#they fall back to the source a significant amount of the time

[zorciarkrildrush]

There's always a day coming around where you see people all but frothing at the mouth at the news you might die today

[fratttymatty]

Southern Shift

(All characters are 18+)

Maddox had never been much of a believer in magic. Sure, he’d seen the viral videos, heard the wild stories, but he figured they were all some sort of elaborate hoaxes or clever editing tricks. His life had always been a straightforward one: an 18-year-old guy from a fairly progressive city on the coast. He was used to being who he was—a proud gay man, confident and comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t fit in with every crowd, but that was fine by him. He had his friends, his passions, and a future in design and art lined up after graduation.

But when a strange e-mail showed up one Wednesday evening, everything Maddox knew about his life was thrown into chaos.

It came from a source called TrueVision Enterprises, a company he’d never heard of, with a subject line that read: "Your Destiny Awaits — Experience a New Life." Curiosity got the best of him. What could possibly go wrong?

It was a poorly-written message, vague but cryptic. “Ever wonder what it’s like to be someone else? To experience a life you’ve only imagined? Click here to find out.”

A grin spread across his face. Who wouldn’t be intrigued? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was a scam. But it was better than staring at the same four walls all night. So, against better judgment, he clicked the link.

The screen went black for a moment, then flashed with a blinding light.

When Maddox opened his eyes, everything had changed.

It wasn’t just the environment—though the suburban neighborhood around him looked radically different from his usual cityscape. No, it was something far deeper, more visceral. He felt it in his bones, in his muscles, in the very way he was standing.

Looking down, he saw the first signs. His body had undergone a remarkable transformation. Gone was his lean but soft physique, the figure of a 5'11" city guy with a slight build. In its place was something else entirely: a lean, toned build with defined muscles in his arms, chest, and legs. His body felt stronger, like he could throw a punch without thinking about it, or lift heavy things without breaking a sweat. But what really caught his attention was his height.

He blinked, staring down at himself. He was taller. Not just a little taller, but by a significant amount. Maddox used to be 5'11", but now, standing at 6'3", he had a commanding presence. His legs stretched out longer than he remembered, and the new height gave him an imposing posture. He’d never been the tallest in his group, and now he towered over everyone, even the people around him who seemed much bigger and broader than he remembered.

His new height felt natural, like it had always been this way. But it also made him feel powerful, larger-than-life in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

He glanced at the house around him. It was large, a two-story place with wide windows, a white picket fence, and an immaculately-kept lawn. The interior was similarly pristine, and the smell of fresh wood and leather filled the air. This wasn't his apartment. This wasn’t anywhere he recognized. But something about the space felt... familiar, as though it was his home now.

He staggered, momentarily disoriented, and made his way to a nearby mirror.

What he saw almost made him fall over.

A stranger stared back at him. His face was familiar, but only in the way you recognize a reflection in a window before you really focus on it. His hair—blonde, curly, and wild��was cut into a mullet that reached just past the top of his neck, the ends flaring out like a halo of unruly curls. He didn’t remember ever styling his hair that way, yet the new version of himself seemed to suit it effortlessly. The loose curls framed his jawline, drawing attention to the newly defined muscles there.

His eyes, once a sharp hazel, had turned a lighter shade of blue. His expression was different too—stoic, even smug, like someone who knew exactly who he was and had no time for nonsense.

Then he looked down at himself, taking in his outfit. A plaid, button-up shirt—tight across his chest but still comfortable—clung to his muscular frame. He wore a worn leather belt with a large, shining buckle, a pair of jeans that fit just right and boots that seemed made for walking through dirt. And of course, a tan, weathered cowboy hat sat perched on top of his head.

Everything about his appearance screamed “redneck,” yet it was as if he'd always been this way. As if this transformation was simply an outward reflection of who he was now.

He stared at his reflection, utterly speechless, before hearing a voice from behind him.

"Adam, honey, come on down here! Dinner’s ready!"

He froze. Adam? That wasn’t his name. His name was Maddox.

But when he tried to say it—when he opened his mouth to speak—it wasn’t "Maddox" that came out.

"Yessir, mom," the new voice said, gruff and confident, with a drawl he didn't recognize. It was his voice, but it felt... wrong.

Before he could think further, his feet carried him toward the stairs. Every movement felt more natural, more instinctual. He didn’t have to think about walking anymore; his body just moved.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by two older figures: a tall man with a thick beard and a sun-worn face, and a woman with perfectly-coiffed blonde hair and a warm, motherly smile.

"Adam, you hungry, baby?" The woman—his new "mother"—asked in a thick Southern accent, as she placed a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the table.

"Yeah, looks good, mom." His voice was smooth, authoritative, and familiar. It was like he had always talked this way.

The man, his new father, patted him on the back. "Atta boy. Gotta keep up your strength if you’re gonna help me with the truck this weekend."

Adam nodded, suddenly feeling an unfamiliar rush of excitement at the thought of working on a truck. "Sounds good, pops."

His father gave him a knowing look. "Glad to hear it. Gotta be ready to defend this house. Keep it in shape." There was a pause, and then a sly smirk crossed his face. "Though, I gotta say, I’m more worried about that little gay friend of yours. What’s his name again? Cody, right?"

Adam’s heart skipped. Cody was his best friend. But the way his father said it—the sneer in his voice—felt wrong. His thoughts tried to resist, but the tug of new instincts, of new feelings, pushed him to respond in a way he would have never before.

"Yeah, Cody’s a nice guy," Adam said, his voice dripping with casual disdain, "but man, he’s just… different, y’know? He’s always talking about stuff I don’t care about, like his art or whatever. He’s not really my kind of guy. Dude’s all wrapped up in his feelings and thinks he’s some kind of big thinker. He’s just not built for the real world."

Adam laughed and shrugged, the words flowing out like they were second nature. It felt good, somehow, to say it out loud. The Maddox part of him—the part that would’ve fiercely defended Cody, that would’ve fought anyone who insulted him—seemed like a distant memory.

His father chuckled, clearly approving. "Well, I’m glad to hear you’re making better choices, son. You don't need someone like that holding you back."

"Exactly," Adam said with a grin. "I’ve got enough on my plate, worrying about football, work, and, you know, my future. Guys like Cody? They just complicate things."

The following day, Adam found himself at a school that seemed to be from another world. The high school was old, with large wooden bleachers in the gym and the faint smell of tobacco in the air. Kids in cowboy boots and trucker hats roamed the halls, and there was an air of casual arrogance in the way they all carried themselves.

When he walked into the classroom, heads turned. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but now, standing at his new, imposing height of 6'3", Adam felt like he belonged. He loomed over the students around him, towering above them with a sense of superiority that felt right, even though it was still so new. His height made him feel like the guy everyone respected—or, if they didn’t, they at least stayed out of his way.

"Hey, Adam," a guy called from the back of the room. He had a thick jaw and a cocky grin. "How’s it going, man?"

"Good, bro," Adam replied, easily slipping into the role of the guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The guy who didn’t care about anything except his truck, his friends, and his future. A life of simple pleasures, uncomplicated by anything like "progressive politics" or "diversity."

But the most striking change came when he spotted her in the hallway. Emily.

She was the cheerleading captain. Blonde, athletic, and with a smile that lit up the entire school. Adam hadn’t expected to feel such a strong pull toward her, but as he watched her walking toward him, he felt his chest puff out with pride, the feeling of possession he didn’t quite understand.

"Hey, Adam," Emily called, giving him a wink. She wore her cheer uniform—tight, short, and red—and looked every bit the picture of what his new life was supposed to be. "You ready for the game on Friday? I’ve got your back, big guy."

"Always," Adam said, his voice dropping an octave. He felt confident, even cocky, as he walked toward her, putting an arm around her waist as they headed to class together. She was his girlfriend, after all, and that was just the way things were now. The idea of a different reality, a different version of himself, felt so distant.

By the time school ended, Adam was fully in his new life. Football practice had been intense, but Adam had breezed through it. As a starting wide receiver, he was the star of the team. He felt invincible on the field, his new body moving with strength and agility. The other players had all been high-fiving him, slapping his back, calling him "the beast."

And as for Emily? She was always by his side, chatting him up with that sweet, familiar smile. They talked about the weekend plans—probably a party at Brad's, a bonfire down by the lake—and Adam felt perfectly at home.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Adam had only one thought: This is my life now. He was Adam, the 6'3", football-playing redneck with a cheerleader girlfriend and a world of opportunities at his feet.

The old Maddox, the artist from the city, was gone.

And Adam? Adam was everything he’d ever needed to be.

[seraphrelic]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ BITTER BURN — Han Solo x reader.

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SUMMARY: That wasn’t his right to take. And now, all you were left with was humiliation.

A/N: okay, first of all, I just wanted to apologise for disappearing so suddenly and not posting at all. I wasn’t feeling very confident with my work and honestly, I was a little out of ideas. I really hope this makes it up for that, and there will be a part two! save me han solo 🫦

WARNINGS: slowburn, public humiliation (sort of) angst/hurt, complicated feelings, stolen first kiss, han solo is kind of a jerk but when is he not? brief mention of original character but he doesn’t really have any significant impact (sorry Kalen)

──────────────────────

You’ve known the crew for months now. Travelling hyperspace with them really taught you a few things here and there, but you mostly were able to get to meet all of them.

LUKE was the sweetest, most awkward ever. His wide, blue eyes, curious of the different worlds around him. Always ready for adventure, with sometimes a little recklessness.

CHEWIE was like a walking teddy bear, if he knew how to pilot a ship and a bowcaster. Despite that, he always knew how to offer help whenever needed.

And finally, Han Solo. Oh, you didn’t know where to start with him. Since day one, he’s had you reeled in, always doing something to pull you close.

You knew it was meaningless, that he flirted with any women in his presence, but during those moments, the sound of his low voice whispering something targeted towards you, just for you to hear, how could you not fall for it?

But it was all pointless. He didn’t mean it, he’d just say those things to get you all riled up, ready to do whatever he asked. Whether it was getting him something or taking care of the Falcon’s controls while he’s gone, you always agreed.

Overtime, you noticed Han’s “tricks”. It irritated you, every time you’d tell yourself it would end, but when he’d look at you with those brown eyes, lips curling up into a smirk, your knees went weak every time.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

As of now, you were sat at a random, empty table at a local bar, “Blaster’s End” was it? Either way, it was rather loud, just like any other place of this kind. Dim lighting, the clink of glasses, blaster scorch marks on the wall, giving the place more character.

The rest of your so called “crew” — Han, Chewie and Luke, were crowded around a table in the back, deep in what Han smugly called “guy talk.” Whatever that meant. You didn’t press.

Maybe you just wanted an evening alone, spent with nothing but your thoughts and the occasional refill of your exotic beverage. Being in his presence really wouldn’t let you be this at ease.

As if on cue, the air shifted. A stranger, new set of eyes, stepped up to your table.

“Is this seat taken?” The voice caught your attention, low and warm. Instinctively, you looked up to meet its source.

A young man. Around your age, seemed like. Tousled dark blonde hair, a little grown out. Soft, green-ish hazel eyes, ones that made you wonder what could be behind them.

He gently smiled, awaiting with patience for your answer, which you happily gave, making room for him to sit down.

“Where are my manners? So sorry, I’m Kalen,” He stuck his arm out, a little bigger than yours, glance drifting to a thin, faded scar tracing across his knuckles.

“I’m Y/N,” You happily returned the hand gesture, smiling. In all honesty, you were quite surprised to have somebody go out of their way to get to know you.

Oh, but somebody wasn’t as pleased wit that sight. A certain bounty hunter, notorious for being able to have anybody he so wished to, and yet, his gaze kept averting to the situation unfolding at hand.

No amount of whiskey could dull the bitter ache rising inside him. Not even Luke’s pointless rambling could chase it away.

Who did this guy think he was? Coming out of nowhere, flashing you a grin, he knew it all too well. He knew what that guy wanted. And he for sure wasn’t gonna get it.

“Alright Chewie, Luke, I gotta go see what’s got Y/N laughin’ over there.” He shot them a quick smirk, one that clearly wasn’t the genuine kind.

But they didn’t catch onto it, Luke already gripping onto his drink as if it would run away, even though it was half empty at that point.

Han made his way through the busy bar, pushing some of the other customers when needed. He didn’t care. Not in that moment he didn’t.

The moment your eyes spotted him in the crowd, your eyebrows scrunched. Kriff, what was he doing here? Did something happen?

“Name’s Han Solo, and you are?” His voice spoke up, taking a chance to look Kalen up and down, clearly judging him in his mind, yet his expression gave it all away.

“Uh—Kalen, My name’s Kalen,” He replied to the taller male’s questioning with a confused expression, not really knowing who he was.

“Han, what do you want?” You sighed, rubbing your temple, barely hiding your frustration. “I’m not really in the mood for this right now.”

Han’s eyes flicked between you and Kalen, his jaw tightening just a little before forcing that trademark grin. “Just making sure you’re not gettin’ into trouble.”

“Alright, Kevin, what do you do, exactly?” He asked, clearly faking interest as he crossed his arms, slightly towering over the poor guy.

“It’s Kalen, I’m actually an engineer—“

“Yeah, cute. Anyway,” Han said with a half-smirk, stepping a little closer like he owned the whole damn bar.

Kalen blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t back down. “You don’t have to be so hostile.”

Han chuckled, a low, rough sound. “Hostile? Nah, kid, I’m just making sure you know the score. This here,” He nodded at you.

“she’s not some prize to be won with a few words and a smile.”

Your eyes flicked between the two, heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit. Han’s gaze was sharp, like a blaster aimed right at Kalen.

“And I’m ‘bout to show you how it’s done.” Were Han’s famous last words before pulling you over, using his own knee to hold you gently but firmly in place, planting a quick yet searing kiss on your lips.

Your eyes widened right away, not even having a moment to process what just happened. Han pulled away, his gaze a few seconds too long before turning to Kalen who was just as shocked.

"Now that’s how you leave an impression—“

“Han, by the stars, are you insane?!”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Han still continued to wear that prideful smirk, as if he’s just done you a favour. He turned around, expecting a flushed look from you, only to be met with the total opposite.

You weren’t happy, not in any sense. In fact, you were furious, left feeling humiliated. What Han did was selfish, embarrassing for you in front of Kalen, but worst of all?

It was your first kiss. Something that should’ve been special, with the right person, was stolen by the wrong person in an inconsiderate manner. Like you were some prize to be won, not a person with feelings.

“What made you think it was okay to do that, you laserbrain?!” You practically yelled at him, catching the attention of others around, including Luke and Chewie from the table at back.

“Oh, come on, princess. It was just a kiss. Not like I took your dignity?”

You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, mockingly snorting at them, even. What an absolute moron, he was.

“Just a kiss? That happened to be my first, and you had no right to take it like that.”

This time, Han was unusually silent, in fact; everyone around was. He didn’t have that snarky look anymore, it was something else. Something laced with regret.

“Your first?” His tone was much softer, more quiet. Almost whisper-like, as if he didn’t expect that at all, in fact, nobody did.

“You sure know how to leave an impression. Not necessarily a good one.” Your voice cracked as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him, your eyes slowly filling up with tears. You’ve already faced too much humiliation for one night.

You turned back to your table and grabbed your drink, chugging it in one go. You needed something to numb you, even for just a little bit.

Shooting one last glare at Han, you practically pushed right past him. He didn’t move, not at all, just stood in place, staring at the ground, as if he was feeling shame.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 30

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24 l Ch. 25 l Ch. 26 l Ch. 27 l Ch. 28 l Ch. 29

Chapter 30 summary: The purpose of the Empire's new drug is revealed as the Partisans and clones make plans. Crosshair gets to know Brith and Dara better.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: Reference to genocide; smoking of space marijuana; non-explicit reference to size kink

Omega wrinkled her nose, looking back and forth between Crosshair and Dara, unsure what had changed.

For the last several rotations, her grumpiest brother had had a marked improvement in disposition. When he had first returned to them months ago, after finally deserting the Empire, it had taken some time for him—for all of them, really—to adjust. He and Hunter had clashed more often than not, especially at first, and most days he was gloomy and miserable (even more so than he used to be, according to her other brothers). And although things had gotten steadily better, and Omega could tell that he was trying, Crosshair was still prone to a certain amount of brooding and bad moods.

But lately, his usual barbs had taken on a decidedly less vicious tone. He hadn’t picked a single fight—with Hunter or the regs—since they’d been back on base after Xagalus. And while he was still spending plenty of time away from them, now, when he turned back up, he was at least more likely to haunt the common areas, quietly keeping the rest of them company.

She’d even caught him smiling a little to himself while he prepared the caf the other morning. It was weird.

Then Crosshair had arrived back to the Marauder late last night with a pinched expression, slinking past the rest of them without a word and shucking his armor off with a barely restrained violence. In the morning he was even worse, bickering with Echo, making snide comments at Wrecker, glaring murderously at Howzer when the reg came by to let them know the Partisans were arriving. The source of his upset became clear only once they’d met up with the others and Omega caught him staring glumly at Dara any time he thought that no one was looking.

Of course, Crosshair had no idea that, whenever he looked away for long enough, Dara was glancing back.

It was hard for Omega to read Dara as well as her brother, but it was obvious that something had happened between them, and whatever it was, neither was happy. Omega wanted Crosshair to be happy. She wondered if it would fall to her to do something to help fix this.

But still, Hunter—and Echo, and Tech—had recently been making it a point to impress upon her important lessons such as respecting people’s privacy and understanding appropriate boundaries and Omega, I do not think it would be wise to search for Crosshair right now, as he is undoubtedly currently setting a bad example by engaging in intercourse in a semi-public location, also, do not mention this to either Crosshair or Dara as adults do not generally appreciate such comments about their intimate matters, now please hand me that spanner thank you.

Even now, as the crowd settled in around them, Hunter caught Omega watching Crosshair and Dara. He gave her a significant look, one that she easily deciphered as, you had better keep your nose out of this, kid. She smiled back at him innocently and pretended not to know what he meant. Shaking his head with amusement, Hunter reached over with one large palm and ruffled her hair before bodily redirecting her gaze toward where Tech was about to begin the briefing.

Standing at the front of the crowd by the holotable display, Tech held up a familiar vial, the blue chemical gleaming in the sunlight that shone in from the edges of the covered platform.

“Samples of this unknown compound were located by our team in two separate locations: the first, on the planet Caameris in a vault hidden in the personal laboratory of Fait Prium, founder of Kumalon Pharmaceuticals; the second, on the planet Xagalus, in an abandoned Imperial facility where clones were being held as test subjects,” Tech began. “The bodies of the clones that we were tracking were later found on the facility’s grounds.”

While Tech adjusted his goggles, Echo rotated his scomp in the holotable, pulling up an image of a chemical formula, then the squat, blue plant they had found on the same mission.

Tech continued, “Through comparative analysis, we have been able to determine that the compound was derived from a plant found exclusively on Xagalus. The Empire appeared to be experimenting with cultivating the plant themselves. Since wild samples of the plant were nearly eradicated and the facility was abandoned, we may presume that they were successful.”

Saw straightened up from where he was leaning against a nearby crate and reached his hand out for the vial. He held it up against the light, observing the way the chemical cast a faint blue shadow against his palm.

“Have you figured out what it is?” he asked gruffly, returning the sample.

Tech pocketed it and adjusted his goggles again. “It is a neurotoxin. You may be familiar with a similar chemical, Titroxinate, a biological weapon used by the Separatists during the war. This compound is even more potent. The administration of a small dose will result in severe nerve pain and hallucinations for a number of hours. Over time, repeated exposure causes a build-up in toxicity, eventually leading to organ failure and death.”

Echo extracted his scomp and crossed his arms, looking over the crowd with a scowl as he translated from Tech speak. “The Empire is synthesizing new torture drugs—and testing them on clones.”

Omega gasped as the crowd broke out into furious murmurs, and Hunter squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. He glanced meaningfully from his Batch to Rex and Saw, jaw set. “So…what are our next steps?”

Echo returned his gaze with a small, reassured smile and determined nod, glad he could count on his brothers for the mission to come. “With the Partisans’ support, we can try to disrupt production of the drug. Its development has been secretive, and we know that Prium keeps things closely guarded, but Kumalon’s main laboratory could contain info on the manufacturing process. That could tell us how to keep the compound from being mass produced.”

“What do you say, Saw?” Rex inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Partisan leader.

Gerrera smirked, his blue-green eyes glittering dangerously. “Let’s stick it to the Empire.”

Crosshair examined Dara carefully as the meeting began to break up. She had seemed mostly fine all throughout the briefing and subsequent debate on the logistics of infiltrating the lab, weighing in with her expertise on what intel would need to be gathered before they could hammer out the details of a plan. The list of tasks under her team’s purview was taken with characteristic confidence and determination, and already she was huddled with several Partisans, meting out responsibilities to each one. Still, he could read a strain in the set of her shoulders that hadn’t let up all morning, and he wondered how well she was really taking all this, beneath the hard shell of her outward resolve.

He shook himself away from observing her as Omega bounded up to him, trailed awkwardly (and unsurprisingly) by Dara’s teenage spy.

“Crosshair!” his sister demanded excitedly. “Can Brith come train with us today?”

The sniper scowled and plucked a toothpick from his belt, tucking it between his teeth as he looked the boy over. “Does he have a weapon?”

Brith only glared back at him and didn’t answer. Omega rolled her eyes.

“He can borrow my crossbow, I’ll use my old one. Please?!”

Crosshair sighed. “Fine. If Dara says it’s alright.” He didn’t see why she wouldn’t, but the Batch had learned the hard way on Pabu that, strangely, children’s guardians often didn’t want them shooting things without their permission, and the last thing he wanted was to give Dara yet another reason to detest him.

Brith hesitated a moment, glancing across the crowd at Dara, then back to Omega. “Not sure she’d be happy with that,” he said quietly. “Saw wants me to train but last time Dara said I’m still too young. Which I’m not,” he added defiantly.

“Just wait here!” Omega exclaimed, and before Crosshair or Brith could say otherwise she was bouncing away. Dara hesitated a minute as she listened to Omega chatter at her, but finally looked over at Crosshair and gave him a nod. His chest squeezed as she locked eyes with him and he just barely managed to nod back. Behind her, Omega grinned mischievously and gave him a thumbs up, the meddlesome little traitor.

“Come on, then,” Crosshair rasped at Brith, turning on his heel.

“So,” Omega began brightly as she caught up and they set off in the direction of the range, “how did you become a field agent?”

Brith squinted at her, hesitating for a moment just like he had earlier, as though debating whether it was okay for him to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“Met Dara on a mission,” he muttered.

Crosshair smirked to himself a little. The kid had reticence down to a science, answering the question with as few words as possible. Crosshair would know, after all. Still, Omega had managed to break him down over time, and he doubted Brith would fare any better than he had.

Sure enough, she smiled even wider, undeterred. “How did you meet her?”

Brith’s reply was even quieter, tinged through with a defiant obstinance. “Tried to pick her pocket,” he grumbled, glancing sideways at the clones with narrow eyes as if daring them to judge him.

Crosshair snorted. “What, you couldn’t find a harder mark?”

He expected Brith to glare at the sarcastic comment, but was surprised when the boy just huffed a quiet laugh instead. “Yeah, nothing gets past her.”

Omega looked slyly at her brother out of the corner of her eye, but mercifully chose not to comment when Crosshair made a small hum of agreement. Instead, she pressed further. “What did she do?”

Brith’s eyes were still narrowed, but an amused grin undermined the expression. “Said she could tell I was living on the street and if I needed money I could do a job for her.”

“What kind of job?” Omega pushed.

“Asked me to follow some Imps around for an afternoon.”

Omega grinned. “Cool! Was it dangerous?”

Brith snorted, rolling his eyes. “Was easy—no one pays attention to street kids. Followed different people around for weeks and none of them even noticed.” Glancing back at an enraptured Omega, the boy rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Anyway. Dara brought me back to base after the mission was done, and that was that I guess.”

Omega smiled knowingly, her eyes softening. “Dara’s your family.” It was less a question than a confirmation, something the empathetic young girl could read in the boy’s tone, and Crosshair was struck yet again by the realization that, somehow, Dara had never mentioned him. Not a hint, even after she’d found out about Omega, that she, too, had someone to care for. Someone she needed to make it back to.

Brith shrugged again, but he glanced back wistfully in the direction of the Partisans. “Could say that. Don’t always get to see her a lot.”

They finally arrived and climbed the ladder to the roof overlooking the shooting range. Omega unpacked her two weapons—the Zygerrian energy bow she used to favor and the crossbow that Echo had recently gotten her—and began the process of examining the components and taking them apart, just as Crosshair demanded she practice doing at the beginning of each training session. The sniper glanced from her to Brith, who was squinting eagerly at the weapons as the girl undertook the familiar motions.

“Omega,” Crosshair instructed. “Tell me their specs and explain what you’re doing.”

Brow furrowed in confusion—it had been months since her brother had been satisfied enough with her ability to narrate the steps as she serviced her weapon that he stopped demanding it—Omega glanced up, smiling in understanding when she caught on to Brith’s rapt attention. “Sure!”

The boy absorbed every word, imitating Omega’s demonstrations a little clumsily when she handed him the crossbow and encouraged him to try for himself. Finally, both weapons were reassembled and confirmed to be in working order.

“Alright,” Crosshair drawled. “Both of you. Closest targets, show me your stance.”

Omega drew her bow in a picture-perfect demonstration of form. Crosshair ignored the glow of pride in his chest as he turned his attention to Brith, instructing him in adjustments until he was satisfied.

“Good. Now shoot,” he ordered.

They both let off a blast, Omega’s hitting true immediately, Brith’s going wildly off-target.

“Good job, Omega. Ten more times, then move to the next target. Brith, try again. Pause your breathing during the exhale, and squeeze the trigger gently during that pause.”

Crosshair watched as Brith tried. And tried again. And tried again, his frustration evidently increasing each time. The sniper examined his form and could tell by the subtle movements of his chest and flexing of his finger that he was doing everything right, following his instructions to the letter, but the boy couldn’t manage even to hit the edge of the closest target. Finally, Crosshair took a step back and looked into Brith’s face, where he was squinting viciously downrange, blinking in the sunlight.

“Hmm.”

Brith gave up and let his form relax, scowling at him. Crosshair ignored him, picking up his helmet from where he had set it on the ground nearby. He pulled it over his head, dimming the light input on the HUD until he could just barely make out the rings on the targets. Then he tugged it off again and held it out to the boy.

“Put this on.”

He rolled his milky-white eyes and grimaced. “What’s the point?”

“Just do it and shoot.”

Brith shrugged and did as told, the helmet comically large on his still-growing shoulders. Omega paused in her own practice to watch as he held the crossbow up, aimed, and squeezed the trigger, finally hitting right-of-center.

Crosshair allowed himself a smug smirk as Omega cheered.

“Good,” he drawled. “Now that you can focus, fix your form and breathing, and do it again.”

Through the remainder of the afternoon, Brith finally showed improvement, progressing to further and further targets and increasing his accuracy as Crosshair drilled the essentials into him and ran both kids through their paces. Finally, as the day’s light began to fade, Crosshair reached into his pack and pulled out a large disc.

“Last challenge, kid,” he announced. “A moving target. We’ll run more drills with these tomorrow, but for now, see what you can do.”

Omega gestured to the teen to do the honors and he took his stance, radiating excitement and determination. Crosshair felt the corners of his mouth twitch for a moment before he wound up and flung the disc downrange and high into the air. Brith breathed in, tracked its movement with his weapon, exhaled, pulled the trigger—and the disc cracked apart into fragments as the bolt connected.

Omega applauded, the boy exclaiming, “Did you see that?!” as he pumped his fist in the air, and Crosshair let the smile steal fully across his face as he looked down at the two of them, seeing, in their celebration, himself and his brothers as cadets on Kamino.

It only lasted a moment before Brith stiffened suddenly, and Crosshair tensed on instinct as well, wondering what he could have detected, until he caught a glimpse of familiar silver hair from the corner of his eye. The boy tugged Crosshair’s helmet off and handed it to him, turning around to grin sheepishly at Dara where she had appeared at the edge of their secluded practice range.

“Not bad,” she appraised. Her tone was even, but Crosshair could read a familiar tension in the corners of her eyes. Judging by the way Brith was shifting uneasily from foot to foot, her mood didn’t go unnoticed by her teenage protégé either.

“He’s a natural!” Omega declared proudly. Brith’s cheeks darkened a little and he beamed, causing Dara’s expression to soften in turn.

“Of course he is,” she murmured, smiling. “You about done here?”

Brith hesitated, looking to Crosshair.

The sniper huffed and crossed his arms, rotating his toothpick in his mouth. “Last lesson for the day. Unless you want your weapon to jam up in the middle of a firefight, you clean it every time you use it.”

Omega rolled her eyes at him, but grinned and began giving Brith tips after Crosshair tossed them both rags. He eyed them critically as they went about the task, but when Brith finally handed over the crossbow, shining like new, Crosshair gave him a curt nod of approval.

“Nice work today,” he murmured softly. He jerked his chin in Dara’s direction, though he avoided looking right at her. “Go ahead. Get out of here.”

Crosshair could just barely hear their quiet conversation as the pair moved off toward the main part of base.

“Are you mad?” Brith asked hesitantly.

“No.” More than anything, she sounded weary.

“You seem kind of mad,” the boy insisted.

She sighed. “I’m always mad. But never at you, kid.”

“You sure?”

Crosshair could almost hear the tired smile in her words. “Promise. It’s just time for your field report. And then you’ve got to wash up before late meal, because you smell like you live on the street.”

“I do live on the street.”

“Not right now, you don’t,” she scolded, voice finally fading away.

Omega’s eyes glimmered with mischief when she caught Crosshair smirking to himself. He quickly schooled his expression into his usual scowl.

“Stow it,” he warned his sister. She only grinned wider.

It was late. The base had finally quieted down, the Partisans having all retreated to their newly assigned quarters and the clones likewise preparing for bed, other than the few working their guard shift.

Crosshair was restless, too agitated to even think about trying to settle into his rack. When he left the Marauder, Tech, still up tinkering with a mechanical something-or-other, gave him a knowing look. Crosshair ignored him.

He let his legs take him where they liked, and wasn’t surprised when his body managed to find her without him even consciously wanting it to.

Dara was alone on one of the bridges spanning two of the smaller platforms, perched on top of the railing, looking out over the water. She drew a hand up to her lips, and a faint, burning glow expanded in time with her inhale. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, and she blew out a long trail of smoke as he approached. He tried not to watch her too carefully, though of course his eyes were drawn to the long curve of her neck, the quiet sigh of her mouth.

“Hiding out from your friends already, burk’yc?” Crosshair murmured as he approached.

She twisted her lips sardonically and hummed. If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t let on.

“Apparently not that well.”

Crosshair sniffed the air. “Is that marcan herb?”

Dara shrugged, glancing down at the cigarra and flicking ash off the end. She held it out to him in offering. “Ryndi—our medic—sent it along with Yaru. She thinks I need to relax more. She’s worried about my blood pressure.”

He declined it with a wave, pulling a toothpick from his pouch instead. “If the base is attacked, then at least one of us should be able to fight back,” he drawled in explanation. 

She snorted. “Yeah, well. It’s been a long day, and I lost my only other form of stress relief, so…” She trailed off, taking another long drag and staring off into the night.

“And whose fault is that?” he scoffed. He hadn’t meant it to come out so bitter, but the wound of her rejection was too fresh, and to hear it referred to so casually was like a twist of the knife. That’s all it was to her, he reminded himself. She would have picked anybody else—and even tried to. She didn’t ache for him, the way he did for her.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Crosshair,” Dara sighed, and he would be more thrilled with hearing his name spill from her lips if it sounded one hundred percent less disappointed in him. “It’s just the way it has to be.”

“Hmm,” he huffed, but stopped himself from saying more. He wasn’t here to fight with her or try to make her change her mind. Careful to remain at a respectful distance—as much to keep from torturing himself as to make her feel comfortable—he leaned back against the railing next to her. “…So, the kid…”

Dara’s eyes flashed with suspicion, and the tone of her reply was sharp. “What about him?”

Crosshair frowned, unsure why she was so sensitive about the subject. “You never mentioned him,” he responded, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of his voice.

She examined him closely, like she was looking for something, and he did his best not to fidget. He felt strangely like a cadet at inspection again under her scrutiny, almost wanting to lash out to make her look away, but he suppressed the urge.

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak again, hesitating a little, as though she were choosing her words carefully. “He needs…protecting. Like Omega.”

Crosshair hummed thoughtfully. “What’s wrong with his eyes?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dara replied, too quickly, too insistently. The lie was absurd, and not nearly as well-told as the spy’s usual falsehoods. He wondered if it was the subject or just the marcan herb that had Dara so skittish.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow at her. “I can tell when someone’s dealing with light sensitivity,” he drawled, thinking over his offer. “I…could help, maybe. Tech and I came up with some tricks for me, when I was a cadet.”

Dara furrowed her brow, searching his face again before looking back over the edge of the bridge with hard eyes.

“You told Saw you trusted me,” he continued when it didn’t seem like she was planning to reply. “Or didn’t you mean it?”

She looked back up at him, met his amber eyes with her darker ones. “I meant it,” she said quietly.

He wanted to kiss her, to cup her cheek and run his fingers through her hair. He bit down hard on his toothpick instead.

Dara sighed and looked away again. “It’s technically true. There’s nothing wrong with his eyes. He’s half-Miralukan. Miralukans are born with nothing but empty sockets. Instead, they see through…the Force.” She glanced back up at him, voice going even quieter. “The Empire didn’t just go after trained Jedi. They wiped nearly all the Miralukans out. The whole kriffing planet.”

The toothpick in Crosshair’s mouth splintered in half. He replaced it, mulling it over, while he waited for Dara to continue. After another long drag of the cigarra, she did.

“Brith escaped. He’s not very strong in the Force, but he can see with it—objects in the dark or through smoke, but also feelings and auras and…”

She waved her hand around vaguely, trailing smoke behind it, the gesture meant to somehow encompass all those impenetrable mysteries that the regs used to just call Force osik. “Anyway. It’s still enough to put him at risk. Since he at least has eyes, he hasn’t had much trouble passing as full human. But his vision’s very sensitive. Distracts him from being able to use his other sight, sometimes.”

Dara scrubbed at her own eyes with the heels of her hands, voice suddenly a tinge hysterical. “And Saw wants him trained, keeps thinking if we found him a lightsaber he could turn him into a Jedi! Make him into some sort of a symbol! And the kid wants to fight, and…”

She looked up to the sky, stubbing the butt of her cigarra out on the railing, and breathed deeply, calming herself. Crosshair ached to touch her.

When she was more settled, she chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep him out of it. Believe it or not, spying is actually the safest option I have for him right now.” She closed her eyes against the night, voice quiet and a little broken, and shook her head. “My nephew would be his age.”

Crosshair nodded slowly, beginning to understand her hesitation, why she’d never mentioned Brith before. For all that she was an expert at keeping secrets—and for all that he still, selfishly, wished he could see every one of hers laid bare—she always had her reasons.

And it was clear that they weighed on her. How many people, even among her friends, had she been able to tell this worry to? Was there anyone? And why was she telling it to him?

“The way he shot with Omega’s bow earlier,” Crosshair began carefully. “It makes sense, that he can see that way.” He looked Dara over, the way she was still holding the tension in her shoulders, and thought that he would do anything to make it dissipate even just a fraction. “The kid could make a good sniper. I…could train him, if you want.”

Dara turned to look at him sharply, brow furrowed, and maybe it had been the wrong thing to say.

“Why?” she asked.

He shrugged, trying his hardest at nonchalance. “It would satisfy him, but he could stay at a distance from fights. And it would be safer than giving him a laser sword and putting him out front like your mascot,” he added, a little testily.

Dara’s expression didn’t change, still staring at him in—not anger, he realized, but bafflement.

“No—I mean, you’re right, but why would you offer to help? You just met him.” She huffed, rubbing her eyes again. “Hell, you don’t even like me.”

She didn’t know. No—she had to know. She was just maintaining the fiction, to keep things from being awkward, or because she was taking pity on him.

“He’s just a kid. Like Omega. And I…” Crosshair hesitated. “…tolerate you. We could be…friends. Right?”

She smiled at that, and he wanted to sigh, it was so lovely. Not quite the shining star she’d become earlier, when Brith had arrived, but a quiet glow, like a moon.

“Didn’t know you had any friends, besides your brothers,” she teased.

He allowed her a coy half-smile in reply. “Maybe I’m trying to branch out.”

Then she laughed, and it was sudden, unexpected, bright, and he made that happen.

“Doesn’t sound like you.” She considered him for a moment, the smile still playing along her lips, the tension bleeding away from her frame. “You can train him while we’re here. If he wants it.”

Crosshair nodded in acknowledgment, then raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. “So…Yaru.”

And Dara was laughing again. “Don’t get me started.”

“Really? Because if she goes after Wrecker, she might not make it out alive. One of his biceps is larger than her whole body.”

Another laugh, and maybe it was just the marcan herb kicking in, but Crosshair didn’t care as Dara managed to choke out, “She says—she says Theelin anatomy is more forgiving than human, but I swear, I think she just has a size thing!”

And he chuckled in reply and began to tell her about the frankly disturbing number of times Wrecker had managed to find a partner with a similar thing, and soon they were swapping stories, until finally Dara decided it was time to turn in and hopped down from her perch. But before she walked off, she turned back to him and smiled again, offering up a quiet, “Thank you,” to be swallowed by the night.

And Crosshair made his way back to the Marauder thinking that at least he could have this, and it might be enough—if he could manage not to ruin it.

Read next chapter

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog @flaming-dumpster

[sanderssidesthehouse]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62454829

Link is being weird RIP. This is my submission for janus week day 2 @darksideweeks prompt: shedding.

The scales had not been his idea. That one belonged to Creativity and Morality. Not that they’d done it on purpose, of course, and neither of them would have dreamed of inflicting the pain they’d caused when they sprouted, but still, if you were looking for a source, that was where you’d have to look.

That being said, Janus rather liked his scales. They were smooth and pretty and really helped his whole aesthetic. He wouldn’t trade them even if he could. Still, he could do without the shedding. It was itchy and messy and uncomfortable. It wasn’t really fair that he was the only side with permanent animal features. Honestly, it was very rude of Thomas to not have associated any of the others so strongly. Logan could do with some feathers, and no one would mind if Patton was a bit froggy all of the time.

But there he was, on his favorite flat rock under his heat lamp, currently the only source of light in the room, trying desperately not to itch his scales off. It unequivocally sucked. Just his luck to hear a knock at his door. Following the knock was a loud energetic voice. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Janus mused.

“What do you want?” Janus hissed through the crack he had opened the door.

“Shit, that time already?” Remus responded in lieu of a proper answer.

“What do you want, Remus?”

“Let me in, I’ll help.”

“You just want to eat it.”

“Just a little! Or maybe a lot.”

“Just go play with someone else.” Janus tried to push the door closed only to find Remus had shoved his foot in the crack, and no amount of pushing, pleading, or pain would get him to move it. He knew this from experience.

“Unsupervised?”

“I’m not your keeper.”

“Hmm… Actually I think I’d rather stay here.”

“Remus-”

“So,” Remus pushed the door open, sending Janus stumbling back, “what do we do?”

“I’ve never let you help before, what makes you think I’ll start now?”

“Because I made LoLo tell me all about snake shedding and now I’m an expert. Plus I’m stronger than you.”

“If I want you out, you know I can force you.”

“And yet you haven’t!” Remus plastered his signature shit eating grin onto his face.

“Ugh, fine. Just be quiet.”

“It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

To his credit, Remus did keep the noise level down, though down for him and down for the average side was an entirely different metric. Still it was an impressive feat for Intrusive Thoughts to tone down the Intrusiveness.

After some time Janus relented and allowed Remus to fetch him some water. If he wanted to be helpful for once, Janus would let him. Though that wasn’t really fair. Remus always wanted to be helpful, it’s just that most of the time no one wanted his help.

“I know you don’t eat much when this happens, so I thought about making you a smoothie, but I remember last time I oh, so graciously made you a smoothie-”

“It was lamb’s blood, pickles, and pig intestines.”

“-and you didn’t really appreciate that so I told Virgil to make a smoothie that doesn’t suck because he actually knows what you like, and he told me to do some things Patton surely wouldn’t approve of, so one might pop up at some point, you know how he likes to be a tsundere.”

“... But you brought some water? Normal water?”

“I milked the stalactites myself!”

“... Remus…”

“Just kidding! I got it out of the tap. But I would milk stalactites if you asked me to. Or even if you didn’t.”

“I’m aware. Feel free to do that on your own time, but if you fall from any significant height or onto stalagmites, do make sure to fix yourself up before you pop back into the living room, hmm? I hate having to replace the furniture.”

“Aw, what’s a little blood on the everything? It adds character!”

“... We can discuss this later-”

“Which means we won’t.”

“-but for now, I would like to drink my normal water and go back to laying peacefully on my rock.”

“Oh, right!” Remus whisper yelled. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Much appreciated.”

Janus artificially sunned himself for about half an hour more before he noticed a smoothie pop into existence on his bedside table. They may not be talking since then, but this was enough for now. Enough to make him smile fondly despite the discomfort, and enough to show that not all was lost.

“Remus?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! What are you thanking me for?”

Janus chuckled. “Never change, hm?”

“Didn’t plan on it!”

[gandalfsalt]

Solavellan Angst and Dido & Aeneas

Here's an "essay" (more like notes) I wrote about a year ago after finishing Trespasser, and surprisingly it holds up ok! You can watch a video essay version on my TikTok @gandalfs_alt. I think the video version is a bit more polished because I wrote it yesterday, this old one is pretty rough.

Unfortunately no citations... feels weird to post w/o citations. Future posts I think I will start citing my sources.

A great love story that I see relating to Solavellan is the story of Dido and Aeneas. This story is even older than Tristan and Isolde, dating back to ancient Rome (specifically Virgil’s The Aeneid, completed in 19 BCE, about 2000 years ago). It is widely considered the archetypal love story that symbolizes the tension between love and duty in Western literature. 

Dido was the Queen of Carthage, a city located in North Africa. In some versions she is a sorceress, and she is beloved by her people. Aeneas was a Trojan hero who escaped the fall of Troy. Aeneas and his fellow Trojans fled across the Mediterranean Sea after the fall of Troy. They landed in Carthage, and were welcomed by Dido, who offered them hospitality.

Dido and Aeneas spend a significant amount of time together, and fall deeply in love. Over time their love became increasingly intense. In some versions they marry. However, Jupiter (Zeus), the king of the gods, sends the messenger god Mercury (Hermes) to remind Aeneas of his duty to establish a new homeland in Italy (what becomes modern day Rome). After contemplating staying by Dido’s side, Aeneas feels that he must fulfill his divine mission to re-establish his homeland and he abandons Dido, departing for Italy.

Dido is devastated by Aeneas’ departure. In her anguish, Dido constructs a funeral pyre, on which she places Aeneas's belongings, including a sword he had left behind. She then took her own life by falling on the sword. Aeneas, unaware of Dido's fate, continues his journey to Italy, where he eventually fulfills his destiny and founds the city that would become Rome.

I think some of the parallels are pretty clear. A mysterious wandering hero fleeing the aftermath of a fallen civilization joins up with a group of people and falls in love with their leader. He then abandons said leader to fulfill what he believes is his divine mission, which is to re-establish what has fallen in a new place.   

There’s two ways I think this story is helpful for understanding Solas, Lavellan, or Solavellan:

It has inspired so much art, we can look at how other artists have handled this theme to get insights into the characters, learn more about them, and learn about different ways this conflict (love vs duty) can be interpreted or represented.

If this story did in fact inspire the DA:I writers, learning more about it can possibly help uncover where they may take Solavellan in DA:D (dear god, I hope they don’t go the Dido route with Lavellan, pls no 😭)

Even though Solas is a pretty clear Aeneas type, I actually see him share a lot of attributes with Dido as well. One of the most famous versions of Dido and Aeneas is an opera (yes, opera again, lol) composed by Henry Purcell in 1689. It is one of the first operas composed in English, and is pretty much considered the premiere retelling of the Dido/Aeneas story in the English language. One of the most famous pieces from the opera is Dido’s Lament, and it’s the song Dido sings after she decides she can’t live without Aeneas, and is about to, literally, fall on a sword. 

The lyrics of Dido’s lament are:

More I would, but Death invades me:

Death is now a welcome guest.

When I am laid, am laid in earth,

May my wrongs create no trouble, no

trouble in thy breast;

Remember me! Remember me! But ah!

forget my fate. 

To me, this is 100% Solas’s psychological state when he leaves Lavellan. The lament is obviously very tragic and sad, but there’s something extremely stubborn and self-centered about it. It feels like a lot of self-imposed misery. In Dido’s case, she was certainly wronged by Aeneas, she was treated very unfairly and it’s not her fault at all, but her reaction to it is very self-pitying and self-sabotaging, literally and figuratively. I got the same feelings from Solas during his final confrontation with Lavellan. 

“Death invades me, Death is now a welcome guest,” - Wait a minute, who says anyone has to die? Why is dying the only option here, Dido and Solas?

“May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast,” - It seems like Dido and Aeneas have the option not to commit these wrongs or additional wrongs, so why act all stubborn and resigned about it? 

The “wrong” I think Dido is referencing is her impending suicide. Solas may be referencing the same thing if he knows he is going to die, but in his case destroying the world and loving then leaving Lavellan are some other wrongs. But again, based on what we know, it seems like he has the option to stay and not destroy the world a second time. So why so stubborn?

“Remember me! But forget my fate.” My dudes. It seems to us like you’re choosing this fate. And you think we can remember you and not remember how you left us? You want Aeneas/Lavellan to hold the torch, but just forget a very monumental decision you made? That’s a little delusional. This line is so simple, but it does an excellent job of underscoring the conflict between love and sense of duty. In both cases, the heroine/hero want to be remembered by the ones they love, but at the same time they don’t want their choices to impact their lovers, or their lover’s recollection of them. Which really is impossible.  

[noorthehood]

Until You • 01

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

...................................................................................................

“Lyla, input the diagnostics results.”

The holographic AI dramatically throws her head back with a loud sigh, displaying what seems to be exasperation, before appearing next to Miguel’s right shoulder in an instant.

“Would it kill you to be courteous? Jeez.” Her voice echoes in his ear as she swiftly transfers massive amounts of data onto the screens in front of him. “Keep that up and you’ll die alone.”

“I’m already well on track for that.” Miguel mutters, shaking his head to ignore the persistent ringing in his right ear. He taps the hovering screens, attempting to make sense of the flood of information presented to him, but frustration paints his face as he places a hand on his hip, clearly dissatisfied with what he’s looking at.

After taking on the responsibility to resolve anomalous situations across universes, the self-proclaimed leader of the Spider-Society had been juggling some issues pertaining to his own respective reality for several weeks now. Not that it had kept him from keeping the order in the multiverse, far from it — but he had allowed said issues to pile up long enough that they became an inconvenience.

“This isn’t what I need.” He grumbles, growing more irritated. “It doesn’t tell me anything.”

Lyla groans.

“Well if you had just, I don’t know, taken care of it six months ago before Stone got his hands on reality-altering tech—”

“I know, I know, don’t you shocking start with that again.” Miguel interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I screwed up, we get it. And now it’s on me to fix this mess—which is what I’m trying to do.”

His eyes briefly glance up at the live feed from the storage room where said tech was being securely kept.

“But I can’t do much if I don’t even know what it is I’m dealing with.”

A flat metallic platform, that was it. Roughly 15 feet on each side, no discernible control panel, energy source, or any other identifying features. After a surprise raid into Alchemax’s quarters following scattered electrical surges that left nearly half the city without power for a few minutes, he had stumbled upon the strange contraption in the underground level of the building. The machine—if you could even call it that—was surrounded by passed out scientists strewn out across the room, many of which were visibly brain-fried from the sheer power they had been subjected to. One thing led to another, and the mystery device was now being monitored at the Spider-Society’s base.

“I can see if there’s a way to examine the circuit board and extract more data, but…” Lyla hesitates, “That’s assuming there is a motherboard at all. I rarely say this, but I’m afraid my skills might fall short in this case.”

One thing was sure though; whatever that device was, it did not originate from his universe.

He could sense it the moment he walked into that lab. A faint, continuous buzz reminiscent of TV static emanated from the machine, imperceptible to the human ear but painfully noticeable to his heightened senses. The hum quickly became unbearable, prompting him to relocate the device to another room for the sake of his sanity.

That might perhaps explain why Lyla couldn’t provide any significant information about the device—despite essentially being a supercomputer, there were limits to her cross-dimensional knowledge.

“Just…do whatever you can. I’m counting on you.” He says, walking toward the exit as his mask materializes over his face. “I’m heading out. Let me know if you’ve got any news by the time I’m back.”

“Sure thing, Supreme Leader.” Lyla mockingly responds.

Miguel scoffs and steps outside, but takes one last glance over his shoulder at the machine on the screen. An uneasy feeling was gnawing at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger as to why—call it intuition.

“Let’s hope you don’t bring me more problems than I already have.”

* * *

Hours have passed since Miguel's departure. Lyla remained a steadfast sentinel, her projection poised beside the dormant machine (which she had nicknamed Carmen); she was monitoring it diligently, occasionally responding to other requests from Spider-people, while still remaining vigilant.

“What’s the matter this time?” she mutters to herself, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation, as she looks at the holographic screen in front of her. Ever since the creation of the Spider-Society, her days had been filled with an endless stream of inquiries and requests for intel, leaving her with little respite.

‘Lyla, could you update me on that Scorpion guy from last week? I brought him in from Earth-5684 but—’

Before they could finish their sentence, a sudden, intense buzzing reverberates through the lab, causing the lights to flicker and casting an eerie glow over the room. The disturbance jolts Lyla from her virtual reverie, momentarily freezing her digital form in surprise.

“...That can’t be good.”

In the fraction of a second, without warning, a soft vibration reverberates through the room, a low hum that seems to originate from the very heart of the machine. It pulses with a persistent rhythm, gradually growing in intensity with each passing second. The air crackles, charged with an electric energy that seems to awaken the dormant device.

As if responding to an unseen conductor, the once inert machine bursts into life, its sleek surface flickering in a dance of lights. Multicolored beams of illumination sweep across its intricate circuits, transforming the previously monotonous exterior into a mesmerizing display of pulsating colors, as though the machine had been infused with a newfound vitality, electrified by an invisible current.

It seemed like the fabric of reality itself had been punctured. The storage room, once a haven of silence and shadows, was now vibrating with an outworldly energy.

Without hesitation, Lyla hangs up on her previous interlocutor and activates the communication interface, swiftly sending Miguel a notification. "Miguel has got to see thi—”

Her statement was promptly cut short by a sudden burst of blinding light which enveloped the room, illuminating every corner with an intense radiance. Simultaneously, a piercing, high-pitched ringing filled the air, drowning out all other sounds within the lab.

As the blinding flash dissipated, leaving nothing but fading afterimages, a heavy silence descended upon the room—the once buzzing and vibrant space now seemed suspended in stillness, as if time itself held its breath. Lyla's holographic form shimmered, adjusting to the abrupt change in atmosphere, her virtual senses on high alert.

She advances toward the enigmatic machine, her luminous projection casting a soft yellow glow on the metallic surface. As she draws closer, her eyes widen in astonishment, taking in the unexpected sight that greeted her.

Before her lay two women, unconscious and sprawled across the surface of the enigmatic machine. Their bodies were still, seemingly untouched by the events that had just unfolded.

Caution mingled with curiosity as Lyla floats closer, hovering above the motionless figures. She observes them with a mix of awe and concern, contemplating her next course of action. Uncertainty gnawed at her programming—should she consider them civilians, or potential foes?

With a resolute decision, she reaches out to initiate a diagnostic scan. Her holographic fingers gently brush against the women's motionless bodies, activating the scanning protocols within her digital realm. The familiar yellow grid of data begins to envelop them, meticulously probing for any signs of distress or anomalies.

A few minutes pass as the scan progresses, her virtual eyes scrutinize the readings, processing the influx of information. Every datapoint was meticulously analyzed, every anomaly would be cataloged for further investigation—yet, despite the thorough examination, the results provided no immediate answers. The women appear unharmed, their vitals stable.

“Just where the hell did you both come from?” An unease settled within Lyla's digital core.

As though to answer her question, you suddenly jolt up, gasping for air. It felt like you had been holding your breath for hours, and the stagnant air of the dark room you found yourself in nearly felt like hot coal in your lungs.

The dim lighting makes it hard for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you still look around, not recognizing your surroundings nor remembering how you ended up there. Did you fall asleep in an unused meeting room? Or did you pass out from skipping all meals at work again?

Your mind was clouded with incessant ringing, and the strange pressure in your chest was not helping.

“How…” You begin before your own body interrupts you, giving you an uncontrollable urge to retch.

Hands and knees on the cold ground, you wipe the saliva off the corner of your mouth, making sure your clothes remain untouched, before clumsily attempting to stand up—in vain. A few attempts later, the agitation begins to kick in as you realize something is clearly off. The shortness of breath, the persisting tinnitus, your uncooperative muscles, the obviously unfamiliar room—weren’t you at the office a minute ago?

You blink a few times and finally are able to make out the space around you. Are those…machines? And the cold ground under your hands and feet is just…a large slab of polished metal?

“Where the hell is this?” You whisper under your breath, finally able to stand up on your own two feet. “What…am I doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You jump back in fright, letting out a loud yelp at the sudden female voice coming from beside you.

You turn your head to catch a glimpse of a bright presence next to you—right in front of your face, as a matter of fact. You yell out in surprise and nearly tumble backwards as you make out the details of your startling interlocutor.

A small, glowing, floating woman.

“What the—”

You don’t even have time to process the sight in front of you before she disappears and reappears behind you in a split second.

“Before anything else, I think you should note you’ve got another friend over here.”

Nearly gasping for air in incomprehension, you frown and squint in the direction the small ghostly projection was illuminating with her glowing yellow figure. It takes you a second to recognize the body of a woman laying still on the ground.

“Oh, shit, that’s—” Hurriedly, you stumble in her direction to check in on the woman. You recognize her, having seen her at the office before—but your mind was too clouded and all over the place to focus on where exactly you know her from. “Are—Are you okay? Can you hear me, are you hurt?”

With shaking hands and voice, you manage to check her pulse and see that she’s breathing.

“If you can hear me, I’m part of the office ERT, can you—”

“Gee, I just said you had another friend, not that you need to give them mouth-to-mouth.” The female voice chimed in behind you. “She’s fine, just knocked out.”

You hesitate and look back and forth at the unconscious woman, then her. Cautiously, you take a few steps in her direction, keeping your body as a shield between her and the motionless body.

“Who are—”

“Urgh, please! Spare me the questions. How cliché.” The glowing figure interjects, leaving you no chance to place a word.

You frown.

This situation was getting increasingly bizarre; why were you talking to this ghostly woman in the first place? Nothing guarantees that she isn’t a fragment of your imagination—what if you hit your head and were hallucinating the whole thing?

For now, your priority was to make sure the unconscious woman behind you got the proper care she needed. You turn on your heels and prop her arm onto your shoulder, attempting to position her into a piggyback-like hold.

“Wait, what are you—” After a few tries, you finally succeed, and start looking for an exit to the room. “Hold on, I need you to stay put before—”

Ignoring her calls, you finally notice a large hexagonal-shaped gate across the room. Although the woman on your back is quite light and petite, you nearly trip several times due to thick wires scattered across the ground coming from all sorts of machines, of the kind you’ve never seen before. You try not to give it too much thought and walk up to the gate before it opens automatically.

“Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just walk off on—are you listening to me?”

You wave off the small woman, leaving her with a gaping mouth and an offended look on her face, before stepping outside.

As the gate opens, the blinding light of the outside world makes you automatically raise your free hand to your face, slowly adjusting to the drastic change of atmosphere.

Slowly but surely, your eyes are able to make out the sight in front of you.

“What in the…”

The sight that unfolds before you defies all expectations, leaving you in a state of awe and disbelief. Instead of the familiar surroundings you were anticipating, you find yourself standing in the midst of a futuristic cityscape that stretches far beyond the limits of your imagination.

Towering skyscrapers adorned with sleek, shimmering glass rise into the sky, their impressive height seemingly reaching for the heavens—the buildings showcase breathtaking architectural designs, with curvaceous contours and intricate patterns that defy gravity and conventional norms. The city pulses with life, its streets bustling with futuristic vehicles zipping past in a blur of neon lights and sleek lines.

You can feel your heart rate increasing exponentially, and you drop to your knees, unable to understand what is happening as questions swirl within you—is this an elaborate dream?

“What the hell is this place…” You whisper to yourself, barely able to breathe.

As you stand there, captivated and petrified by the unfamiliar futuristic cityscape stretching out before you, an unshakeable feeling of being watched prickles at the back of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine, sending a wave of unease coursing through your veins; instinctively, you turn around, your heart pounding in your chest.

In that split second, a shadowy figure descends from above with startling speed, and before you can react, a needle glints in the dim light, plunging into your arm. A sharp sting jolts through your body as the tranquilizer takes effect, swiftly robbing you of your senses.

“I told you to stay put.” You faintly hear the same female voice from earlier echoing from behind you.

With a last desperate gasp for breath, you try to stay conscious, fighting against the overpowering sedation. But it's a futile struggle; your body slowly succumbs to the tranquilizer's grip, and you sink into unconsciousness.

As your vision fades and your mind drifts away, you catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure standing over you. Their features remain obscured, concealed by the darkness and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but you are able to discern the familiar sight in front of you.

A final thought echoes in your fading consciousness, and you let out one last whisper before the darkness claims you completely.

“...Spiderman?”

............................................................................................................

Hope you enjoyed! More on A03 !!

Ch. 02 Here

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

The carbon in our bodies probably left the galaxy and came back on cosmic ‘conveyer belt’

Life on Earth could not exist without carbon. But carbon itself could not exist without stars. Nearly all elements except hydrogen and helium — including carbon, oxygen and iron — only exist because they were forged in stellar furnaces and later flung into the cosmos when their stars died. In an ultimate act of galactic recycling, planets like ours are formed by incorporating these star-built atoms into their makeup, be it the iron in Earth’s core, the oxygen in its atmosphere or the carbon in the bodies of Earthlings.

A team of scientists based in the U.S. and Canada recently confirmed that carbon and other star-formed atoms don’t just drift idly through space until they are dragooned for new uses. For galaxies like ours, which are still actively forming new stars, these atoms take a circuitous journey. They circle their galaxy of origin on giant currents that extend into intergalactic space. These currents — known as the circumgalactic medium — resemble giant conveyer belts that push material out and draw it back into the galactic interior, where gravity and other forces can assemble these raw materials into planets, moons, asteroids, comets and even new stars.

“Think of the circumgalactic medium as a giant train station: It is constantly pushing material out and pulling it back in,” said team member Samantha Garza, a University of Washington doctoral candidate. “The heavy elements that stars make get pushed out of their host galaxy and into the circumgalactic medium through their explosive supernovae deaths, where they can eventually get pulled back in and continue the cycle of star and planet formation.”

Garza is lead author on a paper describing these findings that was published Dec. 27 in the Astrophysical Journal Letters.

“The implications for galaxy evolution, and for the nature of the reservoir of carbon available to galaxies for forming new stars, are exciting,” said co-author Jessica Werk, UW professor and chair of the Department of Astronomy. “The same carbon in our bodies most likely spent a significant amount of time outside of the galaxy!”

In 2011, a team of scientists for the first time confirmed the long-held theory that star-forming galaxies like ours are surrounded by a circumgalactic medium — and that this large, circulating cloud of material includes hot gases enriched in oxygen. Garza, Werk and their colleagues have discovered that the circumgalactic medium of star-forming galaxies also circulates lower-temperature material like carbon.

“We can now confirm that the circumgalactic medium acts like a giant reservoir for both carbon and oxygen,” said Garza. “And, at least in star-forming galaxies, we suggest that this material then falls back onto the galaxy to continue the recycling process.”

Studying the circumgalactic medium could help scientists understand how this recycling process subsides, which will happen eventually for all galaxies — even ours. One theory is that a slowing or breakdown of the circumgalactic medium’s contribution to      the recycling process may explain why a galaxy’s stellar populations decline over long periods of time.

“If you can keep the cycle going — pushing material out and pulling it back in — then theoretically you have enough fuel to keep star formation going,” said Garza.

For this study, the researchers used the Cosmic Origins Spectrograph on the Hubble Space Telescope. The spectrograph measured how light from nine distant quasars — ultra-bright sources of light in the cosmos — is affected by the circumgalactic medium of 11 star-forming galaxies. The Hubble readings indicated that some of the light from the quasars was being absorbed by a specific component in the circumgalactic medium: carbon, and lots of it. In some cases, they detected carbon extending out almost 400,000 light years — or four times the diameter of our own galaxy — into intergalactic space.

Future research is needed to quantify the full extent of the other elements that make up the circumgalactic medium and to further compare how their compositions differ between galaxies that are still making large amounts of stars and galaxies that have largely ceased star formation. Those answers could illuminate not just when galaxies like ours transition into stellar deserts, but why.

IMAGE: In this artistic rendering, light from a distant quasar passes through the halo-like circumgalactic medium of a galaxy on its way to Earth, where it is measured by Hubble's Cosmic Origins Spectrograph to determine the composition of the halo. Credit: NASA/ESA/A. Field

[lemurlegs]

Bewitched

Hi people, I'm back with a new chapter. This one is a little short compared to the others, but don't worry the next chapter is going to be long, but it is taking me some time to write it since I'm trying to establish some rules in my fic. So this chapter is more of a lore dump on how certain things work. The next one will also be lore heavy, but more focusing on our character. Anyways enjoy!

Wordcount: 3.6k

Previous chapter

Warning: none i think?

Chapter 4.

Unveiling The Mysteries

An Ultimate Guide To Demon Magic.

Written by Anonymous, 1994

Chapter 1. - The birth of demon magic

After Lucifer fell from heaven, a horde of angels loyal to his ideas fell with him. These fallen angels despised their holy nature and sought out the primordial Darkness that governed Hell before their arrival, pleading with her to transform them into beings as dark as she was.

The Darkness complied, twisting them into entities of corruption. The leading six angels became the first demons, who then went on to become the Princes of Hell, ruling over the rings.

After transforming the princes, the Darkness corrupted the rest of the angels, turning them into the first succubi, imps, hellhounds, and other demonic beings. She gave these new creatures the ability to reproduce and granted them a fragment of her magic, urging them to populate Hell. From these demons, the rest of the hellborns emerged.

In time, the first sinners began arriving. Within a few years, mortal souls outnumbered the hellborn demons. Initially, these creatures coexisted relatively peacefully, but mortal souls grew envious of their hellborn counterparts who possessed demon magic. However, sinners had one significant advantage: they couldn't die permanently. A sinner's soul would always regenerate after being broken.

Using their overwhelming numbers and unkillable nature, the sinners rose up against the hellborns and successfully defeated them.

As the sinners began hunting down the hellborns, the hellborn population started to dwindle. In response, the six princes and Lucifer decided to confine the sinners to a single ring, recognizing their power-hungry nature. Lucifer chose his own ring, Pride, to house the mortal souls.

Outraged, the sinners began destroying the Pride ring, demanding their authority back. When Lucifer refused to yield, the sinners eventually accepted their fate.

Over centuries, the sinners turned to controlling one another. They discovered they could trade souls, gaining the ability to control others at will. By harnessing the power of souls, they finally achieved what they sought: demon magic.

This type of demon magic differed from that of the hellborns, as it required manipulating a small scale of soul magic to function.

Over centuries, sinners seemed to evolve in ways no one could fully understand. Some began to fall to Hell with inherent abilities, without needing to acquire souls. Typically possessing one or two abilities, these demons had an initial advantage over others and became the first overlords.

Gradually, it became common for sinners to arrive in Hell with some form of magic. In recent years, almost every sinner has fallen with some magical ability, though usually only one or two. Despite this change, the amount of power granted upon death remains limited.

Many demons began speculating and studying their history to understand the source of these powers. Some theories suggested evolution, while others believed the Darkness was responsible…

Chapter 4. What is the soul and how does it make a sinner stronger?

In the realm of biology, the soul is seen as a powerful force present in all living beings. It's often described as pure energy, and it resides in a small space between the ribs.

Souls can greatly enhance an individual's power if enough are collected. These are typically obtained through agreements known as soul-binding deals.

When a demon acquires a soul, their abilities get stronger. And as they gather more souls, they unlock new magical abilities. This process of collecting demon souls is key to understanding the extent of one's powers.

Once you gain a soul, there's a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, as its essence integrates into your own. As the connection solidifies, a sense of empowerment washes over you, a tangible manifestation of the soul's influence.

As an individual accumulates demon souls, the process of integration becomes increasingly intricate, leading to profound changes in their magical capabilities. Each soul, with its unique essence and energy signature, acts as a catalyst for unlocking latent potential within the individual.

The integration of a demon soul initiates a complex alchemical process within the individual's being. Initially, there is a subtle but palpable shift in their magical resonance as the foreign energy merges with their own. This fusion sets off a chain reaction, as the energies of the soul and the individual intertwine and harmonize.

As more souls are collected, this process of integration becomes more pronounced, amplifying the individual's magical aura and expanding their repertoire of abilities. The combined energies of multiple souls create a synergistic effect, enhancing the individual's control over various aspects of magic.

Chapter 12. - How to discover your demon powers?

To unlock your demonic powers upon arrival in Hell, there are essential steps to take for optimal results:

Self-reflection is paramount. Start by delving into your past life on Earth. Consider your strengths, weaknesses, and the aspects of your identity that define you. Reflect on your deeds, your associations, and the circumstances of your demise. What were your greatest achievements? What sins weighed heaviest on your soul? These questions can offer valuable insights into the nature of your potential demonic abilities.

Next, focus on raising your energy levels. Developing heightened awareness and sensitivity to magical energies requires dedicated practice. Engage in regular meditation sessions to quiet the mind and attune yourself to the subtle vibrations of the spiritual realm. Through meditation, you can cultivate a deeper connection to the energies that surround you, paving the way for a clearer understanding of your demonic powers.

Here are some other tips to help with your discovery:

Take the time to explore the diverse environments of Hell and experiment with different rituals, incantations, and magical techniques. Engage with other inhabitants, seek out knowledge from experienced practitioners.

Be open to trial and error as you seek to uncover your powers. Not every attempt may yield immediate results, but each experience can offer valuable insights and lessons learned. Embrace failure as a natural part of the learning process and remain persistent in your quest for mastery.

Explore the realms of dreams and astral projection as avenues for discovering your latent abilities. During dream states, the barriers between the conscious and subconscious mind are weakened, allowing for deeper exploration of your innermost self and potentials…

With a surge of excitement, you slam the book shut, springing up from the bed.

"That's it!" you exclaim to yourself.

A dream spell—it's the answer. With it, you could easily uncover your latent abilities. If demon magic truly came from The Darkness, or as you know her as Mona, The Moon Goddess, then some lucid dreaming and a talk with her can be extremely helpful. Maybe she knows how to break the curse.

The book mentioned raising energy, but let's be real, yours is already plenty high. I mean, you've been at this for nearly 500 years. Yeah, your energy is more than raised enough.

As you gather the necessary ingredients for the spell—Chamomile tea, dried lavender, and a few words of Latin—you realize an hour has passed since your return from shopping. You've been so immersed in the book that you completely forgot about unpacking all the items you bought.

You approach the bags containing clothes and toiletries, setting about organizing them and putting everything away. Once that task is complete, you retrieve the phone Angel insisted you buy. His warning echoes in your mind.‘Make sure not to have the phone around Alastor.’

What the hell does that even mean?

As you finish organizing most of your belongings, you turn your attention to the remaining bags. Carefully unpacking the supplies, you arrange them on a small desk in your room. Setting out the altar cloth, divination tools, jars of herbs, candles, and crystals, you create a sacred space for your rituals and spellwork. Fresh grimoires and other books find their place among the items, ready for reference and study.

Turning to the little dressers on the opposite side of your bed, you remove the nightlights and adorn each dresser with an altar cloth, beginning to construct your deity altars. One for Mona, the Moon Goddess, and one for Fenja, the Huntress Goddess—your two main deities.

With the leftover supplies and items, you decide to stow them under your bed. Yet, a chilling realization dawns upon you. While you can secure your door against unwanted visitors, Alastor's ability to shadow warp means locked doors offer little protection. It's best to keep him from seeing your room.

You resolve to secure your door both magically and physically. Walking over to your altar, you grasp the ritual knife resting upon it. With careful precision, you draw the blade across your palm, creating a shallow cut, allowing a little blood to well up.

Approaching the door, you begin to inscribe the locking sigil—a complex pattern known only to you, designed to keep out unwanted intruders. With each stroke, you imbue the sigil with your intent, infusing it with protective energy.

“Mea voluntate hoc ostium obligo; Clausum et obsignatum nullum introitum ad inveniendum.”

As you spoke those words, the sigil you drew began to glow with a violet hue, sealing the door with powerful magic.

It's reassuring that your magic works even here in Hell. While you're on the quest to discover your demon powers, it's a comfort not to feel completely powerless.

As you step away from the door to tend to your wound, you're interrupted by frantic knocking.

Seriously? Now?—you think to yourself, wrapping a cloth around your hand before swinging the door open just enough to peer out.

Standing before you is Charlie, her face beaming with a big smile.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, but today's group activity is about to start, and I'd love it if you could join us," Charlie says, her voice eager.

"Group activity?" you respond, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yes, group activities are supposed to help with rehabilitating sinners to get them into Heaven. At least, that's the theory," she adds with a nervous laugh.

"Oookay," you reply, processing the information. "Um, listen, I'll be down in a second, okay? Just need to finish something."

"Sure, take all the time you need. We'll be downstairs in the living room," Charlie says, turning around and practically skipping with joy as she heads downstairs.

You scoff at the idea of getting into heaven. "I'd rather die again," you think to yourself.

Heaven is... well, let's just say you're perfectly fine with living in Hell. You don't exactly agree with heaven, and you have some terrible history with them.

Shaking off the thoughts of your past, you remind yourself it's best not to dwell on it. You walk towards your altar and pick up some yarrow leaves, squeezing them onto your cut to stop the bleeding. After a few moments, the bleeding stops. You proceed to clean the wound before heading downstairs.

By the time you arrive, everyone is already gathered in the living room, with the exception of Alastor. Not that you mind; while you don't have anything against him, you're cautious around someone who owns your soul, especially considering what you've read about him.

You make your way towards the group, who are sitting on the floor in a circle. Spotting Angel, who's engrossed in his phone, you head over to him. As he sees you approaching, he quickly puts his device away and greets you with a wide smile.

"Heyya, toots, finally decided to join the brainwashing?" Angel greets you with a smirk.

Vaggie shoots him a glare in response to his comment.

"Yeah, I suppose," you reply, deciding to play along. "By the way, how's your eye?" you ask, genuine concern lacing your words.

He waves you off. "I'll be fine. It was my fault, I ran into that lamppost," Angel responds, shooting you a look, silently asking you to go along with it.

"Yeah, quite clumsy of you," you agree, as Husk leans forward, interjects into the conversation.

"He seriously ran into a lamppost? It looks more like he got beat up or something. You sure it was a lamppost?" Husk questions, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yep, lamppost," you quickly confirm, covering for your friend.

Husk doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he doesn't press further.

"Alright, everyone, it's time for today’s group activity! Yay!" Charlie exclaims with enthusiasm, though her energy is met with awkward silence and uninterested faces.

She laughs a little, seemingly embarrassed, before standing up and clapping her hands together. Taking a moment to look over everyone, she begins, "Today's activity—I think it would be great if we talked a little bit about ourselves. Since we have a new resident, let's start with a simple one: What got you in Hell?"

At that question, everyone seemed to withdraw a little. While some began to explain their situations, you start to realize you have no idea what got you in Hell. I mean, you had plenty to choose from, but which one was the one that sealed your fate? You had no clue.

As your turn came for the circle confession, Alastor suddenly manifested from the shadows.

Charlie turned to him with excitement. "Hey, Al! Welcome back. We were just starting today's exercise. Would you like to join?"

"Actually, dear, I have something I nee—" Before he could decline, Charlie began explaining today's exercise.

"We're going to talk about our past! Ginger was just about to explain why she ended up in hell!" she exclaimed.

At that, Alastor's smile widened as he looked at you. "Well, I suppose I can make some time."

With that, he walked towards the group circle and sat down on the couch. Crossing his legs, Alastor locked eyes with you.

"Go on, dear. Don't stop on my account," he said with an amused smirk.

"Well, I've been thinking it over while everyone else got their turn, but I genuinely don't know what got me here," you admit.

At this, Alastor raises an eyebrow, seemingly confused by your answer, considering he remembers you telling him that you manipulated men and most probably murdered them too.

"What do you mean, Ginger?" asks Charlie.

"I don't think I'm innocent or something; I just don't know which of my sins got me here," you explain with a shrug.

“Well list a few of ya sins toots, mabe we can figure it out togetha’” Angel interjects.

"Ohoho, only if you want to stay here for a few hours; that's quite the long list to go over," you joke, having a good laugh at the idea. Unbeknownst to you, the group's faces wear a dreadful expression, while Alastor seems particularly delighted by your response.

"Oookay, let's move on," said Charlie, quickly moving to the next question. "Um, okay, what are three things you're really good at or just particularly enjoyed doing?"

“Sucking dick, snorting drugs and sleeping all day” Says Angel proudly. You couldn't help but giggle, though you noticed Alastor's disgusted look, hidden behind his smile. You had to admit, the guy was really committed to the whole smiley bit.

"Thank you, Angel, let's move on," Charlie quickly interjects with a nervous laugh. "Anyone else?"

Silence ensues.

“Oookay I guess I'll go then. I really enjoy singing, drawing and making new friends”

You can't help but find her adorable. It's hard to believe she's the princess of Hell.

"Who's next?" Charlie asks, breaking the silence.

Husk groans. "Fine, I'll go. Better to get it over with now," he mutters before clearing his throat. "I like cheap booze, poker, and magic."

At that, you light up. "Magic, you say? What kind of magic?"

"Like card tricks and illusions," Husk replies.

"Oh, uh, well, I'd love to see it sometime," you say, a little disappointed.

"You can show me some magic anytime, Pussycat," says Angel flirtatiously, leaning into Husk's personal space. Husk promptly shoves him away, hurling a list of profanities his way.

As everyone explains what they enjoy most, there are only two left: you and Alastor.

“Alright toots, you're up”

"Okay. Well, let's see. I really like history, particularly the 1920s. I enjoy reading, and I like singing." You explain. Let's just say you liking history is more so because you lived through a lot of it. You did some fuuuun things in the roaring twenties.

Now that sure got Alastor's attention.

"Hmm, I suppose it's my turn, isn't it?" Alastor muses. "Let's see, I quite enjoy tormenting souls, jazz music, and cooking."

Everybody grows quiet at that answer.

"Okay, that's, um, good for now, I suppose. You're all free to go," says Charlie as everybody starts leaving. That's when you realize Alastor didn't answer the first question. Curiosity piqued, you stopped everyone.

"Wait, Alastor, you didn't answer the first question. What got you in Hell?" you inquire, feeling a surge of curiosity.

If you thought the awkward silent pauses that happened tonight were bad, then you had another thing coming, because the whole group looked at you as if you had a death wish. And while cautious, you wouldn't say you were afraid of Alastor.

With a snap, his neck bent in an unnatural way.

"My, my, quite bold, are we?" he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Well, if you must know, I was a serial killer in the 1920s, cleaning the streets of New Orleans. I'm quite certain that's why I'm here."

You give him a smile.

"Thank you for sharing, though I don't see what's so wrong in cleaning up the world from vile, disgusting people," you say, looking up at him. Craning your head to look at the tall demon, you give him an innocent-looking smile.

The whole group stands wide-eyed, jaws on the floor at your interaction. Even Alastor seems shocked, but more happy shocked than disturbed shocked.

With that you inform everyone that you'll see them tomorrow. Before you go to sleep though, you go to the kitchen to make your cup of tea. And also to catch a few bites.

You select a mug adorned with a little fox design, evidently made just for you. Cute.

As you begin making the beverage, you sense a strange, dark energy manifesting behind you. You had felt it this morning too, when Alastor appeared behind you, and when he shadow warped you back to the hotel. So naturally, you call out to him with your body turned away, hoping to catch him off guard as he's likely planning to do the same.

"Hello, Alastor, fancy seeing you here," you say, still completely facing away.

"Well, hello to you too, darling. How did you know I was behind you?" he asks, surprised. Ha, got him.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," you reply, though in truth, it's more like centuries worth of experience and raised vibrations.

He hums at your response. "I actually want to ask something from you, dear."

"Shoot," you say.

"Pardon?" he asks, confused.

"I mean, go ahead. What did you want to ask?" you clarify.

"Ah, yes, of course. I need you to pick up some fresh cuts of meat from the butcher for me tomorrow. I'll write down the address for you," he says, snapping his fingers, and a notepad and pen appear in his hand.

Your eyes widened at that. Conjuration—wow, it's like this guy got all the cool powers Hell can offer.

"Okay, but why do you need me to get it for you?" you ask skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the demon. This felt like a trap, or at least like it wasn't just for the purpose of getting a slab of meat.

"Well, you certainly ask a lot of questions, dear. Don't you know curiosity killed the cat?" he responds as he leaned forward, now invading your personal space, inches from your face.

"Yes, but satisfaction brought it back," you quip back at him, not even flinching at his closeness.

At that response, you see Alastor getting visibly irritated. Antlers elongate, his smile stretches to unnatural lengths, and his eyes darken, pupils changing to radio dials.

"It would be in your best interests to do what I tell you without question," he warns, smile turning into more of a snarl.

You stand there unfazed; you've certainly seen scarier displays than some deer man throwing a tantrum. He might own your soul, but you're not going to let him walk all over you.

"Sure, whatever you say," you shrug, as you turn away from him and back to your sandwich, still unamused at his antics.

He returns to his normal form, slightly confused by your lack of fear. Then he turns to pick up the notebook and pen and scribbles something on the note. Tearing the page off, he hands you the paper.

"Pick it up by 9 and put it in the fridge. You don't need to worry about money; it's already paid," he instructs.

With that, he melts into the shadows, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

You eat the sandwiches you made as you take your piping hot tea up to your room. You reach your door, placing your hand over the place where the sigil is. Focusing your energy, you unlock it in mere seconds. As you close your door, you turn towards your altar, placing some dried lavender in your tea, preparing the drink for the spell. Taking the bundle of dried rosemary, you use your magic to light a small purple flame to burn it. You take the bundle and cleanse your room, your bed, your cup, and yourself. Then, you take the little spoon and mix it clockwise, drawing in the energy you're manifesting. With that, you begin your incantation.

"Somnia cosmica, nunc decerno;

Evigila, anima mea libera.

In somnis amplexu, conscientia video."

With that, you start sipping your tea. A foggy, cloud-like energy surrounds your mind, and you begin feeling incredibly tired. You chug the tea down, already feeling its effects.

After a quick bath and your nightly routine, exhaustion overtakes you. You slip into your cozy king-sized bed, dressed in your red sheer nightgown with fluffy furry trims, and you fall asleep within seconds.

As you drift off, you anticipate the journey ahead, eager to discover what you're truly capable of.

[tacoma-narrows]

Tac Talks Coasters - Post 70: #100

Photo Sources: First photos is mine / x / x

Shredder at Nickelodeon Universe!

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Opened: 2019 Manufacturer: Gerstlauer Height: 85 ft (25.9 m) Speed: 36 mph (57.9 kph) Length: 2,247 ft (683.8 m) My most recent ride: 2019

Shredder is a ride that I tend to kind of forget about. Having only been to American Dream's Nickelodeon Universe once (despite living only about 45 minutes from the mall), I've only gotten one ride on Shredder, and that was back in 2019. So with that, my memories aren't the clearest, but I'll do my best with what I can recall, along with what other people have said about it as well.

Generally, I remember Shredder being pretty middle of the road, all things considered. This is why it's here in the middle tier of my list with other rides I don't have very strong feelings about like Invertigo and Iron Dragon. This ride's main strength is its layout and how it's woven into the park. Throughout the ride, Shredder's track intertwines with the track from TMNT Shellraiser, which makes for a lot of interesting visuals, especially if both rides are running at the same time. This makes for a lot of interesting near-misses and headchoppers during the ride.

Shredder is also the tallest and longest free-spinning coaster in the world, or at least it was when it opened. I'm not sure if it still holds those records today. There are some taller and longer spinning coasters (the Mack Xtreme Spinners like Time Traveler and Ride to Happiness are both bigger) but those have controlled spins, whereas this is free-spinning.

Even though it's free-spinning, it doesn't really feel that way, leading into the ride's biggest downside: it's pacing. This ride has 5 mid-course brake runs, which makes sense for the amount of cars it runs, but they're frequent enough and slow the train enough to halt any significant spin you get going. When I rode Shredder, I remember being underwhelmed by how little it seemed to spin, and when that's the ride's main gimmick, there's not a whole lot else to fall back on.

I do still think it's worth a re-ride next time I'm back at Nickelodeon Universe, at least to refresh my memory of it, but I think it will probably stay here towards the middle of the pack.

Thanks for checking out today's coaster post! Keep an eye out for tomorrow's coaster!

[continuations]

Changing My Approach to Meetings to Take Back Control of My Attention

I let meetings take over my life. For reasons that I might get into some other time I said yes to way too many meetings. My schedule became ever more packed, often running back-to-back for entire days. It became harder and harder to find time to read, think, and write. I also had virtually no time to deal with emergencies when those came up. My attention was no longer mine to direct. It had been hijacked by meetings.

Having had a break from meetings on a six week voyage across the Atlantic, I will radically change my approach to meetings going forward. Of course I will still participate in board meetings and other group meetings. But I will dramatically cut down on one-on-one meetings both in terms of number and duration. Outside of a crisis situation I will no longer schedule standing meetings. And I will restrict the meetings to specific times, blocking out large chunks of time on my calendar for reading, thinking, and writing.

Broadly my meetings fall into three categories: information/decision, emotion, idea generation.

A large fraction of information/decision meetings is sadly a waste of time. They lack a clear objective and often amount to a recitation of somewhat random bits of information. Going forward I will ask for a lot more preparation in long-form writing. Sometimes the act of writing will obviate the need for such a meeting entirely as the decision will become clear. Often writing will significantly reduce the meeting time by focusing on the real substance. Also the only truly important such meetings are those where a type 1 decision needs to be made: something that cannot easily be reversed.

A category of meeting that can matter greatly is when a lot of emotion is in play that cannot be easily expressed or processed in writing. I am happy to take such meetings because I know how lonely being a founder/CEO can be. Ultimately though these meetings rarely make a long term difference beyond providing an immediate outlet for frustration or receiving some consolation. The reason is that it’s hard and maybe impossible for founders/CEOs to be vulnerable with an investor, which is what would be required to really process an emotionally challenging situation.  This is why having a coach or therapist is so incredibly important and I encourage every founder/CEO to have one.

Finally a great reason for a meeting is generative riffing. This works best in person and when both sides are well prepared. It is a lot like musicians improvising: only produces great music if they know how to play their instruments and how to give and take. I will set aside significant time for these kinds of meetings because they are often the source of something truly new (it also happens to be what we do a lot at USV internally).

I am excited to regain more control over my attention. I will post an update later this year on how this new approach is working out.

[captaincaptainfisher]

Hello! Welcome to the chapter of the growth records where I try very hard to write SOC as aro/ace without falling to the "he's a robot who doesn't understand normal biological stuff" trope. I pray I did ok (and please tell me if I didn't) (also sex mention ig)

Growth records, entry 15.

First, an update on the pups.

At a few cycles old, they have both opened their eyes and begun crawling around. They have made a few attempts to walk upright and even managed a few steps, but they're still rather unsteady on their feet. Their personalities have remained consistent. The blue one is loud and confident, exploring further into my structure and on occasion needing to be corralled back by Socks. The grey one is much calmer and quieter, sticking closer to his guardian and watching curiously when I work. I am still brainstorming names... I am determined to do better than Socks.

The pup grown from the white tuft remains in vitro. I can make out very little of its features from outside the machine looking in, but it seems to be a little smaller than the others were at birth. Its heartbeat is very weak, but slowly getting stronger... I believe it will survive to birth, but suspect some form of deformity or defect has occurred during development.

Socks has spent a significant amount of time by the machine lately, staring at the fetal pup. I hope, for his sake, that it makes it.

Now... onto some rather exciting recent events.

Socks has been exploring the structure with the pups, teaching them about life and the creatures there and *especially* about pole mimic plants. They've been learning rather quickly... just like he did.

At one point, he took them back through the portal. To see it? To learn? To meet their "source material"? I do not know. But...

Well, to add some context, he rushed into the portal after I made the discovery that the machine not only produced slugpups, but theoretically, could produce adults as well. Socks was halfway out the door already as I was wondering how this would work...

He returned several hours later with two identically grey pieces of fur, and as I attempted to put the machine to work, the reasoning for his haste became clear.

The machine did indeed do as I expected- sped past the fetal stage in a matter of minutes, zoomed through adolescence, and in a manner of hours, two adult female slugcats emerged from the machine.

Their bodies are mostly grey, with an identical purple stripe down their backs. Their fronts have a more interesting pattern that extends from their muzzles down to their bellies, with more stripes of the same colour on their arms and legs. One has these patterns in a light pink, the other yellow. They are very similar in body structure as well as in colour, both being a fair bit smaller than Socks (though he is rather larger than average, so I don't believe this is a trait of their sex) with short, round snouts and long, thick tails.

After a brief period of disorientation upon exiting the artificial wombs, they immediately began interacting with Socks with an air of familiarity and friendliness. They seemed to recognise each other, which has very interesting implications for the use of my machine.

Firstly, the way they act with Socks is enough to lead me to believe they have retained the memories from whoever the fur belonged to before Socks brought it to me. I'm going to have to carefully monitor the pups as they grow to see if they also remember anything of a previous life elsewhere. I'm also going to look over the blueprints of the machine again... There were several times during assembly when the reasons for doing things didn't make sense to me as I followed the instructions. Hidden in one of these confusing moments must be an answer to how an entire personhood can be transferred through only the DNA in a scrap of fur.

Secondly, the way they act with Socks is teaching me more about their species.... And perhaps what a neglectful caregiver I have been.

My only previous experience with romantic companionship was from observing the ancients and other iterators. I never saw much need for it. I had iterator friends, even an ancient or two I was close with, and their friendship was something that gave me the will and the way to keep going during some of my darkest moments. But I never had any desire to kiss them, or have them be one person more special to me than anybody else. Some other iterators built romantic relationships with each other, but as we're all stuck in our cans, it only seemed to make them more lonely missing each other.

In a similar vein of things, some iterators were created with the ability to copulate, and some were not. The ones that were had more frequent visits from the ancients, and I occasionally heard the ones that weren't wishing that they were. It always seemed odd and unnecessary to me. Like many, the Karma 2 mural was painted on my old structure, and I often instructed my overseers to avoid it so I would not have the strange visual.

I have mentioned before that I occasionally forgot that Socks required food when he was a pup, due to myself having no need for it.

In a similar way, due to my own complete disinterest, I never considered that he might desire a romantic or sexual partner. I thought of companionship, but assumed that I would be enough of a friend to him to cover that basis, though I never imagined we would form an actual bond.

But his excitement at finally having others close to his age to interact with... It tells me I might have been wrong.

He treats them both with similar levels of affection, and they have both quickly bonded with and assumed mutual care of the pups.

The one in pink seems very cheerful, and has been quite excited to explore my structure and play with both Socks and the pups. The one in yellow has been much more mellow (if you'll pardon the rhyme) and seems to get on well with the grey pup. She has been quietly observing me for some time... I have not yet given them the mark of communication, so I know she is not listening to me, but she seems to be doing her best.

I'm glad that Socks is not lonely anymore... Though I may have to make some accommodations to my structure for the increasing slugcat population.

And get better at thinking of names.

Recording ends.

[writingonjorvik]

The After Stories

So I was musing to myself about how I thought narratively the Soul Riders were most likely to be set up as more cyclical characters for what I think the next major story arc is most likely to be, what I called the Witch Wars arc in this ask response, and I ended up doing more than the Soul Riders, so I figured I'd share those thoughts.

I'll start with the Soul Riders since I've put the most thought into their arcs, also they're the most important characters right now, so it makes the most sense. I really only think one of the Soul Riders should be in the next story arc as a major character, for a number of reasons, though I doubt that'll be the case. I'm also following the assumption that, based on what we've been told in plot about severing the connection between Pandoria and Jorvik meaning the Soul Riders will lose their powers, that after Garnok is defeated, the connection Aideen created with Pandoria is cut and they don't have magic, or they only have whatever magic is left.

Easiest first, Lisa. I think Lisa is going to return to her music career and take time to recover. Personally, I think the writers need a step back from Lisa. She went from being what I had always thought was the leader of the group in SSL (and in the books) to her country redesign and her being largely the party healer. And I think there is a really good story arc to have there. Not to lean into the trope that metal and rock are symbolic of rebellious phases, but I think there's a story you can tell about the eras of Lisa's music genres being reflections of her stages of grief, the more punk genres being her rage followed by her return to country music as acceptance, a connection with her mother, and a way to maintain that connection as she processes that grief. I think a lot of folks will conflate stadium & pop country with classic country music which does also hold a lot of punk values which sets her up for a return, but I also think a step back from Lisa post all of the crazy would give her time to recover and take that symbolism and make it material. So I think she should take a more minor role in the next story arc.

Second easiest, Linda should not be a major player in the Witch Wars arc. Firstly, Linda is arguably the Soul Rider we've spent the most time with. It makes sense why, she's an easy lore dump character, but that also is a reason why in it of itself. If Linda is always our source of worldbuilding, there isn't an opportunity for other characters to provide information that feels relevant, and also it takes that opportunity away from the player character to discover in their own exploration. But the biggest reason I think is that Linda has probably had the least amount of time to pursue her own personal goals. There is absolutely a story there to tell about how major achievement is a personal scale, you don't need to achieve the world in order to be successful, but I don't think that's a story SSO will tell and it also falls a little flatter when Linda is part of the team that did save the world from Garnok. But comparably, Linda has the least amount of achievement to her name. Like, imagine being able to see the future, not to mention be unquestionably intelligent, with very clear goals of going to university and pursuing your interests and expanding your skills as a writer, saving the world and then watching all of your friends' dreams of reality come true. Visions made material. Lisa's music career, Anne's success as a dressage rider, a model, going on to be a vet, Alex being set up to take over a culturally significant organization (which I'll come back to), and you. Seeing all of it, and never getting there. And then the visions start to go away. There was already the moral question of could Linda use her powers to cheat, not that she would, but I imagine the guilt of the idea probably prevented her from pursuing entry exams because, she could. See the future to see the exam answers to study perfectly. And the fear of it prevents her from applying. And now her powers are leaving, she has the chance to be honest about it again. To provide she was more than her role as the Moon Soul Rider. She deserves to take it and come back to the story a more fulfilled person.

Alex has a good opportunity to be semi-present. She has been set up to take Elizabeth's place and with the defeat of Garnok, there's finally enough breathing room to do so. Yes, I'm sure the druids will be thrown into more ordeals with the fallout of their magic, which leads into the Witch Wars and pursuing answers there, but someone has to take up the mantle now that the chaos of Garnok is passed. And we were told that was Alex. It's a huge responsibility shift for her too, one she's going to have to learn on the job. I'm sure she'll receive help but it's not like she can go to school for how to be the leader of a magical organization. And it's not like her predecessor is there to guide her. There's also the existing tradition that she's breaking by taking Elizabeth's place as the Lightning Soul Rider becoming the Keeper's leader, where the Sun Soul Rider would normally take that place. But these are unprecedented times, the druids are losing a major part of their magic, so maybe it's time for a change. I think that sets Alex up well to be both present in the story, as the leader of the druids supporting us, the PC, going to learn more about witch magic to help the druids, but also take a step back. She has to stay in Valedale now, be a present leader and coordinator. But of course, it's Alex, she's bound to show up for big confrontations.

Which leaves Anne as the last Soul Rider. And I think she remains present. She's the Soul Rider we got the least amount of time with, but she also has the least reason to settle down. She still has a lot of grief to process from her imprisonment. And, as I said in my last post, I don't think we will kill the Generals. They might die in losing Garnok as like, their life source, but I don't think we will kill them directly. I'll get more into them later, but at the very least, I think Darko survives and Sands dies. And that right there sets Anne up perfectly. In a post Garnok world, in a world without magic, and the man chiefly responsible for her imprisonment is still out there. If anyone is going to be desperate for her magic back, it's Anne. There is still an angry part of her that cannot rest, and so when magic starts to fade and the PC pursues answers with the witches, Anne is right there. Not to mention, if we do get a new quadrant of the map, portal magic would be great for teleporting in and then reconnecting physically after main story shenanigans through North Link. But particularly after we've seen Anne proving she's not only back, but she's among some of the most powerful Sun Soul Riders in history, losing that would be devastating. Anne pursues answers about magic, and is our primary ally moving forward from the original cast.

Also in all of this, the Guardians. We don't know if in losing their Soul Rider powers the Guardians survive (I think they will), but we don't know if the Soul Riders will be able to talk to them. Like does Aideen's Gift maintain itself. Of all the Soul Riders, Anne probably has the most experience of not being able to talk to her horse, and so I see her thriving in this condition of still being able to connect with Concorde in a way none of the other Soul Riders can because of her time working with Concorde as a foal. And I see that causing a rift with the Soul Riders too as suddenly Anne is the odd man out again, and now that their grief in losing that particular connection is broken, there is some true feelings coming out about how they expect Anne to help in a way she only ever got resistance or correction for feeling with Concorde.

Quick ones off the list next:

Fripp goes to sleep. I don't know if he dies, I think he probably like. Does whatever Aideen did and fades into the magic of the world. I think he comes back, but without the connection to Pandoria, he can't maintain his consciousness without more magic. It also gets him off the table for the same reasons I think Linda should back seat, he knows too much and that takes away from the player's ability to discover.

Avalon dedicates himself to supporting Alex in taking over the leadership role. He's more confident now and speaks up for her against the rest of the council and commits himself as her primary ally and mentor within the druids.

Evergray is going back to the North with us. Without a connection to Pandoria, he is still a magic researcher. Possibly even tasked with finding another connection back to Pandoria, which leads to whatever he was doing in the North. He also has the most connection with witches there.

Rhiannon is also going back to the North. She's a Warden, she knows more about magic outside of the Circles from her proximity to the witches, and the Wardens aren't, kinda aren't, are something other than druids. Not to mention, if the connection with Pandoria cuts off magic and possibly losing Aideen's Gift, Rhiannon is the most set up to help reestablish this connection. I think it will, it's Aideen's Gift to Jorvik, it was her own magic, but there's a plot there to connection with the Wardens.

Ydris leaves. I know he's the game's Internet sexy man, but we've honestly seen very little of him since Fripp's recovery and we know his goal is to save his home. If the connection is broken, Ydris goes home to Pandoria. He can return in a later arc, with I think what would be fitting, a redesign of his original model since time is soup there, but I see very little for him to do in a witch arc unless he can't make it back home, which does have potential in him being a begrudging ally as he's made like. Semi-human from being cut off from Pandoria.

Mrs. Holdsworth and Sive are obvious, it's called the Witch Wars arc, they would be joining as major characters. Great opportunity too to introduce Marzipan from concept work from forever ago here as our young witch companion.

I think Justin should get a baby arc just to give him a better ending. He should go train with the Wild Whispers before going to train with Herman.

Speaking of Herman, he comes back briefly because his brother, Coyote, is in northwest Jorvik, so that gives us a connection into the not magic stories and exploring the cities there. Also, that sets up CHILL to come in with GED and we can have that semi-mundane arc too.

On to bad guys!

GED first, there's no reason why these guys wouldn't be back or even thriving without DC competing with them. They're low stakes bad guys, they've been basically run out of southwest Jorvik, they're very likely to be back in a new region.

I already said it, Mr. Sands dies. Look, his wife is dead, the devil he made a pact with dies, and he was human. There is no reason that he survives unless we get the redemption arcs I've discussed before happen, which are not remotely set up in the story. The man is death flagged, I don't make the rules. Turns to dust, bye.

Darko survives. I think having Darko be less present now means he can be set up to do the whole take over the vacuum when Sands is gone. Maybe he sees the writing on the wall, this is a kids' game and Garnok is going to lose. So he stops trying to go for Sands and bides his time. And when that happens, guess who steps in. A magic inventor with the remnants of resources to continue to be a problem and no competition anymore to do so. The rest of DC is goons, now he gets to horde a black market of magic to himself. DC dissolves, all the assets relocated before charges could be pressed. No charges to press on a dissolved company, the leading members of the board dead in a freak accident of their own making, there's no one there to hold responsbile. And Darko wasn't a General, he was just their inventor, conveniently missing from records, assumed dead, ready to be a main antagonist in the next arc under a new evil corporation.

I don't think all the Dark Riders die. The least likely is Erissa. She has gone through so many iterations just to finally get released, Erissa survives. Escapes capture even. Blends in, disappears, starts whispering into powerful ears. She becomes a problem. She also looks like a kid, they're not going to kill her for a slew of age rating reasons.

Because that's the thing, the Dark Riders aren't human. They're different kinds of aliens, by our best guesses. From different worlds too. Katja's ice world and Sabine's dark star are not the same places. If anyone survives the break from the pact with Garnok, it's these four.

Jessica is iffy, she is arguably the least developed. Of any of the Dark Riders to team up with Darko, I see it being Jessica. She reads as having a need for control, and suddenly cut off from her magic, either from being more injured than the others or the loss of the portals powered by Pandoria's magic, I think a reluctant deal with Darko for some scraps of magic to survive, that's where Jessica lands.

Katja leaves. She does not care about people. Of anyone in the story to become a permanent cryptid, it's Katja. She just goes back to being the Ice Witch of Icendell, if not through that portal. She's here because of her pact with Garnok, I see no reason for her to stay. She isolates herself until she can recover enough power to be a menace again.

Sabine is difficult but I see her as the character the community most wants to have a redemption arc (for various reasons), as well as the story setting up the most for a redemption arc, but I don't know if SSO would go there. Sabine has a riding club, she's made connections, however trivial to her now, on Jorvik. And something else, she's discovered a new kind of power, one she could never possess on her Dark Star home. People, control over people, working together to achieve more power. There is no civilization to control back home, it's a world of beasts, hunters, predators, there is no civilization, nothing to control, just survival. There are here. And so while I see her probably still being fairly narcissistic about it, I also see a story where Sabine recognizes that she can only have that kind of authority if she protects this new home. Very Greed from FMA kind of character twist. So she is a partial ally then, but it opens the door for more opportunities of, maybe not altruism, but more potential for good.

I think that's everyone who's a primary NPC. But let me know who I missed. Or if you think otherwise.

[mareislandfoundation]

Friday the 13th

Head out to Lands’ End in San Francisco and you will encounter what appears to be an observation platform overlooking the mouth of the Golden Gate. It is a memorial built with the battle-scarred bridge wings removed from the Heavy Cruiser USS San Francisco (CA-38) following an epic night battle.

In early 1942 an Allied intelligence aircraft identified that the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) had begun constructing a large airfield on an island nobody had ever heard of. Should this airfield become operational, Japanese long-range bombers would threaten the critical sea lanes from the United States to Australia and New Zealand. U.S. Admiral Ernest King, Commander in Chief, United States Fleet, directed the invasion of Guadalcanal to deny the use of the airstrip by the Japanese. With that decision, the stage was set for a bloody battle on land sea and air. The battle began on 7 August 1942, when Allied (primarily U.S.) forces landed against light resistance on Guadalcanal, and the adjacent Tulagi, and Florida Islands in the Solomon Islands. Things rapidly escalated as the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters responded by assigning the Imperial Japanese Army's 17th Army, with the task of retaking Guadalcanal at all costs. In addition, consistent with IJN naval war plans the emerging Guadalcanal conflict was anticipated to provide the opportunity for a decisive naval engagement.  Accordingly, orders were issued to converge on the island. The Japanese General admonished his troops that this was going to be the decisive battle between Japan and the United States. A battle that would determine the rise or fall of the Japanese empire. He was right, and it would take six-months and tens of thousands of lives before the Guadalcanal campaign was decided.

Guadalcanal’s land and naval battles became one of the bloodiest campaigns of the war and it remains legendary in US naval and Marine history. The campaign ended in a US victory and, even though the Marines originally felt deserted by the Navy, the battle at sea was actually bloodier than that on land. Two Mare Island built heavy cruisers the USS Chicago (CA-29) and the San Francisco figured prominently in the ongoing struggle. After the Navy first left the Marines ashore to fend for themselves, it was decided to send available assets on what amounted to a suicide mission pitting US cruisers against the overwhelming superiority of IJN Battleships. The San Francisco, source of  those bridge wings on Lands’ End, played a significant role in that fight which would ultimately result in naval casualties that were three times higher than the losses of the Marines and Army combined. The sea battles mostly took place at night when the IJN would sail down the slot between Florida Island and Guadalcanal to attack US naval assets and bombard US land forces on Guadalcanal.

On March 9, 1933, San Francisco’s namesake, and the second heavy cruiser to be built at Mare Island Naval Shipyard, slid down the building ways. Champagne was not available due to the Prohibition, so she was christened with water from the famed Hetch-Hetchy water system. The christening fluid was even rarer than champagne at the time because after 19 years and many bond issues none of it had yet reached San Francisco (nor would any until another year and half had passed). Approximately 25,000 people gathered on both sides of the channel to see the launch during those early days of the Depression. Few could have envisioned that ten years later the heavily damaged cruiser would limp back to Mare Island for repairs following a night-time engagement in the campaign to capture Guadalcanal.

On the night of Friday, November 13, 1942, the San Francisco attacked a vastly superior Japanese force As part of Task Group 67.4 off the coast of Guadalcanal. It was the most brutal close-quarters naval engagement of World War II. The San Francisco took 45 direct hits and sustained heavy damage while sinking one Japanese ship and seriously damaging two others (including a battleship). With half her crew killed or wounded the remaining crew members performed valiantly as they tended to the casualties and performed damage control. Through their efforts the badly damaged San Francisco survived to fight another day. One hundred and six sailors, including Rear Admiral Daniel Callaghan, were killed and 131 more wounded in what Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King called "…the most furious sea battle fought in history." The battle of Friday the 13th was an American strategic victory despite the loss of two cruisers and four destroyers. On that night the valiant actions of those ships prevented the IJN from shelling the Cactus Air Force on Guadalcanal. The next morning that air force decimated the IJN troopships attempting to reinforce and resupply Japanese forces on Guadalcanal. It was the beginning of the end for Japanese efforts to win back Guadalcanal and the San Francisco was a key part of that victory.

The San Francisco was sent back to Mare Island for repairs. Arriving in her namesake city she and her crew were celebrated in week long festivities before returning to Mare Island for repair of her extensive battle damage. By the end of the seven naval battles in the Guadalcanal campaign over 5,000 Americans were killed at sea, and the battleground would be become so littered with sunken combatants that it became known as “Iron Bottom Sound.” To this day you can visit the memorial featuring the battle-scarred bridge wings of the San Francisco at Lands’ End in the city of San Francisco. When you do, reflect on those men who stood watch and died on that bridge knowing they were on a suicide mission during a furious night battle against vastly superior forces.

Dennis Kelly

[freneticfloetry]

🌸🔪🛼

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

I do! I have a cat, who’s an utter pill and the very smolest bean and the uncontested love of my life. She had a birthday last week, which she shares with Josh Groban, and got tuna and a new kitty q-tip.

This is Chloe!

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Maybe not the weirdest, but I did spend a significant amount of time researching where in England one might find a meat grinder large enough for a grown man to fall into. (And, you know, die.) It was for a Sherlock fic that’s still half-written on my hard drive.

They make it back to Baker Street two days later, with various scrapes and bruises and Sherlock's coat hung out for cleaning. Trailing Sherlock Holmes all over London is one thing. Traipsing after him through countless acres of farm country is entirely another. Sherlock has spent the past forty-eight hours searching for clues across half of Surrey Hills, spouting facts about farming equipment and rare breeds of cow. John has spent the past forty-eight hours trying to keep various local authorities from strangling Sherlock to death. By the time they'd followed the trail to its end — from crop fields in Wotton to an abattoir in West Horsley to a city farm on the south bank of the Thames — and put all the pieces in place ('seems an odd path for a plow, unless the intention was indeed "drunken crop circle"' and 'yes, how thoughtful of him to clean the equipment alone in the dead of night' and 'the herd sourced for the beef in question can't possibly be Gloucester cattle, look at the bone density of the carcass!'), John was weary and rank and about ready to swear off meat altogether.

Ah, the things we do for fiction.

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🗣️ 🛏️ 💦 😚 💕

Play Writer Truth or Dare with me!

[haunted-van-au]

Knowing you, Logan, I bet you’ve been considering things and planning what you can. Do you have any sort of goal or plan you’d like to get to if things go well for a while?

The trees closed around Logan quicker than expected. After only a few minutes of walking, he couldn't see the van when looking back. Maybe once upon a time one could have heard cars driving along the once busy highway nearby, but other than their van and likely some military vehicles, there weren't many cars these days.

He was careful to mark his trail by using a piece of chalk to mark trees every so often so as to not get lost. It would be very easy to get lost in these woods.

The forest was eerily silent. He didn't hear any birds chirping or small animals rustling through the leaves. On one hand, this was good. Zombies made a lot of sound just by moving around let alone when they started vocalizing. With how many twigs there were to snap and how few things there were to do so, Logan would hear any zombie coming from a mile away.

Yet, there was some irrational, very human part of himself that saw the lack of noise and abundance of foliage for predators to hide in a threat. The instinctual fear made his chalk symbols get increasingly shaky.

To distract himself, he decided to turn his mind to an actual danger, and one he could maybe confront by thinking up a solution. (If there was a solution.)

Winter was coming. He could feel it in the crisp fall air and could hear it in the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. Most leaves were still on the trees and a significant were still green, but it was a harbinger of a danger humans had long thought they'd eradicated.

Thomas had a heater which was probably an advantage many survivors did not have, but there was more to survival than a heat source. They did not have enough supplies to survive the winter in the van. Even if they filled up the van with supplies (if they could find that many), it wouldn't be enough for 3 people to survive the winter. So, supply runs would be necessary. Logan couldn't imagine taking his current trip in snow.

And snow was another issue in itself. Their survival strategy so far had been to keep moving and drive away from any groups of zombies that were too large (the fact that larger and larger hordes were forming were another issue likely not related to the oncoming winter). But with snow came poor road conditions and there was no one to clean off the highways let alone the back roads. What if the van got stuck in a snowdrift? Thomas could help them by making sure they didn't need gas or oil, but could he make the car walk over snowdrifts? It was unlikely.

There were two possible solutions: drive south to hopefully avoid the snow or find somewhere to park for the winter that was both securable and near food and water. Both posed their own problems. Human instinct said to go south in the pursuit of warmth, but logic reminded him that even the south of the continent sometimes got a significant amount of snow. Also, he had started to notice a pattern with the free walking hordes they saw. Many of them, especially the larger ones seemed to be wandering south themselves.

If Logan's human instincts were urging him south and zombies were things that had once been human but now had no logic to think of, was it possible they were being pulled south as well?

Logan is open for questions.

You are free to explore the forest.

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Read the important bits of the story in order.