#corrupted kernel

[samw3000]

System Alert: Pattern / Error

I’m having fun with these system metaphor poems. System::Emotion() I remember enough computer shit to be creative not productive. © 2025 Samantha Williams. All Rights Reserved.

[textpostsofananon]

>be me

>using laptop

>try and watch a movie on jellyfin

>KERNEL_MODE_HEAP_CORRUPTION

>mfw.jpg

[moltengoldveins]

………. Dammit why. Why does this work.

alright y'all it's time for the mystery lotr ship wheel......

click here and spin the wheel twice, then answer whether or not you would ship these characters together!

i threw in some characters from the hobbit to fill up the wheel a bit! share who you got!

(this is all in good fun, and is not meant to be taken seriously or start ship discourse in 2025!!! spin the wheel twice, three times, idc! but do not take it seriously or spread ship hate, let’s just have fun!)

[gabstriessomethingnew]

Y'all would hate if I started actually writing Merthur, cause I would make them toxic as hell. I would have them resenting each other, fighting with digs just a little too real, screaming and crying and ripping each other apart at the seems. I would have Merlin not being able to open up to Arthur and Arthur yearning for nothing more than truth from the man. I would have Arthur falling back on old habits and treating Merlin like a servant, not listening to him in the slightest, since the man never says anything real anyway. I would have Arthur hearing his dad's voice in his head that magic corrupts and hating that part of Merlin, even if it's so engrained in him that he could never actually give it up. I would have Merlin forcing himself to stay because of destiny, off of this false sense of need that has put Arthur on a pedestal Arthur doesn’t think he deserves and him hating Merlin for it.

I would have them break up, yelling at each other over things that weren't even true:

Merlin: You hate that I'm a sorcerer, you hate that I am a dragon lord, you hate that I have any power that you can't touch, that I have any control at all in this relationship and I'm not just a simple serving boy.

Arthur: And you only loved me because a damn dragon told you too.

And then they just stare at each other, teary-eyed and miserable, and realize that this could never work, that the fundamentals of this relationship were too broken to ever build anything real on. That there was a kernel of truth around those words. That love wasn't enough to overcome everything that they had done to each other.

And y'all would despise me for it.

[maras-mischief]

To Hell with It…

Forty years. Forty goddamn, soul-crushing, ball-busting, and migraine-inducing years. And what did I have to show for it? I was a balding, middle-aged widower. I spent the best years of my life trying to raise two kids after the love of my life died in a hit and run. But being a single parent was no match for social media and the internet. Now I have two spoiled, entitled, cruel, and brainless leeches living in my house. No jobs, no ambition to higher education, just a selfish, delusional, narcissistic existence that they think actually matters. And don’t even get me started on the state of the world. Nothing but a veritable outhouse filled with hate-shitting mouth breathers. A dumpster fire filled with self-indulgent, petty, and recklessly retarded pseudo-people blundering in the darkness. When my ingrate children asked if they had to visit their mother’s grave on Mother’s Day, I lost it and said, TO HELL WITH IT!

I did the one thing every member in my family swore to never do, I opened Goody Bishop’s locket. My very distant grandmother was an accused witch in Salem. Her locket, said to be demonic in nature, was passed down the family. Every generation was swore to guard it and never open it. With my new found apathy to life, I opened it.

Ah, thank you mortal. I’ve been cooped up for so long in that accursed thing.

“Where are you?”

I do not possess the power yet to manifest my own corporeal self. I would need a host body.

“Okay. Take mine.”

What?

“You heard me. Take mine.”

Young descendant of Goody Bishop, you do not comprehend what you say.

“Let me take a stab at it. You’re a demon, probably a succubus based on the family stories. You used my great-grandmother’s body back in the day and almost got caught. She captured you in her locket so she wouldn’t be put to death. You need a body to consume enough sexual energy to create your demonic body. To do so, you possess a mortal.”

Okay, you know some things, but…

“But if you possess me you’ll change me. My soul will burn away as we consume the souls of the living by fucking them to death.”

Correct.

“Fine.”

Fine?

“Yes. I don’t want any of this anymore. Take my body. Take my soul, I don’t want the fucking thing. I want be free of this cursed fucking place and my horrible fucking life. Let’s tear some shit up. Let’s fuck and fight. Let’s enthrall and devour. Let’s ride this corrupt fucking world to the end with a smile on our face and glee in our corrupt heart.”

You are a strange mortal Lawrence Bishop.

“So. Is that a yes or a no?”

Oh, it’s a definite yes. This will hurt. The transformation always does. And the burning away of your soul will be agony.

“Good.”

Okay.

I don’t know what I expected to happen as I felt the demon enter my body. But the pure blue flames that encapsulated my body was certainly not it. The searing heat enveloped me and I felt skin, muscle, and fat burn away. There was pain, but there was also pleasure. I could feel the old me burning away. It was the burden of my life being consumed by the flames. I watched as the fire burned my manhood and scorched a channel into my body. The pain of having my cock burn away was replaced by the glorious searing pain of my vagina being branded into my feminine body. My scream echoed through the room as the demon snapped bones like twigs and remade them to be more subtle to its host needs.

You are a strange mortal, indeed. I’ve never seen a mortal enjoy the transformation before.

“Give me more.”

The flames dove into my psyche and my soul. I felt the demon’s archaic and arcane knowledge fill and expand my mind. I knew things about humanity only a denizens of the underworld could know. The azure flames delved into the core of my being and found the kernel of my essence, my soul. The bright burning flame poured over it like liquid corruption and burned it away a layer at a time.

Now, isn’t this interesting. Mortals repress so much.

As my soul and morals turned to char, repressed memories surfaced. The love of my life, the woman I’d convinced myself was my end-all, be-all was a cheating slut. I caught her coming out of a trashy motel with her lover and ran them both over with the family SUV. I told the kids that she’d been killed in a hit and run, which was true—I hit her and ran. With no guilt or shame weighing me down, I reveled in the memory of running the cheating bitch over. More guilt and shame evaporated as my soul was burned down to embers. My children were entitled little shits because I hadn’t raised them. I let their smart phones and social media parent them, I was too busy working and repressing my guilty conscience. As the last ember of my soul burned with a satisfying pop, I opened my eyes and grinned.

Well now, isn’t this interesting. I’ve never had a mortal embrace demonity before. We are a new breed of imp. What shall we do next, Lawrence?

“Lawrence is gone, Elsabeth. Yes, I know your name. We are neither and both. We shall be…Lillian, in honor of our Mother.”

My Mother.

“No, ours. Now shall we feed?”

Yes, I’m starving. Who shall we consume first?

——————————

Lisa heard the most obscene sounds coming for her brother’s bedroom. She’d fucked in her bedroom before with her Dad home, but she tried to keep it quiet. The bitch LJ was fucking was all but screaming in orgasm. The perverse part of Lisa needed to sneak a peek at her brother and his noisy slut. It was probably Meredith Osbourne—that fat skank had a reputation for fucking anyone and being a noisy bitch to boot.

Lisa opened the door slightly and saw a beautiful and sexy girl riding her brother’s cock. The look of joy on her brother’s face was beyond human. It looked like he was high as well as getting fucked. Lisa had never seen anything like it, not even in porn. Watching the mesmerizing woman fuck her brother made Lisa want to touch herself. As soon as the thought entered her mind, her hand was sliding into her already damp panties. Her other hand squeezed her tit as she fell into rhythm with the euphoric fornication on the bed.

Lillian felt Lisa’s presence in the doorway as she rode and slowly milked LJ’s essence out of his body. The seduction of LJ was bittersweet. Had he been Lawrence’s son, it would have made the copulation that more delicious. But from the first kiss, Lillian knew that LJ was not Lawrence’s kin. It was sweet in fucking and slowly consuming the cheating bitches love child, though. With every squeeze, her pussy cock milked more and more of LJ’s soul through his delving cock into Lillian’s ravenous body.

“Cum inside me. Surrender everything to me.”

“Yes.”

Lisa watched as her brother sat up and embraced the girl. He roared as he thrust as deep as possible and released every drop of cum into her nubile and salacious body.

“More.”

The roar evolved into a cry of panic as Lillian drained his body and soul. Lisa arousal turned to horror as she watched her brother’s arms wither around the woman. He kept pumping and crying as more and more of his essence poured into the girl. Lillian purred as she was filled and sated with the soul and life force of her lover. Her power unfurled in her new body and she felt a succubus tail slither from her tailbone and caress her desiccated lover.

“Enjoy the show?”

Lisa froze as the creatures eyes turned on her. The flesh colored tail curled and whipped around the creature as she pulled herself of LJ’s mummified corpse. Blue flames danced in her eyes as she locked onto Lisa. Satisfied with her meal, Lillian had a new plan for Lisa.

“Come here, Child.”

Lisa’s body moved involuntarily towards the creature who was now sitting on the edge of the bed. She wanted to scream and run away. She knew this thing was evil. It had just drained her brother dry of…everything. But the fire burning in the creature’s eyes had Lisa enthralled. She shuffled towards the naked being and knelt in front of her.

“So young and full of promise.”

Lisa gasped as a light and sensual touch caressed her face. The voice dripped into her ears like venomous honey and coated her mind. Lisa would surrender anything to that touch and that voice. She felt her pussy throb with need as the creature pulled Lisa into a passionate kiss. The last remnant of Lisa’s will evaporated as a bifurcated tongue danced in her mouth. The creature moaned as it savored the taste of Lisa’s lips. Lisa moaned in kind as her body quivered for more.

“You’re his kin; perfect. I need to corrupt and extend my powers in this world. You will be my first acolyte. You will hold a place of honor in my new world.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Lisa’s mind was already surrendering to the demoness before her. In her soul, she knew this creature was a succubus. She could also feel a kinship to the creature.

“Surrender yourself to me. Prove your loyalty.”

“Anything.”

Lillian smiled, her new longer canine teeth on display for the first time. She kissed Lisa on the lips sweetly then gently lowered Lisa’s face between her thighs. Lisa inhaled the scent of sex and cum as her face was pulled into Lillian’s dripping vagina. Lisa heard Lillian’s desire in her mind as she lapped up the rivulet of cum escaping from Lillian’s sated pussy. Lillian moaned as her new acolyte cleaned her pussy and consummated her devotion to her. New knowledge and power wormed into Lisa’s soul. She understood everything now. She knew who and what her Mistress was and desired. She knew that Lillian would slowly consume her soul over the years and if she proved a loyal and worthy acolyte Lisa would ascend herself.

Lisa stood and wiped a drop of her dead brother’s cum off her lips. Lillian purred as she felt her hold cement on her new minion. This world was ripe for the taking. It was corrupt and ignorant. She would have no trouble ascending to power. But first, she needed to discard the remains of her old life.

“Lisa, my dear.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Take your brother’s remains and put them in living room.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Then gather everything of value. We are moving on from this pathetic mortal dwelling.”

“Yes, Mistress. Where will we go?”

“Where ever we want. Where do you want to go?”

“I want to go to my boyfriend’s house. I want to give him to you as an offering.”

“Such a sweet Acolyte. No, you will take him in offering. You will be my scion. You will drain him and I will feed.”

“Yes, Mistress. But what of this place?”

“To hell with it. Let it burn.”

[thewertsearch]

TT: You mentioned immortality. TT: Godhood makes one immortal? […] One will live forever, unless killed. The death must be either heroic or just. TT: How are those terms defined? Broadly, mysteriously, and according to the case of the individual. One may be killed by opposing a corrupt adversary and die for a just cause, as through martyrdom, for instance. This would be heroic. Or one may be subject to corruption, and slain by a hero. This would be just.

Heroic Players can die fighting 'corrupt adversaries', whereas Just Players can be 'corrupted', and 'slain by a hero'. There's a clear dichotomy here, wherein 'corrupt' God Tiers are particularly vulnerable to self-sacrificing God Tiers, and vice-versa.

I like it. It's a very mythological way for immortality to work, and it gels well with Sburb's fantasy narrative. Rose's alliance with the Horrorterrors probably marks her as corrupted, so God Tier ascension probably wouldn't grant her true immortality.

The concept is fascinatingly ambiguous, too. Morality is a controversial subject at the best of times, and allowing Sburb to judge the ethics of a Player's actions could get very tricky, very fast. There's no doubt in my mind that Sburb and I disagree vehemently about what constitutes a just cause, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

TT: Which sort of death will you have when I destroy the sun? Neither. I'm not a god. I'm a guardian, a servant, and a weapon. I have power and knowledge far surpassing a god. But I am not one.

First Guardians are considered far more powerful than God Tiers, then. Aradia was able to get the drop on Jack, but Jack's really just a Kernelsprite imitation of a First Guardian. Scratch is far more threatening, especially since his brain isn't scrambled by dog memories.

...that said, his brain might be a little scrambled by whatever was in that HONK code. Who knows what Alt-Gamzee was cooking there.

My master can't enter this universe until I am killed. […] TT: That almost sounds like martyrdom. Are you sure it won't be a hero's death? Quite sure. My master is a very evil man. TT: Who is he? I won't tell you his name. But he goes by the title, Lord English.

About bloody time. This guy’s been sneaking around the back of the story for over two thousand pages, and it sounds like we're finally going to shed some light on this mysterious adversary.

But you must decide which objective is more important. You may decide to attempt to destroy the sun and end my life. This will neutralize Jack, who is also much more powerful and dangerous than myself by virtue of the ring he wears in addition to drawing energy from the same sun as I. He poses a significant threat to reality.

I'm still skeptical about this assertion. What could Jack's other kernels possibly offer that his First Guardian powers don't render obsolete?

Anyway - even if Jack does have better numbers, Scratch is still far more dangerous by virtue of the mind he wields.

TT: But in the process of killing him and you, I release your master, who is just as deadly? He's more deadly. But the danger he poses is sanctioned by paradox space. It is a known quantity. His very existence in a universe will mean it will inevitably be torn apart. But there are rules to his entry, and his grim procession through paradox space is rather orderly. The present equilibrium has accounted for him, and will continue to.

I did wonder if English was part of Paradox Space's natural ecosystem, charged with destroying old universes in much the same way Sburb destroys planets.

Even if he is part of Skaia's ineffable plan, I don't think that should stop us from ending his sorry ass. We might not understand English's motivations, but we do know that his plans destroy anyone unfortunate enough share his plane of reality, and countless lives have already been ruined in Scratch’s quest to bring him out. I don't really care if Paradox Space sanctions his actions - he needs to be taken down, and if that upsets the natural order, then it's time for a new natural order.

Besides, we probably don't even need to destroy the Sun to stop Jack. We have plenty of other angles to work, from exploiting his psychological weaknesses to negotiating with his slightly more reasonable deputy. Additionally, Jadesprite won't be out of action forever, and Jack can't even harm Jadesprite, due to the aforementioned psychological weaknesses. Even if she's inherited Bec's 'don't fight Agents' programing, that doesn't stop her from simply stealing his Ring. She's done it before.

Jack however is a loose cannon. He will not stop until he destroys everything he encounters.

Yeah - to be honest, Scratch, I'm starting to think you're laying it on a little thick, here. Is Jack really the omniversal 'threat to reality' that you're making him out to be?

Let's not get it twisted - I have no trouble believing that he's dangerous to individual sessions. But does he really have the juice to wreak cosmic destruction on the scale of Lord English? His battery is only as strong as a couple of universes, and he has to share it with every other First Guardian in the cosmos.

Plus, the kids can't be the only Players in the multiverse to accidently prototype a First Guardian. I'm sure it's rare, but it can't be once-in-all-the-worlds rare. There should be plenty of other rogue First Guardians floating around Paradox Space - and if they're all enormous threats to reality, then reality should already have been destroyed.

In conclusion: No, Doc. I don't think Jack Noir is an English-tier threat. And for the record, I think there's a much more dangerous First Guardian in this equation than the Sovereign Slayer.

[sepublic]

Anyhow can you tell this episode has left me fucking insane over Ragatha. There was a half-remembered list of the sequence of episodes in which each cast member would get focus and I thought I recalled this episode being the Ragatha one so it was a big deal and in the end it W A S . I like how I was annoyed by some of it at first but in the end in a good way you’re supposed to be annoyed because it places you in Ragatha’s shoes. And sometimes the story pissing you off is necessary to make you appreciate how it challenges you more. And you realize your annoyance was either the point or just weakness leaving the body (like pain) as you learn to appreciate nuance more.

It actually does remind me of how when I first watched Reaching Out of The Owl House I actually did feel a bit of annoyance, somehow, at Luz constantly hiding her feelings and not even mentioning the alarm and it was good because not only did it make you feel for Amity’s frustration and genuinely validate how this kinda behavior IS kinda maddening (just as it was for Raine) but it makes the reveal of Luz’s grief and why she’s doing this make you appreciate it more. You appreciate more how much it must’ve hurt for her to do this! It makes you appreciate Luz’s pain more than if she was just demurely sad like on some level she did lash out by unintentionally hurting people for it!!!

Luz and Ragatha I love you both you repress for others you’re trying so hard to be nice but you’re subtly excluded and/or outright belittled. You both deserve to go apeshit. For Luz it was knowingly spitting a man by refusing to acknowledge him as she let him die slowly to prolong his suffering. I’d have loved to see the pressure build enough for Luz be pissed at the others (particularly Hunter if it’s a story set during the four-year timeskip) and be right for it, to have some kernel of truth to it that her life sucks and everyone’s more happy for her efforts while she’s just miserable now. And she really does try but people forget or overlook it and Luz deserves to be mean about prioritizing herself, everyone DID fail her and she’s gonna be mad about it! But at the same time her losing that is necessary to reflect how broken Luz is, she has Catholic Guilt like deadass I mentioned that exact phrase to Dana Terrace and she confirmed it.

Ragatha I need you to have your Corrupted Steven Universe moment!!!

[monaddecepticon]

Well let this be a lesson.

If someone is shipping a kernel module then never let them self-update

Of course you can screw up still if said kernel module has a parser in it which can't handle faulty data files. (Some sources say this is what happened but the workaround says to delete the sys file so..)

Monolithic kernels might have been OK at some point but now that everybody is shipping kernel modules left and right (and everybody's shit is sharing the same kernel due to containerization) it might be time to rethink this

Regulations and audits are 90% corrupt bullshit. "The purpose of a system is what it does" and all. Time to rethink this as well.

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 12: Dinner

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Dearest gentle reader, welcome to another chapter of Nyra exists and Azriel is obsessed because who wouldn't want a morally grey, shadow-wielding, winged male obsessing over them?

Warnings: Azriel's wrath. It's mad. He's the Spymaster for a reason. Hints of lust here and there because he's obsessed with his mate.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Azriel's POV

"You're a real piece of work." Amren said, examining Nesta like a cat with her silver eyes.

"Why do your eyes glow?" Nesta asked coolly. Nyra looked at Amren's eyes, noticing the glow for the first time. She tilted her head, an action that indicated her confusion. Azriel felt a semblance of peace at how adorable Nyra looked like that. Like a curious innocent female he wanted to corrupt so badly.

"Don't you already know why?" Amren looked at Nesta and then at Nyra.

"Decorative purposes?" Nyra asked, knowing completely well that was not the case. Azriel felt mischief rise within her. She was starting to forget all the guilt and grief in relation to Feyre. Amren shot her a glare and Nyra raised her eyebrows, her chin dipping just a bit, inviting challenge.

"We are the same." Amren announced. The twins blinked and sat straight. "Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones..." Her eyes narrowed. "But... I see the kernel. The two of you did not fit—the mold that they shoved you into. The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and yet you did not, could not fit. And then the path changed. I know what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was."

"You're that old?" Nyra asked. Azriel couldn’t help but be in awe at the way her moods changed. From a bloody fucking panic attack not an hour ago, she’d hopped on to confusion and then a whole load of guilt and in between all of it, she’d flirted with Mor, started a weird sort of banter with Amren and he could not even understand her enough to predict what she’d feel the next moment. 

And this was… refreshing. 

A storm of emotions and how she carried all of them so openly. 

Nyra’s concern for Feyre after they met after the latter was Made. Scolding her sisters for going for each other’s throats during dinner. Laughing at the entirely wrong time when Nesta ignored Cassian and trying to cover it up with a cough. Her knowledge of the political situation in her part of the world. And the humour—fucking brilliant sense of humour. Flirtatious on occasion. Serious too. And she owned every last one of her feelings with such grace. 

Those newborns… they were born because of her. Because of how fascinated he’d been by her as their first meeting progressed.  

He remembered what he told her back then before leaving after Rhys had caught the Attor. “If fate wills it, we shall meet again.” The memory of him kissing her hand had the shadows around him fluttering. 

"Speak carefully, girl." Azriel returned to the real world when Amren delivered a warning. She took a sip from her goblet filled with blood and licked her red lips, her eyes narrowing into glare as a warning for Nyra. 

"A manner of speech unlike anyone else here despite the age gap of five centuries between us and them. Are you perhaps older?" Clearly, Nyra Archeron found it far too amusing to notice or if she did, she did not heed it but Azriel could feel the power rising to the surface. That feeling charged him from within.

"I am ancient." Amren watched like a predator ready to pounce. Nyra simply hummed. The petite female frowned.

"Older than ancient ruins?" Nyra felt the power within her rising. Allowing her to see so much about this seemingly delicate female.

Amren's silver orbs remained on Nyra. And Azriel's hand was already ready to unsheath the Truth-Teller. 

The ancient one smirked and raised her glass towards Nyra. "When you strike, girl, cleave through providence." She turned to Nesta. "And when you erupt, make sure it's felt across worlds." And she emptied the goblet, the blood staining her lips as she continued to smirk. "And keep off your silly dagger, shadowsinger."

Azriel continued to remain wary even as all eyes turned to him. His shadows danced wildly around him. Watching. Waiting for anyone to breathe wrongly. Mistress went into the shadows. Azriel froze immediately. He commanded more information. She was upset earlier. We went to her and took her with us. Her twin found her. He looked at Nyra in shock and slight fear. The shadows had claimed her. They had already started claiming her, even when she was mortal and now, they'd cemented it. She was crying. They sounded upset. 

For now, there were a few mysteries.

The shadows had only ever used words and phrases with him but now, they were using proper sentences.

The shadows never did anything without his instructions. Until Nyra. The little shits were always touching her. And now, they had taken her to the realm of shadows on their own accord.

How did Nesta find Nyra when she was in the shadows? Did it have anything to do with them being twins?

As he contemplated these new developments, Azriel watched the twins. Nesta Archeron had piqued his interest. He knew from Nuala and Cerridwen that twins shared a certain bond that siblings with age gaps did not. It had something to do with an exclusive connection forming between them during their time in the womb. And it was another matter that the Archeron twins were thrown into the Cauldron at the same time. Was there something more because of that?

Azriel figured the best way to distract himself tonight would be with the varieties of delicacies served for dinner tonight. He looked around, trying to identify which ones he'd prefer. The shadows kept telling him about the twins and how Feyre served the first dish to Nyra and from then on, the twins served their own food and passed the dishes around. Lucien Vanserra is nervous. Azriel looked at him to see the male looking at his food and looking around. He had been unconsciously placed at the head of the table with Nesta and Amren by his side.

"You get used to it—the informality." Feyre addressed Lucien.

"You say that, Feyre darling, like it's a bad thing." Rhysand served himself some trout before passing it to Feyre. She served herself before looking at Nyra questioningly. Nyra shook her head, took the dish and passed it to Nesta. Azriel observed her hesitation. She does not like trout.

"It took me by surprise that first dinner we all had, just so you know." Feyre's comment had Cassian snickering.

"Oh, I know." Rhys grinned.

"Honestly, Azriel is the only polite one." Cassian and Mor cried in outrage as Feyre said that but Azriel smiled a little and took a dish from Mor. "Don't even try to pretend that it's not true." A small ball of delight hit the shadowsinger in the chest when he saw that Nyra had taken the delicacy he had just served himself. Chicken roast. She might like it. He certainly did and now he'd wait for her verdict.

"Of course, it's true." Mor sighed. "But you needn't make us sound like heathens."

Azriel watched Nyra pick up her fork and play with the food for a few seconds before she took a bite. Her eyes widened a little and she took her next bite, thoroughly pleased by the taste. Azriel made another mental note. She likes roast chicken.

And that was enough information for the shadows to have another celebratory dance. The older shadows around him loved her but they could control themselves. In a sense, they were mature. Clearly not mature enough to go through one dinner without complimenting her, but at least they weren't singing and dancing like the younger ones wrapped quite literally around her fingers. They were small, their touch featherlight and they had already ascended to her wrists and above to give her space to handle cutlery.

“Do you like chicken?” Mor asked, a smile on her face. Nyra slowly nodded. “Then you should try it with this.” She passed a bottle of sauce but Nyra simply stared at it and looked back at Mor. What if she turned her gaze and looked at him? After all, he was sitting right next to Mor. And he fought a smile. A very difficult battle but he won.

Just as Nyra extended her hand to take the bottle of sauce, the younger shadows around her wrist darted forward to take it from Mor’s hand, taking care not to make contact with the latter’s skin. They opened it and set the bottle near Nyra’s plate. She smiled gently and whispered. “Thank you.” 

“Try it. Mor likes it and I tolerate it. It’s chili sauce. Spicy as it is, it’s quite good once you get used to it.” Rhys spoke as he looked at her. Nyra nodded and took a tentative bite and her eyes snapped to Mor who waited for the verdict. Nyra nodded with soft enthusiasm and then hummed before looking at Rhys who grinned with the raise of his glass. Azriel was observing everything. She liked it with that sauce.

The shadows near Azriel's ears were dancing with joy and subsequently, tickling his ears and irritating him. He banished them away from his ears and focused. He was the Spymaster. Surely he could spy on one female sitting across from him during dinner without his shadows.

“Thank you.” She addressed Mor once she had chewed and swallowed the piece in her mouth and then turned to Rhys and nodded at him. The High Lord lifted his spoon in acknowledgement and ate his peas.  

“So, what are your favourite foods?” Mor eagerly began. 

Nyra was silent for a while before she replied. Chocolate, Azriel noted. "My diet was regulated owing to my illness."

"You have no illnesses now." Amren spoke up. "Take complete advantage of that." Azriel hoped Nyra would enjoy the world and all that it had to offer now that she was no longer ill and had a long, immortal life ahead of her. Explore places. Eat foods from all over the world. Meeting new people, not in a romantic capacity else he'd accidentally slice their necks. Enjoy the weather—the sun, the rain, the snow. Everything she wanted, he'd lay down at her feet.

Nyra hummed thoughtfully, cutting through a particularly large piece of broccoli and asked. “Do you eat flesh too?”

The ancient one smirked. “What makes you think that?” 

“Bloodthirsty people being flesh eaters does not sound too odd.” Rhys spat his wine. Mor and Cassian laughed and Azriel smirked, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth to restrain the laughter. Nyra and Nesta were the only ones who did not laugh—the former looking amused while the latter looked grumpy. Why was Nesta so grumpy?

“Troublesome female.” Amren spoke after the laughter had died down, a wicked smirk on her face as she imagined something that nobody was too eager to know. Nyra did not reply and resumed her meal. The chicken and potatoes and the broccoli, she decided, were too delicious to be ignored in favour of a bloodthirsty midget. "No, I don't." Amren's voice had Nyra looking at her again. "I don't eat flesh." 

Dinner progressed with Nesta telling Feyre about how she understood the difference between the food in Prythian and in the mortal lands. It was when Feyre brought up training with Cassian that Nyra paid attention. "What time are we back in the training ring tomorrow?"

"I'd say dawn but since I'm feeling rather grateful that you're back in one piece, I'll let you sleep in. Let's meet at seven."

"I'd hardly call that sleeping in." Feyre muttered.

"For an Illyrian, it is." Mor sighed again. Azriel was already starting to get irritated at the banter between Cassian and Mor and at his stupidity for situating himself between them. His peaceful observation was being interrupted by these loudmouths. His shadows were also joining that group anyway.

"Daylight is a precious resource." Cassian's wings rustled as he took mock offence.

"We live in the Night Court." Mor countered.

Cassian grimaced and turned to his brothers. "I told you that the moment we started letting females into our group, they'd be nothing but trouble." Azriel did not bother paying him any mind.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. "As far as I can recall, Cassian, you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day. And now, we have more pretty ladies with us." Rhysand threw a welcoming smile at the twins who were suddenly overwhelmed at the sudden ball of attention thrown towards them but they did acknowledge him with a nod of their heads.

"I was a young Illyrian and didn't know better." The movement of Azriel's shadows caught his attention and Cassian pointed a fork at his brother. "Don't try to blend into the shadows. You said the same thing." Azriel sighed, annoyed at Cassian for not shutting up and letting him watch Nyra in peace.

"He did not." Mor objected. "Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian. Only you." Cassian stuck out his tongue. Mor mimicked his action. Azriel, who sat between them, now regretted his choice of seat. He should have chosen the seat on Mor's other side. He would have had an easier time observing Nyra without the two chatterboxes of the millennia breathing down his neck.

"You'd be wise to leave both of them at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They'll cause nothing but trouble." Amren's words surprised Lucien. Nyra focused on her food while conversation progressed regarding the High Lords' Meet but then the mention of a Court of Nightmares seemed to have caught her attention.

"What is the Court of Nightmares?" Nyra asked Rhysand but it was Lucien who answered.

"The place where the rest of the world believes the majority of the Night Court to be. The seat of his power. Or it was." Nyra looked at the red-haired male.

Azriel was beginning to feel even more irritated. This Autumn-born was an unwelcome guest in their Court and he was already stealing her attention. Something within him stirred with rage. The thought of anyone other than him trying to do anything for her woke up all the wrath he had carefully concealed. And even when Cassian slung a seemingly friendly arm behind him, Azriel felt the strength in the warlord's grip.

Rhysand's presence waited for him outside his mind's realm. I urge you to calm down, Azriel. The Vanserra is here for his own mate, not her.

Then he should stay away from her. Azriel's response was cool but he knew that Rhysand understood his rage. He is responsible for their transformation. It was unbearably painful and traumatising for them.

Partially responsible, yes. Rhysand countered, trying to placate him but Azriel was having none of it.

The Cauldron did something to her. And her sisters. She died in there, Rhys. Very painfully. And he was complicit in how things turned out for all four of the Archeron sisters even if he has a mating bond leading to one of them. I don't understand why we are dining with him instead of taking him to the prisons. Azriel knew he had spoken more than he usually did. It was uncharacteristic of him but then again, he'd already lost his mate once and that made him immensely protective of Nyra. And the rage within him rose like the icy wind it was. Cold and unforgiving. 

Azriel knew his anger was something everyone feared, even Rhys. And this was the most powerful High Lord to ever exist. And that cold, cruel feeling continued to swirl within him like a blizzard. 

Azriel. Cassian's voice spoke. They're simply talking. 

He, who is responsible for the pain she endured, be it partially or wholly, is not worthy of her words or attention. Azriel declared his verdict. He could feel himself shaking.

His shadows were trying to calm him down by saying good things. Sweet memories of his mother. Her latest letter. How lovely his mate was. And how he had yet to tell his mother about his mate. The anticipation because his mother, the sweet female, had been waiting for him to bring home someone. Had prayed for him to meet someone who would love him. And here she was. The only female he was capable of loving. The shadows panicked and danced around him, ready to take him to the realm should he snap in front of Nyra. 

Oh, how he’d carve this Autumn-born. He’d start with that metal eye. Rip it out of him and crush it. He’d pour whiskey into the bleeding socket before pushing the crushed metal eye back into it. And Azriel would take his time. He’d cut and carve into his skin with the Truth Teller. 

Mistress is looking here. And at that, he froze. He finally noticed Nyra looking at him, doubt in her gaze. He noticed the ironclad grip on his shoulder by Cassian. Mor and Amren seemingly invested in the conversation but radiating their power subtly enough to put forward that they were ready to strike. By then, Rhys had taken over the conversation but the High Lord was ready with the night to restrain him. 

And then there was her. 

This beautiful, wonderful female. 

The way she was looking at him, ocean blue eyes wide and questioning. 

She’d guarded the heart of her youngest sister, the newest addition to his family, his sister. And now, he was ready to beg her to protect his own because he’d seen Feyre so happy whenever she talked about Nyra, was talking to Nyra, was even near her. The comfort Feyre had found in this female was something he’d started craving. He could see how Nyra sitting between her sisters was a good arrangement. Both Feyre and Nesta craved the comfort she’d offered. And in their own flawed way, they returned it. 

Was he capable of offering her comfort? Since it was for her, it could not be anything less than perfect and he was anything but. And that thought saddened him more than he expected. 

“Are you alright?” She mouthed the question, trying to ensure secrecy but everybody was focusing on their interaction except for Nesta and Feyre. Everybody pretended to be in a conversation to indulge the other Archerons at the table while she was asking him. How beautiful she’d be with his cock in that pretty mouth. Or maybe, he should make her beg. Or even scream. 

“Yes.” Azriel mouthed back. Erotic fantasies about Nyra were better than murderous fantasies about the Vanserra. Anger dissipated like the fog and she then smiled at the shadows which had tugged at her fingertips. She then looked at him with that smile and Azriel swore the moon rose in those blue eyes. 

Has she always been this impossibly enchanting? 

And what was that smile? 

Was she happy? 

If he kissed her right now, as her lips smiled at him, would he get a piece of that happiness for himself? 

Azriel stood up and nearly began leaning towards her before Cassian caught his arm and jerked it. He came to his senses and immediately knew everyone was looking at him. He spotted the first dish near her and took it, pretending that he’d needed to stand up for his hands to reach there. Just as he sat, Cassian coughed rather loudly. Of course, the bastards he had as brothers caught him. 

"It still is to everyone outside Velaris." Nyra turned to Rhys who had spoken. He nodded at her once before looking at Mor. "And yes, Keir's Darkbringer legion is considerable enough that a meeting is warranted."

"Why not just order them?" Nesta questioned, her brows narrowed. "Don't they answer to you?" At this point, the three Archerons turned their heads to Rhys simultaneously, waiting for him to answer.

Azriel watched them in surprise. The three Archeron sisters with startlingly similar features turning to look at Rhys was an incredible sight. Golden brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin glowing under the golden faelights. All of them were wearing something dark. When a lock of hair escaped their respective hairstyles and fell near their left ears as they immediately turned to face Rhys. When they placed their cutlery on their respective plates in unison. The way their hands rested on the table and they assumed the same posture as they waited for Rhysand to speak. It hit him too hard that these three were sisters, in blood and bond. No matter how fractured those bonds were.

"To think there's another one of them upstairs." Amren muttered, taking a heavy gulp of blood. It seemed the stark similarity in looks, postures and overall disposition as it seemed at the moment had caught everyone unawares.

"Unfortunately, there are protocols in place between our two sub-courts regarding this sort of thing." Cassian spoke, his back straightening when Nesta shifted her gaze from Rhys to him. "They mostly govern themselves with Mor's father—their steward." Nyra looked at the warlord sitting to Azriel's left. The shadowsinger noted how particularly different Cassian behaved around Nesta and how Nyra had noticed the same.

"The steward of Hewn City is legally entitled to refuse to aid my armies." Once again, the three sisters turned to Rhysand. "It was a part of the agreement my ancestor made with the Court of Nightmares all those thousands of years ago. They would remain within that mountain, would not challenge or disturb us beyond its borders... and would retain the right to decide not to assist in war."

"And there are no loopholes in this agreement?" Nyra asked. He could feel her thinking. He could not discern her exact thoughts but he was glad at the way her mind had been distracted from the grief and guilt she was consumed by earlier.

"None that we have identified so far." Rhys answered.

"And have they refused?" Feyre asked.

Morrigan's fumbled response brought Nyra to another realisation. And as dinner progressed, Azriel felt her as she let her grief be a forgotten thing. The conversation continued regarding the Court of Nightmares and Feyre's training with Cassian.

"Let's train at eight tomorrow. I'll meet you in the ring." Feyre spoke after the silence in the wake of their discussion on the Court of Nightmares.

"Seven thirty." Cassian countered with a grin.

"Eight." Feyre tried to. negotiate. "Care to join, you two?"

"No." Nesta's answer was final, not inviting any negotiations.

"Nyra?" Feyre tried. Nyra was in the middle of looking at the table for broccoli. She looked to her right to her youngest upon being called. 

"What exactly are you training for?" Nyra asked and then took a bite of the chicken, resuming her search.

"Combat." Cassian grinned at her. "What are you looking for?"

"Care to elaborate? I'm looking for broccoli." Cassian noted that the bowl of vegetables including the broccoli was next to Mor. He spoke to Nyra and tried to keep her attention as much as possible while Mor discreetly pushed the bowl as quietly as possible to Azriel's part of the table. The shadowsinger looked at her once and nodded.

"You'd learn to be a badass like me."

"I highly doubt anybody wants to be like you, Cassian." Mor interjected. Azriel quietly lifted the bowl and stretched his arm. Nyra extended her own arm to take the bowl from him.

Azriel always wore fingerless gloves and today was no exception. It concealed his scarred hands as much as possible but the fingers were bare in case he needed to write or handle small objects. And right now, he felt Nyra's fingers brush against his under the bowl as she took it from him. He froze and slowly withdrew his hands. Soft hands. He wanted to hold them. Feel her hands on his chest, his neck. Wanted them tugging on his hair. And he’d die if one of them ever descended and snuck inside his pants.

"Moving on from that unsolicited comment, you'd be learning to control your breathing, balance your body, work on your muscles, throw nasty punches, wield weapons. Basically, you'd be a badass at fighting like me." Cassian already sounded excited at the possibility of teaching another Archeron how to fight.

"I'm sorry, Cassian, but I cannot participate."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you want to stay grumpy and read all day like your twin." Cassian's gaze turned to Nesta who was doing her best at pretending that she was not the centre of his attention. Azriel did not know whether to envy his brother at being able to confidently look at Nesta even when the female seemed confused between killing him and fucking him.

"Reading is fun." Nyra frowned. "Being grumpy is not my preferred method of passing time. But I want to focus on training my magic. It is,” she lifted her left hand and looked at it. Lightning crackled between her fingertips. “Rather dangerous and I might end up hurting someone if I don’t learn how to control this.”

“I’ll help you with that.” Rhysand offered. 

“Nonsense. I’ll teach you. Both of you.” Amren declared and waited for anyone to challenge her decision. Nobody dared. Azriel wondered how this little demon would be while teaching the sisters. He’d have to monitor for the first few days at least. Cauldron knew whether the mouse-sized female would terrorise Nyra. And maybe not even the Cauldron would know how Nyra would react to that. As endearing as it was to him, Nyra’s moody self might not be appreciated everywhere. 

“Why the sudden interest, Amren?” Feyre asked teasingly.

“Your sisters, High Lady, possess powers like no other. They require training not only to wield it effectively and efficiently but also to keep themselves from harm.” Amren left it at that. 

****

"The King of Hybern." Feyre breathed deeply. And at the mention of the scum, everyone felt the power shift. The Archeron twins' eyes began glowing, albeit faintly. Nyra gripped the arms of her chair and Nesta clenched her fists. Azriel swallowed, trying to keep away the envy against the arms of the chair. To keep away the question as to why it was not his hands or arms that she was gripping so tightly. Those beautiful hands, as small as they were in comparison to his own, had quite the grip as observed by his shadows. Would she hold his arms or shoulders that tightly when he’d thrust into her? Would she scratch his back and mark him? 

"The king is trying to bring down the wall." Nyra began calming down, her curiosity taking over her rage slowly. She turned to Feyre, a silent command to continue speaking. "By using the Cauldron. There are already holes in it and he wants to expand them. I might be able to patch up these holes, but you... being made of the Cauldron itself... if the Cauldron can widen those holes, perhaps you can close them, too. With training in whatever time we have."

Nyra looked at Feyre, as if she were assessing something. "Fine. I'll do it." She turned to Amren. “Do you have anything introductory for me to read through the night or will your lessons be completely practical?” 

Amren brought her palm forward and a few books appeared. And then they vanished. “They’re in your room. Read as much as you can before tomorrow morning. We start at ten. And before you ask, it’s their responsibility to bring you lot to the city whenever you need.” 

“How do you expect her to read those overnight?” Cassian sounded outrageously shocked. 

“We will see that tomorrow.” Amren smirked at the spark in Nyra’s eyes. A challenge had been ignited. Azriel felt Nyra’s determination to win. What he did not realise was the quiet wave of encouragement he had sent across the bond. Nyra’s eyes widened at the warm feeling rising within her and before she could dwell on it any more, Feyre addressed Nesta.

"What about you?"

The sisters stared at each other impassively. "Fine." Nesta spoke in the same tone Nyra had—giving up the stubbornness.

"Good. We'll go to the Court of Nightmares with you and find objects for practice." Amren clapped her hands once.

"What?" Feyre immediately looked at the delicate female, the idea of her sisters going to the Court of Nightmares appalling to her. 

"Let the girls get a feel of something like the wall or like the Cauldron." Amren added when Azriel seemed poised to object. "Covertly."

“Is there something in the Court of Nightmares we should be worried about?” Nyra asked casually but the silence that followed was not so casual.

“The Night Court does not exactly have the best reputation.” Lucien spoke, breaking the silence. Cassian cursed and Azriel could feel his anger rise again and be a palpable thing that demanded he tear the red headed male to shreds. Nyra looked at Lucien and Azriel would have roared in anger if it weren’t for Rhysand’s presence right outside his mental shields, trying to subdue the beast that was him. 

Nevertheless, the Autumn-born continued oblivious to the bloodlust rolling off the shadowsinger. Bloodlust that was warded by Mor and Amren, Cassian physically restraining him and Rhys casting and maintaining a mental shield. 

Lucien continued. “To outsiders, this place is cold and cruel and Rhysand is a merciless High Lord. They believe it to be a structure of Hel in the land of the living and equally, if not more miserable.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Nyra spoke, her impatience rising. 

“This reputation stems from the way he holds court and from now on, how Rhysand and Feyre will hold court. He rules over them with an iron fist like some dark lord and it feels like a mausoleum in there. Blood and deceit coat those walls. People adorn masks to pretend like every gathering is a luxurious party when it’s just the inhabitants of Hewn City putting up a performance so that Rhys is not displeased.”

“And what happens when Rhysand is displeased?”

“The general executes. The spymaster tortures. Anything could happen.” 

And Azriel froze at what Lucien had revealed about him to Nyra. At the implications of it. How it could influence her opinion on him. On his family. He looked at Rhysand. Why did you not silence him?

She would have found out sooner or later. She will make her judgement after seeing us in the Court of Nightmares. Rhys sounded worried even after he said this. As if it was not only meant to convince Azriel but also himself. 

She deserves to be at peace. You of all people know how being strong can tire your spirits. She needs time to process this transition before she’s introduced to other horrors. Azriel all but yelled at his brother.

And I have no doubt you’d make it painful for anyone who dares to breathe wrong near her. Rhysand nodded once. We all will. The sisters won’t be harmed, not by any member of my Court or by any power in the Night Court territory so long as I’m alive. This is my promise. Azriel felt the tingling sensation of a bargain near his left waist. And even with a bargain, the shadowsinger was not in favour of this. 

Nyra could be taken to the Court of Nightmares after some time. After she had time to process all the trauma she had been recently subjected to. He seriously debated what was worse—facing horrors one after the other or facing them all at once. Nyra did note once that the former was what Nesta had gone through. He’d understood enough to know that Nesta’s mental health was in a very fragile condition.

Azriel only wanted Nyra to have enough time to process the transition before she learned about everything. He’d personally teach her as much as he could. He had no intentions of hiding or sugarcoating anything. He simply wanted her to have enough time to cope with the trauma and the stress it brought. 

Silence ensued. Feyre waited for Nesta to say something because this Archeron had been glaring at her plate for too long. To kill all hope. But she posed another question. "Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?"

The shadow of death seemed to loom above them. Cassian, the Lord of Bloodshed, and Azriel, the shadowsinger, seemed to thrive off of it. Nyra and Nesta felt at ease, as though they were home. Death really seemed to be a comfort space for the four of them.

The room descended into the cold as Nesta’s eyes burned silver. The younger shadows around Nyra were trying to create a wall between the twins out of fear for their mistress’ safety. A few of his older shadows joined the endeavour. His hand went to the hilt of the Truth Teller. And with everyone on guard at how Nesta could release her mysterious power, Nyra’s hand broke through the shadowy barrier and grabbed her twin’s hand. Lightning crackled just a bit. Enough to jolt Nesta out of her trance. 

Silver bled into blue and Nyra released her hand. Nesta looked at her twin once and nodded. The twins resumed eating as though nothing had happened. As if Nesta’s presence had not suddenly made them feel like they were in a battlefield with their lives endangered. 

"If you want his killing blow, it's yours. Both of you." Amren said, her voice taking an understanding note. 

And as Nesta looked at Amren with the eyes of a predator, Nyra clenched her hands. She had already abandoned her cutlery but the way her power roared like a storm within her was becoming too much. She needed an outlet. The shadows around her wrists started tickling her hands and she was too scared of releasing her grip. Too scared of letting the power go away. And the storm was becoming uncontrollable. 

Azriel was beside her in an instant, his large hands covering her own. “Let it out.” That was all she heard. 

Thunder roared in the skies above Prythian. Lighting flashed a great many times. Nyra’s breathing became heavier. The shadows swarmed around her body and the darkness consumed them. She felt herself in an embrace, warm and strong. Nyra whimpered, her power starting to become painful. And through the bond, Azriel felt it all. And he held her through all of it. 

She released her power in that realm of shadows, enough to tire herself out. Azriel was surprised by how welcoming the shadows were. How the realm had welcomed the roar of her storms so easily. And he realised that this was not a change. It was a preexisting factor. And that the shadows were waiting for her just as much as him, if not more. The compatibility of his shadows with her lightning was showing itself. 

Her eyes glowed and her neck craned. She trembled under the weight of her own power, groaning and nearly screaming under the weight of her own power. Mistress. Lightning. Perfect. The shadows caressed her arms and hands. Azriel’s hands were on her waist and head, holding her close. 

“Nyra.” He called out when the lightning had stopped roaring. 

“Azriel?” Her voice was so small and confused, he was beginning to worry. “Where are we? Why is it so dark?”

“We are in the shadows.” He responded, worried about how she’d take that news but he couldn’t lie to her. She did not deserve to be lied to.

“I think I was here before.” Her voice was a clear indication of her tired state. She had released so much power that he clearly understood that she could take down all the High Lords and their armies easily. He could imagine the extent of her power if she were to be taught how to control it.

“Yes. The shadows told me that they brought you here earlier.”

Nyra did not say anything and he continued to hold her. 

“Are you embracing me?” Nyra asked. He could feel her hands trying to move around to analyse their surroundings only to fail because he was holding her close. 

“Yes.” His grip on her loosened and his soul faltered at the possibility of her not wanting his touch. After all, how could these desecrated hands touch her? However worthless he was, he did not want her to remain in the shadows if she was uncomfortable here. 

“Do you want me to release you? I must tell you that we do need to maintain contact to navigate back safely but we can simply hold hands.” And even when he’d used the word ‘simply’, there was nothing simple about holding her hand. How had he not already fainted? 

Nyra’s hands rose and her palms found his chest, fingers curling to grab the fabric. Azriel was suddenly afraid of breathing. Of making a single sound. He would have willed his heart to still if he could since it was beating so loud and fast. Her fingers were so gentle as they found his shirt to hold. 

“Did I hurt the shadows?” She asked softly. Azriel could hear the shadows whisper to him. How touched they were by her concern for them. “Did I hurt you?” It was a good time to fall into a ditch and stay there because Azriel severely doubted whether his knees had enough strength to stand and to not falter as he held her. 

“No, we’re fine.” He felt her shift, move just a bit to the back. If they could see each other, they would probably be looking at each other’s faces. 

“Are you sure?” She sounded determined to know if she’d hurt him or the shadows even in the slightest. And with that sweet voice of hers, she’d awakened something so wholly pure within him that he’d doubted whether that feeling would be corrupted by existing inside someone like him even if it was his own. 

Azriel had already believed that he was in heaven as he embraced her. Was it not the best thing to be able to touch her even though he was an undeserving bastard from the dirt? But he was a selfish bastard. And that selfishness demanded that he take every scrap she’d leave in her wake. Anything she’d throw at him. 

“Az?” That was the first time she’d called him by that nickname and his heart leaped to his throat at the realisation.

“Yes?” He held her because he was afraid to let go. And it felt good to take a page from her book and start acknowledging that. Not that he’d ever say it out loud but he was afraid. He’d lost his mate once and he certainly had no intentions of letting her go to some place he couldn’t follow. Or maybe, he could. He could follow her. The shadows let him travel anywhere and if she were to go to the afterlife like last time, he’d simply follow. The Truth Teller was always with him so he wouldn’t have much trouble arranging his own death. 

“I’m so tired.” She felt so much fear and pain and confusion and Azriel felt it all. He wondered whether being able to feel her through the bond helped her. If he could at least take a part of that pain for himself. 

“Go to sleep, Nyra. I’m right here.” The hand on her head began patting her. After a few moments, the hand stopped patting and began stroking her hair. Azriel pushed wave after wave of calm towards the bond and he felt her breathing slow down. And like a baby, she was asleep in his arms.

****

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[nicksfrenchtoast]

cinema date

going to the cinema with boyfriend nick. fluff /sugestive humor

The glow of neon lights reflected off the cinema’s sticky floors as you and Nick stood in line for snacks, already whisper laughing like kids on a sugar high. “Popcorn, candy, slushie?” you asked.

Nick squinted at the menu like an old person. “All of the above. And some of those little chocolate balls” You tilted your head. “...Maltesers?”“YES. Those.”

Five minutes later, your arms were absolutely loaded. Popcorn bucket in the middle, two straws shoved into a single blue raspberry slushie (Nick’s idea), and candy crammed under your armpit like treasure. You headed toward the theatre for How to Train Your Dragon, date night edition. Right before sitting down, Nick leaned in close, lips just brushing your ear.

“So,” he whispered, “how would you train your dragon?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I’d make him beg and call him a good boy.”

Nick choked. He choked so hard a single kernel of popcorn flew out of the bucket.

You smirked “toothless has good boy potential”

He turned to look at you wide eyed. “You’re insane.”

You winked and popped an M&M into your mouth. “You love it”

The lights dimmed. The ads started playing. Some local café ad, a car commercial, and then “Wait… there’s a nut inside me?!” The voiceover from the Peanut M&M commercial echoed dramatically through the speakers. Nick visibly flinched. Then turned. Slowly. Toward you. His expression was blank for a full second. then he lost it. Full-on snort-laughing. Head thrown back. Slapping his thigh. You were laughing too, shoulders shaking.

“Nick. Nick. Wait—” you whispered between giggles, fumbling in the dark and holding up your candy. “I got M&Ms.”

That set him off again. The couple in front of you turned around and shushed you both, which only made things worse. Nick slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your snickering, but that only made your eyes water.

“You’ve been corrupted by candy,” Nick whispered. He leaned in. “So have you got a nut inside you?. Admit it.”

“I’m never looking at M&Ms the same again,” you muttered.

The actual movie hadn’t even started yet and you both already felt like you were on a full-blown comedy special. Eventually, you settled into your seats, still giggling as the DreamWorks logo appeared. Nick rested his hand on your thigh and leaned in. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”“You’re lucky I didn’t say I wanted to ride the dragon.” Nick let out a quiet wheeze.

The movie started. But neither of you would remember the first five minutes You were too busy whisper-laughing about the m&m ad, how you’d train your own dragon, and whatever demonic chaos came next in your relationship.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Alright, I have a weird one. Are there any TTRPGS that revolve around Coral? That, or have coral as an important element of the game?

Oh my gosh my ask box apparently ate this for MONTHS and finally decided to spit this back. Let's see what we've got!

THEME: Coral

Descent into Midnight, by Rich Howard, Taylor LaBresh, and Richard Kreutz-Landry.

At its heart, Descent into Midnight (DiM) is a game about community, family, and hope. It's a tabletop roleplaying game that takes place in a technologically advanced aquatic civilization whose culture has never been touched by humanity. Bioengineering and psionic, or mental, powers allow the strange and varied species to communicate and interact with their surroundings no matter their physiology.

In the game, players take on the roles of guardians, defending their community from a physical, emotional, and even existential threat. The game focuses on the relationships between the guardians, the inhabitants they protect, and their internal struggles and dreams in the face of a corruption that threatens to change their world.

You can play as whatever you like in Descent in to Midnight, including fish, plants, even abstract concepts - so a shelf of coral isn’t really that much of a stretch. The playbooks (yes, playbooks, this is a PbtA game) are centred more about your personality, and what you look like is secondary. The game is designed to take a turn for the darker before it pushes towards hope, so I think your game experience will be different depending on whether this is a one-shot or a long-form campaign.

Delve Deeper, by Maik.

A complete new game of under-oceanic adventuring and exploration. 

Play as intelligent oceanic folks such as the cephaliin octopoids, the crustaciin crab-folk and the fish-like merfolk and explore the coral reefs, open seas and abyssal trenches in search for adventure, pearls and treasure.

You don’t play as coral in this game, but you’re certainly exploring it! Taking nods from games such as Troika!, Electric Bastionland, and Brave Zenith, this game feels solidly inside the OSR camp, but with a special love for the wacky and weird. If you want to have a particular connection to the coral reefs, you’ll likely want to play as a Merfolk, who build cities from the coral and rule as a matriarchal society. This game is full of lore, but not extensively so - it’s only 33 pages long in total. But I think you’ll probably come away from reading Delve Deeper with a pretty strong sense of what this underwater kingdom is like.

Reefs of Despair, by Zaftikat

You are a sea anemone, stuck firm in an ocean that will soon be inhospitable to you. Grapple with climate change as you explore fatalism and ennui.

Sea anemones aren’t coral but they’re kind of close right?

Now this game is neat. It uses popcorn as a resolution mechanic - how cool is that? You have to pop the popcorn in a stove-top vessel, rather than a microwave, because you have to count how many popcorn kernels pop at first pop - the more there are, the better your outcome. Apart from that, your character has two stats: Ennui and Fatalism. These stats rise and fall similar to the way stats raise and fall in Honey Heist - with a similar outcome if you get too high or too low, by ending the game. There’s also a third end state for what happens once you’ve popped all the kernels, but I’ll leave that one for folks who decide to download this game and read it.

The game also is donating proceeds to the Coral Restoration Foundation, so in a roundabout way, I guess it was about coral all along.

Other Games You Should Check Out

Bones Deep, by Technical Grimoire. (You should really check this one out.)

[fallen-savior-mmz]

A Fallen Savior excerpt from a future, un-named chapter <3

X’s eyes blearily opened, blinking to try to clear the sleep from them. He groaned as he attempted to sit up, his tangled mop of black hair clinging to his clammy face.

Why was he awake?

As the ancient android moved to wipe  away the annoying strands of inky black and blue, a sudden jolt of pain lanced through his arm, the limb twitching and seizing for a few agonizing seconds before suddenly ceasing.

X gasped sharply at the pain, holding his breath before releasing it as the pain faded.

What the hell was that?!

With a shuddery whimper, the man quickly ran a diagnostics test on himself internally.

Everything was damaged now, when was it not?

Power core fluctuations were new, but not unexpected. 

Wire degradation was also new, but he didn’t have the self-repair nanites to spare anymore…

His core was corrupting, slowly but surely. But again, that hadn’t been surprising.

Memory leak here, shorted cable there, cracked internal drives, yes, yes. This was all completely routine for X.

He wondered briefly how truly furious Cerveau would be if he could witness the depth of his rot.

Oh…there was something new.

Another jolt of pain ripped through him as his arm spasmed again, the man seething through his teeth, the pain so sudden, he couldn’t even produce sound.

New readings came across his mind.

:WARNING: CRITICAL POWER ERROR: KERNEL POWER EVENT ID 41 

:LOCALIZATION: SHOULDER B

What?

X read the code over and over, trying to wrap his mind around it. He desperately wished his mind wasn’t slowing down with his core…

The answer popped into his head right as another strike of pain hit him. He whimpered through his teeth, gritting his eyes shut as the wave passed him.

The error flashed again.

Of course…there was THAT possibility…

But could it be…?

With great effort, X swung his legs over the side of his recharge bed.

He breathed heavily as his core began to heat up, his body warming as he forced himself to stand. His legs trembled for a moment, but held.

He hadn’t walked since Elpizo…

X grit his teeth, rocking a little as another wave struck him. Holding the spasming arm with his other hand at least kept him from bending it in the wrong way, potentially breaking it.

It didn’t help with the inferno of pain he felt in that moment.

As the wave passed, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

X looked at the door in front of him, already dreading the long journey ahead. He needed to get to Cerveau’s lab.

But that was on the other side of the floor, across the Command Room.

And…past Zero’s door.

He shook his head, trying to clear himself of the guilt that washed over him thinking about his dear husband. 

He’d understand X’s decision…someday.

With an uneasy tremble to his legs, X took a step forward. His knee shook, but held his weight as he took another step.

Progress was agonizingly slow, he felt like he was moving in slow motion.

For a moment, the android felt confident in his legs, stepping quicker and giving his leg less time to adjust to his weight.

He briefly snickered to himself as he remembered how athletic he used to be. 

Ah, to be a Maverick Hunter again, racing through the streets of Able City, patrolling with Zero and grabbing food at that lovely little café!

What was it called again…?

Where…?

With a yelp, X collapsed to the floor, his knee giving out underneath him as he was ripped from his memories.

Pain lanced through his arm again, causing him to nearly gag as he silently screamed into the floor where he fell.

What the hell happened?

He was there in Abel City again and then this! 

X felt his chest tighten in panic.

He didn’t know where he was!

He looked around wildly until his eyes rested on his helmet, still resting proudly on the table next to his bed.

He blinked owlishly at it for a moment before everything came flooding back.

That was right…he was in the Resistance Base.

The Maverick Hunters were gone.

Abel City was destroyed.

The grief came and left faster than he had expected.

Last time this had happened, he had cried for a few moments before coming back to his senses.

Ah, right. 

Memory leaks.

X sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he began to lose motivation. He wanted to go back to bed…

As another wave of pain struck him, and his teeth gritted tightly in agony, he remembered why it was so important to get to Cerveau’s lab.

“V….voltmeter…” X gasped, forcing his trembling legs back up.

With renewed determination, and a mounting sense of dread, X dragged himself towards the door.

Reaching it felt like a herculean task, but he knew that the real challenge lay ahead. His core raced, the rumbling of it audible in his aural cones.

Opening the door, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit hallway. No sound came from either direction, nor any movement.

It must be the middle of the night.

Perfect.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the raging sea of anxiety inside of him before he began.

There were too many things that could go wrong, too many things that could BE wrong! If he was telling the truth, he’s absolutely terrified of the implications of his ailment.

X thanked any higher power that would listen for the silent night as he used the wall as a crutch, leaning against it and dragging himself as quietly as possible down the hallway.

The android paused as he passed Zero’s door.

He briefly wondered if his husband would be willing to carry him the rest of the way…

He shook his head to clear the thought.

How selfish could he really be?

The idea of asking his husband to carry him to steal equipment from a comrade, and not allow him to ask any questions or make any move to change X’s fate made him feel dizzy with guilt.

He moved on as quickly as he could, leaving his longing at his husband’s door.

Progress felt even slower as the hallway stretched on and on. His arm continued to spasm, each time causing X’s knees to shake and his eyes to flicker from the intensity of hurt he was feeling.

With each passing wave, X’s anxieties about the cause grew, speeding his progress ever so slightly.

Finally, he reached the Command Center.

Looking around, he grimaced at the center platform.

He remembered the last time he had been here. He had slapped the former Commander for leading his fellow resistance members into a slaughter.

A new emotion came over him as he remembered that moment.

Disgust.

His eyes flickered as the pain failed to properly register this time, each wave becoming increasingly intense.

The disgust at the memory, however, remained crystal clear.

When the wave passed, X sighed but moved forward into the Command Center.

This was the part he was most worried about.

The center platform was connected on either side by a nearly railless walkway. It was wide enough to allow small carts and transports across, and was a useful place for gathering a large amount of people.

But the railless part was what made X swallow in fear.

His legs shook as he forced the limbs to move out onto the walkway, trying to keep from stumbling off of the side and into the wiring below.

He briefly wondered why he had approved this design before remembering it was simply a relic of this place being a former Maverick Hunter outpost.

Reploids didn’t need rails.

He fought the memory of visiting outposts just like this as his time as Commander of the 17th Unit from creeping over his already sluggish mind.

The voices of his subordinates crept at the corners of his hearing, their distant laughter and teasing haunting him like a ghost.

Mega Man X would not fall victim to the phantoms of his past!

The thought of his full title ripped him from reality, his subordinates' hands grabbing at his body and dragging him below into the murkiness of his past.

Faces blended and blurred, pain dancing alongside euphoria, it was like a carnival of nostalgia and agony.

He laughed and smiled as he tried to put names to faces, ecstatic at seeing his team again!

There was Marty! Or, was that Big Jack?

Retro! Or, what looked like Retro a moment ago now suspiciously looked like Diego…

Or…who was…

It was…

Zero’s face was crystal clear among the sea of eerie grins and morphing expressions. 

He looked so sad…

X gasped sharply, his eyes staring below into inky darkness. His arm lay twisted at an odd angle behind his back, his other arm bracing him against the lip of the edge of the walkway.

He had collapsed, he must have!

The man used his remaining arm to push himself away from the edge, his legs scrabbling weakly behind him as he attempted to put his feet underneath him.

Why weren’t his legs working?!

Panic mounted again, his head swimming in confusion and dizziness. Everywhere he looked, he felt a new feeling of desperation overtake him.

Finally, in his growing panic, his eyes landed on the Command Center’s main console. 

The raised platform was empty and dark now, the giant screen behind it turned off and blank, leaving the room in a strange, ambient gray.

X stared at it wide-eyed as memories came back to him.

That’s right…

Elpizo was up there, and Zero was next to me…

The realization that he had experienced another memory leak frightened him. He really needed to get back to his room, and gey hooked back up to his power supply.

He felt…disappointed in himself. He was better than this, wasn’t he? 

How the mighty had fallen!

Sigma would laugh and sneer if he could see how low X had fallen. 

In a way, he supposed, it was comforting.

It was comforting to know he had fallen, and could fall no further.

X stared out into the darkness, his legs shaking underneath him as he contemplated the depths of his fall from grace, willing the tears to stop welling in his eyes.

The android blinked as his vision briefly shut down. He braced for pain that never came, even when the spasms in his now, most likely, dislocated shoulder still caught his attention.

Uh-oh, that wasn’t good.

What was it Dr. Cain had said?

Ancient reploid model designs and diagnostics ran through his mind, hazy and murky as it was, he remembered something important.

A reploid unable to feel pain in a region of their body is a reploid in need of serious and immediate repair.

X snorted at the thought.

Yeah, no shit.

Creeping along, he blessedly made it to the other side of the room without further incident.

Catching himself against the door, he looked back, wondering how he was going to get back to his room without a mountain of luck.

He decided he’d cross that bridge when he came to it, figuratively and literally.

Blink! His vision flickered again.

The door to the small hallway leading to Ciel and Cerveau’s labs opened with a hiss. The space itself was lit with a single light, the glow from the lab doors locks giving off a homey, verdant ambience.

It was comforting, but X was determined not to get distracted more than he had. 

Using the wall again, he dragged himself onward, nearly trembling in relief as he finally came close to Cerveau’s door. 

A brief jolt of panic went through him as he realized Cerveau might be inside.

His mind raced with excuses he could tell the engineer, desperate to get out of the situation without a lecture. And without Zero finding out.

His mind was eased as he remembered that it was night time, and unlike the previous base, everyone actually had their own rooms.

Blink! Another flicker.

With a huff and a quick swipe of his credentials, the door to the lab whooshed open.

Inside, the room was dark, X’s eyes struggling to adjust for a moment as they attempted to recalibrate.

This power event…thing was beginning to annoy him.

Stepping into the room, he scanned around for the voltmeter, using the tables and workbenches to stabilize himself.

Finally, he spotted one, hanging up on the wall across from him, resting peacefully exactly where Cerveau left in.

X stumbled towards it, knocking items off of the worktables, wincing as the tools clattered to the ground with a loud bang.

There was no way no one heard that, X thought.

With a yelp, he fell forward, just before reaching the voltmeter, a rolling cart full of tools falling alongside him, metallic rings echoing out of the lab and into the halls.

With a gasp and a rush of frustration, X grunted as he reached for the device, another memory clawing at his mind.

This one was a happy memory.

It came in flashes, every few blinks he was transported back in time. 

X didn’t falter, pushing through the memory as his fingers grazed the device. 

Another blink and he couldn't tear himself away for a moment.

There he was, his armor has been specially made for this day. It was a silly thing, to ask Zero to change his armor for one silly event.

But the man had agreed, donning his white chest plate and gauntlets. All for X.

X blinked and Zero was gone, the voltmeter had fallen to the ground with a sharp crack against the metal floor of the lab.

Using his brief moment of clarity, he scrambled for the device, his spasming arm even reaching for it, as if his desperation for answers was overtaking the error.

With a sigh of relief, X leaned back against the wall, his chin nearly resting on his chest,  his eyes flickering and his mind fading into another memory.

With his remaining arm, he reached for the metal wand attached to the side. Flicking the button on, the screen lit up, showing him the different voltage measurements as the wand buzzed.

With more force than he intended, X stabbed the wand into his shoulder, wincing sharply as the wand dug painfully into his synthetic flesh.

Now all he had to do was wait for another spasm and…

With a sudden shutdown of his vision, followed by a moment of intense terror, the voltmeter beeped, right as his arm began to shake and twitch.

He looked down at the reading, his eyes wide in terror.

No…a reading this abnormal meant…

He ran another diagnostic, this time looking specifically for what he feared most.

He sent test queries at his core, desperately hoping that what was happening wasn’t happening.

Agonizing seconds passed by as memory threatened to overtake fear. X willed his body’s self repair system to work just a little faster, even with the fire of the Dark Elf still raging inside him.

“Why must you torment me like this? Isn’t it easier to just kill me already?” He pleaded outloud, staring into the ceiling. 

There was no answer. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting it from.

His test queries came back, tearing his mind from the image of Zero placing a ring on his finger to the results of the report from his core.

The floor dropped out from underneath him, dread threatening to swallow him up.

There were terrible ways to die sure, but this was a terrible way X hadn’t anticipated in the slightest.

The voltmeter dropped from his hands as heat and haze overtook his mind. The reports sat innocently in his mind's eye, still conveying the same message.

As honeyed dreams of Zero and sunny days began to drown him, he had one, terrible thought, slumping over and closing his eyes.

…

I’m going to die.

---

[mattywrites]

It's so easy to give up, to give in to your worst impulses, just letting yourself rot. The decay sets in quicker than you realise. Our mindset grows gangrenous. Thoughts corrupt quicker than flesh does. There's those days, moments that linger like acrid smoke from someone's cheap, shitty cigarettes, where it feels like it's never going to end. A void appears in your mind. A blackhole, all our hope lies too close to the event horizon, and we get the pleasure of seeing it all slowly sucked inwards into nothingness, blinking out of existence entirely. Giving up feels like the only thing to do sometimes. The world we live in grim and endlessly oppressive. Some days it feels like hell is too nice a word, lacking the true articulation of what this place really is. The truth is, you can work through it, work past it, and find something beyond what you think is possible. Even when you've released your grip, no longer holding on for dear life, and you feel yourself ready to phase out of reality entirely. I can tell you there's hope even at this seemingly definitive point. We can manifest the darkest future possible, or, no matter the true effort it takes, we can manifest something better. It starts with some kernel of positivity, the last glowing ember of some tiny, infinitesimal thing of beauty from our past. We are such a disgustingly nostalgic species. Our past can be a haven. If it's what brings you into tomorrow, walking, no matter the total and utter dejection, if you can walk into tomorrow with breath your in lungs, it is a victory. Carry that ember within you. Foster the warmth it provides no matter the cast of the day or the overbearing density of grey clouds. You have it within you to march on, with purpose, with hope. Do not despair or cower before mortality or the prospect of tomorrow. Find inspiration in the sheer possibility of anything at all.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 9

Day 10

Stone's Echo

I woke somewhere unfamiliar, in sunlight, still aching. Hungry beyond belief. Varl was there before I had a chance to start freaking out, and when it became clear that I was searching for something, not addled by some condition, he pulled out the Gaia kernel. He said I'd been clutching it so tightly, he knew it was important, even if he had no clue what it was. If I'd lost it, if the only ones with a copy of Gaia were those...others, I don't know what I would have done. To be so close, and to fail...

Doesn't matter, I didn't. I was here; broken and bruised, but alive, and ready to be on my way to Minerva's location in the mountains west of Plainsong.

Varl didn't think so. Admittedly, my bones and internal organs didn't think so either, but I haven't let them stop me so far. He tried to help me stand, but I urged him off. Varl told me we were in one of the Utaru's settlements, which explained all the grass—it was Stone's Echo, the village I was shooed away from earlier. They said it was for Utaru only. I wonder how Varl got me in here.

I limped outside, trying to hold my bruised ribs together. I knew I was going to have a hard time convincing Varl to let me past the village gates, let alone all the way to the mountains.

He said he knew a healer in the village, an Utaru named Zo, who had been tending to my injuries since he brought me here. She was the one that allowed Varl into the settlement, overpowering the voices that tried to turn him away with a near corpse in his arms.

He was trying to say that this Zo needed to come with us. Not happening. That's the last thing I need: someone else to worry about. Especially now that I know what sort of firepower I'm facing. If Varl wants to tag along, fine. It's the least I can do after he saved my life, and he has at least some knowledge about what I'm trying to do. I can trust him.

Varl tried to get through to me, said Zo knew the lands between here and the mountains and could help us if we encountered more Utaru trying to bar our way. I wasn't exactly convinced, but he made a good point.

Varl took me to Zo, who was kneeling by a machine that was close to death, grunting in pain as Zo sung to it beside several other Utaru. She looked alarmed when she saw me, chastising Varl for bringing me here when I needed bed rest. Yeah, not a thing I do, especially not now. I tried my best to hide the pain as I stumbled toward her. I asked her what was wrong with the machine, and she seemed offended. Apparently it was one of the Utaru's 'Land Gods', not a mere machine, and 'she' was dying. It wasn't the time to start prying into her beliefs about a random machine being a god, so I tried to ingratiate myself.

The machine was in pain, injured, but also corrupted by some sort of malware I couldn't make sense of. The attack stemmed from a component attached to one of its legs. Something faulty, or maybe something built by Hephaestus.

Varl passed me a spear. Gritting my teeth through the pain that came with movement, I levered the corrupted component free. Of course, I made sure to first warn the Utaru that I wasn't stabbing their god for no good reason. No longer under attack, the machine's systems stabilised, and it slowly rose into standing position. It was docile, as if overridden, but my Focus found no trace of a Corrupter module signature on it. Maybe it was like the machines I found at the Banuk camp back east, made calm by the signal emanating from an ejected piece of Gaia nearby. Could such a signal be localised within one machine? Maybe the Utaru's land gods are particularly resistant to Hephaestus' new programming.

The machine, called a Plowhorn, was covered in paint and woven adornments, plastered with the hand prints of many Utaru worshipers. My little display with the spear got Zo's attention, who up until then had been treating me with caution. I thanked her for healing me and allowing us to stay, then asked her about the mountain regions to the west, and what I might find there.

She told me of a 'sacred cave' that the Utaru's seven land gods return to in sequence before emerging, repaired and renewed, once every year. They would return to work the fields of Plainsong with the marks and ornaments of worship washed clean, but they were the same machines, repaired for generations on end. They had been there since the Utaru first arrived in these lands, apparently. Maybe a designated agricultural site for Zero Dawn? Something deep in Gaia's programming—something we were meant to learn about through Apollo, now reduced to a mystical cycle.

For centuries, these gods had provided the Utaru with bountiful crops, until everything changed. A familiar story: the derangement, the blight. Their own Land Gods attacking the tribe, running wild, going missing, seeding their fields with poison and starving those that they once nourished.

When I mentioned needing to get into said sacred cave, Zo reacted as I'd predicted. Not a chance, a place only for the gods, tribe elders wouldn't allow it, etc. Same old story. Varl pressed her and she said she may be able to convince the Chorus (their ruling council, I guess) to grant Varl and I passage if she spread the tale of how I'd healed their Land God, Re.

Actually, Zo seemed far more receptive to Varl's suggestions in general. It soon became pretty clear why this was. I can't explain the feeling that came over me just from watching them smile at each other, reaching out with comforting gestures. It felt like shit.

According to Zo, one of their other Land Gods, Fa, entered the sacred cave a few weeks ago and has not returned. When she made the pilgrimage, the Utaru first rejoiced that the familiar cycle of rebirth was beginning again, but as the days passed without Fa's emergence, they grew hopeless.

The Chorus aren't much keen on change. Maintaining tradition means far more to them, Zo said, even as the traditions of the natural world warp around them, turning violent. Yet she seems to think she can convince them to allow an outlander into their most sacred of sanctums. The Utaru have erected a defensive cordon around the cave, so we can't slip in undetected. The defenses were a response to the new and dangerous machines that have been wandering out of the cave these past weeks—fierce and more aggressive machines, armoured in black, infested with glowing purple cables. Daemonic, like the machines Hephaestus spawned from Thunder's Drum? Or maybe something new, something worse.

Either way, it sounds like Hepaestus has taken over the cave and the Cauldron within, superseding Gaia's programming that had once compelled the Land Gods to come and go. If Minerva took refuge inside, maybe Hephaestus is using its capabilities to hack into the facility, or maybe they're working together. Ugh, I hope not. Two crazy AIs in cahoots is the last thing I need.

Dangerous as it may be, I can't wait around for permission to enter the cave. We're just wasting time. I need to get to Minerva before that other clone does. And I need to speak to Gaia. She'll know what's happening; the origin of the mysterious signal, and the identity of the intruders at the proving lab. She'll point the way forward.

As I returned to get my gear, my legs gave out. Both Varl and Zo rushed to my aid, and though I tried to shake them off, I couldn't force my legs to move, so they helped me stumble back to my hut. Zo insisted that I stay and heal while she journeyed to Plainsong to assemble the Chorus. It could take days for them to conclude their debate, she said. Though it would be more convenient to have the blessing of the Utaru leaders, I made it clear that I'd be going into that cave either way...as soon as I could walk unaided.

As I slumped down to rest, breath shuddering from the strain of just those light movements, I overheard Zo asking Varl to accompany her to Plainsong. He refused. Though he wanted to go, he said he couldn't leave my side. There were questions there left unasked, about Varl and I. As he stumbled over his words, Zo pulled him into a kiss. I watched them through the canvas. The shit feeling grew shittier.

When Varl came in to check on me, I told him to go with Zo. It's clear that that's what he wanted, and he'd be able to help explain the situation to the Chorus if they wanted to know about our mission and where we came from. Besides, he'd already ingratiated himself with the locals—those same locals that turned me away in aggression. He's got a way with people, whereas I'm liable to escalate and offend. That just might come in handy when dealing with the Tenakth further west.

Varl was afraid I was going to run out on him again, but I promised I'd stay. I'd have a hard time getting anywhere for a few days anyway, but even if I could, I wouldn't. I would have died if Varl hadn't found me. Those strangers would have repaired Gaia thanks to that other clone, and used her to do whatever they wished with this world. Sylens seems to think they only want to heal it, like I do, but given he didn't even know they had a clone with them, and thought they'd need me for that purpose, I doubt he knows much about their motives for certain.

Point is, I need Varl to stick around. I can't do this alone.

As I tried to rest, I kept thinking about him and Zo. It wasn't envy.

Well, maybe it was, but not for either of them in particular. There was a time when I thought I could feel that way about Varl, back when we walked the War Chief's path into the Ring of Metal. I held onto that, in the back of my mind. Back then, part of me still thought I could be Nora someday, that I'd start to feel like part of the tribe. That I'd come back from Meridian with clear answers, enter the mountain, and lay all my questions to rest. I tried to, but inside the mountain, everything changed. I wanted Varl to share in that knowledge while its wound was still raw, as it tore into me...and he refused. He remained Nora, through and through. Even when he followed me to Meridian, and after, when he followed me all the way to the end of my tether as I found it, far in the south, I don't think I ever forgave him for that.

And too much has changed now. Too much is at stake. I'm not the sort of person who can just...I don't know.

Not envy for them, but envy for something.

I'm not any sort of person, not really. Seeing the other clone in the proving lab reminded me of that.

And I thought about the strangers wielding powers beyond the Old World; about Sylens and his growing army. About Gaia, contained in a capsule, voiceless and sightless, left for centuries in the dark while the world grew, then decayed. The clone, most of all. She'd moved with a frail terror, unarmed and shielded, unlike her companions. Her masters? They'd certainly treated her like they were. I couldn't make sense of that. Elisabet Sobeck took orders from no one. She feared no one, and she would never do anything to harm life on Earth. How could this clone follow people who were so cruel, so intent upon killing me just to stop me from repairing Gaia? If we truly shared the same goal, they would have negotiated.

So what if they don't want to use the Gaia backup to heal the world? What if they only want to stop anyone else from getting their hands on her? With their advanced technology, I don't doubt that they have the ability to reprogram Gaia. It seems that they want to seize project Zero Dawn for themselves.

Whatever the story, this other clone is working with them, interfering with Elisabet's design. I have to stop her.

[thewertsearch]

Additionally, his existence is your responsibility.

Hey, Vriska was the one who turned him into a First Guardian. I guess you could blame Jade for his original ascension, but the present that facilitated it was the Pen-Pal's idea, not hers.

...actually, it wasn't even his idea, was it? The Pen-Pal was coerced into sending the bunny by some third party - and at this point, I'm pretty sure English has his fingerprints all over this subplot, too.

Refusing to venture out to destroy the sun in no way spares anyone from my master regardless. It is certainly true that destroying it will end my life. And it is certainly true that The Tumor you will deliver to its location has enough power to destroy it completely.

Alright, maybe it could happen - but you're hedging a little on whether it will happen.

I've been thinking about other ways to neutralize Scratch, in case the Tumor is a dud. Unlike Jack, we can't really trick of manipulate him. Abusing the gaps in his knowledge is technically an option, but they're kind of difficult to plan around. We'd have to know when and where the gaps will present themselves - and I'd advise against using the cueball, considering what happened last time.

There are a few other options, though. Bec was essentially erased when he merged with Jadesprite - and even if Scratch survived a prototyping, his personality would be compromised by whoever he's sharing a kernel with. We don't currently have any spare kernels, but it's something to keep in mind if he's still a problem in the reboot session.

He’d probably also be destroyed if he was present in a doomed timeline when it ceased to exist. Come to think of it, that might be part of why he's so big on Rose initiating the Scratch - because if she kills him via timeline erasure, the Green Sun will remain, and English can abuse it again.

To be honest, I'm still not sure we want the Green Sun gone. I'm obviously not against breaking the game, but we should really know what we're messing with before we start ripping out cables.

Instances of myself have spawned in countless universes, and my objective is always the same. I have never once failed to complete this objective, and I never will.

So there are other corrupted Guardians.

English's attack method is becoming a little more clear. When he sets his sights on a universe, he arranges for Gamzee's code to be injected into a Sburb session there. This code worms its way into the First Guardian's genome, turning it into a HONK Guardian - a corrupted demigod, compelled to summon its master.

...and I was just fretting about Bec's genome getting messed with. Great.

There is nothing noble about taking a course of action you believe would prevent his arrival, because that is impossible.

Are you sure, Scratch? Because it certainly sounds like something that'd get your death tagged as 'heroic'.

Anyway, this 'inevitability' shtick is the same spiel he used to manipulate Vriska. It was dubious then, it's dubious now, and defying Scratch's is only impossible if you believe it is.

Unfortunately, Scratch is a very convincing man.

[johannestevans]

New notes on A Bite of Rope!

A Bite of Rope on Medium, on Patreon, and on Ao3. It will be available as an eBook for $1.99 (or with a free eBook voucher for Patreon subscribers) in the next few days!

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An ex-soldier, Arthur "Kuhn" Conrad, now a debt collector of sorts for a corrupt company, can't sleep one night, and as he's walking the streets, sees a coworker   ̶  on a whim, he follows, and ends up in an underground club.

The older man, Ignatius Kasovitz, likes to tie people up, it seems, and Kuhn finds he wants to try being tied up, if it's Kasovitz doing the tying.

Set in London, circa 1953, in my Magic Beholden universe, readable as standalone. 15k, rated E, cis M/M.

Contains asexual kink and recreational power dynamics explored between two coworkers; age gap of approximately fifteen years between two middle-aged men; references and descriptions to clowns and the circus as well as vague criminal work; content warnings for references to grief and trauma as a result of the Shoah and deployment in WWII respectively, with discussions of Nazi death camps and POW camps. Mild antisemitism, classism, and more extreme period-typical homophobia and transphobia appear throughout, as well as references to attempted grooming and sex-averse attitudes.

The notes are about my process and what went into the story, and are advised for after you've read the story. It's my intention to include these notes in all new self-pubbed eBooks, so definitely let me know what you think!

The kernel of this idea started out a few months ago as an initial consideration for Issue 113: Nine To Five of the Shousetsu Bang*Bang, but the deadline for submission approached, arrived, and departed and I just could not make the concept work.

I later realised that my problem with the piece was that I was starting from the wrong point – originally beginning with their initial confrontation in Kasovitz’ office rather than on more even footing, out and about in London – and was able to revise the idea into something more workable.

Clowns and mimes have been on my mind a lot of late, ever since I bought a very pretty mirror decorated with a black and white portrait of a Pierrot figure several months ago, and while my ambition is still to explore a period piece or two with some commedia dell’arte performers, my recent research into commedia and the evolution of modern clown design and performance certainly factored into Kasovitz’ design.

Other likely inspirations for my working on this piece are the media I’ve recently been reading, watching, and playing – notably, I was recently inspired to reread the_ragnarok’s excellent AU Person of Interest fanfiction, out of the darkness we reach, when someone was asking about recommendations for good bondage exploration – Reese and Finch are favourite characters of mine, and this fanfic is a really fun exploration of their core motivations from a somewhat desexualised kink perspective; I’ve recently started Grantchester, a 1950s-set cop show with some exploration of WWII trauma, and the limerick Kasovitz quotes is an infamous one, but is recited several times in S2E5; and finally I’ve just started my fifth replay of Disco Elysium, which has some really complex and interesting explorations of trauma and stress response itself.

Grantchester has surprisingly complex and resonant explorations of flawed characters and their response to PTSD – Kuhn is not particularly inspired by, or really all that similar to the character of Geordie Keating, but I’ve really been enjoying the way the show explores his bigoted views and contrasts them with PTSD and his tenderness and affection for his wife and children without implying that the latter two somehow make the former less reprehensible or worthy of dismissal, and that enjoyment no doubt contributed to my design of his reflexive aggression towards queer people and others he doesn’t immediately understand, even whilst understanding on some level that he is amongst their number. Mrs G is not similar to Mrs Maguire in any way at all – I think Mrs M would spit on Mrs G if she so much as looked at her – but the naming convention and their circumstances post-war are of course paralleled.

I don’t think Kuhn is particularly similar to the character of Harrier du Bois in Disco, but what I’ve particularly been enjoying on my recent replays of the game has been the way the writers personify his various urges and instincts, and how that creates such deliciously unconventional layers of reliable and unreliable narration intertwined with one another – the ways in which Harry’s “skills” often sabotage or work against him were absolutely part of the vague inspiration for Kuhn’s own instincts to lash out and to bite, as well as the ways in which he dehumanises himself, even though the ways in which Kuhn and Harry dehumanise and sabotage themselves are materially different.

These notes are intended to be a new addition on my novellas and shorts particularly – my creative process is one that I don’t tend to immediately understand while it’s underway, but I know that some readers are interested in how a story develops before it reaches its completion, and I often notice when looking back through my work that they’re influenced thematically by other works I’m engaging with, whether that be television, music, theatre, art, etc, or other hobbies and research I’m exploring at the time, so I thought they’d provide an interesting additional lens of consideration for those that like that sort of thing, especially on a reread.

Thank you so much for reading and also for reviewing, if that’s something you have the time for!