#apex season 8

[crualex-de-vil]

MAD MAGGIE + MASTIFF

[themboification]

attempting to go from rookie to diamond with only catalyst!! [well,, mostly since i decided like halfway through silver] so far im platIV [half way to p3] with around 160 kills :) also heres a wip of space galpals to celebrate

[fans4wga]

26 July update from WGA's Chris Keyser

From the WGA: With SAG-AFTRA now on strike and new levels of solidarity across all Hollywood unions, we are witnessing the spectacular failure of the AMPTP’s negotiating strategy. In this video, WGA Negotiating Committee Co-Chair Chris Keyser lays out what this moment means and how we move forward. To learn more about the WGA strike, visit https://www.wgastrike.org.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Fellow members of the WGA East and West. It's been a while since our last video and quite a bit has happened in the meantime. So on behalf of the negotiating committee and leadership, I wanted to give you an update on where we are and what the near future at least is likely to bring.

We've been walking side by side on picket lines in New York and Los Angeles for a little over 12 weeks now. Only now we're joined by thousands upon thousands of members of SAG-AFTRA who, like us, have finally had enough.

This is the endpoint and the fruit of the AMPTP’s game plan. For 11 weeks, they negotiated with everyone but us. They claimed it was just practicality, that they could only do one thing at a time, which is not normally a point of pride. But events have made clear what we knew from the start: that not only was it a strategy, it was their only strategy. Negotiate a deal with a single guild and impose that deal on every other guild and union in Hollywood, whether it addresses the needs of those unions or not, all with the implicit threat: if you want more, strike for it.

Wow. It’s their 2007-8 playbook applied to 2023 as if nothing has changed, as if the accumulation of economic insults and injuries inflicted on us over the past decade would be borne in perpetual silence, as if the giant of labor had not awakened. But it has. And you only need to look as far as the front gates of every studio in LA and New York to see the evidence.

Two unions on strike willing to exercise their power, despite the pain, to ensure their members get the contract they deserve. For us, that means addressing the relentless mistreatment of screenwriters, which has only been exacerbated by the move to streaming; the continued denial of full MBA protection to comedy variety and other appendix A writers when they work in streaming; and the self-destructive unsustainable dismantling of the process by which episodic television is made and episodic television writers are paid.

It means addressing the existential threat of AI and the insufficiency of streaming residual formulas, including the need for transparency and a success-based component. All of these will need to be addressed for there to be a deal because in this strike it is our power and not their pattern that matters, not their strategy. Their strategy has failed them. Now they're in the midst of a streaming war with each other, an admittedly difficult transition. And as they face the future, their interests and business models could not be more different from Disney to Sony to Netflix to Amazon.

We root for their success, all of them. They root for each other's failure. We are the creative ammunition through which they will succeed. They are each other's apex predators. And yet, in a singular shared dedication to denying labor, they have shackled themselves together in what increasingly seems like a mutual suicide pact, as the 2023-24 broadcast season and the 2024-25 movie schedule and its streaming shows disappear, melt away week by week.

So what does this mean? What does it mean going forward? How do you play chess against an opponent who insists on screaming checkmate at every move regardless of how the board looks and the game is going?

You stay firm, you stay resolved, because our cause is no less existential than when we started and our leverage is increasing every day. Alone we withheld our labor with the support of our union siblings and the Teamsters and IATSE and the Crafts, we were able to delay the vast majority of production. Now with SAG-AFTRA on strike, those few studio projects that remained have also shut down. And it's not just the obvious delays. If this strike drags on, it's the actors with conflicting obligations and the directors and the double-booked studio facilities and release date chaos that the companies must now also contend with. Some of their most valuable product could well be delayed for years.

Add to that, no promotion of movies or television shows and famous faces on the picket lines and social media speaking directly to their customers. For the tech companies and the mega corporations, that should be their nightmare scenario: WGA and SAG-AFTRA side by side. Our bargaining agenda may not be identical, but our cause is the same. Our army of labor, defending labor has increased 17-fold in the past two weeks alone.

Even so, even with all this wind at our backs this negotiation won't happen overnight. It's not because the negotiations themselves are so complex. Once the companies fully engage, it could go very quickly, but because their strategy of many decades has just fallen apart and they didn't see it coming, and it's going to take them a minute to regroup, 'cause the companies have things to work out internally, and saying no to labor in unison is a lot easier than saying yes. So either together or separately, as their divergent interests might suggest, they will come back to us, despite their understandable concern about how they've navigated this transition to streaming, which is on their heads and not ours; and their worries about costs and their worries about Wall Street; despite this being a season of doom and gloom, none of them are walking away from the riches of this business, and certainly not over the equitable minimum compensation to writers.

They didn't get the deal they wanted; that's fine, it happens all the time. They're not taking their ball and going home over it. And since we know they come from union families themselves, and since they've denied that “even-in-Hollywood-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me” ugliness of threatening to starve us out and leave us homeless (which we assume they understand also means making our children homeless,) they will come back to us. Although I will say they took a long time to deny that statement, longer than I would have had it been ascribed to me.

But what does it matter? You can starve a labor force slowly or quickly. The effect is the same. It's not like day rates for comedy variety writers and endless free drafts for screenwriters in exchange for a single paid one in four-week mini-rooms isn't cruelty. It's just cruelty written in contract language instead of a press quote.

So what can we expect from the companies as all of this plays itself out? They will try to convince Wall Street that taking a strike, prolonging it unnecessarily, losing their content stream in the process—that all of that is just smart business and no reason for investor concern. We will be talking to Wall Street too, and reminding them that for all these companies, all of 'em including Netflix, the bill, the price for making nothing, will eventually come due. And Wall Street is listening already. Here's Michael Pachter, managing director of equity research at Wedbush on Yahoo Finance the other day: “I think the studios are completely wrong on this one. Content is their lifeblood. They're feeling really foolish about this."

Wall Street isn't the only one listening. We've been talking to union pension funds too about the risks the companies are taking. We talked to CalPERS, the largest public pension plan in the country, talked about the loss of programming and the cost to the industry, and we heard strong support from its board for our struggle and the promise that the companies will be hearing from them, from CalPERS, and demanding answers on behalf of its 2 million members.

To us, of course, they will continue to plead temporary poverty, but we know the drill. These companies support billions into the streaming wars and taken short-term losses these past three years, because they know that to the winner will go the spoils. We're patient, will they share that with us when the time comes? What are the chances?

Since 2017, the last time the studios negotiated with us outside of COVID, the big six companies alone have made $150 billion in profits off our work, while they slashed our pay and degraded our working conditions. Maybe if they had shared a tiny piece of that then, made $1 billion or so less, this year wouldn't seem so costly. As it is, there is no iron law that these companies are entitled to record profits every year, and it isn't some great travesty if their shareholders or their CEOs get a slightly smaller slice of the massive profits we helped create if some balance is restored.

Look, no one denies that corporations exist to make a profit and no one wants our employers to be profitable more than we do, but the singular pursuit of corporate profits to the exclusion of their social and human cost is a real problem in this country—it’s a real problem. A corporation's bottom line is not the same as the world’s, and there is nothing in our studio's bottom lines today that accounts for the quality of our lives or for our dignity, for the comfort of our retirement or the security of our families. Their numbers have no conscience, but the people who report them as victories ought to.

In their refusal to recognize that, these companies have also extracted an awful price, which is laid at their feet and for which they are responsible. Losses to the economies of New York and Los Angeles and everywhere that film and television are made, terrible losses that mount every day, thousands of people out of work; not just us, all the crews, the crafts, the janitors, the drivers, the businesses that thrive when Hollywood thrives, the restaurants, the stores—for what? For nothing. So they could avoid coming to the table to negotiate the deal they will one day give us. Measured today that is the painfully mixed legacy of our employers, weighed against every beautiful piece of work we have made with them.

And if history is a guide, they have only temporary stewardship over a kind of national trust, which is Hollywood. Our story, our sometimes conscience, our public conversation, our diversion of the worst and best of times, our greatest export, the repository of our imagination. They have some obligation to more than just their shareholders to behave accordingly.

Unfortunately, it seems big tech, mega corporations, and some of the people who run them, as the saying goes know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So they have built a business model that no longer works for human beings who cannot be paid minimum for 10 to 20 weeks a year and make a career out of that, be paid for one draft of a screenplay that demands a year of labor, be paid a few episodic fees for a show about which to take years to decide be paid a daily rate.

And now we have a first glimpse of what they offered our actor colleagues. We are not 170,000 Willy Lomans to be used and then discarded. We know what the companies believe they have the power to do. We know what they think machines can do and do without any of us. Oh yeah, we've seen the writing on the wall and it's plagiarized.

The thing is this: the difference between what you CAN do and what you SHOULD do is the greatest single difference in the world. Knowing that is the only real protection we have against a dystopian future. And if the companies sometimes forget that, writers will do it for them.

I can't know exactly how long it will take this revolutionary moment, and you've heard again and again what is happening today has not happened in 63 years, but I know that's not always how it feels, revolutionary and defining, even though we celebrate that on picket lines together, which is the right thing to do. That's not always how it feels when you go home at night. I know how tough this is: to strike, to hold the line. I know it gets tougher every day even with SAG-AFTRA marching beside us, how hard it is to face the uncertainty of when it will end, when we'll get back to work, how we'll pay the bills. I know it's hardest for those who've just gotten started, for those for whom the world opens doors more reluctantly, battled their whole life just to get here; but hard too for those struggling to maintain their long careers, who find work tougher and tougher to come by, or those with families with children or parents to take care of.

These companies understand the cruelty of what they're doing. It's their plan to starve us just a little, to exact as much pain as they can so that we wish more for the pain to end than for the better life we dreamed up. That we're more afraid of the uncertainty of the present than the certain devastation of the future. It's societally acceptable economic torture inflicted by management on labor every day, then blamed on labor for daring to fight back, for refusing to be complicit in its own mistreatment.

Here's how I know that's not going to work. Not with us, not with the writers, because we haven't come all this way, fought to have these careers in the first place, all the adversity, and marched together for all these months, only to let it slip away on our watch—because there is no point in rushing back to jobs that may not be there in a year or two anyway. Because the business, as the companies have twisted it, is now untenable, unsurvivable for so many of us, because even success is not enough to keep going, because this guild is younger than it's ever been and more diverse. And this young diverse membership knows from hard personal experience the system is broken and that it will not be fixed unless they fix it. And those of us who came before them will not let them down, because we and the writer's guild are the beneficiaries of all those who came before us who gave up everything for us.

Like the writers of 1960, the year I was born, who struck for 22 weeks and who gave away all the TV residuals for all the movies they had ever written so that we could have a health insurance and pension plan and residuals from that date forward. $15 billion flowed to writers and their benefit plans because of that sacrifice. Because writers are brave, because now it's our turn.

So what's our job? Even as we welcome SAG-AFTRA to our side, we are still responsible for our own deal, and so we must remain focused and diligent. We must continue to march, picket signs in hand. But we should also remember this and with pride, that before there was SAG-AFTRA, before even the Teamsters and IATSE and the laborers and the electrical workers and the musicians and the plasterers came to our side, there was the writers. Alone then, we looked at the blank page and began to imagine the future. With no net but each other we typed the words, what if?

And then we took a step into the darkness and found that it was light. And then we were joined by the crews and the drivers and the actors. The actors got a bit more fanfare when they showed up, but that's okay, we wrote the script. The WGA, still small, not alone anymore after all these decades. Hollywood labor has finally linked arms and found its voice, and that voice says enough. There is no road to longterm prosperity that burns a path through your own workforce. We are not your enemies. We are not merely a cost to be borne. We are your partners and your greatest asset. And we are, as you acknowledge yourselves, irreplaceable, but by accident or design and it doesn't really matter anymore, the business you are running no longer works for those who work for you.

What is the point in continuing to deny that? Why deny it when everyone else in the business to a person tells you it's true? Do you think it's a coincidence that two unions are on strike against you for the first time since Eisenhower was president? You can't exactly accuse us of being quick on the trigger. The effect has a cause, it has a cause. And there is no profit in insisting on the answers to the past for the questions of the future.

But if you want instead to invest in something that will reap you fortunes, I have a tip. And if you are visionaries, envision a solution, not a stalemate. Because this isn't a war we're in, it's a negotiation, it's just a negotiation. There is no face-saving here for either side, because there is no winner or loser. It's just a deal. And when you come to remember that again we will be here as we have been here all along.

And at this point with 170,000 writers and actors aligned against your intransigence, that is as generous as I can be, as close to an olive branch as I can offer. But if you insist instead on the same threatening rhetoric, on saying you would rather starve us than pay us, I would remind you of this: You are fighting for a dollar, we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for our home: writing is where we live, and we will defend that home with a bravery and stamina and ferocity that you will come to understand someday, which is why you cannot break us. You cannot outlast us, you cannot.

And not just because we have the will, because we have power. Nothing in this business happens until we start to write. And we will not start to write until we are paid.

Union now. Union forever.

[soylent-crocodile]

Chiropterex (Monster)

(artist unknown)

(Back in the distant era of the early 10s, my family got Netflix as a novelty. Nowadays streaming has consumed film and television like a rabid beast, but back then, my brother and I found a little British show called Primeval. Weaned on BBC nature documentaries from a young age, this was an exciting new spin on Walking with Dinosaurs, and we loved it.

The future predator is no question the most iconic creature of the series, a future bat that is both inspired by earlier spec evo and has gone on to inspire many other monster designs, including the earlier moorkutlot. It seems only fitting it be translated to Pathfinder.

By the way, I'm abandoning the proposed evolutionary history the later seasons provide- that these actually evolved to eat humans in a post-apocalyptic cityscape- and make them what I think is most obvious to me.)

CR3 TN Medium Animal HD5

Chiropterex are an aberrant species of roughly wolf-sized terrestrial bat, an arboreal, nocturnal apex predator of the islands it calls home, where no other land mammals have reached. They live in small family groups of about four to six members, typically consisting of a mated pair, a nest of about six children, a few children of previous years who stay around to help, and maybe one or two aunts or uncles. Typically, however, they hunt alone, feeding on seabirds and large moa-like ratites who evolved alongside them. These family groups keep in contact with each other using echolocation, and if a lone hunter runs into a struggle, it will call on the dissembled family to help.

Chiropterex are notorious man-eaters, and many a shipwrecked crew has met its end at a family of ravenous land bats. Many peoples of island cultures consider chiropterex to be evil spirits, and indeed there is at least one island where the magic of The Abyss has infected the local population of these predatory beasts.

Some outsiders have tried to domesticate chiropterex, or at the very least use them as weapons. They are a tempting subject of domestication; they are mobile, intelligent, fast-growing and have large clutch sizes, but all attempts so far have ended disastrously.

Chiropterex Companions

Starting Statistics: AC: +4 Size: Small Speed: 30ft, Climb 30ft Attacks: Bite (1d3), 2 Claw (1d4) Ability Scores: Str:10 Dex:22 Con:8 Int:2 Wis:12 Cha:7 Special Qualities: Blind, Blindsight 90ft, Scent Lv 4 Advancement: Size: Medium Attacks: Bite (1d4), 2 Claw (1d6) Ability Scores: Str +4 Dex -2 Con +2 Special Qualities: Flurry of Strikes

This hunched over creature has long, clawed arms and a bulbous head that ends in a short, needle-toothed mouth.

Misc- CR3 TN Medium Animal HD5 Init:+5 Senses: Perception:+6 Blind, Blindsight 90ft, Scent Stats- Str:14(+2) Dex:20(+5) Con:10(+0) Int:2(-4) Wis:12(+2) Cha:7(-2) BAB:+3 Space:5ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:25(5d8) AC:19(+5 Dex, +4 Natural) Fort:+4 Ref:+9 Will:+3 CMD:21 Immunity: Gaze and other visual effects Weakness: Vulnerability to Sonic  Offense- Bite +5(1d4+2, 18-20/x2), 2 Claw +5(1d6+2) CMB:+6 Speed:30ft, Climb 30ft Special Attacks: Pounce, Flurry of Strikes +3/+3/+3/+3(1d6+2) Feats- Dodge, Mobility Skills- +11 Climb, +10 Stealth, +6 Perception(+8 Racial to Climb) Special Qualities- Flurry of Strikes Ecology- Environment- Forest, Urban (Warm) Languages- None Organization- Solitary, Family (2-4 Chiropterex, 6-8 Young Chiropterex) Treasure- None Special Abilities- Blindsight (Ex)- A chiropterex’s blindsight is echolocation-based; it cannot sense within areas of Silence or similar spells. Flurry of Strikes (Ex)- A chiropterex may, as a full-round action, give a flurry of stabbing strikes from its claws. It makes four Claw attacks at a -2 penalty each. 

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

I hear people point out that Catra's redemption arc is 'incomplete' as a means of excusing criticism.

Which, is the exact OPPOSITE of how this shit works?

We are taught this in FIRST GRADE. If you write something, you have to wrap it up! Like. A. Bow.

If Catra's redemption is 'incomplete' that means it was poorly written, and combine that with the other consequences of her arc's bad writing and you can see why people dunk on her character.

There is the option of an open-ending for a character but that requires you to do your damndest, which evidently is something that the writers didn't do, and something that 90% of the fandom doesn't realize.

i agree and disagree with this. i do think that some arcs can be left open-ended, but you have to show the beginning, at least. you can't leave an arc open-ended when there isn't an arc to begin with. you have to write some of it effectively so that the audience knows that the arc has begun and will likely have a successful ending, even if the ending is not shown on-screen.

(pardon me as i go on a long tangent about my favorite show. infinity train spoilers ahead!)

the best example of this that i have is Grace from Infinity Train. her redemption arc was definitely incomplete because by the end of the season, she still had a high number that she had to slowly work on reducing so that she could get off the train. she was by no means a fully redeemed character.

BUT we actually see her putting in effort to change! we see at least 50% of the process as she slowly begins to warm up to Hazel and Tuba, as she begins to realize how wrong her worldview was and the harm that she's been doing to the denizens, and as she starts reprimanding Simon and trying to motivate him to redeem himself like she was doing.

the other thing is that Grace doesn't get forgiven by her victims. Hazel leaves after Grace lashes out at her, and the narrative doesn't act like Grace is entitled to forgiveness as soon as she cries and apologizes. she has to deal with the fact that she hurt Hazel and there's no undoing that.

Grace: (...) Hazel is part of that group now. We don't leave Apex behind.

Grace: Hazel, you're sticking with us.

Hazel: I don't want to go with you.

Grace: Huh? It's okay. We can work around the denizen thing.

Hazel: I'm not going with you!

Hazel: You said the Apex is supposed to be brave. But if that's true, why are you all so... scared of me?

(...)

Amelia: (...) but I am not your caretaker.

Hazel: Grace and Simon weren't either.

(...)

Grace: Hazel, it's not too late to change your mind.

Hazel: Good luck, Grace.

keep in mind, this was a child. probably about 8-9 years old. the writers could have just made her forgiven Grace and said “well she's young, children don't hold grudges”. but they didn't. they acknowledged how much Grace hurt Hazel and they allowed Hazel to stay upset at Grace.

same goes for Simon. while Simon became the bigger villain in the end, Grace was the one who instilled the cult mindset in him in the first place and he never forgives her. he does eventually cause his own demise in the end, but we're not made to believe that Grace was entirely blameless in all of this.

in short, Grace doesn't get a happily ever after, but her arc does end on a hopeful note. regardless of whether people forgive her or not, she decides to continue working on improving herself.

this is how you write an incomplete redemption arc. you have to make the viewers believe that this character wants to change, and you need to hold them accountable for their actions. you can't just have all their victims forgive them despite the fact that they're still an asshole, and then tell us that their arc isn't over yet. how would the arc be over if it hasn't even started?

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)Chapter 8

Word Count: ~11,260

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood; smut

Description: The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed upon the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborns. Let alone did they dare to make one king.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9

—————————————🐉————————————

131 AC- King’s Landing

Life is not without its seasons. There is a time for peace, love, famine, and war. Sickness, heartbreak, hope, and prosperity. Destinies play out until they reach their natural conclusion. Death. In the end, we can not escape our fate, try as we might. Life does not last forever. It is not a permanent condition. The stranger comes for us all in the end. Death waits for no man, not even a king.

The Stranger had visited so very many times in Naerys life. An old friend he had become. A vulture circling its prey. A shadow creeping in the dark. From each of her parents to Laena, Laenor, and Ser Vaemond. It had taken them all. A God's work is never done. As long as there is life, the Stranger will make his appearance known soon enough.

The story of life, however, is not death. It is not even its final act. Death is not the end. It is a reminder of the impermanent nature of life, but not the end. Nothing ever stays the same, but life always finds its way to begin anew.

Death pays for life in many ways. Change is inevitable. Empires rise and fall. The sunrises and the sunsets. Rivers wither and dry up, and snows cover what once was a meadow bed, but life goes on even after death. The cycle continues. Ever repeating. Life waits for no man. Change waits for no one.

Daemon had woken Naerys up the morning after Ser Vaemond’s petition teetering on the edge of pure rapture. They had not left for Dragonstone the previous night. It was too late and their emotions ran high. Naerys had insisted that they stay and leave when the sun rose. Rhaenyra was not a threat to her. There was not much more she could do or say to them. They knew the games she played. Her well had run dry. Her luck ran out.

In her grief, Naerys had wanted her husband to alleviate her pain. Wanting to be oblivious to the world around them for just a night at least. The events of the day had left her spent. Her husband had been all too happy to oblige. Comforting her in his arms. She lost her sorrow there. “Ivestragī aōha kepus gūrogon care hen ao issa dōna riña.” Let your uncle take care of you, my sweet girl.

Daemon had taken her twice that night. The first with her riding him. She had exhausted herself bouncing upon her husband until he had to take over. Laying down upon his warm chest as he fucked up into her. The second time she woke up in tears in the middle of the night. A few soothing words whispered into her temple and strokes down her bare back and she was under him once more.

Rocking her into their bed and tearing her apart leaving them both a heady mess, His cock remained inside of her thereafter. She wrapped herself around him to keep him from leaving, not that he would ever want to do such a thing. His presence anchors her. Naerys hated the feeling of being apart from him. Wanting to cling to him even in her sleep.

Her husband must have pulled out from within her some time ago because she awoke on her back in a heady state of arousal. Drifting in and out on the edge of blissful consciousness. She came to the land of the living to a warm tongue lapping up cream overflowing from her sweet little cunt. Bringing her to her first orgasm of the day. Her uncle had always had a healthy appetite.

The sounds of his feasting on her wetness filled their guest quarters. Naerys buried her hands in her husband's silver strands while he toyed with her small bud at the apex of her vulva, replacing it with his mouth as he pushed two fingers inside her sopping heat. Finding their sensitive target with years of practice, leaving her curling into herself on the cusp of her second peak that morning.

Naerys' body began to quiver before Daemon pulled his mouth from her. Staring up at her from between her thighs. The black of his pupils overtook the violet of his iris as he flitted his gaze at where his fingers were assaulting his niece-wife’s glistening center. A welcoming sight to see if there ever was one. “Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos. Ñuha precious rūs. Māzigon syt issa byka mēre.” That is my good little girl. My precious baby. Come for me, little one.

Her uncle wasted no time bringing back down his mouth to latch his lips upon her puffy little button. Which resulted in her writhing upon their bed. Pleasure overtook Naerys' body. Radiating out from her spasming cunt soaking her husband's digits and the sheets underneath them.

“Muña.” Mother. Daenys light voice and a small knock came through the oak doors of their guest bed chamber. In her hazy state, Naerys thought she had been hallucinating, but then their daughter called for her again. A little more hurried than the first try. “Muña.” Naerys went to push her uncle away, but he pinned her arms down. Placing them at her sides while he let up his feasting with a small groan of annoyance.

“Aōha muñnykeā iksos lodaor engaged paktot sir byka zaldrīzes.” Your mother is otherwise engaged right now, little dragon. She tried with no use to break free of her husband's hold, but Daemon rested his head upon her thigh with a breathless chortle at her attempt. Placing a light slap on the meat of her flesh. Enjoying the sight of the jiggle.

The Rogue Prince did not stop his finger's ministrations from within her, continuing to gently circle her engorged clit with the rough pad of his thumb. Keeping her on the edge of another peak. Naerys had to turn her head into their bed to muffle her moans though the sounds from her dripping cunt were not so easy to ignore. “Māzigon arlī isse nykeā hour. Ao kostagon jenigon pār.” Come back in an hour. You can bother her then. Her husband went back to his first meal of the day. Hoping that would be the last of the interruptions, but their daughter was persistent.

“Ziry kostagon daor umbagon kepa.” It can not wait father. She called out again. This time Daemon did not stop her when she pushed him away. Letting out a huff of irritation that matched her own displeasure at her ruined climax. He climbed up her body and bent down so that she may taste herself before she rose from their bed. Heading to her dressing chambers with a slight wobble to her step and the taste of her own slick on her tongue. Naerys put on a light dress black laced with Velaryon blue. The late summer air in Kings Landing was warm. She did not need more than that.

When she entered their chambers solar, she found that Daemon had gotten up and put on his nightshirt and robe. He sat in his chair by the morning's low fire with Daenys hand in his as he laughed at something their daughter had said. His violet eyes crinkled around the corners of his face. Naerys enjoyed the sight that her favorite pair made.

Daenys was the first to notice her mother’s appearance in the doorway. Her mother noted that she did not look too distressed. Whatever matter she had to tell her could not be that worrying. With a kiss on her father's cheek, the girl took her hand and led her out of their quarters. Promising Daemon that they would be back before morning's end. Rushing her mother out to avoid her father could question where she was taking her.

Daenys led her mother in the direction of the small council. Another ambush she supposed, but it was not the time. “My love it is early.” She tried to pull her daughter closer lest the prying ears of the Red Keep hear them. Rhaenyra or those who she found in her favor could be lurking around. She would rather avoid another run-in, but the girl continued on.

“Do not fret. We will—“ The sight of Alicent interrupted her train of thought. The queen looked grave, weary no doubt from the care of her husband, but relieved to see them. Naerys peered around Alicent expecting to see Aemond, but the younger prince was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you Daenys.” The Hightower queen took Daenys hand to give it a small squeeze. Ser Criston stood at her side like a sentry. His tan face was unreadable though he offered her a princess as a way of greeting. Naerys hesitated but her daughter bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Please hear them out muña. For my sake.” Daenys placed a faint peck on her cheek before heading down the hall in the direction of Helaena’s chambers. Naerys let out a sigh as she made her way through the council chamber's open doorway. There was no harm in hearing whatever Alicent had to say. They had a common interest after all. Perhaps combined they might be able to convince Viserys and Daemon to betroth Daenys to Aemond and end the charade.

Naerys was not surprised to see Ser Otto standing at the head of the small council chambers, but she was surprised to see Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Lord Larys seated along with Lord Commander Ser Westerlings. No one spared her a second glance apart from Ser Otto and Lord Strong.

The first greeted her as Ser Criston had. His expression held no truths like the Dornish knight. The second man she had always found to be unsettling. The newest Lord Strong had never been unkind to her. Quite the opposite in fact, but she could sense the darkness underneath his overly friendly smiles.

Laena had never liked her good brother and she got on with nearly everyone she met. “You must watch his eyes, dear little cousin.” The eyes told all. Naerys did not miss the way Alicent seemed to be startled by his presence either when she thought no one was looking. Or how she kept her children away from the Lord of Harrenhal.

Ser Tyland Lannister arrived not a moment after her. He paused at first seeing her. Naerys had never been to a council meeting. Seeing her there must have been a queer sight. An obvious sign something was not quite right. The master of ships took his seat at the end of the table. It was clear that this meeting was not about her daughter’s betrothal. A marriage plot was not at foot. At least not only a marriage plot.

Ser Tyland was the first to speak, directing his question at the Lord Hand. He seemed to be just as clueless as Naerys though he seemed not to be perturbed by the possible nature of this meeting. He was as vain as always. Making a joke of it in the way that those of his house were fond of doing. “What is it that could not wait an hour? Has Dorne invaded?”

“The king is dead.” Ser Otto wasted no time. Naerys dropped into her chair. It was not shocking. It should not be shocking. Most of Viserys had rotted away a lifetime ago. He was a shell of his former self. The stranger had clung to him far longer than perhaps he had even meant to. His time had come. His reign had come to an end. The age of peace that had lasted in Westeros since her great grandsire the Old King Jaehaerys had come to an end. The next one would be more uncertain than the last.

Daemon was Naerys' first concern. Her husband loved his brother beyond reason. A brother who defended him despite every accusation thrown his way. A brother who he had worshiped. A brother he had wanted to be as close to as possible at one point. His first champion was dead. It made sense why she had been sent instead of him.

Though older now and a bit more reasonable the Rogue Prince had well earned his moniker. He would have no doubt throttled the Lord Hand or plunged Dark Sister into his belly if it was not taken away at the mere mention of his brother's death. Accusing him of schemes and plots to do away with his brother.

Naerys was lost in her own thoughts until she heard the mention of Aegon’s name. King. They wanted to crown him king. Plans which had been made would at long last be set into motion. Plans on who to replace amongst those who were loyal to Rhaenyra. With luck, the crown Princess had left the capital for Driftmark at Princess Rhaenys invitation. Now was the time to strike! Where ravens needed to be sent to call upon their dearest allies in the reach, riverlands, and the westerlands.

Prince Daeron, who was being fostered with his newly lorded Hightower cousin in Oldtown, needed to be sent for or at least prepared for what would come. An envoy was needed for an alliance with House Baratheon. No one seemed shocked to hear of such arrangements apart from herself, the Lord Commander, and Lord Beesbury.

Lord Beesbury was the one to voice his displeasure at hearing such plots. Reminding them all of the loyalty that they owed to Princess Rhaenyra. The king's chosen heir. The rightful heir. The lords of the realm had sworn oaths of loyalty. Visery had stayed true to his daughter. They could not go back on their words now. What was a man without his word? To do so would descend the seven kingdoms into chaos. To place Aegon on the throne would be to place a pretender at the helm.

Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland refuted his arguments in rapid succession. Aegon was not just some lord or some prince. He was the king's son. His eldest son. The king could have changed his mind. Finally coming to his senses in the end. The oaths of loyalty to Rhaenyra were made half a lifetime ago. A great many of the knights and lords who had sworn them were dead. The Great Council of 101 AC had set a precedent a male heir came before his female relations. It would be a profound error to crown her queen on the wishes of a dead man who could never put aside his remorse.

Lord Beesbury turned to Naerys. She had some authority. She was a princess in her own right and a member of House Targaryen. She could lend her voice and join him in his reason. Surely she could see past this foolishness.

This was disloyalty of the highest order, but Naerys could not agree with the reach lord. He could not truly ask her to defend her cousin's claim. Not after she had tormented her and her marriage. For years without end. Dangling the promise of sons in front of Daemon’s face. Sons that the younger princess could never give their uncle. Sons he had so desperately wanted.

The events of yesterday were too fresh in her mind. The old lord had not been present for the petition, but he must have heard the goings on around court. Of what happened to her uncle. The image of Ser Vaemond’s headless body being carried away to be fed to Syrax was a hard one to shake.

Rhaenyra might have been the king's chosen heir, but Aegon was well within his rights to claim the Iron Throne for himself. No matter how unfit he may be, and both he and his sister had the temper and gluttony of their house in equal measure, he was the rightful heir by the laws of men and Gods alike. Sons came before daughters, even younger sons.

Viserys had been wrong not to put aside Rhaenyra in favor of her brother, but he had a guilty conscience. The memories of his first wife and what he had done to her plagued his very soul. Haunting him till his dying day. Till his dying breath no doubt. He could not let down the daughter as he had the mother and the realm would be left to deal with his weakness. The seven kingdoms would pay for a dragon's pride.

There was also the issue of the legitimate line of succession should Rhaenyra be crowned queen. Her only heirs were bastards. Sweet gentle boys, but bastards nonetheless. One could not seat a bastard upon the Iron Throne. Placing Rhaenyra on that very throne would cause more of a headache in the long run than it was worth.

Lord Beesbury was not fazed by the silence in favor of Rhaenyra’s claim. Standing on his own in face of the opposition. He would not be deterred. He had known the king's wishes. He would not go back on his word. The lord was a man of integrity and honor. He had not forgotten where his loyalty lay.

A man’s honor. His honor. The path of righteousness, or a form of it, at court rarely led to recognition or a favorable outcome. Lord Beesburys defense of Rhaenyra could be considered honorable, but honor was worth little within the pale stone walls of the Red Keep.

“This is seizure!” The lord’s last protests. The old lord stood up from his chair to look around the room. Accusing everyone. “It is theft! It is treason at the least!” Grand Maester Orwyle, who had been quiet up until now, advised him to mind his tongue before it landed him into trouble, but the lord continued on despite the advice of the dark maester. Making his gravest accusation against the council yet. Regicide.

Naerys held her breath. If her husband had been there with them he would have been in agreement. His misplaced grief would lead him to it. Searching for someone to blame for his brother's end, they all knew the truth.

The king's death was a natural one and a long time in the making. Lord Jasper asked the reach lord who he suspected of the murder, but he could not say. The king was dead and he believed it was at their hands. “Whether it was one of you or all of you I care not. I will have no part-” With a swift push of his head into the table Ser Criston had been the one to silence Lord Lyman Beesbury before he could finish his allegations and take leave of the council to alert his queen.

Lord Bessbury’s skull had been punctured by the marble ball he had placed in front of him. Vicious crimson fluid spilled out from the side of his head onto the small council table. Grand Maester Orwyle went to check for signs of life, but it was a wasted effort. The blow had killed him instantly.

It could have been an accident. It was more than likely one, but the force Ser Criston used had been excessive. The queen looked shocked by her loyal knight's actions reaching out to grasp Naerys arm when she jumped in fright. Ser Criston himself could not take his dark eyes of the old lord's lifeless body

The Lord Commander stood shocked as the rest of them, but he pulled out his blade once the surprise had worn off. Seeing what could happen Ser Tyland quickly moved out of the way lest he be caught in the crossfire. Ser Westerlings asked his subordinate to vacate his position on the Kingsguard and turn in his sword and cloak immediately. He had killed a defenseless man. He was not worthy to wear the white cloak of Kingsguard. He would stain it with his misdeeds.

Ser Criston would not hear of it. Pulling out his own sword in defense. “I will not suffer insults to her grace the queen.” The two men stood at odds. Staring at each other from the tips of their weapons. The Dornish knight only lowered his blade once his queen assured him that she had not been insulted.

Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that Lord Beesburys body be removed, but Ser Otto held him off. They had business yet to discuss. Council reconvened as a steady stream of blood leaked from the dead lord's head.

The issue of Storms End and its lord became the next topic for consideration, but Naerys remained lost in her fright. Images of Ser Vaemond’s headless corpse and Lord Beesburys combined. Each death played over in her mind. The first acts of violence before the ensuing chaos. Statements. Each of them. It hit her then. The true meaning of this meeting. They were going to war. That is why she had been called for.

“Do you plan on killing Rhaenyra?” A sense of dread led her to ask the question. Naerys did not need an answer for it. Alicent would do anything to insure her children's safety. Ser Otto held little love for the would-be queen and had always thirsted for her uncle's throne.

“Princess, a living challenger invites battle and bloodshed.” The Grand Maester supplied her with as if she was a halfwit. What could she expect? It was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to usher in Aegon’s peaceful reign. She knew the logic behind it. The younger princess herself was finding it difficult to feel sympathy for her cousin at times, but she did not wish for her death.

“Perhaps my aunt might help her to see sense.” There had to be another way around it. Rhaenyra was many things, but not even she deserved death. She was no real threat anyway. If someone were to get her to recognize her younger brother’s claim and conceded to it she would be no threat.

If Rhaenys could convince the younger princess to bow out gracefully there would be no need for bloodshed. She was a woman with bastards for heirs and a thinning list of allies. She could not challenge Aegon.

“Do you believe that your cousin would extend the same courtesy to you princess if you were in her position?” Ser Otto stood up to stand behind her chair. “Do you not wonder what Rhaenyra might do if she is crowned queen?” The Hightower knight grabbed her hand. Admiring the dark bruise on her brown skin from where the would-be queen had clawed at her on the way to Ser Vaemond’s petition yesternoon. “She has always been less than fond of you and overly fond of your husband.” He placed a pat on her hand before he released her. “A queen’s limits are few to none.”

When Naerys did not protest further, sitting in a half-daze, Ser Otto called for Lord Commander Westerlings to take his knights to Dragonstone and do away with Rhaenyra. The commander's reply was to turn in his cloak. He served the king and would continue to do so. He would not kill the king's heir. A woman he had known since her girlhood. Ser Westerlings left without another word.

“Ser Tyland is right.” Naerys unsteady voice interrupted the heavy silence that had fallen over the council chambers in the wake of Ser Westerlings' unexpected departure. “Lord Baratheon will side with you if you offer him a betrothal.”

She grabbed hold of her own bruised arm. Rubbing her wrist as she brought it to her chest to calm her nerves. “He does not hold his cousin in high regard.” The present lord of Storm's End had always cared little for his cousin. Viewing his late father's devotion to Rhaenys as a misplaced effort. “He holds less affection for Rhaenyra and her sons.” The man never and he had sworn no oaths of loyalty as his father had.

“Daeron would do nicely for the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters then Ser Otto went back to his seat looking pleased though he tried his best to hide it. Alicent took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and offered her a small smile. Color was returning to the queen's cheeks.

“He would prefer Aemond.” Aemond was third in the line of succession and second if the realm wanted stability. The Baratheons were not overly ambitious, but they did have enough self-importance to make up for it. Especially Borros Baratheon who was a brute if there ever was one. To offer him a third son for his eldest daughter might be seen as a slight. They were descended from a dragonseed after all and they were a great house. They wanted their fair share.

“Aemond is already spoken for.” Daenys. Her willful girl. Her daughter had made a deal without her. She and Aemond. Naerys could not be surprised. The two young dragons wanted each other just as much as the other.

Alicent would not deny her second son what he desired nor would her father say a word against the match. Dragonstone had long been sought. It would even the odds in the war to come. Ser Otto would not let it get away even if it was for a Baratheon. At any rate, Lord Baratheon would not don his war hammer in favor of a queen who he detested. Daeron would have to do for them.

Naerys felt a mixture of emotions on her walk back to their chambers. Unease being the chief among them. The Red Keep was eerily quiet. Ser Otto had ordered half of the court to be locked within their chambers or made to swear oaths of loyalty to their new king whose present location was unknown.

Those that refused were placed in the Black Cells beneath Maegor's Holdfast while they searched for Aegon. They could keep their honor and loyalty, but they would wither away in it. The princess’s aunt Rhaenys had been among those who were confined to their quarters. That matter would have to be dealt with later. There were more pressing issues to deal with now

The princess would have to tell Daemon of his brother's fate. She would have to break the news to her husband. She would have to walk a delicate balance. Naerys knew her husband. His reaction to Viserys' passing would not be pleasant.

For all the bitter disagreements throughout their long years between the two men she knew what they meant to each other. Naerys knew how Daemon felt about his elder brother. He loved, worshiped, and resented him in equal measure in various degrees throughout his life. Death would not vanquish his sentiments.

Viserys always stood out of reach. Keeping him at an arm's length had frustrated his younger brother to no end, especially in his younger years. He was the second son desperate to belong somewhere. To be at his brother's side. He had been born for it. In another life. If circumstances were different. If they were different they would have been more. Targaryen's obsession with blood purity dictated it, but in this life, he had to forge his own path.

True enough the Rogue Prince was no longer blinded by his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He had grown to see past his own lusts and wants. To see past himself. To find unselfish happiness and devotion to something more than just Targaryen tradition and customs. While admirable it did not change the fact that his brother in many ways had been his first love.

Naerys came back to their bed chambers to find her husband putting on his riding leathers. Their servants had come in and left. Most of what they had brought had been packed away. “Daenys needs to stop bothering my brother.” Daemon let out an amused sigh greeting her with a grin as he motioned his wife over to help him button his undershirt.

“If she keeps this up he won’t make it till the end of the moon much less the year. She gets that from you, you know. Your beautiful stubbornness.” He kissed her forehead. Naerys tried to distract herself with her task at hand. Each second would bring her closer to having to tell of all that had happened. Daemon was always two steps ahead. Noticing that she had not met his eyes once since she arrived back to their guest chambers. With a stroke down her soft cheek, he took her face between his rough hands to bring her gaze up to meet his.

Her husband's eyes darkened when she began to worry at her plump little lip. Taking the offending feature between her teeth to calm her nerves as Daemon stared down at her. “What did they do?” His eyes traveled across her face. He could see the look in her amethyst orbs. He knew.

Naerys could never hide anything from him, try as she might. She had always been a terrible actress. Her uncle could always sniff her out without her even having to say so much as a word. “What did they do to my brother? She knew that his ire was not directed at her, but he would, sure enough, try to find some target for his anger. The princess reached up a small hand to stroke her husband's pale cheek mirroring his actions in the hope that it would provide him comfort in the wake of such news.

“Viserys died in the middle of the night kepus.” Naerys swallowed hard and released a breath that she had been holding back. She felt her eyes watering. It was unexpected and not completely surprising when her husband collapsed. Falling to his knees and burying his pale face into her stomach. “I am so sorry.” She caressed his pale head placing a kiss upon it. The bond of brothers. Targaryen brothers at that. They had shared more than blood. Daemon had never lived in a world without him. He had always been there. Waiting.

“That bitch he calls—called his wife poisoned him.” His voice was muffled as he spoke it into her skirts. Venom was clear in his gravelly voice. She knew he did not really mean it. Viserys had looked worse for wear for the past ten years. He had grown ill so very long ago. Aegon had been ready as ever to take the throne for just as long. If Alicent and father had wanted Viserys gone they would have done so moons ago.

“He did not have to marry her. He had Rhaenyra. He had me.” It was said more to himself. The slight that had never been righted. Daemon had been his heir even before Rhaenyra. He had been good enough, but Viserys still sought to deny him his rights. To replace him with others when he had been right there. His rejection still stung. “I could have provided him with heirs. We could have. Worthy heirs.”

“You did your duty to him. There is nothing left that you could have done for your brother.” She tried to soothe her husband's brooding thoughts. His regret. The last of his wants and needs to be accepted by his brother would never be fully realized, but he had been more than adequate.

Naerys placed another kiss on his silver head. Petting the strands with a practiced hand. There was no way to stop Viserys' fate. There was no point in worrying about the past. Of what could have been. All her husband could do was grieve for his loss. “He’s at peace now, kepus. He does not have to suffer more.”

Daemon let himself be comforted by his wife. Letting her soothe his inner turmoil with soft strokes to his white head. He was like a child in her hands. A child who needed reassurance. He would do the same for Naerys. He had done the same. It was only right that she provided him with a balm to his mournful soul.

It was no surprise when her husband sprung up from his kneeling position. Cupping her face between his hands before crashing his mouth upon hers in a searing kiss. Making quick work of their clothes as he does so as to bring her to their bed. Tumbling on top of the freshly made linen without breaking apart. Never forgetting her needs, Daemon moved a strong hand down to Naerys center. It did not take much to arouse her. Merely igniting the flame from earlier that morning with his skilled fingers.

Daemon plunged his hard length into her willing channel in a matter of minutes. Driving in and out of her sopping heat with a frenzy. The sounds of their lovemaking overtook their guest quarters. No words were exchanged between them. Only a symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans.

There was no battle. She let him use her like she was a doll. His doll. She was his beloved lady wife after all. He was well within his rights to gorge himself and slack his lusts and pent up emotions on her supple flesh.

Their coupling is not unkind. Daemon was not truly rough. Only impassioned. It was never unpleasant, not even in his anger and hurt. Whatever ill feelings he held within dissipated. He drew as much comfort from her as she does from him. Give and take. Equals in their own way. All too soon he spills his seed inside her. Her own peak followed not moments after from his continued pressure and small rough circles made upon her little pearl.

As they lay in a sweaty naked heap of bare limbs upon the now-ruined bed the chamber descended into silence. Daemon remained half hard inside of his wife, keeping their combined spends from leaking out onto what was once clean sheets. He was far from being down with her as he rested his head upon her breast.

Daemon occasionally took a nipple within his mouth to suckle upon. Leaving her little brown peaks engorged and themselves in a constant state of arousal. He was sated. Naerys continued to console and dote upon her husband as he returned and basked in her affections with a tight grip on her person. It was a spell before either spoke again. “Skoros gaomagon se vipers jaelagon?” What do the vipers want?

Daemon lifted his head from her breasts to gaze down at his niece. His face was still ashen, but she could see that he would heal from this setback. Some of the mischief had returned to his violent orbs. Naerys felt relief. He would come to terms with the nature of his brother's death. “Skoros gōntan pōnta call ao syt byka mēre?” What did they call you for little one?

Daemon was not stupid. He knew what Viserys death entailed. Why they had called his wife to a council meeting instead of himself. It was not just his propensity for violence that caused them to seek out Naerys to deliver the news. No, above all else the schemers and lackwits that had run his late brother’s court and council wanted a mother’s heart. A mother’s gentleness would convince a dragon of a father to see the merit past the blatant ambition.

“Aōha tala se Aemond jaelagon naejot dīnagon.” Your daughter and Aemond wish to wed. It was better to start out with words of love. To remind him of the familial bond he shared with Aemond. To dance around Otto’s true aim. Dragonstone.

Naerys knew that they saw Daenys as a means to secure their seat and the arsenal it held, but that did not mean that was an absence of fondness. Of care and affection on the part of the young people around. It was their duty as Targaryen’s to marry for the good of their house. Why not wed the two who wished to be together? Perhaps duty and love could coincide. No matter how rare, it would not be the first case of it nor the last.

Daemon was not heartless. He could be rash, but even a dragon's heart could bend to those who laid a claim to him. He loved Daenys. He would die for her as he would live for her. As they all would. Let his love for his daughter sway him towards acceptance of the union.

“Ziry iksos tolī hāeda.” She is too young. An excuse. A poor one at that. Daemon himself had wedded and bedded her when she had been little older than their daughter and he was twice her age. Aemond was only a cousin rather than an uncle. There was a mere six years between the two. Her uncle had no room to talk.

Naerys would not usually push the issue, war or no war, but the two did care for each other. Daenys had been smitten with her older cousin since she could talk and Aemond was a stern enough though devoted boy. Matches were made with less. Her own had. She barely knew her uncle when she was thrust upon him.

“They love one another.” That counted for everything. It had to. “If we do not agree to it, she will be lost to us.” Daenys had too much of her father’s spirit. She would play nice for now, but her desire would win out. Aemond was little better. He had inherited the dragon's blood. All fire and blood willing to burn for each other. It was sweet if not a little terrifying.

“Skoros would ao gaomagon lo ao could daor emagon issa? What would you do if you could not have me?” Naerys brought a hand up to caress his jaw. Clenching her heat around her uncle’s member. It was playing dirty, but she was left with no choice. Daemon had said that she was made for him. She had been what he needed and he reviled in her light.

The Rogue Prince would gladly commit every sin according to the gods old, new, and anyone else in between for her. He had threatened to live in sin to have her. Was it truly damning to have someone you wanted by your side? If an old dragon could not be made to give up what he desired, what made him think that two young dragons would give in to his commands?

Aemond and Daenys could not be stopped even on Daemon's account. They were both young, hot-tempered, and too caught up with each other. The two would force her father’s hand if he did not give his blessing willingly. A scandal that could be avoided if the old prince saw reason.

“Ziry iksos nykeā Hightower.” He is a Hightower. Daemon brought his forehead down to nuzzle hers as his violet eyes closed shut. He breathed his wife in as he held back a groan from his wife’s inner walls fluttering around his cock. She would be the death of him, oh but what a blissful end it would be.

Naerys tried and failed to stifle her laugh which turned to a whimper when Daemon rocked up into her swollen cunt. A playful punishment for her cheek. Kicking a poor man while he was down. Her husband had acted like a spoiled child who seemed to take joy out of denying his nephew. He was running out of excuses and they both knew it.

“Ziry iksos aōha lēkia tresy.” He is your brother’s son. Aemond was a Targaryen even if his mother was a Hightower. Targaryen’s appeared to always be meant for another. He loved Daenys and she loved him. There could be no argument about their feelings toward each other. There was certainly no argument that could be made on who would be more suited for her than Aemond. “Who would you rather have her marry?”

A part of Naerys knew why her husband hesitated to wed the two. It was more than a father's overprotective nature rearing its ugly head. Targaryen’s were a special lot. There was no denying that. Blood belonged with blood. Daemon had wanted his blood for his daughter. It was more than just a want for an heir. He wanted a son for Daenys. It was natural. It was what was expected. His parents had a natural blood mate as had their parents. Why not his daughter?

But Naerys had failed to give birth to a living son. Daemon would never hold it against her, but she knew why he resented Aemond’s presence so much. He stood as a reminder of what could have been. Perhaps in another life things were different, and things were just as they should be, but in this one, their nephew would have to do.

Another part of her, the naive young princess that her husband had first married, wondered if he had truly found peace. If he were as happy as he claimed to be. He defended her to no end, but she still could not stop the dark thoughts that roamed around in the back of her head.

To marry Daenys to Aemond would mean cutting off Rhaenyra for good. To side against his niece. His first niece. The princess he had originally put all of his hopes and desires into. There would be no going back if he chose this path. A war would permanently separate the two.

There was always another option. Daemon could choose to honor Viserys' wish. His brother's last decree. To marry Daenys to Joffrey. To take up for Rhaenyra’s cause. To give her the legitimacy she so desired. To crown her queen.

Daemon did not miss a beat. He kissed away the worry that washed upon Naerys little brow from her troubling thoughts. Sighing into her temple. Not for the first time did he regret his treatment of his little wife during the first moons of their marriage. He should have told her of his sooner of his feelings toward her, but he had been too clouded by his own conceit and resentment.

He had almost lost her in her attempts to prove herself worthy. She, apart from their daughter, meant more to him than all the breath in his body. His brave gentle girl. He did not deserve her yet he had her heart and devotion nonetheless. He should have stayed away from her. Let her marry one of her Velaryon cousins as Ser Vaemond had planned, but he had been too selfish. Too greedy to be denied her. If he couldn’t have Rhaenyra he’d have his other niece for a wife. Daemon was better off for it in the end.

“Ziry jāhor emagon naejot sagon gaomagon gō aegon iksos crowned.” It will have to be done before Aegon is crowned. He whispered it to his little wife. Conceding at long last. Neither Ser Otto nor the prince would trust one another before the deed was done. Too much bad blood stood in the way without the tie of kinship keeping them from harming each other.

“Se Zaldrīzes Ripo jāhor emagon naejot gaomagon.” The Dragonpit will have to do. The Rogue Prince would not have his daughter marry in a sept and they did not have time to journey to Dragonstone and back to wed her in the proper place. Naerys felt the bulk of her woe disappear as she let out a breath of relief which quickly turned into a moan. Her husband had captured her mouth in another sweet yet feverish kiss.

There was no need to prepare themselves for their next round of coupling. With a swift thrust, Daemon was once more buried deep within her love-soaked heat. Where he belonged. The day was still early. They could worry about the ceremony later. Right now her husband had need of her. He was still grieving after all.

Mid-afternoon descended upon the Red Keep before Daemon ceased his amorous affections. He had left his wife feeling achingly sore and reluctant to leave their bed chamber, but there was much to still be done. The castle was in a somber state of half mourning as they prepared for their new king's coronation on the morrow.

Aegon had been located, but the soon-to-be king was found in a drunken state hiding within the Grand Sept. He was dragged back to the Red Keep by a disappointed Ser Criston and a disgruntled Aemond.

The lecherous prince protested bitterly against taking up his late father’s mantle. He did not wish to see himself seated upon the Iron Throne. The boy had some awareness. Naerys would give him that. “Let my sister have it or one of my brothers. I don't care! I do not want it!” If it was up to Daemon she knew that he would place Aemond in his stead with Daenys at his side. Their grandson would be the future king.

The realm might be better for it, but they had chosen the side of duty and order or at least the appearance of it. Aegon would be made king whether he wanted it or not. It was not an issue with which Naerys would concern herself. His mother and grandsire had it well within hand. Rhaenys was at the forefront of her mind now.

“Are my granddaughters safe?” Her aunt's unnaturally cold voice greeted her before she could even shut the door to her chambers turned holding cell. Rhaenys stood facing her windows. The shutters were closed leaving the fire and freshly lit candles to provide light on the eve of the dying day. The older princess' body was rigid as she stared out below at the sweltering capital.

“They arrived safely back to Driftmark this morning.” She reached out to lend a reassuring hand but the older woman flinched away. It stung as Naerys moved her arm back to her side. Wringing her wrist to keep her hands busy. “No one will go after them.” She would not stand for it. She would allow it.

Naerys owed Laena who had been a sister to her in all but name. She would not see any harm come to her late cousin's daughters. Laena would do the same for her. At any rate, the Greens did not have any quarrel with either Baela or Rhaena. They were mere girls who had the misfortune to be betrothed to their bastard half-brothers. “You have my word aunt.”

“The word of jailers and traitors means little to me Naerys.” Rhaenys finally turned her rapidly graying head around to face her. Narrowing her violet eyes in cool inspection. The younger princess tried her best not to cower under her good aunt's gaze. It is a funny thing how we revert into the children we once were from something as simple as a disapproving glare.

“Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” Naerys held her ground. Her aunt let out a huff in amusement. As if her words were so ridiculous. Truth had become humorous in the face of lies that they had told for so very long. Mayhaps she had even forgotten it. What a strange world they lived in. “From where I stand, Rhaenyra is the traitor.”

“Traitor to what exactly?” Rhaenys would not lend her candor to the situation. She had made her bed with Rhaenyra. She would not give in now no matter the truth. It need not be said. They could skirt around it for all they like. The truth after all was a fickle thing that changed as easily as a late summer breeze. “She is the king's chosen heir.” That meant little now and they both knew it. To crown Rhaenyra queen would be folly.

“She has obvious bastards for heirs.” Her aunt could not even refute it. It may not be treason per se, but it was chaos. The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed on the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborn. Let alone did they dare to make one king, but her cousin had Targaryen conceit in abundance. “The realm can not withstand her reign.”

“You are so quick to tear another woman down Naerys.” It was Naerys turn to let out a snort in amusement. Though she did not flinch back as she had when the older princess reached out to admire a silver curl with a sneer. She had forgotten that her aunt was a Targaryen like the rest of them. A dragon rider with a dragon’s heat.

“I thought I taught you better than that.” Her aunt knew good and well why she would not side with her cousin. Rhaenys had been there when Rhaenyra tried to accuse her of treason. Her cousin had judged her to be an enemy and wanted her head just as she had wanted Ser Vaemond’s.

“We would not be in this mess if you had not let them steal your crown out from under you.” The Naerys spat out. She would not be dismissed as a woman acting out of malice and spite. If her aunt wanted cruelty she would show it to her. If she wanted to hurt. She would hurt back. It was petty, but she had reason enough. She would not cower and hide like a frightened girl.

The Queen Who Never Was. Naerys knew how Rhaenys hated it. Hated being called it by those closest to her. The constant reminders from her uncle the late Lord Boremund Baratheon. Whispers from her husband Lord Corlys. Even Ser Vaemond’s mocking sneers

Rhaenys was the firstborn daughter of the firstborn son. She was the rightful heir, but the Old King wanted a male heir to succeed him rather than his late son's daughter. Her position as heir died the moment her father had.

Rhaenys was passed over thrice. First by her uncle, Naerys grandsire, then Naerys father, and finally Viserys. The crown should have gone to her, but it went to a worthy successor with only a whimper of a protest and that came from her uncle the Sea Snake. Her aunt had always said she had gotten over the slight, but she could see a brief flash of envy in her violet eyes sometimes when they gazed upon the Iron Throne, Viserys, or even Rhaenyra.

“You talk of the good of the realm. Everything I have done has been for the good of the realm.” Her aunt's face was set in stone. Her eyes held little light in them. Years of practice made the lack of emotion on the subject appear natural on her pale visage. “If I recall your mother made the same decision when she let Viserys take your crown as well niece.” Though her tone was not biting, Rhaenys curled her lips in a jeer. A blow for a blow.

“My mother did not even have the support of her own brothers.” True enough, Ser Vaemond had supported her father’s claim, but he did not put up much of a fight once Prince Aenys had been sent to an early grave. Lord Corlys had offered his protection. He would never let a hand raise in harm against his only sister or his babe niece, but he offered little else.

“She had no choice! I was a child! You had the might of House Velaryon at your disposal. You had a dragon!” At the time, only Daemon had claim to a full-grown dragon. Little stood in her way. “You had a son who would rule after, yet you still gave up your crown for a man not even worthy to rule Dragonstone, let alone the Seven Kingdoms!”

Viserys was a weak man who spread disease and poison wherever he went. He played the role of peacemaker, but he caused more damage than all of them. Trampling on tradition while he gained everything he had ever had from it. “You won’t even stand up to her husband to make Baela heir.”

“Do not lecture me niece.” Rhaenys laughed. It was a bitter one this time. “Everything I do is for my granddaughters.” The years of pent-up frustration brewing finally bubbled over at the surface. “You are a mother now Naerys. You ought to know better. You are a woman grown now. Since you are so concerned with who is a worthy heir, push for your claim and your daughters. Ask the Greens that you side with to call for a Great Council. Ask your husband to start a war for you. See where that gets you!”

She did not doubt that Daemon would start a war of succession for her. It was well within his nature, but there was no denying that it would only end in needless bloodshed. Naerys had no sons and no means to provide the realm with them other than Daenys. While the smallfolk might love their Rogue Prince the lords of the land were less than fond of her uncle and would like him less as their King consort.

Truth be told it was a relief in a way that she had not been made queen. Aegon was right. Above all the Iron Throne was a curse more than it was something to covet and hold in one’s possession.

“Our house finally has the chance to seat a woman upon the throne and yet you stand in your cousin's way the same as the men who stood in our way.” Perhaps Rhaenys had deluded herself into thinking that Rhaenyra would be a just and fair ruler. Perhaps Rhaenyra might be a good queen, but Naerys would have no part in helping her cousin to the throne.

This went beyond who was worthy of holding the throne. “You side with the men of the realm just the same.” Her aunt tried one last time, but it was in vain. Naerys would not be bullied into acceptance by a hypocrite who sided with a woman who had made her own daughter's marriage a misery. “We all must make sacrifices Naerys.”

“She accused me of treason.” After ripping out the tongues of her Velaryon cousins and ordering the beheading of her uncle no less. Naerys would no longer dance around the truth. She could not. She had the bruise to prove Rhaenyra’s intent for her. If it was not for her husband's affection toward her, her head would surely be in Syrax’s belly next to Ser Vaemond’s. “Forgive me if I am not so sympathetic to her plight.”

“I will send for someone to deliver you to your granddaughters.” There were still those loyal to the crown princess. It would not take much to sneak her out of the Red Keep. She could enlist Ser Westerlings' help if need be.

Naerys would not see Baela and Rhaena alone in this world. The girls had been through so much. They would undoubtedly be pushed aside if their grandmother was not there to protect and defend them. Even if it meant giving Rhaenyra one more dragon rider, Laena's girls needed her.

Rhaenys reached out to grasp Naerys. Seemingly releasing the mistake in her chastisement. She had been too cruel, but the younger princess flinched away. Pulling open the chamber doors she did not turn around to face her aunt. She could not do so without crumbling. “Good luck aunt.” Making her way back into the hall Naerys let out a silent prayer to the Mother that she would not meet her in worse circumstances than this.

Aemond and Daenys wedding ceremony was a quiet and hurried affair. Neither she nor her cousin turned nephew turned good-son seemed disappointed by this fact. A septon had been procured with surprising speed, but Daemon insisted that he would officiate the ceremony. After of course he had called his soon-to-be good-son to their chambers for a pre-wedding bonding of sorts.

“If you ever hurt my daughter.” Her husband sat upon his armchair polishing Dark Sister in his sword hand. His other pale hand he placed upon Aemond’s shoulder. “If I find out that you have ever made her unhappy.” He gestured to the blade in his grasp. Twirling it around with a small smirk that did not reach his darkened eyes. He looked every bit the vengeful Valyrian God of old. “This will find a home in that empty hole you call your eye, sweet nephew.”

The younger prince did not flinch at his uncle's words. Only bowing his head slightly. “I would gladly accept that fate, nuncle.” It was his simple reply. One that seemed to satisfy Daemon who got up from his chair to place a heavy pat on Aemond’s with a mirthless chortle.

Naerys did not doubt Aemond’s sincerity. He was utterly devoted to Daenys. She had not seen him so much as looked at another maiden. He was not a drunken lustful fool like his older brother nor was he neglectful as his father had been.

He had some darkness in him, but it was familiar. The same darkness she saw in her own husband. The same need to prove himself as a second son, but he was overall a dutiful Targaryen prince. In any case, Naerys would burn Aemond herself with Silverwings' help if he was ever untrue to their daughter.

Daenys' lady companion, a bubbly girl of ten and six who was the daughter of their steward, had brought Naerys wedding robes to the Red Keep at the young princess's request. To that, her mother could not be surprised. It was clear that her daughter had not planned on leaving Kings Landing without what or rather who she wanted.

Helaena had taken care to pin flowers picked by her children into her little sister's hair alongside her headpiece after Naerys had pinned up her silver curls. Beaming at the finished result. “Ao jurnegon hae pretty hae aōha muñnykeā byka zaldrīzes.” You look as pretty as your mother little dragon. Daemon’s violet eyes were glassy in the candlelight as he gazed at his daughter. There was no denying that Daenys looked every bit the Valyrian bride. Though her mother thought that the robes fit better on her daughter’s frame than they had ever looked on her.

Naerys could not help, but compare her daughter's wedding to her own. Truthfully could only remember her nerves. The bulk of that fateful day had been a blur. Even when it had been fresh in her mind. She did recall though that Daemon had to draw her blood for her. Her hand had been too shaky.

Daenys had been able to cut her own lip without Aemond’s assistance. She did not wince when her new husband placed their combined blood upon her forehead, the only person who had done so had been Alicent though her bright smile held the truth of her feelings towards her new good-daughter.

Daenys repeated her vows in Valyrian with perfect diction. She beamed up at Aemond, who looked the happiest Naerys had ever seen, as she did so. Daenys was a glowing vibrant bride and her mother was glad for that.

The feast afterward was a rather interesting experience. Aegon had sobered up enough to attend the family gathering in late fathers Nos his private solar. He had not, however, recovered enough from his past libations to have full control of his wits. The soon-to-be crowned king had called for the bedding twice. The first was met with dark glares from both Aemond and Daemon which should have kept him from egging on the situation, but not a quarter hour later did he call for it to be done again.

“Your bride is very pretty brother.” Having been banned from wine and ale for the duration of the feast Aegon took a swig of water from his goblet. Continuing on with a half-drunken smile. “It is a pity that Good Queen Alyssnne saw fit to do away with the first night.” Helaena who sat next to her husband blanched, though his next words would cause them all to stir in anger and recoil in horror.

“My dear little sister could have had two princes breaking her in tonight. Perhaps she still might.” The singers had stopped their music at the last of their new king's declaration. The room went deathly silent. Before either Daemon or Aemond, who were both armed, could enact harm against Aegon, before he was even crowned no less, Ser Otto sprouted up from his seat at the table's end to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that it is time that you retire, your grace.” The hand of the King motioned Ser Criston over to where his eldest grandson sat by a furious Aemond who had only been stopped from committing kingslaying and kinslaying from his young bride's honey hand on his pale one. “You will need your strength for tomorrow.” Aegon protested, but Ser Criston and some of his men were able to lead him back to his bed chambers without too much fuss.

While there was no bedding that did not stop Daemon from trying to hold off Aemond and Daenys departure for as long as he could. The thought of his daughter being swept away to be misused by his nephew made him ill. So he took to glaring at Aemond from where he sat on Daenys left during the duration of the feast. Taking his daughter's smaller hand in his and placed a paternal kiss upon the honey skin. It was almost amusing at first, but as the feast progressed it soon enough became an unbearable sight to watch. The Rogue Prince's mood only became more gloomy with each minute that passed.

Daemon would not even let Daenys join her new husband for so much as a dance, lest Aemond might somehow whisk his daughter away to defile her. Never mind the fact that he was well within his rights to do so now. She was his wife.

Aemond returned his new good father’s glower in kind, but he did not say anything to the older man. Not wanting to provoke his uncle's ire at his own wedding feast. Their poor girl, despite her smile, looked like she was suffocating under her father's smothering. Having to placate both men who she sat into between.

Naerys did not like the idea of what would happen after the feasts either. Their daughter would always be her baby. Her only living child who she had been blessed by the Gods to carry inside her belly for nine moons. It was she who had cared for her before anyone else had known her. She had been a part of her and would always be. She knew Daenys better than her own self, but the young princess was a married woman now. It would not do for her husband to act as he did.

It was only when Naerys had been asked by Ser Criston to join him for a dance, that her husband turned his back on the newlyweds long enough that the two were able to sneak out and head for Aemond’s chambers. Away from prying eyes as they spent their first night as man and wife.

Naerys could not hold back her laughter at the look on her husband’s stern face when he realized that his daughter and good-son had left for their chambers. He was pale as a ghost as he scanned the king's private solar for a glimpse of Daenys. “īlon jāhor ūndegon zirȳ isse se tubis kepus.” We will see them in the morning, uncle. They did not get much rest that night though she counted it lucky that Daemon had not sought to make their daughter a widow on her wedding day.

The ride to Aegon’s coronation the following day was pleasant enough. Naerys rode with her daughter and niece, the soon-to-be crowned queen. The girls sat huddled opposite to the older princess exchanging whispers and giggles amongst themselves. With a rosy flush coloring her honey face, Daenys was the very picture of a new bride. Outside their wheelhouse was a different story.

Both Aemond and Daemon rode ahead of them on horseback. The two had not spoken to each other since the ceremony, but as long as neither prince attempted to harm the other their wives would not force a connection between them. At least not yet anyway.

The hopes for the coronation were low. The Dragonpit had been filled enough with small folk. Though completely sober for mayhaps the first time in his adult life, Aegon was sullen and pale as he made his grand entrance. His eyes watering over as he kneeled next to his sister-wife to be anointed and blessed by Septon Eustace in the frail High Septon’s absence.

Ser Criston held up the crown of the conqueror for all to see before placing it upon the prince’s white head. Proclaiming him the heir and king in the name of the seven. From the corner of her eye, Naerys noticed her good-son staring at his brother's head. A second son bound by duty. Daenys grabbed her husband’s hand in comfort. Aemond gladly took her little honey hand further into his grasp, but his eyes remained on Aegon.

Alicent went forward to place her own crown upon her daughter's fair head. Giving her a kiss on her cheek before bowing to her. “My Queen.” The girl would not quite meet her mother’s eye though the dear little queen did accept her mother's gesture with a half smile.

Ser Criston had been the one first to bow his head to their new king. He had done so without thought. Tradition dictated that they follow the Dornish knight's lead. In recognition of their new king, each standing on the Dragonpits dais, apart from Helaena who remained kneeling, dropped to a half curtsey, a head bow, or a jerk of the head in Daemon’s case which had been stiffer than Aemond’s half-hearted attempt. Naerys' husband would give him no more than that.

Aegon turned his hollowed-out eyes to gaze at his family and council before turning to face the crowd. King Aegon. The second of his name. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the boy’s low spirits would continue on, but then the crowd began to cheer. He was king. He was the lord of the seven kingdoms. Protector of the realm and he only just now realized it. He basked in the small folks' acceptance of him. Pumping his sword in elation, until an unexpected visitor arrived.

Rhaenys. In her full armor, she rode on top of Meleys. The scarlet she-dragon burst from underneath the floorboards. Crushing the small folk who had been unlucky enough to be in her path. Naerys had not forgotten her aunt. Nor how they left things between them, but she did not expect her to pay her kindness with this.

Chaos reigned over the Dragonpit. Ser Otto commanded the gates to be open as the occupants inside scrambled to exit from the dome lest they wind up crushed or trampled by the Lady of Driftmark and her dragon. Naerys found herself being pushed behind her husband. She let out a breath of relief when she turned her silver head and saw that Aemond had done the same with their daughter who stood clinging to her husband.

Meleys and her rider stared down Aegon and Alicent. The dowager queen ordered Ser Criston to protect her daughter who had moved back from the center of the dais, drawing her son in back of her. Naerys felt all the blood leave out from her body when the dragon began to growl down at the mother and her son.

Her aunt had never been a violent woman, but war makes monsters of us all. Meleys let out a piercing roar at the dowager queen and the freshly crowned king. No heat came. A scream. A battle cry. Nothing more.

Naerys was left reeling as Rhaenys took to the skies heading for Driftmark. Her aunt could have left in peace with Ser Westerlings. The loyal knight had been more than willing to offer her his sword. To take the older princess quietly, discreetly back to her home, Or gather her granddaughters from Hide Tide and bring them here to her, but she had chosen to torment them instead. She had chosen to play at war. She had chosen her queen.

Ao3 Link:

Tags: @misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig @mvrylee @janelei

[aduckinpain]

Let the Sky fall

Tags: Lestappen, Max Verstappen centered, Max Verstappen Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Jos Verstappen Slander, Happy Ending, Charles Leclerc's Sunset lap and Max Verstappen's Storm lap, The Brazil 2023 Effect hasn't left yet

Word Count: 2k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

The sky darkens, the rain falls and the clouds drape. A storm is nearing. Maybe it’s already arrived. Or perhaps it was always there. Looming just beside his shoulder. Never whispering, always yelling, muttering under his breath.

The wind blows, shakes. The wind is moving and everpresent, especially in a state like the Netherlands. Especially in a household like the Verstappens.

A storm is the natural phenomenon of a violent disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds and usually rain, thunder, lightning, or snow.

The 2023 season felt like a good quali lap with 3 full purple sectors. His wins got familiar and his rare, but present, losses felt like the calm before the storm. And that was taken literally on the track of São Paulo, Brazil. 

This year was like a whirlwind that wasn’t stopping and it really swiveled itself that morning. The warm, humid air felt good on his skin. He lowered his visor, pressed the throttle, exited the pit lane.

 A short straight, followed by chicanes. Max’s eyes stood unblinking. 

Turn left. Turn right. 

Go faster. 

A straight. DRS. 

Go faster.

Sharp left. 

Purple. 

The force pushed him right and over the edge. 

He remembered.

When he opened his eyes, Max saw the sky. Bright blue spanning across his vision. Along with some dark, blurry spots. 

He heard voices and felt hands touching him. Pulling him. 

He flinched. Or at least tried to, but he couldn’t tell what was happening.

Soon enough the noise started to filter in. Screams entering his ears and the sun warming his suit, reminded Max of where he was. Physically at least. 

Opening lap of his 2021 Silverstone Grand Prix. And he’d crashed.

The marshalls were checking if anything was wrong and he could feel himself shaking his head. He’d crashed.

He could walk, nothing was broken. He’d crashed.

He entered the garage, went to the infirmary and sat. The doctors checked him over. A concussion at most, they said. He’d crashed.

The word flying around estimated 51 G-forces. A miracle. He’d crashed.

Christian came over and stood with him. Daniel called immediately after the race. Asked him how he was.

It doesn’t matter.

He’d crashed.

The sun shined brighter. Redder.

Angry or worried. He didn’t know. He’d only felt one emotion as a constant in his life and he couldn’t look the sun in the eye. It was too bright.

The sky is the region of the atmosphere and outer space seen from the earth.

Sector 2 has started. A push on the pedals, the speed increases.

He can feel his arm muscles tense, turn, gain control over the long turns. 

Turn 8. Chicanes. Right. Left. Right. Hit the apex. Keep the speed. 

Turn.

Purple.

The sky darkens.

And yet, he can still feel his sun’s heat on his back. Catching on. Keeping up. Feeding.

Like always.

When he was a child, he remembers sitting with his sister under the blankets looking at picture books about space. A flashlight in his hand. Opening, closing, mimicking stars. Scattering it around to make constellations.

Stars. Bright and big. Almost like they had a presence. An aura. A purpose. 

He remembers his wonder when he found out the Sun was a star. Read about it incessantly. The brightness, along with its heat, being the main cause for life on Earth. It created great things, but as he found later on, with big risks. 

It felt godly.

It held the power in its hands to not just create, but also destroy.

Humanity has and will always be its own risk. Our actions making even the thing that keeps us alive, deadly.

The Sun wasn’t just warm, it was scalding. It was strong, it lashed out. 

It grew and it grew. It will continue to grow, to the point where it will swallow. It will grow and then it will shrink.

It will be quiet.

It will burst.

And Jos?

He bleeds human.

His father felt like wind. It pushed and pulled and yelled. 

His father felt Aeolian. Loud. Intense. Angry.

Anger. 

An emotion he’s always known of. An emotion he’s allowed to have. The only one he was allowed to express.

When the checkered flag came into view and his kart crossed the finish line in third place, pride was what was felt. Sure, he hadn't won, but he was on the podium.

He was on the podium, dad!

He smiled and picked up his trophy. He took pictures and turned to show his accomplishment. 

He was on the podium, dad!

He froze. He shivered, flinched. He stayed quiet in the car and looked up when his door opened. He stepped outside, but his dad went inside again. 

What?

The window opened. He heard the words, tried replying to them even. But then, he looked at wind in the eye and felt cold.

As the car drove away, Max Verstappen left. 

He left there in the parking lot of the gas station, standing still. 

He doesn’t know if he ever returned. And if any effort was made to do so, it was quickly diminished when he found himself in the same place it started. Or more accurately, ended.

He was on the podium, dad.

A black hole is a place in space where gravity pulls so much that even light cannot get out.

A sharp left turn. He hits the apex and speeds up again. The wind blows but he doesn’t feel it. 

He never lifts his foot off the pedal. 

He speeds up and up and up.

Purple.

Sector 3 done. 

Pole position.

For now.

Rain drops. The sun shines from behind, not above.

The session is finished.

On Sunday he starts on pole. And that afternoon he feeds his sun. Max doesn’t trap his light.

A solar storm is a disturbance on the Sun, which can emanate outward across the heliosphere, affecting the entire Solar System.

He was leading. He was winning. That first place trophy was his. 

He was robbed. And now very wet.

Thrown in a puddle, as if all these years of experience were for nothing.

He turned to see who it was, who had dared. Turning his head, Max for a second was blinded by the glare of the Sun. 

The Sun was prettier than he should be, but it doesn't matter. He'd lost.

When he heard the word ‘Inchident’ come out of the Sun's mouth, the only thing pushing him away, in the opposite direction, was the wind.

But the heat never left.

@ maxverstappen1

I tried to stay out of trouble, but trouble came to me.

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December 6, 2020

He follows the Sun, but maybe the Sun also follows him back.

The supernova occurs when a star suddenly increases greatly in brightness because of a catastrophic explosion that ejects most of its mass.

Austria 2019. Mad Max.

After embracing the anger for so long, he succeeded.

He was anger. He was fear. He made people freeze. He was strong and he won. He fought back.

So why?

Why did the wind tire him out? Why did his Sun disappear? 

Why wasn’t it enough? When will it be enough?

What will it take, that he hasn't already given?

He was on the podium, dad.

He won, dad.

Up until 2019, Max Verstappen made a name for himself. 

Whether that was with his reckless behavior or inability to allow drivers to overtake, that’s a story for another day. 

He was becoming someone. He had gained importance.

When he was small, his mom learned that he liked books about space. A woman ready to sacrifice everything and more for her children, caught unto that fact quickly. She gave him books, he learned and ranted to her eagerly.

She listened. She always did.

His sister looked up at him, trailed after his every word, ready to believe anything he said. Captured every thought of his and held it close to her little heart.

He loved them.

And yet, they still left him. 

He was alone.

He was alone in a house, with its windows wide open. No curtains drawn. The wind was bursting in its seams. It shook every space, every nook and cranny. It shook him.

He was alone, in a void.

No friends at school, no birthday parties to go to, no sister, no mom, no childhood.

Even when he succeeded, he didn’t feel like his dad felt proud.

It was almost like he didn’t have a dad in the first place. He only had a father.

The Boötes Void, colloquially referred to as the Great Nothing, is an approximately spherical region of space found in the vicinity of the constellation Boötes, containing nearly no galaxies. We have yet to find the reason.

Sunday arrived. Assured and known, yet still exciting. It would never grow old. Not like galaxies and stars did. 

He wore his fireproof, put on his balaclava. Holding the helmet for a moment, he allowed himself to look upon its design. A design fit for a World Champion. The gold shined. The lion stared back.

He got the gloves and entered the RB19.

Breath in. Breath out. 

The cars lined up in their positions. The sun shined brightly right behind him, in second position. The sky was clear, no clouds, no wind.

He took the wheel in his hand. Felt his mind go blank.

The formation lap.

A short straight followed by a left turn into Turn 1.

He hears the wheels and then the distant thud. 

The sun isn't shining brightly. Not anymore.

It’s been dimming this year.

He won, but there was no rays there around him, warm and inviting like always. There was no wind but it still felt cold.

Max Verstappen learned early in his life, career, that he had only one true constant in his life. And it wasn’t the wind, the storm or the sky. It was the Sun. It was his Sun. His Sun was a man, it was a star.

His Sun attracted so many planets, so many other stars across the universe. Orbited around him. They tried coming closer, but the heat was too much. For them at least.

This Sun, was just a star.

This Sun was a man in red.

This Sun hurt, loved, cared, fought.  

This Sun met him toe to toe, eye to eye, heart to heart.

This Sun never left, it rotated only to one thing.

It rotated to Max, just as Max rotated to him.

This Sun carried the weight of responsibility, of history on his shoulders. 

This Sun was Charles Leclerc.

This star was his binary.

A binary star is a system of two stars that are gravitationally bound to and in orbit around each other.  X-ray binaries are made up of a normal star and a collapsed star. These pairs of stars produce X-rays. If the stars are close enough together that material is pulled off the normal star by the gravity of the dense, collapsed star. They feed on each other, until they collide.

It took years, but Max Verstappen isn’t scared of the wind anymore. He’s reunited with his mom and his sister. He has friends. He has wins, races and championships. 

He has confidence. He feels. He expresses. 

Anger is a second thought, not a solution.

And he has understood that, at the end of the day, all of his success was his hard work paying off. 

He has earned it. He has deserved it.

He has healed.

Mom. Victoria. I won.

Dad. I am a World Champion.

Charles. Let’s keep going.

Max. I am proud of you.

The days may pass, time may go on, the universe may be in constant motion. But he is temporary. And it’s ok. He is a simple creature. He is a star.

The star in his arms, unwinding, glowing, asleep, will rotate for eternity. The Sun isn’t up in the sky, it’s in his house, on his couch. He’s warm and will never let the wind make Max cold again.

Nuzzling his nose on the head full of hair in his arms, feeling the pressure on his body, Max Verstappen calms. Closes his eyes. 

Dreams of red and blue.

In the future he dreams of purple.

He’s come to terms with his past.

In the present, he lives.

He is Max Verstappen, and the world echoes his name.

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Max himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

@anakin-tedua-skywalker I love you (fatherly tone)

A tiny analysis even if I feel like this one is pretty obvious:

Aeolian sound or Aeolian tone is sound that is produced by wind when it passes over or through objects.

Any phenomenon that isn't the Wind or The Sun, is Max himself.

The binary stars at the end is Lestappen.

I'm not so sure about this one but I did want to write it so I will still post it here and on my ao3.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or liked!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen and Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[willtheweaver]

A writer’s guide to forests: from the poles to the tropics, part 8

We’ve made it to the tropics. I hope you enjoyed this, and found it useful in your writing.

Tropical rainforest

Probably the most recognizable of forest environment, and among the most threatened.

Location-Latin America, Africa, Australia, Indonesia, and the Pacific islands in between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. Many forests have been felled or heavily altered by human activity.

Climate-Subtropical to tropical, with conditions being wet year round. Rain does not fall all the time, with a defined rainy and dry season. (What’s the difference? Rainy season has rain almost daily while in the dry season you will have to make do with high humidity and morning fog) At higher elevations, nights are cooler, though still well above freezing, and mist and rain are more common(this is why mountainous RF are called cloud forests)

Plant life- This is a tree dominated environment. The understory and forest floor are dark, unless trees have recently fallen. Many small plants are arboreal, nestled in the upper branches of trees. Vines and other climbers use larger plants as scaffolding. In areas of poor soil, tropical pitcher plants (Nepenthes spp.) and bladderworts (Utricularia spp.) get much needed nutrients from animal sources.

Animal life- Rainforests are the most biodiverse environments on Earth. Insects are everywhere, as are the animals that eat them. Birds and primates can be found from the canopy to the forest floor. The moist conditions make for an ideal habitat for frogs and toads. Apex predators are the big cats-think jaguars, tigers and leopards. Some species of herbivores can be quite large; Africa is home to gorillas and forest elephants, while the island of Borneo, Sumatra, and Java support rhinos and orangutans (though the further of these species is uncertain)Waterways are home to all sorts of fish(there are more species in the Amazon river than in the Atlantic Ocean), and larger animals, such as otters, crocodilians, and even river dolphins. Isolated islands have far fewer mammal species, with bats being the only ones, but hardy insects, reptiles, and birds making up the majority of the biomass. Deforestation and the introduction of invasive species have caused the extinction of many animal species, with island forests being the hardest hit.

How the forest affects the story- When one thinks of societies in the tropics, it usually is through the lens of western stereotypes designed to shock audiences and give ‘civilization’ something to conquer. Avoid this at all cost! There is more to the forest. Before the Spanish conquest, the Amazon was home to cities, and the agricultural societies of New Guinea are believed to be contemporaries with the farmers of Mesopotamia.

Grain does not do well in the tropics, so farming will be based around plants such as açaí, coconuts, taro, breadfruit, bananas, and manioc. These can be supplemented by hunting and fishing, but long term storage will have to be addressed. High humidity is a breeding ground for bacteria and fungi, so organic material will have to be kept dry so they don’t rot. The concentration of microorganisms also means that good hygiene is needed to avoid disease.

Settlement will always cause disruption, and the extent of your character’s activities can have a big impact on the forest, and your story. And remember, the activity of a small village will be different to that of large scale logging. Management, use, and abuse of the rainforest can be a driving factor in the plot. How will your characters react? Is the threat from outside or from within? The destruction of the rainforest is one of the main factors, along with unmitigated greenhouse gas emissions that is causing the current climate crisis. Can your characters do better? Or will you create a cautionary tale that shows us the grim future we are currently barreling towards? (That choice, my dear writers, is completely up to you)

[chussyracing]

f1 news and rumours to keep us in shape during the winter break:

apparently Fred didn't want Charles to risk p2 in the race and his own position in the standings with the brave move he did to grt the team p2 in constructors

points are calculated and with them also entrance fees which for red bull for next year equals a huge amount of 7.4 mil

Merc team found the missing wedding ring in Yas Marina, congrats!

everyone heard the story about how Newey almost went to Ferrari (because they offered huge paycheck, a flat in Monaco and complete autonomy over F1 and hypercar projects to him), but I never knew Aston Martin was the key to tying him to Red Bull. Apparently Marko took him to the side at the time, asked what Ferrari offered and then offered more money (which is not what sealed the deal) AND a full hypercar where he can design his car how he wants - and that's how Aston Martin Valkyrie was born out of his papers

Este and George were sick (again) in Abu Dhabi and some team members across all teams were too, which raised important question that has been floating around f1 spaces for a while - how huge of an impact has this extensive calendar (even more so in 2024) on the mental and physical health of both the drivers and the team crew

Pourchaire potentially going to Ferrari/AR WEC? Or maybe Superformula, because he didn't manage to grab the F1 seat, but hinted at a new contract

cooling equipment from 2024 should be used at races with extremely warm condition as a reaction to Qatar gp this year, more over there is rumoured [very simplified non technical explanation from me coming] solution of making a small hole from the bottom of the front spoiler to make space for more air and fia claims it will all have precise rules so nobody could end up using it to gain unfair advantage

Merc seem to be finally scraping up the concept that didn't work for 2 years now and said they are completely reworking basically every single part of the car

Val rased 150k with his BotASS

Stephanie Carlin who is CEO/team principal of Rodin Carlin and Lewis' extreme e team x44 will be joining mclaren as business operations director

Ben Sulayem expressed how he would love to get Masi back into FIA

Logan has been official announced to complete the 2024 grid which remains unchanged for the first time

Tina Hausmann to Aston Martin F1 academy seat (I can't wait for Ferrari to announce who they decided to sign)

Jessica Hawkins expands her role in Aston Martin to head of racing for f1 academy too

Pato Oward now has enough points to qualify for a super licence

wet weather wheel covers will be tested in in spring 2024

no work on 2026 cars before 2025 is allowed to make sure nobody gets an unfair advantage

CBS is planning a comedy with Guenther Steiner

the Apex movie with Brad Pitt had its release date pushed back to summer 2025 (they face financial issues apparently as well as staff issues after the strike in Hollywood)

Iwasa is headed to Superformula for the next season

Forbes calculated what each driver made in 2023 (idk what their sources are for this tho) and the order is: Oscar + Pierre 8 mil, George 9 mil

Alfa Romeo as a brand is focusing from f1 to WEC now after the contract with Sauber expired (so no Alfa Romeo to Haas as some rumours suggested)

speaking of Sauber, on 10th December they are announcing a new name (based on new title sponsor) in the UK

Honda racing Thanks day (or whatever they call it) happened a few days ago and Yuki looked very cute, also Ferrari had an event in Jeddah last week and Charles could finally do his wishful donuts

Autosport Awards took place and Horner, Verstappen, Piastri and Norris (and who knows who else of the people i don't like) won in some categories i am too tired to list here

Ferrari movie red carpet happened yesterday and some big names including susie and toto wolff were there (fun fact: toto and Christian were asked about charles' rumoured contract extension and they both said he is a great driver and tvereis no reason for ferrari to not lock him down before 2024 contracts expiring carnage happens)

speaking of, Gazzetta reported that charles apparently signed a 5 year contract extension with ferrari and Carlos is expected to extend as well except he is asking for 2 year contract (or at least 1+1) and the team wants to sign him for one year only

some people (cough Horner cough) were concerned about conflict of interest of Susie and Toto Wolff because they hate to see the girlboss winning - there is now official investigation that neither the Wolffs/Mercedes nor the F1 were informed before FIA let the info go into media

Madrid street circuit signed a contract for 10 years starting with 2026 and while Barcelona promoters are trying to keep their place on the calendar i doubt we would have 2 spanish gps with how packed the calendar already is

F1 also announced 6 sprint locations for 2024 and it will be a mess :))))

also remember how Doohan tried to get a place in Alpine wec before mick took it? He is now out of f2 for 2024 and turned down indycar offer too so rip to him

Ferrari drivers are on sim duty this week to give feedback on 676 project

Fred also admitted they scraped 2 more upgrades they had planned out for this season to instead focus those sources (financial and designer) for 2024

Alonso and Verstappen are reportedly planning to do Le Mans together and looking for a third one (worst threesome in the history of universe, no matter who they choose)

Prize money was also calculated and it's 140 mil for rbr, 131 mil for merc and 122 mil for ferrari (etc etc)

everyone is so silent about Andretti (who got approved by fia but didn't get an agreement to join the grid from other f1 teams yet) because apparently Hitech who also tried to get into f1 got turned down despite being much futher in development (concept in wind tunnel, merc pre contract for engine supplying etc) and they will be launching legal action against fia/fom acussing them of bias

And finally Liam Lawson is now a youtuber (as he waits for f1 opportunity because he has the 2025 seat confirmed and ricciardo has a clause in his contract to be 1st priority for rbr if they let go of Checo but also to hire lawson for his place if it happens)

[thenightling]

Witcher season 3 review (Spoilers)

Witcher season 3 review (Spoilers) I just got done watching The Witcher season 3. And though it is better than season 2, I have to admit it felt a bit like a slow burn that never truly reached its apex.   Episode 5 of season 3 was repetitive instead of intriguing, like they intended. and episode 7 felt equally as boring and drawn out, if not more so.   Yes, it showed us what Ciri suffered in the desert and her interesting relationship with the unicorn but all of that should have been shown a lot faster.  And the finale didn’t even feel like a finale.  It left me going “That’s it?”   It felt like an entire episode was missing. Episode 8 didn’t feel like a season finale. It felt like an episode right before the finale, like the unfinished seasons we had to deal with TV when Covid started. Yes, this was better than season 2 of The Witcher.  And the music was very good. I love Ride of The Witcher and it was an interesting twist that Radovid’s feelings for Jaskier were genuine and the poor guy got roped into becoming king against his will, but far too much of this season felt like filler.      

[scorpiostarseed]

I was just tagged by @edscuntyeyeshadow for this little quiz! Thanks! 💜

Last song I listened to “There Is So Much More” by Brett Dennen

Favorite color Green 💚

Currently watching Our Flag Means Death season 1 episode 8

Sweet/Spicy/Savory This is a hard one. I guess I would go with savory. But I do love spicy. Spicy savory? But like @edscuntyeyeshadow I definitely need something sweet afterwards. So, I guess all three? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Relationship status Forever single

Current Obsessions Our Flag Means Death and true crime. Was recently following the Ruby Franke and Jodi Hildebrant case.

Last thing I Googled I googled “The Merrimack River” for work.

No pressure tags: @agaywithcoffee @ofmd-ann @harrylovesspaezle @apex-nadir @rosebugrosalyn @gentlebeardsbarngrill @catbells-and-summerlinens and of course anyone else who wants to do this! 😊

[everlastiingiimmortals]

Tell me the type of games ALL of your muses play

Ask me about my muses!! All of them! Accepting!

Hiya!! I'll be answering this for all my muses that have bios o3o

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan heavily prefers tabletop/board games; D&D would be a big favorite of his I think. He'd be the Emily Axford type of player; excellent with playing his character and meshing with the party, but also stupid OP and finding ways to break the game without pushing the DM too far. Otherwise, in terms of video games I think he'd really enjoy Monster Hunter and the Soulsborne games! Games with hunting bosses and a lot of armor/character customization and such are very fun to him, but I don't think he'd be a super huge fan of MMORPGs that are P2W/have limited meta items or require ridiculous diligence as an F2P player. Gatchas are a no no for him LMAOOO. He'd like Pokemon too tho. He's the type that'd naturally breed for perfect IVs and create game breaking mons. He's a minmaxer.

Gepard

He's not the gaming type so this is a little hard, but truthfully? "Cutesy" life sim games and stuff like Animal Crossing, the Story of Season series, and Cooking Mama would probably be ones he'd enjoy. He's not too big on like minmaxing farming strats or making big bells on turnip stocks and he'd just play the games as naturally as possible.

Stelle

Big big fan of retro/arcade games. She loves 8-bit classics, especially platformers and Galaga; anything that relies genuinely on skill and muscle memory is a big win for her. Less big on like, turn based games but fighting games are another favorite for her!

Yingyue/Meiyu

Pet/animal related games but specifically the games where the animals won't die. Nintendogs/cats. That kinda thing. Also an Animal Crossing fan. Also a fan of cute life sim games like Gepard is, but put a lil fantasy spin on it. Meiyu specifically would be a little more adventurous I think, and would very much love platformers with a strong, very artistic story element. Things like Ori/Ori and the Will of the Wisp, GRIS (this one made me cry), Hollow Knight.

Veturas

He's the one lame person on my roster that wouldn't play games. :(

Touched!Quinn

Racing. Anything with racing in it and a lot of speed. He also really enjoys games that involve some level of flight but truthfully it's so hard to get those right for him; he's really picky. He has a bias towards dragon games too LOL. I think he'd also be willing to play FPS games like Valorant, Apex, COD and the like?

Vaara

Vaara is a big fan of horror games. They find them funny. Anything with some level of horror element is very fun to them, but I can't say they enjoy jumpscares. Jumpscares get boring to them. They're much more a fan of slow tragic horror and psychological horror rather than anything involving big scares and chase scenes. Games I think they'd enjoy are the Soulsborne games, like Jing Yuan, and things like END ROLL. I can't give more suggestions because I myself am a big weenie and can't stand horror, and I also happen to have pretty bad kinemortophobia (please tag anything w zombies oh my god) so I literally cannot touch like 70% of horror games AHDHAKFJAOFHAKFL

[razaldia]

Week of 8/7/23 Stream Schedule

TUES @ 6pm ET - 🐮 Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life THURS @ 6pm ET - 👩‍🌾 Palia - Open Beta SUN @ 1pm ET - 🔫 APEX Collab [Tentative]

Streaming at twitch.tv/razaldia

More info about the games below!

Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life has us in the very first days of Year 4 and we just got our first Blessed Tool! We'll be aiming to work on some more rare crop hybrids and expanding our orchard this spring!

Palia is a new multiplayer life sim. We've been testing out the Closed Beta and although I wouldn't call it an MMO and some of mulitplayer functionality is rather clunky, it's a good game for mindless grinding in a non-dangerous world. Gardening is quite limited and very time-gated but I think the home decoration friends will love this one. Open Beta launches on Thursday so we'll be hanging out to see the sights with Cottagers!

APEX Collab is a Charity Farm-a-thon reward! I'll be playing the game for the first time with some friends and although I can't guarantee many amazing plays, I can guarantee plenty of silliness and laughs.

Hope to see you all live, but if you can't make it, everything will get moved to Youtube!

[seerofmike]

what makes you believe mirage questioning his sexuality is “fake rep”? /genq /nm

because he's not actually questioning his sexuality, it's a throw-away joke line that the writers have refused to expand upon and have left in the air for 8+ seasons, and every time it gets brought up they make it a joke about fucking pumpkins. furthermore, the guy who wrote the line (an ex writer now thank god) said he intended mirage to be a straight man. he said this is subject to change if the new writers ever want to do anything with mirage's sexuality, but the original intent was always a joke about a straight man fucking pumpkins, and i'm kind of sick of mlm rep in apex being discarded and played down. i'm not giving respawn credit for representation that isn't there. more power to u if u hc mirage as bisexual or whatever but "mirage is canonly questioning his sexuality!" is a VERY generous reading of a joke scene that's the culmination of another joke with homophobic implications.

[chroniclingworlds]

Xaraka People

Native to the Great Southern Sea, the Xaraka are apex predators. With females reaching heights of up to 8 feet tall, armed with razor-sharp talons on their hooves and able to sprint up to 30 mph, they are highly capable hunters. Additionally, their high intelligence and use of arrows and spears have allowed them to dominate their ecosystem.

Historically, the Xaraka were migratory hunters who followed their prey between seasonal watering holes, but recently many have permanently settled down along the coast of the Great Southern Sea and taken up farming. Regardless of which lifestyle they lead, the Xaraka typically live in harems of one adult male, several females, and their offspring. While the females traditionally attend to hunting and handling conflict, the smaller male raises the children and even produces a fatty milk-like substance in a specialized throat pouch to feed them. The males also usually develop “beards” as they age, which may be a sexually selected trait to highlight their throat pouch.

There are several distinct heritages of Xaraka, indicated by the color of their headcrest. Each of these heritages have their own customs of fashion, jewelry, crest piercings, and body art. Here are representatives of the three most populous heritages for comparison.

As a young male of blue-crested heritage, Volt wears a variety of bracelets and has five piercings in the top his headcrest, with no permanent tattoos. Males of most heritages do not receive permanent tattoos, but may paint on henna-like designs for special occasions.

Although most permanent settlements on Strix are located in the southern hemisphere, the Xaraka have explored much of the planet and established outposts in the Moon Sea basin as early as 5,000 years ago. Ruins suggest a much larger population once inhabited the region, but the ancient civilization fell for unclear reasons. Prior to their contact with alien life, only a few small villages remained in the north.

Unlike the vast majority of species in the Galactic Accord, the Xaraka did not join by independently developing space-faring technology. Their introduction to other intelligent species was an accident, due to a spacecraft crash-landing on their planet. This informal encounter has caused much controversy among the Galactic Accord, with some believing that the Xaraka do not “deserve” to be part of the organization. There is consequently prejudice towards them in many circles.

[circesays]

Fam I just had the most incredible and stressful 2.5 hours of my goddamn life.

Let me set the scene:

It is 11:30 pm. I’m finishing a shower, remembering that I have a couple of levels left in the Apex Legends season battle pass that I need to finish, as today is the last day before it ends. I quickly realize that I’m at level 106, and I need to be at 110, and even though I have very little left to do to level up, I’m not the greatest at Apex.

So I rush to finish my shower, and dry off as quickly as possible, change, and jump straight into a match. My hair is dripping water, I’m hella uncomfortable, but goddammit I’ve been chipping at this battle pass for months (I didn’t spend money, I just really really liked the level 110 badge aesthetic) and nothing was going to stop me from getting that pass.

That’s when I met my buddy who I’ll be calling D. D and I won a game together, it was fantastic, and the two of us were chatting over the in-game voice call. He asked if we could play together, I told him about my battle pass goal, and the two of us set off to get me my goddamn badge.

Let me set the scene further.

There is an hour and a half left in the season. In order to finish leveling up, I need 4 SMG knocks (which is basically when you damage an enemy enough to “kill them” but their team is still alive and able to get them up) and 5 LMG knocks. These are types of in-game guns.

At one hour left I needed 3 SMG knocks and 4 LMG knocks.

At half an hour left I needed 1 SMG knock and 4 LMG knocks.

At 15 minutes left I needed 3 LMG knocks.

At five minutes left, I needed two.

At 1 minute left, I needed two.

We get into the last game. If I don’t get these knocks, I’ll be stuck at level 109 for this pass for the rest of my Apex career. At this point, I’m practically vibrating out of my skin. We’ve run into so many supportive people at this point- “3rd” players who were helping me get the ammo and guns I needed to win. I was stressed. D was less stressed but still rooting for me. It’s 2 in the goddamn morning, I have a class at 8, but nothing is going to stop me.

I don’t get the knocks. I failed.

I exit the match. The menu loads.

The season hasn’t ended.

D looks it up. The season doesn’t end at 2 am- it ends at 10 am. I just thought it ended at two because Apex doesn’t give you an hourly counter to the seasons end, it just says “0 days left in the season.”

Every muscle in my body fucking melts. In half an hour, I breezed through the dailies and got my badge. It was incredible. It was exhausting. D and I agreed to play more during less stressful times.

Goddammit I could have avoided so much stress if I had just looked up when the season ended.

There’s no real point to this post, honestly. It’s just a fun story because I thought others would enjoy it. I’m so proud of this, which is also kinda silly but I love it. Apex is a huge game in my family and we play together all the time so getting this badge was special to me because it represented incredible moments. And I’m happy I got it.

I’m not kidding when I say that we ran into some very kind people. Many squad mates wished us luck as we bounced from games early, because we couldn’t waste any time being revived. We felt bad abandoning them, but they understood we were on a time limit (even if it wasn’t actually real. Whoops.)

The only guy who was even slightly inconsiderate was a guy who left our game early because we were using our mics. And I respect that. He just left instead of asking us to turn them off. He could have been an asshole about it, but he wasn’t.

Today was a wild ride. Anyways that’s about it. Thanks for the fantastic season (‘•w•)b