left them with scars (dumb dumb bros not taking care of themselves of course I gotta do everything around here...) he carries a bunch of supplies on him, anything you can name he probably has it on him. Bishop almost killed him in an explosion... so that was fun.... Notable scars: Explosion caused by Bishop (finally an explosion that wasnt his fault, ehem), face stabs by Slash grabbing him by the head (Donnie is not having a good time), slashes on arm and a plastron wound by Shredder, some knicks and burns on his hands from working without gloves and the infamous leg stab by Raph that is now out of sight because he wears pants (Don: if I had known about the extra protection of pants when we were younger, perhaps I wouldn’t have a scar the size of a state on my leg)

Mikey: Sometime after the defeat of Shredder he and Renet became friends, and eventually started a queerplatonic relationship (cue his brothers reacting with variations of “why her??”), he’s still an exceptional fighter but also is still quite sheltered, so he is the one with the least scars by virtue of being pulled from fights by his bros as soon as it looks like he’s not doing so good (something that pisses him off but is a little gratefull for as well, it’s complicated), that doesn’t save you from being kidnapped and tortured by Bishop tho, didn’t last long but that’s where he learned that they all have an older sister (being the first one to find out), got back into art since he needed some healthy coping mechanisms, and eventually turned into a bonding activity with his bros. Notable scars: bite mark on left shoulder by Slash, slash in right shoulder (and part broken plastron) by Shredder, acid burns on hands by being tortured by Bishop 

All in all, I took a lot of things from Bayverse when designing the boys (if it wasnt obvious), and I do realize that it’s kinda weird to be like: here they are three years later, they crawled through hell during that time teehee, but this is after so whatever,

But what can I say, I kinda make these up as I go and things change and other stuff stays, who knows, maybe in a year this post will be rendered completely obsolete because I thought of something more interesting... Hell, some things that I’ve already said about existing characters have been rendered obsolete, like Usagi’s height, but that’s something for Part 3 of Timeskip Versions

Thank you all for liking or reblogging, I know a lot of these things are all over the place but it genuinely makes me happy when I see notes of any kind in my posts

[cosmic-gemstone]

Reflection was so strange. So different from reality.

Qessyn, or Cruel Virtue as her callsign went, examined the surreal landscape, looking for the source of the disturbance.

A rumbling told her that it had found her first.

Fragments lunged out from the surrounding structures, making a beeline for the Thal’ni princess. Cursing, she leapt into the air, forming her Arm into a machine gun and opening fire.

~*~

ACU made a noise that sounded like a beepy scream, nearly jumping out of his chassis, before he turned and looked at Zovariy.

Zovariy…Domion…Qessyn’s betrothed! Help! It was help!

[The Princess!] he chirped out, [she needs help! She’s fighting! Alone!]

It was supposed to be a secret, but this was her betrothed. ACU was sure they could be trusted, and activated a holographic screen display, showing Zovariy what exactly was going on. Though her body lay motionless in the bed, her mind, it seemed, was far from resting.

The sounds of combat were the first thing to greet Zovariy, Qessyn’s Avatar dancing across the field of battle. The weapon she wielded shifted with seemingly a thought, going from firearms to blades and everything in between as the situation called for.

She looked different; taller, stronger, longer hair—but it was her. And something about the situation felt a little too real to be some sort of video game.

Her voice from within the screen made the little droid jolt. “ACU! These Fragments are too coordinated!” She slashed one on half with a sword, “I think there’s a Gestalt somewhere nearby! But I don’t see it!”

ACU began to run a scan, a subroutine to search for the entity. [Danger! Attack! She’s fighting alone!]

Parallel Lives

@apexulansis

The signs were growing worse throughout the day.

Various technological glitches were spreading throughout the city of Xruesk. Nothing major yet, leading the royal family to make a statement to the public that it was most likely a prankster hacker at work.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Queen Ufobu knew, and so did Princess Qessyn; perhaps even more so than her mother. She knew that these were signs of something far more dangerous.

It had been a struggle to get away from her duties as a royal. By the time she had a free moment, the lights were flickering occasionally in the palace. She had to hurry.

Reaching her chambers, she picked up a headset, putting it on and getting into her bed; she didn’t want to fall and injure herself once it activated.

A companion droid chirped at her, and she smiled. “I’ll be okay, ACU. Don’t worry about me.”

Taking a deep breath, she laid down and switched on the headset, body going limp in the bed. ACU beeped worriedly beside her, looking around as if searching for someone to help.

[relatetonothing]

《鬼水瓶录》 - 陈坤 / “Demon Aquarius Chronicles” by Chen Kun - English Translations

As there’s a new cohort of Chen Kun fans here, particularly non-Chinese fans due to the popularity of Rise of the Phoenixes, I wanted to raise his profile not only as a talented actor, but also a superb writer.

There’s no English sources on his second book, “Demon Aquarius Chronicles” (or “Strange Aquarius”), a collection of micro folk tales on the theme of Chinese mythology, but rooted in humanly concepts. All very bizarre and thought provoking, a figment of the author’s imagination. So I thought I’d pick 5 of my favourite stories and translate them here. If people here like them I’ll considered translating more!

1.

On Penglai Mountain (t/n legendary land of Chinese mythology) there lived two fox spirits.

One wanted to become an immortal,

The other simply desired to taste love.

The former cultivated for three thousand years and finally succeeded.

When she reached the realm of heaven, she found that the other fox was waiting for her,

And already waited for two thousand years.

2.

In ancient times, there was no separation between virtue and evil.

The heaven and earth were muddled, yin and yang were as one.

Gods, demons, faeries and humans lived together as one race.

They loved and cared for each other, living long and prosperous.

One day, from the ground sprouted worry-free plants (t/n orange daylilies).

From then on, humans possessed shadows.

Ever since they had shadows and worry-free plants,

Their seven senses suddenly came to light, dividing the four races.

This is known as: the world!

3.

Flowers in the looking glass and moon reflected on water (t/n Chinese idiom used to describe an illusion or fantasy).

He separated from his body,

Poured a cup of fragrant tea,

And roused him from his slumber,

To share this tea with him.

The one who woke was reticent and silent,

He unsheathed a long sword from his chest,

Slashed the thin air,

Dividing space and time.

Smiling at the one who woke

Inviting him to admire those extraordinary fantasies between the cracks!

4.

Propitiation.

The demon king came to visit his retreated disciples,

Using his supernatural powers to observe their inner minds.

In order to better instruct them on cultivation,

He said to his disciples with a gentle voice:

“You must build a fortress in your inner mind,

With many rooms and alleyways,

Every time someone passes by those alleyways by chance,

You must use the prestige of morality to coax them into these rooms,

Attack and insult them,

Collect their resistance and resentment and offer them to the master of the fortress,

Otherwise known as yourself!”

5.

A weak maiden was abducted by a mountain elf.

Who wanted to force her into marriage.

The weak maiden would not comply so angered the elf.

He used his powers to take away her ability to move.

But she still did not comply.

The elf then sealed her senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch.

The weak maiden lost all her six senses but still remained indifferent with a calm demeanour.

“How fortunate that my disposition is not affected.

You can seal my six senses,

But I’m the only one who can seal my own disposition.

It’s easy to gain my body, but not my heart.”

[iris-sistibly]

The Targ Talk (a review series): House of the Dragon episode 9

[🔥]

Lord Beesbury being loyal to Rhaenyra until the end 😭😭

Ser Erryk Cargyll seeing Aegon's incapability to rule.

In both the book and the show, Aemond Targaryen is a much more worthy opponent to Rhaenyra and the Blacks (compared to Aegon) even if he's a Daemon wannabe. Had it not for his mother's orders OR his mother in general, he had already murdered Aegon, took Helaena to wife and the iron throne for himself.

RHAENYS FUCKING TARGARYEN STOLE THE ENTIRE EPISODE!!! I love how she took no bullshit and real talked Alicent about her being a puppet to the men of her family. I was like, "Yaaas momma do tell her!" it's about time she realize that!

And of course, if "save the best for last" is a person that is Princess Rhaenys, just as Aegon was having his moment, she literally ruined the ceremony on dragon back. She could have burned the greens right then and there, end this once and for all. However, I do not think this will make Rhaenyra's ascension any easier. Aegon has already won the hearts of the commonfolk, if he dies and she ascends the throne it would still cause an uprising, the Hightowers and those who swore obeisance to Aegon wouldn't sit still. And even if Nyra and the Velaryons have dragons, there are many ways to kill a dragon so…yeah, whatever options they have would still result into a bloody war.

Meleys up close 😍😍

[Meh]

There are fans who are quite confused with Alicent's character in the show. I too find her inconsistent, she went from being a child who was dragged into her father's schemes, to actually being one of the players, having every intention to make her son heir, then slashing Rhaenyra in a fit of rage, and now after misinterpreting Viserys' last words she suddenly wants to prevent bloodshed and protect Rhaenyra from the greens murderous plot? Is it because she had Viserys' "validation" that her son was the one his grace wanted to succeed him? The weirdest thing was, she went from being "you are no son of mine" from the last episode to actually being nice to Aegon. Some viewers say that it's because she had been a pawn for far too long that she doesn't really know what she wants…maybe.

A part of me believes that she cared for both Viserys and Rhaenyra, and I appreciate her efforts to prevent bloodshed, putting her foot down against her asshole of a father, protecting Rhaenyra and her family despite everything they went through. But after that scene in the previous episode where she paid the maid to shut up about Aegon destroying her virtue, another part of me THINKS that MAYBE she wasn't really doing this to protect Rhaenyra but Aegon. If Rhaenyra's entire family is murdered, people are gonna point at Aegon as a murderer and a usurper, remember that not everyone believes on what Alicent said about her last convo with Viserys. Chances are, those who are loyal to the princess would question Aegon's ascension and would cause chaos. Even if they have dragons, that doesn't make them immune, AGAIN there are ways to kill dragons BUUUUUT knowing Alicent, she's pretty keen on keeping her son's image clean. Orrrr just simply, she was just performing what she believes Viserys expects her to do: make Aegon king and keep the peace within the family.

So…those are my two thoughts.

P.S. Olivia Cooke looks absolutely gorgeous 😍

Fun fact: Alicent was very much involved in all of the green council's plan of making Aegon king. According to Septon Eustace, Alicent and the greens have already anticipated Viserys' death and had already given instructions to the king's guards and servants when the time comes. In Munkun's True Telling however, Queen Alicent hurried the king's death by poisoning him. (Source: Fire & Blood by George RR Martin)

Damn I wish somebody would actually take time to listen to Helaena, the girl is literally spewing terrible things that will happen in the future. She's like Daenys the Dreamer in this timeline, except nobody actually cares to listen to her.

Aegon has no interest in ruling a kingdom, perhaps the reason why he has been slacking off was because his ego got hurt when Viserys never changed the order of the succession and that made him feel useless af. So he lived up to it, but y'all can tell that he loved the attention from the commonfolk.

Fun fact: Aegon acknowledged Rhaenyra as heir and refused to take part in his mother's schemes. He was convinced by Criston saying that the princess might execute him and his brothers once she becomes queen. (Source: Fire & Blood by George RR Martin)

YOOOOOO! Larys Clubfoot jerking off to Alicent's feet? I didn't see that one coming. I don't even remember him having a foot fetish in the book, but yeah…that's doesn't change the fact that he is a key player in the dance.

[WTF]

Otto Hightower never ceases to amuse me in a really bad way. In the earlier episode he went from blabbering to Alicent about how Rhaenyra's gonna murder her kids once she becomes queen, now here he is plotting to kill Rhaenyra's entire family upon Aegon's ascension, pulling the "this is what's best for the realm" card to justify his bullshit 🤡🤡.

Criston Cole being Alicent's rabid dog is funny and pathetic af. Being rejected after a one night stand hurt his ego so much that he not only hated Rhaenyra, but also her children and those who support her. Still a lame ass character. I am aware of the fan theory that Cole might be the real dad of Jace. Again, in the book the true father of Jace, Luke and Joff was never confirmed (Harwin Strong was suspected bc duh). However, I do entertain the idea of Rhaenyra not drinking the moon tea and getting preggers, if so it would be a huge slap on Criston's face.

[ghostlenin]

Avalon (Better Late Than Never Promo)

Back in February - 80 days ago, according to itch - I released my third FIST supplement. This time it stretches the system out to a medieval hack-n-slash, swapping out Cold War mercenaries for Arthurian knights, and I've called it Avalon.

I'm really quite pleased with this one! Since this has been out for a bit - and has also received one major update - I figured I'd reflect on the design process and what I was aiming for mechanically with this one.

Design

The idea for this came up organically: what if FIST but knights. That's a solid high concept pitch, so I went for it. I've long been a fan of arthuriana, the grail cycle, old myths, and subversions or reinventions of the old stories. For this though, I wanted to play it more straight-up than revisionist, more grounded than fantastical, since the thrust of the FIST system is to make combat-focused chaos engines.

So when it came to dealing with things like magic and dragons, I figured I'd shoot for a matter-of-fact presentation. The fantastic in Le Morte d'Arthur is just there, no explanation, no in-depth discussions of the repercussions of magic existing in society; wizards do magic, there's weird stuff in the wilderness.

I started with a couple new Traits in mind. Traits are the building blocks of FIST characters and are the source of equipment, abilities, and stat changes. These were classic things like "oh I need one for jousting", "what about where they're from", and "some that capture some of the more famous knights of the round." As I got more into my research, I wanted to include Traits that touched on what being one of the Round Table might actually look like in a combat-heavy ttrpg setting and how the church/faith aspect of arthuriana could be included in a way that was 1) not specific to Catholicism or even Christianity and 2) not required for players to engage with. I also wanted Traits that could change with, or at least track, a knight's progression through the ranks. I'll touch on how all of that came about in the next section, though.

The other major choice for players in vanilla FIST is choosing a Role, or an archetype with a personality motivation to act in particular ways that, when you do the thing, you can take an Advancement and improve your character. These quickly changed to Virtues in Avalon, and I went with the classic chivalric seven. Vices, or choosing one of the Virtues that your knight has the hardest time with, came later, but (in my opinion) cemented the feeling of an arthurian knight: the quests aren't just about the physical obstacles, they're also (or arguably, mainly) about the internal moral struggles.

After I figured out the Virtue-Vice setup, the Quests part came pretty easy, especially after I laid out the rules I'd use for myself in writing up a Quest:

A Goal connected to a Primary Virtue

A main physical obstacle

A main moral obstacle that targets a different Virtue than the Primary

The idea here was to emphasize the choices in how players resolve problems. This definitely drags FIST closer to the OSR side of things (not that it's not pretty OSRy anyway!) and gives Referees/GMs a versatile framework for building out Quests.

The Bestiary came with the big 1.1 Update, and frankly was a blast to write. Splitting it up into three tiers was a no-brainer: it makes sense to me to have a rough idea for the "combat rating" of baddies in relation to the characters, and that's why the tiers are mapped to the Rank Traits. It was also fun to come up with unique abilities, cycles of enemies that appear in multiple tiers (like the fey), and just absolutely brutal stat blocks. This was also the area where I got to plop in some of the weirder medieval woodcut images I found in the public domain--the one of the giant fish chomping on one dude while his buddy runs away cracks me up.

Mechanics

By far, the biggest thing Avalon does to advance the mechanics/system space of FIST-based games is in how I deal with Advancement, or what happens when your character levels up.

This started with an idea when I was drafting out Traits: what if there were some parts of Traits you lost when you took a new one? On the FIST discord, the group had been engaging in lots of really good discussions on topics like "how do you deal with characters that have like 8 traits" and "should I make my players retire their characters when they get too strong? and what does too strong look like?" and "how can we fix WAR DICE so people actually choose them."

What I came up with was a combination solution that tries to address these issues. First: putting a max on Advancements (12, of course) and a max on Traits (5, with some exceptions). Second: creating rules and mechanics for replacing traits. Third: codifying retirement (your knight hits the Advancement max) and replacement (your knight retires or dies and a new one takes its place).

The Traits max came first, and the rules for replacing Traits came right along with the development of this system. I wanted to do two things with this max: incentivize taking options other than Traits when you Advance and making replacing Traits an interesting choice. Many of the Traits in the finished product have a black diamond for a bullet point: this marks parts of the Trait that go away when it's replaced, and they're usually the strongest or most unique part of the Trait.

Flavor-wise, I intended to evoke the idea that as you focused your attention elsewhere, you lost access to some of the things you used to be able to do. The Origin Traits are great examples of this. If you build a character with an Origin Trait, you're declaring that they grew up away from the Castle, and they have some bonus to exploration because of it. Ex: Mountborn says that "You can scale rock faces and squeeze into small spaces with no difficulty" but you lose that part of the Trait when you replace it/as you become more integrated into the lifestyle of a Questing Knight in service to the King, you lose touch with where you came from.

I think this is the biggest innovation, and I'm proud of it!

The Advancement max had some interesting knock-on effects, so I wanted to talk about that briefly, too. At first, it was just a hard cap: you get 12, that's it. I wrote out what the Advancement options would be, adapting and expanding the options from the base game, and called it good. The rules in the Virtues-Vice section for falling and recovering from a fall provided a nice little outlet for some additional increases that didn't count toward your total to reward roleplaying the moral/inner strife part of being this kind of knight.

However, I realized that this wasn't quite enough, so for the 1.1 Update, I made a couple changes. The first was to actually add Advancement boxes onto the character sheets. The second was to bake in regular WAR DICE gains on the Advancement track. Not only is this easier to see how far along your knight is in its journey, but it also gives you regular boosts for keeping your guy alive. Quality of life improvement plus a buff, what more can you want!

I'm going to let Avalon marinate for a little bit and give it some more playing time before returning to its design space, but I do really like this project and I plan on a revisit at some point.

In the mean time, Avalon is for sale for $5 on my itch page. If you do grab a copy, give it a read and a play and then go rate it!

[robininthelabyrinth]

LXC is the legal guardian and adopter for LSZ or LJY, and NMJ has questions.

part 2 of the LJY-adopted-by-LQR fic (now also on ao3)

-

“So, did I knock you up before I went to war or something?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Because I feel like you should’ve mentioned it if that was the case. Possibly in a letter.”

Lan Xichen was so tired that it took him a solid minute to parse what was wrong with that sentence and how to respond, and it was not by following his first instinct to apologize that he should’ve written better letters.

“Stop making fun of me,” he said instead, groping towards some measure of dignity.

Sadly, dignity was in very short supply when you were taking care of babies. Multiple babies. Well, one baby and one toddler, which was somehow worse?

Lan Xichen was pretty sure they’d figured out how to time their crying off each other.

“I would never,” Nie Mingjue said, like a liar, and then he picked up little Jingyi and – Lan Xichen simply cannot find another way to put it – shook him, in a manner not unlike testing a melon for freshness.

For some reason, this made Lan Jingyi stop crying and start making snuffling little giggles instead.

“How did you do that?” Lan Xichen asked, eyes wide.

“Do what?” Nie Mingjue tucked the baby into the crook of his arm and scooped up some food off the table, offering it to him, and Lan Jingy actually ate it. “Xichen, are you feeling all right?”

“Shhh!” Lan Xichen hissed, eyes fixed on the baby, which was neither spitting up everything nor wailing as if his heart was broken. “No unnecessary noise during meals.”

Nie Mingjue snorted in amusement. “Sure,” he said amiably, in the tone Lan Xichen had long ago learned meant ‘nice rules you’ve got there, it’d be an awful shame if someone found a loophole in them’. “This isn’t a meal, though; it’s just a snack.”

Lan Xichen eyed the still-not-crying Lan Jingyi and decided that now was not the time for a spirited debate on the virtues of discipline and fulfilling the merits rather than the word of a rule.

“Where’s monster number one gone?” Nie Mingjue asked abruptly. “He must be very good at hiding, because I looked away for a blink of an eye and he was gone.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes slowly dropped down to where a cloth-covered lump was not-so-sneakily edging towards Nie Mingjue’s foot.

Nie Mingjue was one of the foremost front line fighters of their generation, and possibly the previous one as well. His physical ability was matched only by his incredibly keen senses.

There was no way he was not aware of the lump.

“It’s a real shame, too,” Nie Mingjue continued. “I was planning on doing a test of how far you can throw children, but I think monster two here’s a bit too small to make the test worthwhile. But I guess it just wasn’t meant to be –”

You can’t throw children, Lan Xichen was about to say, except Lan Sizhui was tearing off the tablecloth and jumping up in excitement, shouting, “Here! Here! I’m here! I’m big enough! You can throw me!”

“Why does he want to be thrown,” Lan Xichen murmured, bewildered. He’d never wanted to be thrown around as a child. Had he?

In fairness, he wasn’t sure. No one had ever offered.

Apparently, though, Lan Sizhui did very much want to be thrown around, and Lan Jingyi even condescended to allow Lan Xichen to hold him while he watched.

“Higher! Higher!” Lan Sizhui shouted.

“Really? Is this high enough?” Nie Mingjue held him up at eye level.

“Higher!”

“Like this?” Above his head.

“Higher!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“All right. How about –” Baxia slithered out from her place by the door, zipping over until she was right in front of Nie Mingjue, allowing him to step onto her like a stair, and then zipping upwards to about hip-height, lifting Nie Mingjue and Lan Sizhui with her. They very nearly hit a tree branch with their heads. “– this?”

Lan Sizhui shrieked with laughter.  

“It’s too early to introduce them to flying,” Lan Xichen objected, because it was. “Mingjue-xiong…”

Nie Mingjue hopped down with a laugh. “All right, one last toss,” he told Lan Sizhui. “Then you nap. Okay?”

“Okay!” Lan Sizhui, who had never once willingly succumbed to naptime in the entirety of the time that Lan Xichen had known him, promised earnestly.

Back into the pile of soft grass he went, giggling the entire time, and amazingly enough he really did fall asleep afterwards. Lan Jingyi, too, had fallen asleep at some point.

“I’ve decided that your brother needs more experience running a sect,” Lan Xichen told Nie Mingjue, who raised his eyebrows. “Starting immediately. I promise to allow you to leave when Jingyi is, oh, shall we say five years old..?”

You could reason with a five year old. 

Nie Mingjue laughed.

It was a type of laugh that suggested that he thought Lan Xichen was making a joke. This was incorrect.

“You’d be amazed at how serious I am,” Lan Xichen told him threateningly, “I’m sect leader here, this is my territory, I can have you arrested any time –” but by that point Nie Mingjue was already bundling him off to bed, too, combing out his hair and plying him with snacks and –

This was not helping his argument that Lan Xichen should be allowing him to leave rather than keep him trapped in the Cloud Recesses as a babysitter-slash-love-slave. 

Well, he wouldn’t really do that, of course. He’d let him go. Eventually.

It’d probably be good for Nie Mingjue’s stress levels, honestly.

“Seriously, though, how did you do that?” he asked, his head on Nie Mingjue’s lap. “They didn’t cry once.”

“I’m good with kids,” Nie Mingjue said, his fingers digging into Lan Xichen’s scalp in just the right way. “Now can you explain to me how exactly you ended up with them? Two, no less?”

Lan Xichen groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. “Sizhui’s Wangji’s,” he explained. “Not biologically, but he’s put his name down in the family register under his own. But, you know…”

“I know.”

Lan Xichen appreciated that he didn’t need to go into it. The doctors had estimated that Lan Wangji would regain full mobility within three years, so that was the period the elders had mandated for his so-called ‘seclusion’, but with Lan Wangji being locked away like that – even with visitors, even though he was trying his hardest to care for the child from where he was – meant that someone had to care for the child’s day-to-day life until his brother was ready to resume the role.

“Jingyi is a cousin, I think,” he continued. “His parents are dead, and uncle accepted guardianship for him…I think he’s going to adopt him, actually.”

“Then why is he with you?”

“I volunteered.”

“Xichen, I say this with a full heart of affection and tremendous respect for your capabilities,” Nie Mingjue said. “But why in the world would you go and do a stupid thing like that?”

Lan Xichen sighed. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue that it wasn’t stupid – he was, quite obviously, terrible with children.

“Uncle’s still injured from the war,” he admitted. In fact, his injury was probably even older than the war, dating as far back as the burning of the Cloud Recesses – his uncle had never been much of a fighter, his impressive cultivation strength stemming almost entirely from gentler arts like music and learning and meditation, but when his home and his family and his students were at risk, he’d fought, while Lan Xichen ran. Not just fought; he’d kept fighting long past the point that his body allowed. It only made sense for the bill to need to be paid. “He had a recurrence of an old complaint, not long ago; he started coughing up blood. The doctors insisted that he try to avoid anything that might cause him  stress.”

“Stress. Like, say, a rowdy infant?”

“Exactly like a rowdy infant,” Lan Xichen agreed, glad that Nie Mingjue did not mention that what had happened with Lan Wangji was also likely a source of stress. At least the two of them had slowly started to repair their relationship recently – the heartbreak would kill their uncle sooner than anything else, and Lan Xichen might be weak, but he really couldn’t tolerate the idea of suffering any more loss.

And also, if Lan Wangji could see his way to forgiving their uncle, he might one day agree to forgive Lan Xichen, too.

“I see. So you ended up with the little one, too.”

“Yes. And they hate me.” Nie Mingjue coughed a little. “No, don’t deny it. They clearly hate me. They always cry and spit and yell -”

“They’re children, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said. “Traumatized children. They do that.”

Lan Xichen didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Nie Mingjue was frowning in memory of pain long past. Lan Xichen remembered, with painful clarity, how young Nie Huaisang had been when Lao Nie had died, how badly he had taken it.

There’d been a lot of crying and vomiting and yelling there as well.

“You’re good with kids,” Lan Xichen said instead of commenting, trading delicacy for delicacy; he would not touch Nie Mingjue’s still-bleeding wounds just as Nie Mingjue avoided his own. “Very good.”

“Well, I like to think so, anyway.”

They remained in blissful, comfortable silence for a while.

“How would it have even worked?” Lan Xichen finally asked. His eyes were still closed, Nie Mingjue’s fingers running through his hair; he never wanted to move again.

“Hmm?”

“If you knocked me up before you went to war. I mean, they’re not even the same age.”

“Well, one of them’s from the affair, obviously.”

“I’m sorry, am I cheating on you now?” Lan Xichen opened an eye and pinned Nie Mingjue with a fierce look that instructed his lover to reconsider.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, mock-solemnly. His eyes were dancing. “You were so distraught after receiving incorrect news of my untimely demise that you conducted a ghost marriage with my spirit, and then went and had a child to continue my name.”

“…they’re both surnamed Lan.”

“So what? Are you saying I’m not good enough to marry into your sect, is that it?”

Lan Xichen’s cheeks were hurting from trying not to laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of implying such a thing.”

“There you go, then.”

“Can I ask why I felt the need to have a child to continue your name if I had one already?”

“…well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said. “I’ve got nothing.”

Lan Xichen burst out laughing.

[theomnicode]

Blast and his connections with cosmic powers

An important thought popped to my head.

How is Blast and crew going to react to Saitama when he and Garou come back?

Does Blast realise the true source of the divine power that nearly exploded the earth was Saitama? I feel like it's a bit too early to reveal that but who knows. Saitama does not know the source of his insane punches that can level earth, he just knows he could do it cognizantly. He punches something aggressively, it explodes and dies, that's all there is to. Blast would rightfully assume the energy is all Garou, but he can definitely tell something is off with Saitama. He's going to keep an eye on things at minimum.

But Blast and crew have both experience against Avatars of God and means to contain them when reasoning fails. Blast first tried to reason with Garou, then teleported him to different dimension for containment or dealing with him. Ergo, he was confident he could have contained Garou's divine powers on its own, but Garou is a far trickier opponent than that, as he has his own powers too. Martial arts.

Blast can apparently also contain the power of Serious Punch squared, at least momentarily. But Saitama is limitless, so he would be able to overpower any kinds of containments of his power if he puts enough effort.

So what I can gather is that Blast and crew have means to deal with beings of Garou's current level. And contain them efficiently. Maybe even kill or strip them of their powers if reasoning fails because they're the galaxy protection crew, it's their job to protect Earth and other intelligent beings from God's influence and destructive powers.

Blast can also take a beating from these people. Not just from Garou, but other possible avatars of god and beings of that level.

Who in the world is this gigachad who managed to make Space Dad Blast bleed from his leg and face?

After he teleported out 3 people from time distorted place? Now that we know that he can easily duel with Garou.

Either one of god's avatars or god itself. Honestly, the slashing pattern on his suit seems to indicate it's the same thing he fights, over and over again.

Ofc, it could just be the Beast King lookalike teammate of his and they're just sparring, but it would be a weird time to spar with teammates when he got concerned he allowed God to almost come into contact with Tatsu. Maybe time distortion from the cube has something to do with it, so when the teleported out, he got pulled back into real timeline during his sparring session or something and had to immediately leave to save Tatsu. Timey wimey stuff. But I'm going off tangent.

It still begs the question: how will they react to Saitama if they figure out he was a source of Divine power?

Would they become hostile? Would they attempt to contain him? What if they deem Saitama too dangerous because he showed to Blast he was volatile enough with the proper trigger to try and blow up the entire planet? All very possible choices.

So far, the story has painted Saitama as morally good. But accidentally destroying Earth is not a morally sound choice. So the narrative direction that Saitama could prove dangerous to mankind if he so wished is now out there. A fairly intentional and big shift if you ask me.

Instead of a hero to be revered for his virtues... the end result might be a being that has to be feared for his powers. Because he's still human being and imperfect, but humans fear what they do not understand.

Would Blast crew and Sai come to blows? Would they leave Saitama alone because he's still a person? Would Hero association try to use Saitama if they realised the full extent of his powers? I bet they would, they're not below trying to force the c-class to use drugs and body enhancements. Not that they could but they would try lol. Good luck on that. But being treated as a weapon for Hero association would suck.

So Saitama being relatively unknown to people serves another thing: he's left alone and out of machinations of more corrupted people and people who have the moral obligations to deal with beings who have godly powers.

Blast is not stupid nor unempathetic, so he will probably at the end, make the right choices when it concerns Saitama, the humane choices, but we'll probably only see that happen at the end of the series. Saitama is still a hero at his core too.

Saitama also has friends now who would sprung to his defence. Like certain cyborg who unflinchingly supports and defends Saitama even if he does not need a personal guard dog, Genos will do it anyway.

In a worst case scenario, Blast crew versus Saitama crew is an actual possibility.

But we could also throw more curveballs at Saitama and someone actually reveals his own divine powers to him. And casually points out that yea he almost destroyed the earth just fyi.

Someone like...God.

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (2/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,223

Summary:  Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day's work on the  Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

II.

—

Jamie laughed. 

It wasn’t the best reaction, but it was an honest reaction. Sometimes in life you just had to laugh. With deep incredulity. 

“I have a hard time believing you -” she gestured towards Dani, blonde-haired, pastel-silked, wide-eyed damsel in distress Dani, “- killed a Jedi.”

“I told you,” Dani insisted with a scowl which spoke volumes regarding how she felt about Jamie’s reaction. “It was an accident.”

“Even as an accident. No,” Jamie corrected, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Especially as an accident. Do you know how hard it is to kill a Jedi?”

“Well, I -”

“Don’t answer that. Because you’re wrong. Because you don’t know.” 

Jamie pushed herself to her feet and crossed over to her bedroom. She shook her head and muttered to herself as she pulled out two pairs of pajamas from the drawers built into the wall. “Killed a Jedi. And I bet Telos has a moon now, too. Fuck’s sake.”

She began to strip down to change. Never mind that there was no wall to protect whatever virtue she had left. That had all gone out the window long ago. The Temple wasn’t exactly a place that left one with their dignity intact. Not when she’d spent her years crammed, tip to tail, in every other padawan’s space. One quickly learned to grow accustomed to the notion that ‘personal space’ was non-existent. 

“Can’t you go into the bathroom to do that?” she heard Dani ask from the couch, sounding exasperated.

“Too late,” said Jamie, tugging the baggy shirt over her head and adjusting the soft elastic band of the pants around her waist. “Already done.” 

She tossed the small mining laser onto a table without any care if it actually landed there or not. She smacked another panel on the wall, and her dirty boilersuit got shoved down the laundry shaft that flipped open. She closed it with her knee, then scooped up the other pair of pajamas on her way back to the couch. 

“Here.” Jamie tossed the pajamas onto Dani’s lap. “We’re roughly the same height. Should fit you fine.” 

Dani started slightly when the folded up fabric hit her legs. She stared down at the pajamas — the shirt dark-washed and splashed with a loopy neon print for Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes — and her fingers slowly curled around the cloth, gripping it tight. She was so quiet that Jamie frowned.

“Hey. You all right?” 

“I know,” Dani whispered, almost too soft to hear. 

“What?” 

“I know how - how hard it is to kill a Jedi.”

Jamie opened her mouth to reply, but the words died in her throat. Dani’s hands and shoulders were shaking. 

“He just - He grabbed me in the transport, and then I - I don’t know what happened but he was suddenly on the other side of the cabin and -” Dani continued, her voice ragged and raw. “He drew his lightsabre and started yelling, and he kept looking at me like he was terrified and I didn’t - I was so tired and my head hurt - my head hurt so much. I couldn’t - I didn’t mean to - to -”

A broken note escaped Dani then, and Jamie just stood there, feeling like an asshole while a pretty woman started crying on her couch. And not the nice cute kind of crying, either. Soon Dani was pressing her face into the pajamas and trying to muffle great hitching sobs into the fabric, her whole body trembling. 

“Okay,” said Jamie and she hesitantly reached out to pat the top of Dani’s head in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. One of Dani’s hands clutched at the hem of Jamie’s shirt like it was a lifeline, and she pressed her head into Jamie’s stomach so that Jamie could only stand there awkwardly while a stranger cried her eyes out and made a mess of it, too. 

"I'm so tired,” Dani mumbled again, when the sobs had faded away into sniffles. “I’m so tired."

At some point Jamie had placed a hand on Dani’s shoulder, and her other hand had begun to absently stroke through her golden hair. "Okay. All right. Let's get you to bed.” 

It took a bit of gentle convincing to get Dani to her feet. Jamie prodded her towards the bathroom to change and wash up. By the time Dani emerged, Jamie had already dug around in the closet for a spare blanket, which she was now tossing over her legs while she made herself comfortable on the couch. 

Dani’s eyes were still red-rimmed, but the blotchiness had gone from her cheeks. She filled out Jamie’s pajamas better than Jamie ever did, and she blinked at Jamie from the doorway of the bathroom. 

“You don’t have to -” she started to say. 

“Just take the bed,” Jamie sighed. She lifted her hand and waved it for the motion sensor, and the holo feed turned off. “Be warned. I wake up early for work.” 

Dani nodded and made her way uneasily towards the thin mattress, pulling back the sheets. “Do you -? I mean - Am I supposed to stay here while you -?” 

Jamie spoke through a yawn and burrowed down into the lumpy couch cushions. “Dunno. We’ll figure it out in the morning.” 

Another wave and the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. With no light pollution bleeding through the barred windows, the little apartment was a mass of shadow and shapes looming in a jungle through the night. Jamie could have manoeuvred through it all with her eyes closed — and had many times before — but she heard Dani shuffling around before the mattress finally creaked. 

Jamie shut her eyes. She tried to tell herself that it was a night like any other night. She tried to pretend that it was a day off tomorrow, and she had indulged in too much drink downstairs at Ho’kyn’s, that she had only managed to stumble to the couch, half dressed, before falling asleep to the dull sound of the holo feed. Except the presence of another person in the room was too unfamiliar to ignore. Dani tossed and turned. Every time Jamie thought she had managed to slip away into sleep, another shuffle of the blankets would jolt her awake once more. And worse, Dani started crying again at some point. Quietly. But not as quietly as she probably thought.

Jamie groaned. She scrunched up her face and pressed a spare pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the noise. 

It was going to be a long night. 

—

There was a dip in the cushions, as if someone had just pressed their weight against the couch. It was the first thing she noticed apart from the cold. Shivering, Jamie blinked awake blearily, her back sore, her hair a mess, her brow furrowed in confusion. Even through the blanket and the warm spring night, she could feel an icy edge cut near to the bone. It took her a moment to register where exactly she was. That she had fallen asleep on the couch. And that there was someone kneeling over her, holding a lightsabre to her throat. 

That certainly got her attention. She was definitely awake now. 

A kickstart of adrenaline sent her heart hammering into overdrive. Every breath plumed from Jamie’s mouth and nose in little bursts of white steam that clung to the cold. Jamie had to quell the urge to flinch, to move in any kind of way that might end with her neck a gaping cauterised wound. The lightsabre hummed gently. She could feel the heat of it against her skin, and she winced when she swallowed reflexively. 

The blade was the only source of light in the apartment. It drenched the air with a deep crimson haze. Dani was crouched atop her, hands holding the lightsabre steady. Her face was illuminated in a wash of red light, and her eyes — both her eyes — gleamed an eerie unblinking gold through the night. 

And with a smile that never touched her eyes, Dani slashed the blade down in a single fluid motion.

Jamie jerked awake with a gasp. She flailed against the blanket that had tangled around her legs in the night, and in an attempt to clutch at her throat, she nearly toppled right off the couch and onto the floor. Managing to catch herself before she collapsed in a graceless snarl of limbs and blanket, Jamie scrambled to her feet, fists up, ready to punch the absolute living shite out of some air molecules. When it was clear there was no present danger, she kicked the blanket away and reached up to feel at her neck.

Her unblemished, completely lightsabre-free neck.

Still breathing heavily, Jamie looked around. Sure enough, Dani was sound asleep in her bed, curled up beneath the sheets in a tiny ball, her mop of blonde hair barely visible.

Jamie closed her eyes and tilted her head back to breathe towards the ceiling in relief. Just a dream, she told herself. Just a really vivid fucked up dream. Running a hand through her dark unruly curls, she trudged off towards the bathroom. She didn’t bother being overly quiet while she took a shower and pulled on a fresh set of clothes for the day — a supposedly sweat-resistant pair of leggings and undershirt to go under a Corps issued boilersuit — and yet when she emerged from the bathroom Dani had not stirred in the slightest. 

Jamie twisted her damp hair into a messy half bun at the back of her head; it wasn’t long enough for anything else. Then she zipped up the boilersuit to midway up her chest. Grabbing her work boots, Jamie sat on the other edge of the bed and stomped her feet into them one at a time. 

“Hey,” she said, not unkindly but not softly either.

Behind her Dani stirred somewhat, the sheets shifting as she rolled over with a wordless grumble. 

Jamie bent over to tie up the laces of her boots. “I’m going to work. There’s food in the fridge. Don’t leave the apartment unless you want to be spotted.” 

No response. 

Sitting up straight, Jamie leaned over and gently poked Dani’s shoulder. “I need an affirmative. Or I’m going to keep annoying you.”

That earned her a sullen noise. “Yeah. Okay,” Dani mumbled as she pulled the sheets completely over her head and burrowed further into the pillows. 

With a shake of her head, Jamie rose to her feet. She had the front door open before she patted at her leg. She turned back around to grab the mining laser from where it had rolled onto the floor at some point during the night, and strapped it to her thigh before strolling out into the grey pre-dawn of Telos IV. 

By all accounts, it was a day like any other day. Anybody watching her would have noticed nothing different about Jamie’s routine. She caught the railspeeder a few blocks down and rode it from Thani all the way to the forests just past the grasslands in quadrant two. Chodo Habat Parkway was empty at this time of morning, but in just a few hours it would be a bustle of activity. The railspeeder flew over the Parkway and Jamie watched it from the window with barely registered interest. The only other person on the train that she could see was a Rodian dead asleep on the other side of the cabin, his antennae drooping. 

By the time Jamie made it to the edge of quadrant two, the sun had risen over the horizon and washed the planet in muted green and gold light. Far below the railspeeder, the grasslands rippled in a breeze. She eyed it with a touch more interest than for the Parkway. The previous generation of AgriCorps members had managed to get the grasslands to take, but only two species. It had taken Jamie and her team four years to introduce a handful of other grass species robust enough to cling to life in this dirt. She sat up a little straighter in her seat and tracked the varieties she could spot from this distance.

Turned out that even after three hundred years, an orbital barrage rendering an entire planet ground zero could still have an adverse effect on soil leaching. 

God damn fucking Saul Karath and the damn Sith. 

It was another half hour until she reached the drop off point. When the railspeeder slowed to a halt, Jamie dragged herself upright and hopped off. A few people passed by to get onto the railspeeder for the next stop, but the outdoor station on the forest outskirts of quadrant two was largely full of people coming to work, not leaving. She paid a few credits for a dietary supplement being sold by a dented droid vendor behind a small stall with a leaning canopy. 

“You should eat actual meals sometimes, Jamie,” the droid admonished even as it deposited the tablet-sized supplement into her outstretched palm. 

“I’ve tasted your swill before, C-87,” said Jamie. “I’ll take my chances with the supplement, thanks.”

C-87 gave an affronted sniff, but handed her a compostable cup that was filled with steaming stimcaf. “On the house.”  

She took the cup and washed down the supplement with a heady swig. “You’re a legend, mate.”

“I am not at all well known outside of Thani,” C-87 said in obvious confusion. 

She shook her head with a smile. “It’s just an expression.”

“Oh. Right. I will add it to my database with the others.” 

Jamie continued down a ramp to the broad dirt path that served as a crossroads for the area. A turbo-tractor dragged piles of gear down the track, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. A ruddy-skinned Ithorian was directing teams in shifts for the day, handing out new jobs and gathering feedback on the screen between his hands. Jamie walked towards him just as a small group departed with waves, their expressions tired but not unfriendly. 

“Morning, Murr,” Jamie greeted.

Murr’s only reply was a deep reverberation of hello. It sounded more like the shifting of tectonic plates than actual language.  

“I saw some patchy sections over the grassland outskirts of quadrant one,” Jamie said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the railspeeder behind her. “Can we get the scrubs to take a look this afternoon?” 

Murr was already tapping away at his screen. The translator device at the top of Murr’s long neck blinked, and through his rumbling subvocalisations a robotic voice said, “I will send a team to check the clay capping has not been permeated.”

“And make sure they don’t forget to test the aquifer this time,” Jamie insisted.

Murr’s throat sack expanded and he made a low booming sound that she had come to learn was a sort of derisive snort for his species. The robotic voice said, “You have little faith. You should consider revisiting your Temple.”

“Sounds almost as boring as one of your jungle Herd meets.”

He waved her away, but she saw him make an extra note on his screen nevertheless. 

“Cheers.” She gave him a brisk pat on the shoulder before striding off towards the treeline. 

From one of the pockets of her boilersuit, Jamie fished out a key. She hopped onto a rusting old swoop bike and turned it on with a twist of the key. As she sped off into the forest, she chucked the now empty cup of stimcaf over her shoulder, where it would dissolve into the nitrogen rich soil with the next scheduled rainfall. 

Work was dull, repetitive, yet fulfilling. Technically Jamie supervised a team of new AgriCorps entries, most of them young idealists who’d chosen this Service out of a sense of obligation to the Restoration, as though it were some kind of symbol against the tide of red creeping across the galactic map with every passing day. They hadn’t been parcelled out to the other branches like loose change that never quite added up to a whole number. They found her dry pessimism inharmonious with their convictions, and so they only ever came to her for direction as a last resort. 

And honestly it was the best for everyone involved. As far as Jamie was concerned, she was the last person who should be teaching anyone. Especially starry-eyed kids who looked like they’d only just graduated from being younglings at the Temple. 

Even out in the far-reaching forests of Telos, Jamie felt like she was being watched, like someone would know exactly who she was hiding in her apartment. She kept a sharp eye on the treeline as she worked. At one point she nearly gave herself a second degree burn with the mining laser when a new entry snuck up on her with a question. Jamie sent them scurrying off with a gruff answer — ‘No, don’t plant them beneath the allelopaths, you prat’ — and returned to her careful pruning with a scowl. 

By the end of the day, she was exhausted and paranoid and she still had a two and a half hour rail ride back home. To really spice things up, a huddle of officers shuffled into her rail car at one of the station stops. They went around questioning passengers about whether or not anyone had seen a woman of familiar description — blonde, pretty, mismatched eyes. When they reached Jamie, she shook her head. They glanced at the AgriCorps logo on her boilersuit, thanked her for her service and dedication, and went on their merry way. 

She was bouncing her leg up and down when the railspeeder finally pulled into her station. She tried not to look like she was fleeing, but the officers had congregated at the far end of the rail car to chat amongst themselves, and the last thing she needed was to be pulled over for a candid discussion about the latest Restoration Project updates. 

Telosians. Nosy fuckers. The lot of them.

The sun slanted towards the horizon as she walked home, her steps brisk, her shoulders hunched, her hands jammed into her pockets. Her boots rattled against the metal staircase leading up to her apartment. She held her breath while she punched in the passcode to open the door, half expecting the place to be empty, or to be a complete wreck. Dani gone. Dani taken. Dani just another strange memory to add to a list of strange memories. 

Dani was, in fact, still there. Indeed, Dani was wearing a spare set of Jamie’s clothes and an apron, and she was puttering around the kitchenette. Her hair had been tied back in a braid and she was unpacking a few bags of groceries. Jamie recognised the logo stamped on the recyclable bags as belonging to a little market stall a few blocks down. 

Jamie shut the front door behind her and locked it. “I thought I told you not to go outside. How did you even get back in without me?”

“I saw you enter the passcode last night,” Dani answered without looking up from what she was doing. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a pan that Jamie couldn’t even remember buying. It must have come with the apartment. “And you didn’t have any food.”

“There’s food in the fridge,” Jamie said.

In answer Dani opened said fridge, which was nearly barren. She gestured towards its bare shelves and said, “I’d hardly call dietary supplements and alcohol ‘food.’”

“Do you want to get caught? Because this is how you get caught.” 

“Just -” Dani shut the fridge again and turned back to her previous task with a sigh. “Let me cook dinner. And then you can teach me some lightsabre forms afterwards.” 

Jamie was in the process of tugging off her work boots, and she nearly fell over hearing that. “I’m sorry - I can do what?” 

Turning on the electric stovetop, Dani pulled out some pre-packaged protein and sauce. “If I’m going to have it, then I at least want to know how to use it.”

“First of all,” Jamie finished taking off her shoes and left them by the door. Then she crossed the room so she could lean against the counter to talk to Dani. “Nobody just starts off with a lightsabre, all right? That’s not how it works. You need to do all sorts of inner peace bantha-shit before they even let you harvest kyber to make your own lightsabre. There’s a whole right of passage.” She gestured to herself emphatically, tapping her own chest. “I never got to make a lightsabre.”

There was a very attractive, very distracting curve to Dani’s smile when she replied, “Failed the inner peace part, huh?” 

“Very funny,” said Jamie, not laughing. Dani moved to start cooking in earnest, but Jamie reached out to grasp her wrist. “Hey. Is this really what you want?” 

Dani went still. There was no leap of electricity between them, not like that first night down at Ho’kyn’s. Still both of them hesitated, waiting for it to happen again. 

When it didn’t, Dani’s jaw squared bullishly. “I want to be able to defend myself. Against -” she waved at Jamie with her free hand. “- you know.”

“Force sensitives.”

“Yeah.”

Jamie tapped her finger in a thoughtful manner; it took her a moment to realise that this meant she was tapping at Dani’s wrist while Dani watched her in confusion. Snatching her hand away, Jamie said, “Fine. C’mon.” 

Pausing to rummage through one of the grocery bags for a bread bun, Jamie walked to the middle of the room and motioned for Dani to join her. 

Dani blinked. “Wait - right now?” 

“Are you gonna wait until I change my mind after dinner?” 

Immediately, Dani switched the stove off and removed the apron. Come to think of it, Jamie couldn’t remember buying an apron either. Before she could dwell on that thought too hard, Dani had rushed over to the bedside table to scoop up the lightsabre, and was now standing before Jamie in the middle of her living room/kitchen/spare bedroom. She bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet, lightsabre hilt held unsheathed in one hand, awaiting instruction. 

Fuck, but Jamie was bad at the whole teacher thing. Six months in the EduCorps had been enough to remind her — and everyone in her close vicinity — that she was Not Great at patience and bookishness. In fact, moving from the EduCorps had been her first Reassignment, and the Council had never put her back there. A decision which was met with universal relief. Especially from Jamie. 

“Ground rules,” Jamie started.

Dani nodded to show she was listening.

“If I tell you to sheathe the blade, you sheathe it. If either you or I feel uncomfortable or in danger or — whatever — you sheathe it. If you hit something you shouldn’t, you sheathe it. If you drop it -” Jamie paused, then grimaced. “Don’t. Just don’t do that.” 

Dani nodded again. “Okay.” 

“Be careful,” Jamie warned. “Usually they start you off with a practice sabre. That -” she pointed to the hilt in Dani’s grasp, “- is the real deal. One wrong move, and you will kill someone. Probably yourself. Or me. Honestly I would prefer if it wasn’t me.”

“Okay,” Dani repeated, sounding exasperated this time. 

Taking a step back so she was well clear of any sweep radius, Jamie bit into the bread bun and mumbled around a mouthful, “Go ahead.” 

“What? Just -?” Dani gave the unlit hilt a little wave. 

“Yeah,” said Jamie, chewing. “Go on.”

Dani’s thumb hovered over the silver activation button, and then she pressed down. The blade extended from the hilt, a deep and brilliant blue, blue as a Tythonian sky on a cold winter’s day, blue as an evening star. For a long moment Dani simply held it outright, the blue light washing out her face. Then she gave it an experimental slash through the air, the sound of the plasma blade like nothing else. 

“It’s -” Dani said in surprise, “- heavy.” 

Jamie hummed around another mouthful. She took the time to finish chewing before she answered, “You haven’t connected with it yet.”

Dani scrunched up her nose. “It’s just a fancy sword.”

“If that’s what you believe, then we should just go back to making dinner. Maybe you can use it to cook those steaks you bought.” 

Dani pursed her lips. She lowered the blade, holding it loosely at her side so that the tip was pointed towards the ground. “No. Teach me.” 

Studying the determination on Dani’s face, Jamie leaned back against the wall. She propped her foot back, crossed her arms, and said, “Lower your stance. We’re going to go through the forms, now.” 

If nothing else, Dani was a quick learner. At least, that must have been the reason why this was going so well. It certainly couldn’t have been because Jamie was a decent teacher, because everyone from the Outer Rim to Tython knew that wasn’t true. Yet Dani, after an hour spent barefoot and wearing pajamas in Jamie’s living room, already looked more at home with a lightsabre in her hands than Jamie ever had after years of training in the Temple. 

At one point, Jamie tore off a chunk of bread and threw it at the floor near Dani’s legs. Dani leapt back a step unsteadily and pressed the deactivation button so that the blade slid back up into the hilt. 

“What was that for?” Dani asked.

Jamie jerked her chin towards her. “Pay attention to your feet. Look how narrow they are. Your opponent can put you off balance, take ground from you, force you to retreat.”

“You can just tell me that. You don’t need to throw food at me.” Dani knelt down to pick up the piece of bread and toss it into the sink. 

Now that Jamie was actually looking at the floor more closely, she asked, “Did you vacuum today?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when did I own a vacuum?” 

“It was in the supply closet behind your pantry.”

“I have a pantry?” 

Dani walked over towards the kitchen side of the room and hit a panel on the wall that Jamie had never cared to fiddle with in the past. A whole section of the wall jutted out then slid sideways to reveal a whole host of kitchen items and cleaning supplies that Jamie had never even knew existed. 

“Well, shit,” Jamie muttered, scratching at the back of her head. “I have a pantry.”

Hitting the panel again to make the wall shut, Dani took her place back in the centre of the floor. “Can we keep going?” she asked, and she already pressed the activation button to unsheathe the lightsabre once more. 

Jamie lifted her eyebrows. By now she had crouched down against the wall, one leg outstretched as she idly fidgeted with the zipper of her boilersuit. “Start from the top. One. Two. Three -”

Eventually Jamie didn’t even have to mime the movements for Dani to follow along, and Dani — looking utterly pleased with herself, her smile radiant — finished a whole set without a single discernible flaw. 

"This isn't so hard," Dani said. She gave the lightsabre a bold flourish as she turned on the spot.

Which of course meant that the blade cut right through Jamie's couch.

Dani scrambled to hit the deactivation button, nearly dropping the lightsabre in the process, but the damage was already done. The couch was cut cleanly in half. Slowly it buckled as they watched, slumping to the floor in the centre where it was no longer self supported. The cut through it smoked gently and smelled of burning hair. 

Jamie glared.

Clutching the now unlit sabre hilt, Dani winced. "Sorry."

Jamie pushed herself upright, dusting off her hands. "I think that's enough lightsabre training for one evening,” she growled.

The worst part was how Dani kept apologising all through dinner. 

“I’m sorry,” Dani said, hovering at Jamie’s elbow while Jamie loaded dishes into the automatic wash machine. "I can buy you a new couch.” 

"Save your credits for the trip to Tython."

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t -” Jamie cut herself off. She shut the front-loading machine a little more firmly than was perhaps strictly necessary, then turned to face Dani, whose expression was positively doleful. “Don’t be sorry. Be better. Don’t get cocky just because you got through one set of the most basic lightsabre form there is.”

“Sor -” Dani started to say, then changed course. “I won’t.” 

The lightsabre itself was propped atop the counter on the far side of the room, where Dani had hastily put it down moments after the incident. 

Reaching for a dish towel, Jamie shook her head and started to wipe down the kitchen countertop. “You need proper training. Not whatever rubbish I can offer you.” 

“I don’t want to go to the Temple. I don’t want to learn about -” Dani’s mouth snapped shut and she frowned down at her own feet. 

“Being Force sensitive isn’t just something you can run away from, you know,” Jamie said. She ran water over the dish towel and rung it out before continuing where she’d left off. 

“I told you,” Dani grumbled. “I’m not Force sensitive.”

“Fuck’s sake. This again?” 

“You don’t need to teach me about the Force. You can just teach me the basics of a lightsabre.”

At that, Jamie laughed. She stopped mopping up the counter and turned to face Dani. “Fuckin’ hilarious that you think those two things are different somehow.” 

With a huff, Dani turned aside. She crossed her arms and glowered at the maimed couch. 

When it was clear she wasn’t going to speak, Jamie tossed down the towel. “Nothing you say will change the fact that you’re -”

“Stop,” Dani said through grit teeth. “Just - stop it.” 

Jamie didn’t stop it. Because if there was one thing Jamie knew about herself, it’s that she didn’t have a lick of good sense. “What do you think will happen if you try to run from it, anyway? Do you think nobody will notice? Forever? Because even I noticed, and I’m about as Force sensitive as a tree stump.”

While Jamie spoke, Dani’s jaw clenched. “You think I want some Council to dictate my whole life? You think I want -?” she asked with a broad sweep of her hand towards Jamie’s apartment without finishing her sentence. 

Jamie narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.”

“No, go on.” Jamie took a step forward, and it was gratifying that Dani didn’t back down, that she held her ground. “If the Jedi don’t find you, the Sith will. You think my life is bad? What are you gonna do? Run forever? Why are you -?”

“Because! Because this will get worse!” Dani burst out, and there was a ragged edge to her voice that gave Jamie pause. “Because if I use it — if I do that then I’ll -!”

She stopped abruptly, hand flying to her head with a wince of pain. Concerned, Jamie reached out, but the moment she touched her, it was like being struck by lightning. Like a chorus of song branching out in all directions. Dani staggered away from her with a gasp, breaking the connection, and her eyes were squeezed shut, arms raised as though to ward off an incoming blow. 

“I’m - I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to -! I didn’t -!” Dani was saying, apologising over and over, and all but cowering. 

Jamie stared at her, hand still outstretched. Slowly she rubbed her fingertips together, half expecting a flicker of sparks to leap between them. The thrill of it still echoed around her ribcage and the roof of her mouth. 

This time when Jamie reached out she was careful not to touch her. “Dani,” she said softly. “Nothing happened. It’s all right. Hey. You’re all right.”

Hesitant, Dani opened her eyes, peering around the room as if surprised that everything was still intact. She worried at her lower lip, her hands clenched at her sides. Finally she looked up at Jamie, and the fear was painted openly across her face, pleading and alone; it gleamed in her eyes.

"The Force isn't what you think," Jamie murmured. "You can't run from yourself."

Dani opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it again. She dropped her gaze and sniffed. For a brief terrifying moment Jamie thought she was going to cry again, but then Dani simply nodded. If anything her expression was a mixture between miserable and embarrassed. Jamie patted her upper arms, and for a brief second Dani tensed, only to relax when nothing happened. 

“Now,” said Jamie. “Let me finish washing up. I’m afraid that if you help, you’ll cut my kitchen in half, too.”

Dani let out a watery laugh. 

Jamie grinned in return. “I’m serious. My kitchen’s small enough as it is. Don’t need it drawn and quartered as well.”

Dani was biting back a smile when she looked up at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a jerk?”

Jamie pretended to look thoughtful and shook her head, but what she said was, “All the time.” 

That earned her another snort of laughter. Dani wiped at her cheeks with both hands. 

Picking up the dish towel once more, Jamie snapped it feebly in Dani’s direction. “Go on, now. Get.”

Dani lifted her hands in mock surrender and moved away, leaving Jamie to finish up in the kitchen alone. Jamie didn’t pay much attention to the sounds of rummaging in the apartment behind her. At one point the bathroom door shut, then she heard the hiss of water in the shower. She took the opportunity of Dani’s absence to strip down and get into pajamas without making her guest blush scarlet. As tempting a proposition as that was. 

When Dani finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, pinning a towel to her chest with her fingers, Jamie was bored and flipping through the holo feed from the bed because the couch was — well, the couch still smelled like burning hair for starters. Bit unpleasant, that. Jamie wouldn’t be rid of the stench for weeks.

Getting to her feet, Jamie squeezed past Dani for her turn in the bathroom with a murmured, “‘Scuse me,” while Dani shied away from her, still looking guilty, like she was expecting Jamie to throw her out at any moment. Which, honestly, was a bit rude, to be honest. Jamie was an excellent host. Minus the whole ‘no food’ thing. 

When Jamie emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, scrubbed and tired and ready to sleep, she stopped dead in her tracks. On the ground beside the bed, Dani was fluffing up some of the couch pillows in a makeshift mattress. She had changed into the same spare set of Jamie’s pajamas, and was now settling herself atop the cushions. 

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I thought -" Dani started to say, but she trailed off, her hands curling in the blanket she had drawn up her legs. 

"Just -" Jamie sighed and went over to her usual side of the bed, where she pulled back the sheets. "Get in."

While Dani sat on the floor trying to make up her mind, Jamie waved off the holo feed and the lights. With a groan, Jamie clambered into bed, listening to the pop of her joints. She wasn’t exactly ancient, but maybe she was getting a little old to be scaling canopies hundreds of feet in the air for hours at a time. She might start training some of the new recruits in mass pruning tomorrow. Provided they didn’t display an alarming propensity for loss of limb when wielding a thermal saw. 

Beside her, Jamie felt the mattress dip beneath a new weight. Dani slipped beneath the sheets and curled as close to the edge as she possibly could, far away from Jamie. Honestly that suited Jamie just fine. She wasn’t too keen on a cuddle, either. Grabbing a spare pillow, Jamie hooked it beneath her arm and rolled over. She wriggled deeper into the mattress and settled in for a kip. 

Until the bed trembled slightly, that was.

Without opening her eyes, Jamie frowned. There was shuffling behind her, sounding like Dani was trying to wind herself into as tight a ball as possible. She was, Jamie realised, shivering. Jamie sighed. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A quick trek across the apartment, and she returned with a spare blanket, which she threw over Dani without saying anything. Dani’s form went very still, and Jamie crawled back into her own side of the bed, punching her pillow into shape before resting her head upon it. 

After a long moment of silence she could hear Dani’s soft voice through the night. “Thank you.” 

—

She didn’t have the same dream again. Though she didn’t sleep well either. She wasn’t used to having another person in her bed. Especially when said person kept fidgeting and sighing and rolling over, unable to fall asleep. 

And when Jamie did eventually sleep, the dreams were fragmented and red. They were shards of glass and metal in a clenched fist. 

—

When Jamie stepped off the railspeeder the next morning, bright and early, she approached C-87 for her usual dietary supplement and stimcaf combo. The droid perked right up when it saw her coming.

“Jamie -”

“Mornin’,” Jamie said around a long yawn. “Don’t suppose you could make it a double shot today?”

“Jamie,” the droid said again in as serious a tone as it could muster.

“Yeah, that’s my name. What about it?”

In answer, C-87 swivelled its head around. With a frown she followed its gaze, and then she felt the blood drain from her face. 

There at the end of the ramp stood Pillock One and Pillock Two. She didn’t need to see the Czerka logos on their kit to recognise them. Their backs were towards her and they were talking to Murr. Ithorians didn’t typically have what she would call expressive faces, but Murr’s large brown eyes were wide and he had retracted his neck like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. 

“Shit,” Jamie swore and she ducked down behind C-87’s stall. Without question the droid reached up to adjust the canopy so that it hid her better. “Did they talk to you?”

“Negative,” C-87 replied. “They were questioning a few other AgriCorps members, and then they started speaking with Murr. I took the liberty of moving your swoop bike so that it was more easily accessible, should you require it.”

Shuffling around on her hands and knees, Jamie dared to peek around the edge of the stall. Sure enough, her swoop bike was within easy reach. Murr spotted her, his throat sack swelling up in surprise as he drew in a deep breath. Pillock One started to turn, but Murr pointed towards the treeline, where her swoop bike would’ve been parked had C-87 not moved it.

Pillock Two made a rude gesture towards Murr before setting off in the direction he had indicated. Pillock One followed after him, unholstering the very large blaster rifle slung across his back. When they’d gotten far enough away, Murr gestured sharply at Jamie in what was very clearly a shooing motion. 

C-87’s head popped around the corner so abruptly that Jamie jumped with a curse. “I think you should take the next railspeeder back to Thani as soon as possible. Alternatively, you should drive your swoop bike,” the droid told her.

“Yeah, you think?”

“I have been thinking that for several minutes, in fact.” 

“It’s just an expression,” Jamie sighed. “We’ll work on your sarcasm module some more next time, all right?” 

“Very well, Jamie.”

She didn’t wait to see if Pillock One and Pillock Two were heading further into the forest. She jumped on the back of her swoop bike, started it up, and sped off towards the next railspeeder station. There was no way a short-distance bike like this could make it all the way back to Thani in good time. She had to wait at the next station along the grid, anxiously tugging at her boilersuit zipper, wishing she had a hood or something to hide herself even a little bit. The swoop bike she simply abandoned at the station, jumping onto the next rail service with the sort of pent up jitters that had her half vibrating out of her skin. 

It was perhaps the longest two hours or so of her life. In recent memory, anyway. She spent the whole time folded up in a back seat in the rail car, trying to make herself seem inconspicuous. When a random ticket officer droid trundled by, requesting to see her ticket credentials, she fumbled with the laminated pass so badly that she nearly dropped it. And when the railspeeder finally pulled into her station, she bolted out as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention.

Back at the apartment, Jamie burst through the front door. Dani, who had been flicking through the holo feed from the bed, started with a yelp. 

“You scared me,” Dani gasped, hand over her still heaving chest. 

“Change of plans,” Jamie said. She rushed across the apartment, grabbed a rucksack from beneath her bed and started to shove clothes into it at random. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes. Now.” 

For all the confusion on her face, Dani jumped to her feet and began gathering what little items she’d brought with her. “What happened?” 

“Czerka.”

Dani’s eyes widened and she dropped her nanosilk cloak to the ground. “They know where I am?” she asked, swooping down to snatch up the cloak.

“Yes,” said Jamie. Then, “No. Maybe. They know where I am now, anyway. Showed up at work, and — Look. We have history, all right?”

“What kind of history?”

Jamie darted into the bathroom to gather up a few necessary toiletries for the trip. Dani followed, watching her from the doorway. 

“Jamie,” said Dani, voice sounding both stern and worried all at once. “What kind of history?” 

“I know their leader. Peter fucking Quint. I may have -” Jamie opened the mirror cabinet and just pushed a few rows of stuff into the open bag in her hand. “- gotten his arm chopped off at one point.”

“You what?” 

“It was his own fucking fault!” Jamie hissed. “I just helped! A little! And he’s still, y’know -” She zipped up the bag and shrugged. “- sore about it. Some people just hold a grudge.” 

“Oh, sure. Can’t imagine why he’d do that,” Dani said, and Jamie didn’t have to look at her to hear the roll of her eyes. 

Jamie turned around and stomped past her from the bathroom. “At least he’s still alive. Which is a hell of a lot better than what you’ve accomplished.”

Dani glowered at her, still leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed. 

“Do you want to wait around until Czerka finds us?” Jamie asked, pointing towards the front door. “Because they’re on their way.”

With a huff, Dani relented. She grabbed up her small bag and clipped the lightsaber to the belt at her waist. “No. I don’t.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #3: You

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant x Nerys, set immediately after Ardent [Ao3 Link]

Heavensward, right after Inquisition trial and before “Keeping the Flame Alive”

Rating: T for off-screen sex, sex talk

~*This is 2K words, most of it is fluff and I revel in it*~

The Fortemps library is a grand one. Haurchefant is not certain how it compares–he has only been in Haillenarte's with Francel–but imagines it is the finest in Ishgard. His father is a man of letters, a true believer in the power of words. And one who expected his sons to follow suit.

His education differed greatly from his brothers’ the day he became a knight’s page. Even still, his lord father sent him monthly parcels of books. He was expected to read them all and send detailed reports on the contents. Had he ever kept up his thaumaturgy studies, he would have been hard-pressed to find the time.

As it was, he’d stayed up often to fit in the poetry and novels not on the list. Count Edmont was a modern man and his syllabus reflected this–vetted popular authors and poets made it into the parcels. Never in the quantity Haurchefant would have liked. And never some of the one-gil books he bought in The Pillars.

When he was a boy, there were songs for sale about body functions and noises; exaggerated tales of heroes fighting all manner of beasts and foes. As a youth, these became long, violent epics of battles and bravery. As a young man: lurid poems and explicit romance novels. Some as grand and sweeping as the classical romances his Father promoted. Some were not.

He has managed to introduce some contemporary poets into the collection. Not all. Edmont’s tastes in poetry run more traditional. Some of the rising stars of the field are roundly rejected.

Haurchefant is working on that.

Today, he feels romantic in both classic and literal senses. And as his Father has ordered him to stay for a day and night, indulging in a novel sounds just the thing.  It seems that getting trapped in a blizzard–even if things had gone fine, more than fine–means your noble father turns to such decrees.

At least, that is what it means now they are growing close, as they never had been. Another miracle Nerys has wrought with her coming. And as Haurchefant has full faith in Corentiaux and the rest...he allows himself to be thus ordered. 

Someone else is in the library. He can sense it soon as he enters. A soldier learns to tell when others are near, even in safe environs such as this. Haurchefant softens his footfalls, peering about the shelves. There, in the alcove reserved for study, he finds the source of today’s romantic mood.

Nerys looks up, eyes turning soft. His heart swells in his chest, his mouth cannot help but smile. It’s unstoppable and he does not ever want it to cease. Was it really only yesterday? That she told me my love was returned?

It seems a dream now, albeit the sweetest one he has ever had.

Her hands sweep at the papers she has laid out, pulling them into a stack. Flips over the one on top. “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear.” How nice to call her that. “I thought you were on a shopping expedition with Emmanellain?”

“I was.” She touches her neckline. So caught up in her eyes, he hadn’t noticed the gown she wore.

Scarlet as the unicorn on his shield, set off with dangling garnets in her ears. The heart-shaped neckline shows off her elegant neck and collar bones. The sleeves are slashed to reveal white fabric beneath and the cuffs have delicate pearls. “I found this. For when I’m here at the manor and not about to fight Inquisitors or dragons.”

“You are breathtaking in it.” He circles the table to take her hand. Bows over it before pressing his mouth to her knuckles. Etiquette demands he should kiss the air above it but surely exceptions are made for lovers. 

She is my lover now, he thinks in wonder. Her cheeks stain with a fetching indigo shade. “My lord is kind.”

Haurchefant drops to one knee before his lady and turns her hand. Her palm is just as lovely to kiss. “Your lord means everything he says. But if you require further proof of my ardor…”

Nerys darts a glance about before tilting up his chin. Her kiss is sweet and soft and not a little heated. Would that he might lay her upon the table in this temple of learning and know her better.

Alas, Nerys has asked for discretion. Time to better acquaint themselves as lovers before declaring themselves. They are still friends–always will be, if he has anything to do with it–but this dynamic is new and strange. Haurchefant can understand why the most public figure in Eorzea might want some measure of privacy. 

Though, he reflects as he parts from her. Half the fun would be keeping quiet and avoiding discovery.

“I know that look,” she says. “You’re thinking of something lascivious.”

“When I had this look before I confessed, what did you think it meant?”

“The same,” she admits. “But that your love of innuendo was good-natured teasing.”

He heaves a sigh. Either he is not as obvious as Estinien always accuses him or she’d been in deep, deep denial. “Dearest love, how-”

The library doors bang open and the culprit whistles as he walks inside. Haurchefant rises, knowing exactly who it is before he comes into view.

“Old Girl! Old Man!” Emmanellain grins. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party in the library.”

“Impetuous Youth,” Haurchefant shoots back. “What if one of us was deep in study?”

“Oh I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’. You two are having a conversation, not studying; ergo all is well.” 

“He has a point. I think,” says Nerys. “By the by, if Haurchefant is ‘Old Man’, what do you call your eldest brother?”

The two men exchange looks. Smile. Say in unison, “Artoirel.”

Nerys groans and flaps both hands at them in dismissal. “Go fetch whatever you two were looking for. I am actually working on something.”

“Am I to be banished for my baby brother’s crimes?” Haurchefant presses a hand to his heart. “Mistress Eluned, you wound me.”

“If I must be quiet and meek like a mouse, so must you. After all, I am the true leader of our brotherly trio.”

“You are right of course. I could never compare to you.” Haurchefant shakes his head. “Very well, Impetuous Youth. As mice scurry to cheese, let us go to the books we seek.”

“Ordered to seek,” Emmanellian mutters. “I’m to review Ymbelet’s Theorem of Command and deliver a report. As if we hadn’t put our schooling well behind us.”

Haurchefant does his best to soothe his brother. They quiet down at last: the younger man taking his volume off to his chambers, the elder settling into an armchair within eyesight of Nerys. (Far enough away that she may stop hiding her work.)

His novel is a work of popular fiction he’d garnered approval to stock here. No erotic scenes, but romantic enough. Should he ever get his eyes to stay on the page.

Alas, the white-haired sorcerer-king and his beloved princess and his soul-eating sword are no match for the Warrior of Light. The curve of her cheek. The braided coronet of purple and white hair, crowning her while the rest of her curls are a lovely raiment over her shoulders. The quirk to her dark, sweet lips.

She lifts those golden eyes, meeting him. If he were not already lovestruck and bedazzled, that gaze would ensnare him. He smiles and lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Haurchefant isn’t sorry for lingering before a sunset; and that natural wonder is naught in comparison.

“My lord,” says Nerys, her voice carrying. “May I help you?”

“Nay, Mistress.” He shakes his head. “Simply exist as you are and I am satisfied.”

That is when Alphinaud bursts in, looking drawn and pale. If Haurchefant is annoyed at another interruption, that vanishes at the sight. He jumps to his feet. “My lad! Are you alright?”

The youth shakes his head. “Nerys. Tataru has grave news about General Aldynn. We must be off at once.”

She rises, hurrying over in a rush of white and red silk. In an instant she has changed from playfulness to resolute determination. Always ready to become The Warrior, his Nerys. 

“Do you require anything?” He asks them. “You know my sword is yours, as is any resource at our disposal.”

Alphnaud shakes his head. “No one must see us enter Thanalan or leave. As soon as we cross back into Coerthas, we’ll send word.”

“I thank you. If you needs must bring the General somewhere safe, Camp Dragonhead’s doors are open to you.” If he must return to his command rather than fight at her side, at least he might be of some use to her. He loves–truly loves–his role but lately, his dearest wish is to be a shield at her back and a sword in her arsenal.

Ah, well, even Sorcerer-Kings do not get all they want. Why should he?

He dips into a sweeping bow to them both. Alphinaud returns it before rushing out, every emotion writ upon his usually perfect diplomat’s mask. Should the General die, the youth will carry it as he does everything else that occurred with the Braves. Haurchefant sends a prayer to Halone, asking for mercy on him.

Nerys takes his hand. Squeezes it. He squeezes it back. She smiles before picking up her skirts and rushing afterward.

It proves impossible to focus after that, even more than before. For a moment he entertains armoring up and following. This isn’t Dragonhead and so none of the knights with orders to keep him safe are here. (That time with Iceheart, Corentiaux had actually sat upon him.)

But they have asked he stay behind. So he will.

Haurchefant can take care of Nerys’ papers for her. He means to pointedly not look at the contents. He truly does. But he sees a piece of paper with his name on top, another with his last name, and his resolve crumbles.

The first piece of paper is titled “Minako” in large, neat letters. Beneath are names like Mamoru, Umino, Motoki. Her Yellow Chocobo is named Minako. Therefore, this is for…

The next sheet of paper confirms his suspicions. Under the heading “Black Chocobo” are the names Endymion, Starlight, Twilight, Onyx. Below that, a subheading “Elegance” with virtue monikers: Noble, Dignity, Charming.

And so, when he arrives to the last three papers (titled “Haurchefant”, “Greystone”, and “Fortemps”), he cannot contain his joy. The little note scribbled atop “Haurchefant” tickles him further. He gave you the Chocobo and you adore him. Will he be offended? He might be offended. 

Haurchefant is certainly not offended. 

He delights in the candidates, even some of the ones she crossed out. Sadly, there is no option for “Haurchefant” or “Haurchefant II.” I suppose that might get confusing.

Grinning, he picks up her leather folio and tucks her work inside. Hopefully, she will forgive his snooping because he has some ideas about this.

--

The Lord Commander’s bed at Camp Dragonhead may be the most comfortable place in Eorzea.

Nerys should get up to clean, brush her teeth, all the little nighttime rituals. But she is so pleasantly exhausted and the blankets are so soft and warm. She stretches, luxuriating in the feel of them against her skin. It has been a harrowing few days since her abrupt departure from Ishgard. But all is well and now, she feels nothing but comfort.

The bed could be warmer with her companion. But then she wouldn’t get to see his bare bottom as he slips into the bathroom. Halone must adore him to bless him with such a lovely rear.

“My love,” he calls after a while. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

“I hope not.” He returns with a washcloth, his black silk robe barely closed against the cold. The fireplace sends flickers of light across his sculpted chest.  “I may be overstepping but...I must say that I truly adore the name Grey. Though Tempsy is charming. Also, may I suggest Haurchon?”

What does he...oh. Oh! Nerys groans and buries her face in a pillow. She had been in such haste to rescue Raubahn–rightfully so!–that she had left all her papers there. All face up, all in the open.

The mattress dips as Haurchefant sits beside her. One hand strokes her hair, gentle and sweet. “I should not have pried but Nerys–my dearest one–I am utterly and truly touched by the idea. Though of course, if you pick a different name I will not be offended.”

“I only...well, I wouldn’t have him if not for you,” she mutters into the pillow, heat filling her face. “And if not for him, we wouldn’t have been in Coerthas that day.”

“So we owe him a great honor, for bringing us together at last.” His lips press against her bare shoulder. “Of course, the truest honor would be to name him after yourself-”

She turns then, mortification at last leaving her. Cups his face in her hands. “I am not playing this game where we go on for hours about who is better.  Let’s agree it’s you and end it there.”

“Oh my love,” he sighs, bending down to her. “Though you are wrong, I must obey if it proves to you the depth of my regard.”

“I know another way you could prove it,” she says, pulling him atop her.

--

Grey likes his name.

[sgtpaine]

The Left’s Revolution Dominates Every American Height, And They Don’t Know Why We Aren’t Cheering

Herein lies a glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it.

By

Christopher Bedford

AUGUST 10, 2021

“Rooting against Olympians, scoffing at Capitol police, broaching civil war — meet today’s conservative movement.”

That’s the opening of an article last week at Vox.com. You’ve probably heard of Vox. Their self-proclaimed, self-aggrandizing purpose is to “explain the news.” But when Vox’s condescending reporters start talking about conservatives, Christians, guns, or really anyone outside of a few coastal cities, they have a habit of sounding like Jane Goodall observing apes.

So, what’s their qualm now? Let’s let them explain it in their own words:

[There is a] rising tendency in the conservative movement to reject America itself. In this thinking, the country is so corrupted that it is no longer a source of pride or even worthy of respect. … Queer female soccer stars demanding equal pay, Black basketball players kneeling to protest police brutality, the world’s best gymnast prioritizing her mental health over upholding the traditional ideal of the “tough” athlete — this is all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life. And an America where these values permeate national symbols, like the Olympic team, is an America where those symbols are worthy of scorn.

Worthy of scorn; imagine that. Underperforming and overpaid people who for a living play a game no one watches want to be paid the same as people who are better players and earn more viewers.

Rich athletes publicly spitting on their country, their flag, and the men and women who have died for it, so they can push left-wing lies.

An enormously talented athlete quitting on the brink of competition, and saying the problem was she wanted to compete only for herself, not for her coaches, her teammates, or her country.

These are indeed “all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life.” They’re the fruits of a spoiled, privileged, narcissistic, and self-obsessed revolution that began in the late 1950s and has been fighting its way to power ever since. They have it now, and it isn’t simply confined to our sacred soccer ball kickers.

Sports is just the latest, but look at its sponsors: You can be a subpar professional athlete, but if you spit on the flag you get a lucrative Nike contract.

Remember that Nike ad, “Believe in something even if it means sacrificing everything”? It featured Colin Kaepernick. The only problem is, he didn’t sacrifice anything — he discovered he could be paid a lot more playing the American public than he could playing football as a backup quarterback.

Now, thanks to his fake bravery, he gets to decide if the first flag of the United States is permissible. He says it isn’t, because America wasn’t perfect 245 years ago — and Nike sanctifies that decision with a lucrative payout.

They don’t mind; Nike may still be headquartered in Beaverton, Oregon, but at heart they’re a Chinese company. That’s the People’s Republic of China: a godless slave state that uses forced labor to manufacture products and criminalizes dissent. That’s a country Nike respects, or at least one it cares about offending. Guess what: We don’t like that.

They’re far from alone. Silicon Valley was once a symbol of American enterprise: Young men working in their garages to harness technology and revolutionize our lives. Now Silicon Valley symbolizes the most powerful private companies the world has ever known — and they use that power to crush dissent, censor presidents and critics, and push left-wing propaganda. Turns out, when they do that we don’t like them.

We can go on. Blackrock sends its urchins to buy up affordable homes in growing cities to transform a society of homeowners into a society of servile tenants.

Mastercard and IBM build international databases for tracking humans so they can bar them from travel and commercial activity if they don’t take an experimental vaccine. Or, in MasterCard’s case, maybe they’ll ban you if they just dislike your politics.

Bank of America refuses to make loans to American gun manufacturers out of principle while making a $1 billion gift to Black Lives Matter, a racist, anti-American, anti-family, grifty riot squad responsible for dead police, murdered innocents, and burned-out cities. Huh — turns out we don’t like any of that either.

How about the Pentagon? Conservatives used to respect it because it won wars and embodied the finest of American values while doing so. But now the Pentagon loses wars, throws away lives, and wastes trillions of dollars while trashing those fine American values.

The military used to be a strict meritocracy. Now, they cut standards in the name of diversity. They used to demand that every soldier be fit and ready for war. Now, they slash the requirements for our troops’ physical performance and brag about maternity flight suits.

They teach weak and disgusting left-wing racism in their academies, they target Christians, they insult the middle-America conservatives who do most of the fighting and an overwhelming share of the dying in our armed forces. While our enemies run ads touting the manly virtues necessary to a warrior life, our generals run ads about having two moms. It’s not very intimidating. And hey, we don’t like it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we could all go on with example after example, but the point is this: The left got their revolution, the one they spent decades screaming and agitating for. They got their ideologues into the halls of power — not just the university halls, not just the halls of Congress, but all of them: Business, media, military, sports.

If there is an institution in your life and it’s not a good church, chances are that institution has implemented one policy after another pledging itself to the dogmas of the left. Now, the left is shocked — shocked — that we don’t like it one bit.

There was an America that we loved. It was an America of religious liberty and freedom of speech, and equality before the law. An America that loved what is beautiful rather than what is warped and ugly. An America that loved its founders and loved its children. An America that knew that whatever prosperity it possessed, it owed it all to the Almighty, and that it had a solemn duty to Him in return.

That was the America we loved. An America that hundreds of thousands of young men proved they loved more than life itself. We still love that America, and we’re not just going to cheer and applaud their active desecration of it.

Herein lies a great little glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it. “Drink your can of beer, sit on the couch, and cheer for sports. You like sports, don’t you, you ape? Come on, watch them on your 60-inch Chinese TV you bought at Walmart.”

“Buy our cheap, foreign products, do it now. You like free enterprise, don’t you? What’s more free than your boys and girls in the Navy guarding Chinese ships shipping Chinese products from Chinese companies to run-down American towns that were once industrial hubs?”

“You like cheap things, don’t you? I thought Republicans loved sports and business!”

“When Gen. Mark Milley says jump, you say how high. When he says you’re racist and you are showing white rage, nod along. When he says standards are overblown, and that diversity is our new strength, salute. Come on, don’t you support our troops?”

They don’t get it. They don’t get that we don’t honor and salute empty institutions and buildings! We don’t just bow down before the local magistrate’s hat on a stick.

They don’t get that a church is not just some building that can be made into a nightclub, it’s where we worship God — and it’s from his presence that it derives its meaning.

They don’t get that people watch sports for athletic excellence, good old American entertainment, and the thrill of cheering for the guys fighting for your team. No one watches sports to be condescended to, regardless of what uniform the athlete has on.

They don’t get that we respect the flag and the Americans who’ve fought and died for it and will again, but that doesn’t mean we stand and salute the Pentagon and all the foolish politicians in the brass.

They also don’t get that we’re not all 100 percent serious and miserable all of the time, like a couple of CNN anchors we could name; we still have a sense of humor. So yes, when a woman with an ugly heart says ugly things about America and then flops in a big soccer tournament, we’re going to chuckle about it. Maybe even laugh out loud. Maybe we will have that cold beer.

We’re Americans; we don’t resent success in sports, business, or military service. But as Helen Andrews of The American Conservative recently wrote, conservatives don’t resent the left’s success — we resent the ways they actively harm us. And we’ll never accept the rotten version of America they tell us we’re supposed to love.

America is worth saving. If you live in a major coastal city, leave it whenever you can and see that America. It can sometimes be hard to find — the left has warped it viciously. Today this country kills its children in the womb, celebrates decadence, and glorifies decay, but if Vox is onto anything it’s this: We are onto them. And we’re not buying it. And America lives on in our hearts.

There are a lot of problems in this country. We’re experiencing a secular elite trying to justify their existence in any way they can. Things are going to get worse before they get better, because they want things to and it makes them feel good.

But there’s no God at the end of this tunnel. Just as with drugs or money or sex, no amount of Black Lives Matter,  climate change activism, and yard signs can fill the hole they’re feeling. The good news is, it won’t work; the bad news is, our experiment is delicate and badly damaged.

The work — going to school board meetings, running for local office, speaking up in our towns and our cities and our states — is hard work. We’re going to lose friends along the way, but we will lose this country forever if we don’t, so there’s really no choice at all, is there.

Christopher Bedford is a senior editor at The Federalist, the vice chairman of Young Americans for Freedom, a board member at the National Journalism Center, and the author of The Art of the Donald. Follow him on

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