#Cistern plate

[raajrajasharma]

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[bathroomforless]

Explore the Toilets by Style collection at Bathroom4Less, offering a wide selection of options to suit any bathroom design. Choose from close coupled toilets, back to wall toilets, wall hung toilets, and comfort height toilets. We also feature rimless toilets, including rimless close coupled, rimless back to wall, and rimless wall hung toilets. Complete your setup with toilet accessories, such as toilet seats, flush plates, concealed cisterns, and wall hung toilet frames. Whether you prefer modern or traditional designs, Bathroom4Less has the perfect solution for your space!

[tapron-uk]

Concealed Cistern Types

The Tapron guide on concealed cistern types delves into their aesthetic and functional benefits for modern bathrooms. It highlights how these cisterns, hidden behind walls or within furniture, contribute to a sleek, uncluttered look while optimizing space. The article also covers the variety of flush plates available, offering customization to match any bathroom decor. By enhancing both design and usability, concealed cisterns are presented as a sophisticated solution for contemporary bathroom setups. For a deeper exploration, you can read the full guide here.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Actinopterygii - Siluriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Siluriformes

Common Name: “catfish”

Families: 41 - Diplomystidae (“velvet catfishes”), Cetopsidae (“whale catfishes”), Nematogenyiidae (“Mountain Catfish”), Trichomycteridae (“pencil catfishes”), Callichthyidae (“armored catfishes”), Loricariidae (“suckermouth catfishes”/“plecos”), Scoloplacidae (“spiny dwarf catfishes”), Astroblepidae (“climbing catfishes”), Chacidae (“squarehead catfishes”), Plotosidae (“eeltail catfishes”), Ritidae (“velvet catfishes”), Ailiidae (ailiid catfishes), Horabagridae (“imperial catfishes”), Bagridae (“naked catfishes”), Akysidae (“stream catfishes”), Amblycipitidae (“torrent catfishes”), Sisoridae (sisorid catfishes), Pangasiidae (“shark-catfishes”), Siluridae (silurid catfishes), Kryptoglanidae (“Indian Cave Catfish”), Aspredinidae (“banjo catfishes”), Auchenipteridae (“driftwood catfishes”), Doradidae (“thorny catfishes”), Heptapteridae (“three-barbeled catfishes”), Phreatobiidae (“cistern catfishes”), Pimelodidae (“long-whiskered catfishes”), Pseudopimelodidae (“bumblebee catfishes”), Clariidae (“airbreathing catfish”), Heteropneustidae (“airsac catfishes”), Ariidae (“sea catfishes”), Anchariidae (“Malagasy catfishes”), Austroglanididae (“rock-catfishes”), Cranoglanididae (“armorhead catfishes”), Ictaluridae (“North American freshwater catfishes”), Lacantuniidae (“Chiapas Catfish”), Amphiliidae (“loach catfishes”), Malapteruridae (“electric catfishes”), Mochokidae (“squeakers”/“upside-down catfish”), Auchenoglanididae (“flatnose catfishes”), Claroteidae (claroteid catfishes), and Schilbeidae (“schilbeid catfishes”)

1 species without family: Conorhynchos conirostris

Anatomy: scale-less, either with armor plates or “naked”; most have prominent barbels; heavy, bony head; reduced swim bladder; most have a flattened head; unable to protrude their mouths; many larger species have chemoreceptors across their entire body; generally small, sometimes nonexistent eyes; defensive spines on the leading rays of their dorsal and pectoral fins, which are venomous in many species; use sounds to communicate

Diet: diverse array of diets between species, including large to small animals, detritus, and blood; most are bottom feeders

Habitat/Range: inland or coastal waters of every continent except Antarctica; more than half of all catfish species live in the Americas.

Evolved in: Late Cretaceous

Propaganda under the cut:

Siluriformes are the vertebrate order with the largest number of venomous species. Most species are not dangerous to humans, but members of the family Plotosidae and of the genus Heteropneustes have a powerful venom that may hospitalize humans who receive a sting. The Striped Eel Catfish (Plotosus lineatus) has a sting which can cause mild to severe reactions in humans, including death, though no human deaths have been recorded as a result of a Striped Eel Catfish sting.

Members of the Malapteruridae family lack the spines of other catfish, instead opting for the ability to generate electricity in defense. Some species can deliver a shock of up to 350 volts from their electric organs. Electric catfish are found in tropical Africa and the Nile River, where they were well-known by Ancient Egyptians. The Early Dynastic King Narmer (meaning “painful/raging/angry catfish”) was named after the animal, sometimes with the abbreviation of just a catfish symbol.

Catfish have one of the largest ranges in size within a single Actinopterygiian order. Many catfish are 12 cm (4.7 in) or less, but some reach truly massive sizes. Record holders include the Wels Catfish (Silurus glanis), the Mekong Giant Catfish (Pangasianodon gigas) (image 1), and the Piraíba (Brachyplatystoma filamentosum), which can all reach over 2 m (6.6 ft) long, with the Piraíba getting up to 3.6 metres (12 ft) long and weighing 200 kilograms (440 lb). Myths exist of some of these giant catfishes being man-eaters, though verifiable evidence of this has yet to be produced.

The Mekong Giant Catfish is critically endangered due to overfishing, as well as loss of water quality due to development and dams. Fishing for wild Mekong Giant Catfish is illegal in the wild in Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia, but the bans appear to be ineffective and the fish continue to be caught in all three countries. Millions of tons of the fish are harvested in Cambodia every year, with even spawning fish being overharvested. Commercial international trade of wild-caught specimens is banned. Thailand is the only country to allow fishing for private stocks of Mekong Giant Catfish, and breeding for the aquarium trade.

In the Southern United States, catfish species may be known by a variety of slang names, such as "mud cat", "polliwogs", or "chuckleheads". These nicknames are not standardized, so one area may call a Bullhead Catfish (genus Ameiurus) by the nickname "chucklehead", while in another state or region, “chucklehead” refers to the Blue Catfish (Ictalurus furcatus).

The Walking Catfish (Clarias batrachus) is named for its ability to "walk" and wiggle across dry land, which it does to find food and disperse to better environments. Walking Catfish normally live in slow-moving and often stagnant water in ponds, swamps, streams, and rivers, as well as in flooded rice paddies or temporary pools that may dry up. When this happens, the Walking Catfish simply “walks” to a new aquatic environment.

The Candiru (Vandellia cirrhosa) is a parasitic freshwater catfish with a reputation for swimming up the urethra of bathing humans… however this is most likely a myth. Historical stories of the Candiru entering human orifices seem to have arisen from the trend of European explorers, doctors, and missionaries regularly using exaggerated accounts of native people to advance their economic and social status through fantastical writings. In reality, the tiny catfish slips into the gills of larger fish and latches onto the fish’s gill chamber, drinking the host’s blood. Once it is full, it releases its bite and swims away. In most cases, the host fish do not seem to be badly wounded by the tiny vampire.

Catfish are easy to farm in warm climates, leading to inexpensive and safe food at local grocers. About 60% of U.S. farm-raised catfish are grown within a 65-mile (100-km) radius of Belzoni, Mississippi. Channel Catfish (Ictalurus punctatus) support a $450 million/yr aquaculture industry. Catfish raised in inland tanks or channels are usually considered safe for the environment, since their waste and disease can be contained and not spread to the wild.

In 2003, The United States Congress passed a law preventing imported catfish from being labeled as catfish, saying that it would put pressure on the U.S. catfish industry. Thus, the Vietnamese shark-catfish Pangasius bocourti is called Basa, “Basa Fish”, or “Swai”.

In the mythology of the Japanese Shinto religion, earthquakes are caused by a giant underground catfish called Namazu. The god Takemikazuchi restrains the catfish underneath a stone. When the Kashima-god lets his guard fall, Namazu thrashes about, causing violent earthquakes. After the 1855 Edo earthquake Namazu-e were printed giving more popularity to the catfish kami. In one catfish print the divine white horse of Amaterasu is depicted knocking down the earthquake-causing catfish.

Catfish are quite popular in the home aquarium trade, and are often sold as bottom feeders and algae eaters. Most popular are species of the genus Corydoras: small, schooling catfish beloved for their small size and peaceful nature. Species of the family Loricariidae (image 4) are often called “plecos”, due to the popularity of the Suckermouth Catfish (Hypostomus plecostomus). They are often lauded as “algae eaters” and “tank cleaners”, but the diet of pleco species vary, some eating more meat, invertebrates, or wood, and they contribute more waste to the tank than algae they ingest. Some species of pleco (such as the eponymous H. plecostomus) get to be quite large, and when they outgrow their tanks may end up dumped into bodies of water outside of their native habitat, where they can become invasive species. It is important to research the full life history of any fish you intend to keep, and not keep them for a single “task”.

Remember my immortal bumblebee catfish? Yeah, he’s still alive. I also have a school of Glass Catfish (Kryptopterus vitreolus) (image 3)!

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A circle of overlapping semi-circular bright pink pickles arranged on a plate, viewed from a low angle. End ID]

مخلل اللفت / Mukhallal al-lifit (Pickled turnips)

The word "مُخَلَّل" ("mukhallal") is derived from the verb "خَلَّلَ"‎ ("khallala"), meaning "to preserve in vinegar." "Lifit" (with diacritics, Levantine pronunciation: "لِفِتْ"), "turnip," comes from the root "ل ف ت‎", which produces words relating to being crooked, turning aside, and twisting (such as "لَفَتَ" "lafata," "to twist, to wring"). This root was being used to produce a word meaning "turnip" ("لِفْتْ" "lift") by the 1000s AD, perhaps because turnips must be twisted or wrung out of the ground.

Pickling as a method of preserving produce so that it can be eaten out of season is of ancient origin. In the modern-day Levant, pickles (called "طَرَاشِيّ‎" "ṭarāshiyy"; singular "طُرْشِيّ" "ṭurshiyy") make up an important culinary category: peppers, carrot, olives, eggplant, cucumber, cabbage, cauliflower, and lemons are preserved with vinegar or brine for later consumption.

Pickled turnips are perhaps the most commonly consumed pickles in the Levant. They are traditionally prepared during the turnip harvest in the winter; in the early spring, once they have finished their slow fermentation, they may be added to appetizer spreads, served as a side with breakfast, lunch, or dinner, eaten on their own as a snack, or used to add pungency to salads, sandwiches, and wraps (such as shawarma or falafel). Tarashiyy are especially popular among Muslim Palestinians during the holy month of رَمَضَان (Ramaḍān), when they are considered a must-have on the إِفْطَار ("ʔifṭār"; fast-breaking meal) table. Pickle vendors and factories will often hire additional workers in the time leading up to Ramadan in order to keep up with increased demand.

In its simplest instantiation, mukhallal al-lifit combines turnips, beetroot (for color), water, salt, and time: a process of anaerobic lacto-fermentation produces a deep transformation in flavor and a sour, earthy, tender-crisp pickle. Some recipes instead pickle the turnips in vinegar, which produces a sharp, acidic taste. A pink dye (صِبْغَة مُخَلَّل زَهْرِي‎; "ṣibgha mukhallal zahri") may be added to improve the color. Palestinian recipes in particular sometimes call for garlic and green chili peppers. This recipe is for a "slow pickle" made with brine: thick slices of turnip are fermented at room temperature for about three weeks to produce a tangy, slightly bitter pickle with astringency and zest reminiscent of horseradish.

Turnips are a widely cultivated crop in Palestine, but, though they make a very popular pickle, they are seldom consumed fresh. One Palestinian dish, mostly prepared in Hebron, that does not call for their fermentation is مُحَشّي لِفِتْ ("muḥashshi lifit")—turnips that are cored, fried, and stuffed with a filling made from ground meat, rice, tomato, and sumac or tamarind. In Nablus, tahina and lemon juice may be added to the meat and rice. A similar dish exists in Jordan.

Turnips produced in the West Bank are typically planted in open fields (as opposed to in or under structures such as plastic tunnels) in November and harvested in February, making them a fall/winter crop. Because most of them are irrigated (rather than rain-fed), their yield is severely limited by the Israeli military's siphoning off of water from Palestine's natural aquifers to settlers and their farms.

Israeli military order 92, issued on August 15th, 1967 (just two months after the order by which Israel had claimed full military, legislative, executive, and judicial control of the West Bank on June 7th), placed all authority over water resources in the hands of an Israeli official. Military order 158, issued on November 19th of the same year, declared that no one could establish, own, or administer any water extraction or processing construction (such as wells, water purification plants, or rainwater collecting cisterns) without a new permit. Water infrastructure could be searched for, confiscated, or destroyed at will of the Israeli military. This order de facto forbid Palestinians from owning or constructing any new water infrastructure, since anyone could be denied a permit without reason; to date, no West Bank Palestinian has ever been granted a permit to construct a well to collect water from an aquifer.

Nearly 30 years later, the Interim Agreement on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip (also called the Oslo II Accord or the Taba Agreement), signed by Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) in 1995, officially granted Israel the full control over water resources in occupied Palestine that it had earlier claimed. The Argreement divided the West Bank into regions of three types—A, B, and C—with Israel given control of Area C, and the Palestinian Authority (PA) supposedly having full administrative power over Area A (about 3% of the West Bank at the time).

In fact, per article 40 of Annex 3, the PA was only allowed to administer water distribution in Area A, so long as their water usage did not exceed what had been allocated to them in the 1993 Oslo Accord, a mere 15% of the total water supply: they had no administrative control over water resources, all of which were owned and administered by Israel. This interim agreement was to be returned to in permanent status negotiations which never occurred.

The cumulative effect of these resolutions is that Palestinians have no independent access to water: they are forbidden to collect water from underground aquifers, the Jordan River, freshwater springs, or rainfall. They are, by law and by design, fully reliant on Israel's grid, which distributes water very unevenly; a 2023 report estimated that Israeli settlers (in "Israel" and in the occupied West Bank) used 3 times as much water as Palestinians. Oslo II estimations of Palestinians' water needs were set at a static number of million cubic meters (mcm), rather than an amount of water per person, and this number has been adhered to despite subsequent growth in the Palestinian population.

Palestinians who are connected to the Israeli grid may open their taps only to find them dry (for as long as a month at a time, in بَيْت لَحْم "bayt laḥm"; Bethlehem, and الخَلِيل "al-khalīl"; Hebron). Families rush to complete chores that require water the moment they discover the taps are running. Those in rural areas rely on cisterns and wells that they are forbidden to deepen; new wells and reservoirs that they build are demolished in the hundreds by the Israeli military. Water deficits must be made up by paying steep prices for additional tankards of water, both through clandestine networks and from Israel itself. As climate change makes summers hotter and longer, the crisis worsens.

By contrast, Israeli settlers use water at will. Israel, as the sole authority over water resources, has the power to transfer water between aquifers; in practice, it uses this authority to divert water from the Jordan River basin, subterranean aquifers, and بُحَيْرَة طَبَرِيَّا ("buḥayrat ṭabariyyā"; Lake Tiberias) into its national water carrier (built in 1964), and from there to other regions, including the Negev Desert (south of the West Bank) and settlements within the West Bank.

Whenever Israel annexes new land, settlers there are rapidly given access to water; the PA, however, is forbidden to transport water from one area of the West Bank to another. Israel's control over water resources is an important part of the settler colonial project, as access to water greatly influences the desirability of land and the expected profit to be gained through its agricultural exports.

The result of the diversion of water is to increase the salinity of the Eastern Aquifer (in the West Bank, on the east bank of the Jordan River) and the remainder of the Jordan that flows into the West Bank, reducing the water's suitability for drinking and irrigation; in addition, natural springs and wells in Palestine have run dry. In this environment, water for drinking and watering crops and livestock is given priority, and many Palestinians struggle to access enough water to shower or wash clothing regularly. In extreme circumstances, crops may be left for dead, as Palestinian farmers instead seek out jobs tending Israeli fields.

Some areas in Palestine are worse off in this regard than others. Though water can be produced more easily in the قَلْقِيلية (Qalqilya), طُولْكَرْم (Tulkarm) and أَرِيحَا ("ʔarīḥā"; Jericho) Districts than in others, the PA is not permitted to transfer water from these areas to areas where water is scarcer, such as the Bethlehem and Al-Khalil Districts. In Al-Khalil, where almost a third of Palestinian acreage devoted to turnips is located [1], and where farming families such as the Jabars cultivate them for market, water usage averaged just 51 liters per person per day in 2020—compare this to the West Bank Palestinian average of 82.4 liters, the WHO recommended daily minimum of 100 liters, and the Israeli average of 247 liters per person per day.

As Israeli settlement גִּבְעַת חַרְסִינָה (Givat Harsina) encroached on Al-Khalil in 2001, with a subdivision being built over the bulldozed Jabar orchard, the Jabars reported settlers breaking their windows, destroying their garden, throwing rocks, and holding rallies on the road leading to their house. In 2010, with the growth of the קִרְיַת־אַרְבַּע (Kiryat Arba) settlement (officially the parent settlement of Givat Harsina), the Jabars' entire irrigation system was repeatedly torn out, with the justification that they were stealing water from the Israeli water authority; the destruction continued into 2014. Efforts at connecting and expanding Israeli settlements in the Bethlehem area continue to this day.

Thus we can see that water deprivation is one tool among many used to drive Palestinians from their land; and that it is connected to a strategy of rendering agriculture impossible or unprofitable for them, forcing them into a state of dependence on the Israeli economy.

Turnips, as well as cabbage and chili peppers, are also grown in the village of وَادِي فُوقِين (Wadi Fuqin), west of Bethlehem. In 2014, Israel annexed about 1,250 acres of land in Wadi Fuqin, or a third of the village's land, "effectively [ruling] out development of the village and its use of this land for agriculture." Most of this land lies immediately to the west of a group of settlements Israel calls גּוּשׁ עֶצְיוֹן ("Gush Etzion"; Etzion Bloc). Building here would link several non-contiguous Israeli settlements with each other and with القدس (Al-Quds; "Jerusalem"), hemming Palestinians of the region in on all sides (many main roads through Israeli settlements cannot be used by anyone with a Palestinian ID). [2] PLO executive committee member Hanan Ashrawi said that the annexation, which was carried out "[u]nder the cover of [Israel's] latest campaign of aggression in Gaza," "represent[ed] Israel’s deliberate intent to wipe out any Palestinian presence on the land".

This, of course, was not the beginning of this strategy: untreated sewage from Gush Etzion settlements had been contaminating crops, springs, and groundwater in Wadi Fuqin since 2006, which also saw nearly 100 acres of Palestinian land annexed to allow for expansion of the Etzion Bloc.

All of this has obviously had an effect on Palestinian agriculture. A 1945–6 British survey of vegetable production in Palestine found that 992 dunums were devoted to Arab turnip production (954 irrigated and 38 rain-fed; no turnip production was attributed to Jewish settlers). A March 1948 UN report claimed that "[i]n most districts the markets are well-supplied with all the common winter vegetables—cabbages, cauliflowers, lettuce and spinach; carrots, turnips and and beets; beans and peas; green onions, eggplants, marrows and tomatoes." By 2009, however, the area given to turnips in Palestine had fallen to 918 dunums. Of these, 864 dunums were irrigated and 54 rain-fed. This represents an increase in unirrigated turnips (5.8%, up from 3.9%) that is perhaps related to difficulty in obtaining sufficient water.

Meanwhile, Israel profits from its restriction of Palestinian agriculture; it is the largest exporter of turnips in West Asia (I found no data for turnip exports from Palestine after 1922, suggesting that the produce is all for local consumption).

The pattern that Ashrawi called out in 2014 continued in 2023, as Israel's genocide in Gaza occurs alongside the continued and escalating killing and expulsion of West Bank Palestinians. The 2014 annexations, which represented the largest land grab for over 30 years and which appeared to institute a new era of state policy, have been followed up in subsequent years with more land claims and settlement-building.

Israeli military and settler raids and massacres in the West Bank, which had already killed 248 in 2023 before the حَمَاس (Hamas) October 7 offensive had taken place, accelerated after the attack, with forced expulsions of Palestinians (including Bedouin Arabs), and harassment, raids, kidnappings, and torture of Palestinians by a military armed with rifles, tanks, and drones. This violence has been opposed by armed resistance groups, who defend refugee camps from military raids with strategies including the use of improvised explosives.

Support Palestinian resistance by buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; donating to help two Gazans receive medical care; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

[1] 918 dunums were devoted to turnips according to the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics (PCBS) report for 2009; the 2008 PCBS report attributes 253 dunums of turnip cultivation to Al-Khalil ("Hebron") for 2006–7.

[2] Today, Gush Etzion is connected to Al-Quds by an underground road that runs beneath the Palestinian Christian town of بَيتْ جَالَا (Bayt Jala).

Ingredients:

Makes 2 1-liter mason jars.

500g (4 medium) turnips

1 beetroot

1 medium green chili pepper (فلفل حار خضرة), halved

2 small cloves garlic, peeled

1 liter (4 cups) distilled or filtered water

25g coarse sea salt (or substitute an equivalent weight of any salt without iodine)

Some brining recipes for lifit call for the addition of a spoonful of sugar. This will increase the activity of lactic-acid-producing bacteria at the beginning of the fermentation, producing a quicker fermentation and a different, sourer flavor profile.

Instructions:

1. Clean two large mason jars thoroughly in hot water (there is no need to sterilize them).

2. Scrub vegetables thoroughly. Cut the top (root) and bottom off of each turnip. Cut each turnip in half (from root end to bottom), and then in 1 cm (1/2") slices (perpendicular to the last cut). Prepare the beetroot the same way.

If you need your pickles to be finished sooner, cut the turnips into thinner slices, or into thick (1/2") baton shapes; these will need to be fermented for about a week.

3. Arrange turnip and beet slices so that they lie flat in your jars. Add garlic and peppers.

4. Whisk salt into water until dissolved and pour over the turnips until they are fully submerged. Seal with the jar's lid and leave in a cool place, or the refrigerator, for 20–24 days.

The amount of brine that you will need to cover the top of the vegetables will depend on the shape of your jar. If you add more water, make sure that you add more salt in the same ratio.

[brainsplat]

I wrote this wee little thing about what I imagine it’s like for the LDB to come back from Snow Veil Sanctum (before getting the journal translated) from the perspective of Delvin. Nothing romantic but written with LDB/Brynjolf in mind. It’s too short for me to want to put it on ao3 so I’m putting it here. Male LDB.

The look in the newest recruit’s eye is… well, it’s scary. Crazed. Livid. Their eyes are wide open and flickering back and forth, pupils blown so wide you’d think they were high. Their whole body is tense like a compressed spring, ready to lunge.

Dirge wisely lets them pass into the Flagon proper. Finally, Delvin sees the tear in the chest of they’re armor, all the way through and past the recruit’s undershirt. It’s stained dark with blood, all down their front. Like they were run through. Which doesn’t quite make sense, because Mercer said they’d died from an arrow, and that slash is far too big to be from an arrow.

The thief’s eyes land on Delvin, and he fights the urge to squirm under their unwavering gaze. They blink for the first time since they came in, a long slow blink. And then they approach the table where Delvin was previously enjoying his supper.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Delv,” they say, voice quiet but with a hard edge to it. Whatever happened, the fella is pissed.

“Yeah, s’pose I have,” he replies, tone even. He’s doing his best at seeming neutral and unthreatening.

Something awful has happened, clearly, that’s sent the thief flying into a crazed rage, and the longer Delvin can avoid being on the receiving end, the better.

They just nod, and that too they do for a long time, too long. They sit at the table, across from Delvin and still they never look away, doesn’t blink.

“Where’s Mercer?”

And that question doesn’t surprise him, not as much as it should, but the authority in their voice does.

“I dunno,” Delvin shrugs, reaching towards the food on his plate.

“Bullshit!” The recruit screams, the sound echoing around the cistern-turned-bar. At the same time, they draw a knife, bringing it down on Delvin’s plate, spearing the slab of meat, then further, into the plate, and further still, pinning all of it to the table beneath.

The blood rushes out of Delvin’s face.

“Easy now, easy… I’m tellin’ the truth, haven’t got a clue where’s he at. Came in a day or so ago and told us all that Karliah killed you and split, then he took off again. Didn’t say a word about it so we figured he was going after her again.”

At that, the tension seeps out of them, and the crazed look fades into something else. Sadder.

“What about Bryn?” Their voice is quiet and hollow.

Delvin winces. “Took off as soon as Mercer said you were… gone. Said he needed to bring you home.”

The man mutters a curse under his breath, his hand coming up to shield his eyes as he slumps over in his seat. Something like sorrow radiates from them.

“And you all let him go? By himself?”

Delvin shifts, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “We tried to talk him out of it. He wouldn’t listen.”

He expects the up-in-coming thief to ask more questions, or maybe get angry. But they don’t do any of that, they just stand and stalk back the way they came. Off to find Bryn or who knows what. Delvin lets out a deep sigh at the sound of the door slamming, everyone else returning to their business now that the drama is over.

For now at least. Delvin knows that whatever happened in that ruin is not done yet.

[moongirldreamer]

Lighthouse keeper!Eddie x siren!reader

Happy Eddiversary to those who celebrate (this is so late lol)

words: 1k

cw: none i don't think.

a/n: besties this is my first ever fic please be nice to me I tried my best.

Thank you to my friend @theold-ultraviolence Irma i wouldn't have come up with this au or written any of it, if it wasn't for you and our Self Indulgence Sundays. Thank you for nudging me i love you <3

Lightkeeper!Eddie headcannons

August 17 1824

It's been a week since the mysterious lass appeared on my doorstep. Two more till the supply dingy visits, it's been strange, readapting to living with a person but we’ve fallen into a routine. I've found a smile on my face many a time as I'm working. Her voice carries on the wind, it's almost as if it’s blowing it directly to me. 

E.M.

Eddie hardly counted the sailors he’d met and slept next to people, not civilized people at least, forced to wash with salt water to preserve the limited supply of fresh water. He spent many a night with a makeshift mask over his face to hopefully block out the scent of sweat and the sea but when she arrived, he found he didn't mind it, almost like he missed it. 

The keeper's house contained 2 rooms as the tending was intended to be a 2-man job, he never realized how empty the small space was until she occupied it. Grown used to the loneliness the sea brings he forgot that the ocean also gives, and she had given him a beautiful gift. He tried to be the perfect housemate before he went off to his tending. He left coffee already brewed in a small metal pot for her to reheat when she woke, fetched a bucket of water for her from the cistern and left a note on the kitchen table : back at sunset. Will cook dinner- E

Morning work was easy enough; take inventory, rain fell last night meaning the cistern had to be woken up with chalk and a good mixing and then any odd maintenance works the buildings needed. He would always know when she was awake no matter how far he wandered from their quarters, her voice seemed to carry on the wind straight to him. Often time he found himself singing along, whistling is a bad omen on ships he remembers this even on land. He knew quite a few sea shanties, picked up a few local songs while he was on the mainland, but she often sings songs he's never heard before and sometimes he thinks in a language he can't understand.

At noon he returns to a simple meal tack and stew she so proudly displays to him half burnt and over salted, but he grins and eats it anyway. She told him in the first week with misty eyes

“I don't want to be a burden, let me….. Let me cook lunch at least you work so hard let me help you” lip trembling and how could he deny her.

“The poor thing” he thought “could make anything taste like salt water and gruel” but he eats anyway.

“Thank you darling, what would i do without you?"

“You're welcome" grinning she looks down at her plate before shyly muttering

"if you're not too busy, would you like to join me on a walk at sunset?"

"OfCourse, anything for you" he smirks leaving her with a kiss on her hairline.

Sunset at the lighthouse made it seem like the sky and sea were competing for your attention, seeing which could glimmer brighter, but Eddies attention was elsewhere. He was enchanted by how her beauty seemed to be enhanced in the golden light.

"Open your hand" she blinks up at him one her fists closed tightly. Wordlessly he gives her his palm and she places an oyster shell, no longer than his pinkie, in it

He grins "an oyster?"

"Yes, my mother told me they were a sign of good fortune"

"Huh I only know them as dinner"

She laughs, mouth opening to give him a clever word or two when she suddenly goes stiff looking over his shoulder. 

"What is it?" he spins to look at what could've possibly rattled her, and behind him on a boulder is a seagull, a bit unremarkable too no missing limbs or gnarled features.

So, he laughs” You're scared of that little thing?”

“Yes, they're retched beasts of the sky with no manners” she grips his bicep keeping him between her and the bird.

“Y’know on the ships they say they’re the souls of drowned sailors, so we treat them kindly just like our human shipmates” he laughs as she moves her glare from the gull over to him.

“I think they should be chum” she says, squinting at the bird, almost daring it to attack.

In a sudden move the gull swoops over their heads missing hers by a centimeter and continuing out to sea.

"Did you see that! that that monster nearly killed me"

"Maybe you need this more than i do" he dropped the oyster back into her palm

"What? no, no i want you to have it, besides you'll need it if you're going to try befriending those creatures"

He chuckled, the sound like warm honey in the cool sea breeze. "Alright, if you insist. But I promise, no more gull attacks on my watch."

Shakily she grabbed his arm again as they continued their walk down the shoreline.

"Do you ever miss it? sailing? "

"Hmm, sometimes" he sends a wistful look out at the water the sun spilling over it as the last of it slips below the horizon.

"it was my life, the only thing I was good at" he grins, but it's sad round the edges.

"but i needed the change, it was getting too repetitive"

"so you decided to tend a lighthouse? the same job day in day out" her eyebrows pull together eyes squinting in confusion

another smile this one woven with affection "well I'd travelled a while but i needed to return to the sea almost- almost as if something was"

"Was calling you back" her tone changes, her voice becomes layered whispers singing and screaming. her eyes gleam, a secret understanding.

"Yes like-like it was calling me" he steps towards her without thinking, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, eyes locked on hers until he feels wet? Looking down he realizes his boots are drenched, shin length in the waves his brows furrow.

"What are you doing?" asks melodic laugh behind him and he turns to see her, face lit up with the last of the afternoon glee and a smile.

"Think I wanted to go for a swim" the end lifts like a question, he looks back down to his feet barely visible in the water

"But it's getting dark, we should head back" again her voice changes and he moves without remembering, until they're back to their quarters and she bids him goodnight.

That night as he refills the oil and cleans the lense at the top of the lighthouse out in the distance on a cluster of rocks he sees a figure bathed in darkness. He can only make out a humanoid figure with their hair whipping in the cold sea air behind them. Leaning over the railing to squint into the darkness his blood runs cold as a wail crosses the distance, then a soft whisper, as if it was said over his shoulder, of his name.

"eddie"

[hircines-hunter]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You get a word and share a sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word.

tagged by @silly-little-diary with the word THIEF

Will def have to pull from several WIPS.

T

“There she is…. How are you feeling?” Aela walked over with a mug of water. She handed it to Sifkni. Sifkni laughed. “Only my head hurts. I think some bacon and bread will help.” She drank the water. “I saw you two sneak away at the party.” Aela smirked. “Did you have fun?” Sifkni’s face flushed. “The party was fun. The escape was more fun.” Sifkni took another sip. “Who was that girl you were talking to?” Aela shrugged. “One the Jarl’s maid.” “Did you have fun?” “Aye. We snuck away after you two did.” Aela grinned. “Mornin’ Ice-Brain.” Aela stood and walked away after ruffling his hair.

H

He smiled. “Oh? Do ye?” Brynjolf moved and helped her stand up. “Why don’t ye get to bed, lass? Ye hae a long journey tae make.” Estinan leaned against his shoulder. Her cheek pressed against the leather spaulder. She inhaled his scent deeply. Instinctively, her arms latched around his torso. She looked up at him, yearning in her eyes. They twinkled in the low light. “I cannae join ye, lassie. Tis bad fer business.” Brynjolf whispered before she asked him. “You shouldn’t drink so much.” He held her arms and guided her towards her bed. “Get tae sleep.” He helped her into bed, pulling the covers over her.

I

“I’m telling you, Sifkni. There’s another werewolf in the city.” Aela crossed her arms. She stared intently at the Harbinger who sat across from her, eating breakfast. “Aye? Where?” “Near the General Store.” “Didn’t that new merchant move in? Vilkas mentioned them. I think he came by. Free-Winter?” Sifkni shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth. “Well, he’s not a wolf if you met him. I wonder?” “His daughter?” Sifkni stood up with her empty plate.  “Do you want to check it out?” Aela followed the Harbinger as she walked into the kitchen.

E

“Estinan!” Mercer yelled from across the Cistern. “The Divines won’t give us another chance!” Brynjolf leaned over and kissed her again. “Bi sàbhailte. Be safe, lassie.” He pressed his lips against her forehead.  Estinan put her hands on his face. Her thumb brushed against his beard.  “Please….” She bit her lip. “Please wait for me.” “Aye. O’ course. I’ll wait fer ye.” Brynjolf put his hands on hers, caressing her knuckles. “Go before Mercer kills us both.” Estinan nodded. “One more kiss for me.” “Aye.” Brynjolf brushed his fingers through her hair and put his hand behind her neck. He leaned over and kissed her again. Deeper. Needier. His tongue darted across her lips, tasting the faintest traces of mead and sweet pastries.

F

Farkas skidded to a halt when he smelled blood. Lots of it. Sifkni’s as well. He cursed. He held his nose to the air and inhaled. He took off in the direction of the blood. Soon, fire dotted the horizon. He felt bile rise in his throat. He spotted movement in the forest. He hunkered close to the ground. He stalked closer. The scent hit him. Sifkni. He looked around. She was alone. He ran up closer to her. He saw spots of dark blood trailing behind footprints. “Sifkni!” He yelled.  Sifkni stopped and turned. She collapsed into the snow. She coughed and pushed herself to her hands and knees only to fall over in the snow again.  Farkas ran over. He nudged her chin with his snout. “I’m here….” He sniffed at her, looking for the wounds. Defensive wounds cut across her hands and arms. She had a deep gash on her forehead. Another wound bled slowly under the tunic. “Divines…. I’m here now…. I’m taking you away.” He scooped her to his chest. “Hold on. We will go to Jorrvaskr…. No, I’ll take you to the Temple….” Sifkni sobbed into his chest as she held tightly onto his fur. Farkas whined and licked her face. “I’m sorry, Sifkni…. Let’s get you safe.”

Gonna tag @umbracirrus

Your word is gonna be WOLF

[scribeofskyrim]

Turdas, 11th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

We're spending tonight in Breezehome, and it's too crowded in here!

We have an unexpected house guest, but I found a cot folded up in the cellar he can use.

At least tomorrow morning should be better than this one.

This morning Agnis, the lady who lives in the fort, roused us by jabbing at us with her broom handle, then gave us all an earful for making a mess!

She's the caretaker of Fort Greymoor, and doesn't give a skeever's ass who runs the place. She just cooks and makes sure it's clean, and expects whoever's in it to not make her job any harder than it already is.

This explains the neat stacks of plates and well-organized cutlery in the kitchen.

We got up and apologized profusely, then said we'd help her clean. She ordered "all you armored boneheads" to take care of the bodies - she directed them to an unused cistern to dump them in - and handed me a mop to "clean up what you spilt."

I haven't been yelled at like that since I was in the orphanage, but it was like a switch went off my head!

At least I wasn't alone. We all snapped to attention and did as we were told, with a lot of "Yes, ma'am"s and scurrying about. Septim wisely made himself scarce.

I apologized for what happened to her "companion" but she didn't really care. She said it wasn't the first time that happened, and probably wouldn't be the last!

Agnis was in a much better mood once the place was cleared up, and had made us a hearty breakfast while we worked. She asked if we intended to set up there, and we declined.

She was fine with that, and wished us good luck as we left.

With the exception of an overly-ambitious thief who thought she could rob us, the way back to Whiterun was quiet. It was about noon when we got there, and I went straight to Adrienne to do some trading. It took longer than I expected, but she was chatty and took some time to admire Lydia's new armor.

After that, we came here to get some lunch and drop off what I'm not going to sell today. We made our way through the market, then to the Temple of Kynareth to find Danica.

The Temple of Kynareth is beautiful, but mostly full of wounded soldiers. As soon as Erandur saw the state of things, he put his hand over his heart and went to speak with a tall man in monk robes who was carefully taking off a soldier's armor so he could treat him. Valdimar went to follow him, and gestured for Lydia to come, too.

I knew Erandur would rush to help the people there as soon as he could, and while Valdimar's not great at Healing magic, he can help in other ways. Looking back, I have the feeling that Lydia was overwhelmed by all the suffering in front of her. I can't blame her. How Danica and her healers manage to do it day after day is a mystery to me.

I found Danica arguing with a dark-haired man, a Breton, over at the the shrine.

The man, Maurice Jondrelle, is our house guest tonight.

He's a pilgrim, who "follows the voice of Kynareth" and came here to Whiterun to see the Gildergreen. He's upset at the state of it, and was wondering how Danica could let it stay like it is.

She explained that with the war, she and her people were flooded with soldiers and innocent people who got caught up in the battles. With her normal load of illnesses and such on top of that, she barely had time to eat or sleep, much less tend to the Gildergreen.

I interrupted their argument by saying I had Nettlebane, and Danica was shocked. She honestly didn't expect me to come back (survive, it felt like) but was glad that I'd kept my word. She asked if we would be willing to get sap from the Eldergleam for her, and I didn't even have to answer. I just gestured to my friends.

Danica's eyes got wide when she saw that she suddenly had three more people tending to the wounded. Even Septim was doing his part; he'd plopped down by a wounded man, who was now scratching his ears.

I offered to do some Healing, too, and she gratefully accepted before marking the Eldergleam Sanctuary on my map.

I took over for Erandur, who said he'd be back with some potions, and while I worked on a soldier's arrow wound, Maurice came up to talk with me.

He said he'd always wanted to worship at the Eldergleam, and asked if he could come with us. I was hesitant, but agreed to let him tag along so long as he didn't get in the way, and could make himself useful at the Temple until we left.

I have a sneaking suspicion that if I didn't take him with us he'd just hang around the Temple and drive Danica mad with his complaining.

It was a long day at the Temple, and we didn't leave until nightfall. Lydia learned how to properly remove an arrow, but I thought Maurice was going to faint when Valdimar had him help change bandages. He mostly ran supplies back and forth and made sure everyone had water, but that alone was a big help.

Erandur came back with a small box full of potions, and explained them to Danica and her healers. He told me later he'd made a nice selection for them. A handful for Health and to Cure, obviously, but half of them were to help people sleep. He'd also thrown in a few to stop the spread of poison, and some for the healers to Restore Magicka in case of an emergency.

When we were finished, Danica thanked us once again for all our help, and we left for here.

Erandur gave me A Look, so I invited Maurice to spend the night with us. He was grateful to have a free bed for the night, and promised to cook us dinner.

I'll give credit where credit is due - Maurice is an amazing cook!

As for being good company, all he did was complain about how we're wasting time, and how annoyed he is that Danica "let" the tree die. Never mind it was struck by lightning! Erandur tried to reason with him, but it was no use.

I wanted no part of it, so I left for the alchemy lab in the side room.

Erandur glowered and said, "My Lady is testing me," when he escaped his conversation with Maurice to "help me" with some alchemy. I had to needle him a bit for having me invite him to stay for the night. I was just going to give Maurice some coins so he could get a room at The Bannered Mare!

You know, I wasn't even mixing anything, just moving things around and making noise.

Valdimar saved us all from more of the pilgrim's nonsense by saying that we should turn in early. We had a long way to go, and he wasn't lying. The Sanctuary is in Eastmarch, a little bit north of Darkwater Crossing. We could probably get there by nightfall tomorrow, if we hurried.

Maurice was excited at the prospect of seeing the Eldergleam so soon, and he eagerly set up his bedroll on the cot. I'd brought it up to the main room so he'd get some warmth from the fire. Hopefully a comfortable night's sleep will make him less annoying tomorrow.

The others are upstairs in their rooms, and I grabbed myself a bottle of wine to drink while I write.

Thank Kynareth her man doesn't snore. I think I'd just give up and go to The Bannered Mare if he did.

---

Back | Next

[blackjackkent]

OK, the Steel Watch is now gone, which means it's time to send Rakha off for her final showdown with her former partner, Enver Gortash.

I think I will spend most of tomorrow on that, but first, I'm going to do a quick circuit through the city/Undercity in search of any moments that seem at all resonant for Rakha (or that I haven't seen before/are otherwise interesting) that I missed.

-----

Highlights:

Rakha is very uninterested/unimpressed in the Umberlee temple and the funeral going on, not least because the woman out front invited her in cheerfully, and then the people inside got snarky at her because she didn't bring a present. I had her pop on invisibility and sneak around the basement cave area Hector wasn't able to visit, more to sate my own curiosity than anything else. There's not much of interest in the basement though. I briefly tried to have her steal from the big treasure pile; turns out Umberlee herself gets pissed off if you do this and casts a giant ice storm that legitimately scared the shit out of me. XD

Whoops. I reloaded cos Rakha didn't really care about anything that was in the treasure pile anyway. Heading deeper, I found a hidden room behind a sandstone wall:

I wasted a fifth-level spell to get past it, and the chest inside was not at ALL interesting (less than 150 gold), but the cave itself was pretty neat:

There's a room with a door labeled "Keep Out" in what appears to be the basement of Jannath's house; the room itself is called "Gardener's Basement" and has two pressure plates in it. Standing on both of them at the same time opens a wall leading to a hatch down to Minsc's hideout in the sewers! I did not know you could get here this way and it is a MUCH faster route than dealing with the annoying cistern hatchway pumps puzzle, so I will definitely be keeping this in mind for non-liveblog runs.

Speaking of Jannath, she's having a much better day, unsurprisingly, since she's not married to Oskar this time. Her butler, when we approach, welcomes us to her "celebration of the arts", a showing of art pieces she's had commissioned from a variety of sources; we have the option to tell her about her missing fiance, but Rakha could not give less of a shit about Oskar and neither could I. I do think that Rakha probably does get a bit of a jumpscare when the guy identifies himself as Jannath's butler, since the only association she has with the word is Sceleritas. But Jannath's butler is decidedly more chill. Rakha also has the option to ask if the celebration has any "icons depicting Bhaal" which feels like it would be a weird thing to ask in the best of circumstances, and indeed the butler seems a bit bemused, but just says he's not familiar with that "particular style." Inside, there is no floating furniture so it continues to be a definite improvement, although all the visiting nobles attending the party are dicks to Rakha except for the one who mistakes her for a visiting art dealer and the two who are in the middle of walking outside to have a duel. Out of curiosity, I followed the two duelists outside and Rakha watched in deep bemusement as one of them killed the other.

The dead dude is carrying a letter from the manager of Lady Jannath's tin mine to the lady in question, informing her that the mine is tapped out and she should find "a patriar family with too much money and not enough sense" and sell it. Finally, we wandered into a side passageway (the one that leads to Oskar's atalier) and discovered the chamberlain bullying one of the lower-level servants. Rakha had the option to intimidate the guy into being nicer and I had her take it because she's had a long day. XD Jannath herself was perfectly polite and willing to sell Rakha paintings if Rakha wanted them. I can't tell if there would be any valid mechanical reason to do this.

Stopped in at the Society of Brilliance. I got really excited briefly cos the head of the place said Blurg and Omeluum were upstairs, and I thought maybe Omeluum had survived somehow, but no, it's just Blurg. He's quite cheerful and remarkably glad to see her given that Rakha didn't actually interact with them for more than about five minutes; he definitely doesn't know Omeluum is dead, which leaves Rakha in the uncomfortable position of informing him. He takes it well, all things considered, but he's clearly upset. Poor guy. :(

Stopped and said hi to Dammon, who is nicely set up with his new forge near the Elfsong. He's very pleased to see Rakha, which is still an unusual enough thing for it to be striking for her. She (I assume awkwardly but sincerely) complimented him on his forge, and is legitimately glad he's doing well.

Ran into Arabella in the sewers! Another person Rakha is oddly glad to see; she felt somewhat connected to Arabella's wild magic back in the shadowlands. Her own magic has settled down now, though, and Arabella seems to be gaining control of hers as well, in a way that is actually utterly baffling and therefore fascinating to Rakha; she's able to see into the history of things like rocks and all the events that have passed by around them. She talks to Rakha a little about how Withers told her to follow the Weave, to let it guide her. Rakha wishes, a little, that she was free to simply do the same - follow the pushes and pulls of the magic around her and not have to care about the fate of the world and the battles to come.

After some considering, I completely bypassed the graveyard, the Baldur's Mouth Gazette, the Fist barracks, and Mystic Carrion, on the grounds that Rakha both does not know about them and has no reason to care.

The Bhaalists in Bloomridge Park are neither competent nor intelligent, as they staged an ambush on Rakha despite the fact that Orin is super dead and also Rakha spotted them hiding in the bushes. Quick fight that Rakha allowed herself to take a little bit of satisfaction in, since they picked it and not her. She is, however, very troubled by the Fist who shows up afterwards, channels the elder brain and helps her defeat the Bhaalists, and then makes some distinctly ominous communication afterwards: "Do not wast-- TIME- This mind cannot bear us- it- turns to liquid- listen-- just LISTEN- We learn- we grow- loosen our clumsy bindings- AID US-- necromancer- dead--- changeling fallen-- only tyrant remains-- KILL HIM-- YOU--- have a place- in my Grand Design--"

Finally, stopped by Flymm's Cobblers, which is going to get its own separate post because a lot happened.

[april-is]

April 7, 2024: The First Line is the Deepest, Kim Addonizio

The First Line is the Deepest Kim Addonizio

I have been one acquainted with the spatula, the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate, acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

and the dildo that goes by Tex, and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

in order to ruin what love I was given,

and also I have measured out my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa, Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body, or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body, the ugly me

groping back to my desk to piss on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too, the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea. Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest, can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

--

Poetry nerd extra credit: How many repurposed bits from famous poems can you find? I count 7 and I'm probably missing some!

Also by Kim Addonizio:

+ For Desire + Mermaid Song* + Onset + My Heart

* (Weird fact: this is about her daughter, Aya Cash, who starred in the sitcom You're the Worst. What!)

Today in:

2023: Insha’Allah, Danusha Laméris 2022: To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall, Kim Addonizio 2021: You Mean You Don’t Weep at the Nail Salon?, Elizabeth Acevedo 2020: Let Me Begin Again, Philip Levine 2019: Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi 2018: Siren Song, Margaret Atwood 2017: A Sunset, Ari Banias 2016: Coming, Philip Larkin 2015: The Taxi, Amy Lowell 2014: Winter Sunrise Outside a Café Near Butte, Montana, Joe Hutchison 2013: The Last Night in Mithymna, Linda Gregg 2012: America [Try saying wren], Joseph Lease 2011: Boston, Aaron Smith 2010: How Simile Works, Albert Goldbarth 2009: Crossing Over, William Meredith 2008: The World Wakes Up, Andrew Michael Roberts 2007: Hour, Christian Hawkey 2006: For the Anniversary of My Death, W.S. Merwin 2005: The Last Poem About the Snow Queen, Sandra M. Gilbert

[whimsybrain]

Homecoming Cistern Alien Vessel

by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Oh, my planet, how beautiful  you are. Little curve that leads me  to the lakeside. Let me step out 

of the sack of skin I wore  on earth. It’s good to be home.  No more need to name me. No more 

need to make the shape of a machete with my mouth. Pushing up up up the tired  sides that want to drop below my teeth. 

Lord, I’ve missed you. The streets covered all day in light from the moons.  I was confused all the time. I wanted so much. 

My hole felt like a gut with an antler rammed through it. So lonely and strange and always trying to smile. Coin of the realm. 

And my arms open and my life coming in and out of the “ATM.” Once I saw a fox leap inside the morning 

light and made the same shape of myself. Once I watched the boats and also rocked back and forth. 

How does every person not cry out  all the time? Yes, it was good to eat  doughnuts. Yes. I was blessed by many 

days of joy. A rabbit in the driveway. A rosemary bush with a sorcerer’s cloak of spider webs. Brian Eno. 

The Hammond B3 Organ that never asked me who I knew. But that body. Like a factory. That mind like a ship 

built to pile in other bodies. Skin like a sow without any of the sow’s equanimity. It reflected nothing. Pink skin. Blue eyes 

hard as an anvil. Like a window with covering that refuses the passerby’s gaze. I loved  the bully power some days. Oh my pleasure 

in not causing harm. My pride. I’m not like  so-and-so. My pink skin preaching, my pink skin  yawping out my other hole, “I did not choke 

the man with my elbow!” “Would never!”  “I let all the boys in hoodies walk through dark streets.” “I did not shoot 

them with my guns!” The ship rising up inside me. As if the fox felt pride  for not tearing the bird to pieces. As if 

the owl’s heart grew large from not  wrecking the squirrel’s nest. My pink skin  a sail full of indignation. My eyes pitching 

across the feed. It is so good to be home and yet. I have a ship inside. How can  the organ welcome me? I’m not a sow 

on her worst day. Which would be what?  Breaking from the barn? Eating all the acorns and rolling in the mud? No. 

Her worst would be at my hands  and on my plate for supper. Grow like the tree, the man who heals 

the bodies said. In every way I became the ship rising in the harbor.  How can I be welcomed after that?

[sanitarywareshopchandigarh]

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[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Do Not Go Down to Egypt

1 “Ah, stubborn children,” declares the Lord, “who carry out a plan, but not mine, and who make an alliance, but not of my Spirit, that they may add sin to sin; 2 who set out to go down to Egypt, without asking for my direction, to take refuge in the protection of Pharaoh and to seek shelter in the shadow of Egypt! 3 Therefore shall the protection of Pharaoh turn to your shame, and the shelter in the shadow of Egypt to your humiliation. 4 For though his officials are at Zoan and his envoys reach Hanes, 5 everyone comes to shame through a people that cannot profit them, that brings neither help nor profit, but shame and disgrace.”

6 An oracle on the beasts of the Negeb.

Through a land of trouble and anguish, from where come the lioness and the lion, the adder and the flying fiery serpent, they carry their riches on the backs of donkeys, and their treasures on the humps of camels, to a people that cannot profit them. 7 Egypt's help is worthless and empty; therefore I have called her “Rahab who sits still.”

A Rebellious People

8 And now, go, write it before them on a tablet and inscribe it in a book, that it may be for the time to come as a witness forever. 9 For they are a rebellious people, lying children, children unwilling to hear the instruction of the Lord; 10 who say to the seers, “Do not see,” and to the prophets, “Do not prophesy to us what is right; speak to us smooth things, prophesy illusions, 11 leave the way, turn aside from the path, let us hear no more about the Holy One of Israel.” 12 Therefore thus says the Holy One of Israel, “Because you despise this word and trust in oppression and perverseness and rely on them, 13 therefore this iniquity shall be to you like a breach in a high wall, bulging out and about to collapse, whose breaking comes suddenly, in an instant; 14 and its breaking is like that of a potter's vessel that is smashed so ruthlessly that among its fragments not a shard is found with which to take fire from the hearth, or to dip up water out of the cistern.”

15 For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” But you were unwilling, 16 and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. 17 A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.

The Lord Will Be Gracious

18 Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.

19 For a people shall dwell in Zion, in Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. 20 And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. 21 And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. 22 Then you will defile your carved idols overlaid with silver and your gold-plated metal images. You will scatter them as unclean things. You will say to them, “Be gone!”

23 And he will give rain for the seed with which you sow the ground, and bread, the produce of the ground, which will be rich and plenteous. In that day your livestock will graze in large pastures, 24 and the oxen and the donkeys that work the ground will eat seasoned fodder, which has been winnowed with shovel and fork. 25 And on every lofty mountain and every high hill there will be brooks running with water, in the day of the great slaughter, when the towers fall. 26 Moreover, the light of the moon will be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun will be sevenfold, as the light of seven days, in the day when the Lord binds up the brokenness of his people, and heals the wounds inflicted by his blow.

27 Behold, the name of the Lord comes from afar, burning with his anger, and in thick rising smoke; his lips are full of fury, and his tongue is like a devouring fire; 28 his breath is like an overflowing stream that reaches up to the neck; to sift the nations with the sieve of destruction, and to place on the jaws of the peoples a bridle that leads astray.

29 You shall have a song as in the night when a holy feast is kept, and gladness of heart, as when one sets out to the sound of the flute to go to the mountain of the Lord, to the Rock of Israel. 30 And the Lord will cause his majestic voice to be heard and the descending blow of his arm to be seen, in furious anger and a flame of devouring fire, with a cloudburst and storm and hailstones. 31 The Assyrians will be terror-stricken at the voice of the Lord, when he strikes with his rod. 32 And every stroke of the appointed staff that the Lord lays on them will be to the sound of tambourines and lyres. Battling with brandished arm, he will fight with them. 33 For a burning place has long been prepared; indeed, for the king it is made ready, its pyre made deep and wide, with fire and wood in abundance; the breath of the Lord, like a stream of sulfur, kindles it. — Isaiah 30 | English Standard Version (ESV) The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Cross References: Genesis 12:9; Exodus 9:23; Exodus 14:14; Leviticus 26:36; Deuteronomy 4:24; 1 Samuel 18:6; 1 Kings 20:30; 1 Kings 22:27; 2 Kings 18:21; Job 9:13; Job 19:23; Psalm 25:8-9; Psalm 42:4; Psalm 62:10; Psalm 65:9; Psalm 78:12; Psalm 108:12; Isaiah 1:2; Isaiah 1:10; Isaiah 10:3; Isaiah 10:12; Isaiah 31:1; Isaiah 34:2; Matthew 3:12; Matthew 4:10; Matthew 7:7; Acts 13:8; Romans 16:18; 2 Thessalonians 2:8; 2 Peter 3:9; Revelation 21:23; Revelation 2:27; Revelation 19:20

[mdhwrites]

Concept Pitch: Morgan: The Future King of Camelot

The base premise is that our hero takes on an alter ego by wielding Excalibur. It gives him leather armor, a cloak and a mask though rather than full plate, though anyone who knows him would say that big, bulky plate male wouldn't fit. He's not exactly what people think of nobility after all what with his snark, bit of a loner personality and how rude he can be. He swears too much to be a knight of Arthurian legend many would say and he'd agree. HIS name is Morgan. After being rejected from the drama club AGAIN for not being able to act but at least being allowed to be a part of stage crew since he's a senior and he has been trying to get in for over three years now, he meets the lady of the lake by hanging out with some dudebro friends who are giving him shit for not getting a real part. Machismo stuff leads to increasingly dangerous things happening that are tests of chivalry until he jumps into a cistern because above the rushing water he faintly thought he heard a woman calling his name. He gets the sword and superhero antics begin. Or, well, begrudgingly begin. Like I said, he wouldn't exactly count himself as a knightly soul even as he never even hesitates to use the blade to help people. He even blames the sword because it whispers encouragement to him and he's worried this might be a symbiote situation. It's not, it's just Excalibur attempting to make sure the wielder is learning and being a king and is usually pretty happy to be told to shut up since Morgan is doing his job anyways. Villains would of course come in all shades inspired from the Arthurian canon but that doesn't just mean the villains. Fighting reincarnations of Arthur's knights would be a real thing, often in the process getting the ability to turn Excalibur into a weapon affiliated with them. Final boss gets warned about by the Green Knight who after testing him himself and giving him the gift of nature magic to add to his arsenal, warns him against the written serpent. Even just that much of a mention of Arthur though is enough to get the old king to turn his gaze upon where he'd thought he'd felt a pulse from his old blade.

So he arrives, love interests and besties start interacting with him and getting turned into his court, including this being when the girl he likes in Drama gets with his best friend in the drama club so, you know... Gwynevere and Lancelot. It's a shit show for his life personally, especially as old allies like The Green Knight, father to a love interest, disappear, knowing better than to stick around for whatever Arthur is going to do. But at first, Arthur and Morgan aren't enemies. Arthur is sponsoring the play, being the owner of Round Table Pizza because that's funny to me, and, well... He thinks Morgan quite literally can't be the wielder of Excalibur. Even when they shake hands and they both get a glimpse into each other, it only cements it further in Arthur's mind that something is wrong. When he asks for Mordred though, Morgan has no idea who he's talking about but that he should drop all the legend stuff. It's not good for anyone. Then Arthur pushes it by finally confirming something that had been extremely hinted at up until now by accusing him of being Mordred. That he should kill his false name and take up a proper male name if he wishes to pretend to be one.

Morgan never changed his name though when he figured out he was trans. He has a good relationship with his parents, never hated the name and when he tried using it in a more masculine tone, he felt it fit. So he never changed it. Of course, that's impossible to Arthur who wants a return to old things and so to him, this makes the current rightful king to Camelot a woman. He needs proof that the sword made the mistake though so time to fight! After all, if the sword is sane at all, him trashing the theater room while everyone is around will force Morgan to fight, which of course it does. Eventually, Morgan uses trickery, which is nothing new, to thrust through a fake rock with Excalibur to try to beat Arthur since Arthur is mostly wiping the floor with him. He's more experienced, he's stronger and his magic is better. Even without the sword, he's still a nightmare of an opponent. The problem is that the sword doesn't care if it's a real stone or fake one and it blasts everyone back from being planted back into a stone. Everyone... But Arthur, who was throwing a blast to counter the stab and so protected himself. He shatters the rock before the sword can finish changing it to real stone... And then leaves, saying he has a kingdom to build. Mordred doesn't exist after all and there are no knights for which to oppose him.

Classic disempowerment arc begins where a contrast between Arthur actually making the underground crime elements of the cities his minions and soldiers since they are strong and fighters while Morgan is still standing up for people and being a hero of a sorts, even without the sword's power. He does accidentally show he's still got a bit of power, like Arthur did, since he can still use his magic but it's never on purpose. It's just his heroic will made manifest. But he isn't going after Arthur himself because, well, he got his ass kicked with powers and its ARTHUR PENDRAGON. If anyone's a good leader, it's him. That changes when Arthur, in full regalia like he was during the fight but now looking even bigger and more intimidating, tries to make himself king. To turn the new city into his Camelot. For subjects, he releases prisoners and the like, claiming that the rules and order of this land is corrupt. That it no longer knows chivalry, even stating explicitly how it thinks women can be knights as a part of it. This gets Morgan so mad that he can't ignore how much magic he just conjured up and so he does two things: Remakes his knight costume to wear and Two: Calls the costume self Mordred. He never gave it a name before, usually referring to the other self by Excalibur or the like since that's where it comes from but never bothering with a name himself. That's not really who he is. BUT it is who Arthur is. Arthur tried already to hurt him with titles. To push him down by trying to come up with a deadname for him. Morgan doesn't care though. Call him what you want. His actions are what matters. So why not the name Mordred for a costume? He's just doing it because he knows it'll piss Arthur off, especially because all the footage fails to show one thing: Arthur actually using Excalibur. He goes out to fight Arthur, having riled the king up with rumors about a Mordred going around. When Arthur spits at him about finally taking the name of the usurper now, he laughs it off and says he needs to go to more Halloween parties. His name is still Morgan. That doesn't change how the fight is going to go. Morgan does taunt Arthur about using the blade though. He's having to dodge for his life while doing so but he's savvier now and he's not trying to win. Not yet. He's just making him angry and when he points this out, it throws Arthur into an all new frenzy. This isn't chivalry! This isn't honor! And so, in a practiced motion, he draws Excalibur! Aaaaand immediately the tip of it slams into the ground. It has rejected him. He is able to hold it but wield it? No. And power from it is flowing directly into Morgan as he just walks up to Arthur. He states that things like doing what you need to protect people, standing up to evil, showing understanding and making sure even the smallest, most marginalized get a fair shake are honorable and chivalrous. But Arthur sees him, sees his binder, and rejects him despite how small he is. Despite how weak he is. Even now, Arthur was willing to fight an unarmed opponent. He might have magic but what is magic compared to the might of Excalibur? Especially since he never once attacked Arthur in this fight. He claimed to want to talk and see Excalibur.

He takes the blade, full plate finally donning him as a crown appears on his head. It then all morphs to be effectively his normal clothes but metal. A new armor for a new age. He raises the blade... And gives Arthur a nick on the neck. He doesn't need to kill Arthur, not when this speech already did. Arthur shuts his eyes, sighs and whispers that he will make a good king before fading away, finally finding peace after so many centuries after he thought his ideals were dead.

Wrap up with Morgan getting with one of his love interests officially now that things have died down, the play FINALLY being put on and an epilogue of someone asking Morgan what he'll do as king. If he'll ever take up the mantle. He says he doesn't know, nor does he care. He'll just keep trying to do as much good as he can and anyone who tells him he can't can go fuck themselves. He's still Morgan and nothing, not even destiny, is every going to change that.

======+++++======

I came up with this in 3 hours. As someone on my Discord pointed out, this is a full series synopsis effectively, probably actually really well paced for three seasons theoretically, or as a pretty decent book series that I'd assume would at least take... A quarter million words to tell? Probably a good deal more depending on just how many villains Morgan has to face? And again: I came up with it in three hours.

My brain just runs fast. Me not producing material is NEVER going to be an ideas problem. The closest it will ever come to that is my brain grid locking between too many ideas and not being pulled in any one direction, something most people can actually fight through, especially if they have multiple projects to work on. So yeah, reminder that if you'd like my take on a concept, let me know. Hell, you want to ask questions about this concept, go ahead. I detail the third act/season pretty heavily but I have deeper ideas for some stuff like the Green Knight.

Oh, final note to include: I felt really happy when one of the trans members of my Discord really liked the explanation for why Morgan doesn't have a dead name. That was actually come up with on the fly as my brain suddenly remembered Morgan Le Fay's name wasn't Morgana. Like... mid write up and the write up in Discord only took 20 minutes.

Alright, now it's links time.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[liminalpebble]

Eddies Education: Chapter 24

CW: This chapter contains horror-typical violence and death, also mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion and minors DNI.

Masterlist link

Chapter 24

In the a back corner of the community hall, the group rolled out a map of Hawkins and fenced it in with their plated-up Thanksgiving dinners. Between bites of turkey and green bean casserole they discussed which areas might be Vecna's nest in upside-down Hawkins; circling the locations of every known pond, swimming pool, or cistern in red pen. Though they worked off of Leia's hypothesis about water, Leia herself had to be exiled to a smaller lounge with headphones on.

She understood, of course, that it would be much too risky for her to help them plan and to know their next steps if Vecna could reach into her mind so easily, but she hated feeling stuck and anxious. She sprawled across the little musty-smelling couch between the pinball machines, legs and head draped over the armrests. She nodded along with David Byrne's quirky fragile voice as he sang This Must Be the Place, and tapped her heels against the side of love seat. She shut her eyes tightly, and held her arms, trying to calm herself as he crooned:

...I'm just an animal looking for a home. Share the same space for a minute or two. And you love me till my heart stops. Love me 'til I'm dead. Eyes that light up, eyes look through you. Cover up the blank spots. Hit me on the head...

Leia felt a little stroke over her cascade of hair where it hung off the sofa, and a kiss on her forehead. “Hey Rapunzel, you hungry? Scoot over.”

Eddie set out two TV trays and set two heavily loaded plates on each one. “Thank you, scoundrel,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “How's it going in there?”

“Hrmm...I uh...I guess I can't really tell you.”

“Right...sorry...I keep forgetting. This is all so weird,” she said, spearing a piece of casserole.

“Hey,” Eddie soothed, putting his free arm around her, “It'll be okay.”

“I hope so. But we just don't know that, do we?”

“Never tell me the odds, Princess. I have to hope and try, no matter how much I fail, and let me tell you. I've failed a lot in my life. I failed senior year three times, for fuck sake.”

She chuckled at that, almost spitting out a gulp of wine. He continued, “But, it all turned out okay. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have met you...the best thing that ever happened to me. So...” he said, lifting his own little plastic wine glass to make a toast, “here's to our love. 'May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out', fair lady.”

She grabbed his face and kissed him. “I love you, you sweet precious sentimental dork.”

He laughed. “What? Doesn't quoting Tolkien get all hot and bothered?”

She elbowed him, and he tussled her hair while he scooped up a dollop of mashed potatoes.

Leia stared down at her food, pushing the last of it around in thought, digging little shapes into her cranberry sauce. “What, princess?”

“Just, these moments,” she said, shaking her head. “These moments with you are so perfect and happy and for a second I forget about everything hanging over us.”

Eddie's deep soulful eyes met hers and he stroked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “It's okay to forget a little sometimes. Besides there's nothing you need to do for now except relax as much as you can, keep the music playing, and finish your dinner.”

She nodded, and scooped up the last bites, clearing her plate. Eddie smiled that devastating, dimpled smiled and said, “good girl”.

“Stop it! You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Nah, I have a pretty good idea” he said kissing her, lingering this time, then moving his soft lips to her neck, as she gripped his hair and her eyes fluttered shut with a sigh.

The door smacked open, and Steve hollered into the room, “Eddie, we need you to....whoa, sorry.”

Eddie groaned, but Leia laughed and smiled, turning to him. “It's okay, Steve.”

“Yeah, it's okay, Steve,” Eddie echoed but with a menacing grimace and an annoyed growl to his voice.

Steve shrugged. “Come on, Romeo.”

Eddie kissed her goodbye and trudged to the door. “You're such a cockblock, Harrington. And you know that play is totally misunderstood. It's not romantic. It's fucked up, and Romeo's actually a huge dickhead.”

Leia chuckled with surprise, nodded, and pointed to Eddie, exclaiming, “He's right!”

“Well, you're a dickhead too, Munson, so it still works,” Steve said, smiling a shit-eating grin as the two guys laughed together, slapping each other on the shoulders as they exited.

Steve called out to Leia from the doorway. “Leia, we're almost finished with this and then we can go, okay.”

She thanked him and then snuggled back into the sofa with her headphones firmly secured and a book in her hands.

------

True to his word, in a few moments Steve swung back in and the noise from the hall of people saying their goodbyes followed him.

“Hey there. We're just about done. The others are just packing up,” he said as he took a seat beside her.

“Thank you. Can I help with any of it?” Leia said, beginning to stand, but his hand came down on her shoulder as he said warily, “Sorry, but you better not...you know...because....”

“Right...sorry...I keep forgetting.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah...yeah. Just feeling tired and stressed...like all of us....and, you know, the looming otherworldly threat that has a chokehold on me. ”

He nodded thoughtfully and his thick hair bounced along with it. “You've been fighting so hard. You're really handling all this...well, a lot better than I did when I first found out about it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, for sure! I was a panicking mess, not to mention, kind of an asshole back then.”

She laughed. “That's hard to imagine.”

“Believe it. I can be super confident but also...you know..kind of an idiot. But listen,” he said scooting closer, “you know...you really don't need to fight so hard. You could just...let things happen.”

Leia twisted her face in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you're soooo tired. You could always just give in. Quit with the kindness and the altruism and just get what you really want for once.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His voice dropped to a familiar growl, “Revenge, Leia. I'm talking about revenge and how very very good it can feel.” Steve's features were morphing into something else; soft brown eyes turning an icy blue.

“Henry,” she half-whispered as she tried to get up and run, but his long pale fingers clamped around her wrist like a vice. “How did...?”

His thin lips offered a wry grin, “You really should find a better method. The music can't keep me away forever. As you'll see, I'm getting stronger with each meal.”

She tried again to wriggle free, but he just clamped harder around her fragile wrist. The sensation was familiar.

“Remind you of something?”

One blink, and suddenly she was back in her old apartment with Sam yelling at her. She tried to leave the room and he grabbed her wrist, hard. Sam's bony fingers were surprisingly strong; strong enough to hurt, to leave a bruise that she hid with make up and long sleeves and nursed in silence. The ache of the bruise had been long gone for years, but she felt it now, and all the feelings of anger and shame that came with it.

The sinewy tentacles of Vecna's fingers released her wrist to curl around her shoulders. Another blink, and they were standing in a bedroom Leia didn't recognize. She did, however recognize the red-headed figure taking a nap there.

She gulped, anticipating what Vecna might have in mind and whispered, “Sam.”

Vecna's monstrous face was now right next to hers, hissing in her ear. “Do you remember what you were thinking, when you left that room and iced your wrist behind the bathroom door?”

“I don't remember...”

“LIAR” he howled, and she trembled.

“I wanted...please don't make me ...”

“SAY IT.”

Still shaking, Leia swallowed and said, “I wanted to kill him. I was angry. I wouldn't though.”

“Wouldn't you?”

She turned to meet his eyes and beg him, knowing where this was leading. “Henry, please...please don't make me...”

“Why not? He's loathsome. He hurt you in subtle horrible ways for years.” He dropped his voice, hissing once again into her ear. “And I know that when you thought about killing him...imagined killing him. I KNOW it felt good. Powerful. Didn't it, darling?”

Leia squeezed her eyes together against the swell of tears, and nodded reluctantly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes...yes it did. But I wouldn't do it.”

He turned her to face him, resuming his human form and holding her by the shoulders, an unnerving smile on his face which didn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm going to give you a gift, Leia, a choice. You can kill him with me, or you can watch while I kill your Eddie.”

“No...no no on. Please...please don't make me kill anyone.”

Henry tutted, as if soothing a child, and wiped her tears away. “Now darling, you didn't really think I'd let you keep your hands clean forever. Besides, once they're dirty, you'll realized how good...how righteous...it feels to have power for once. Now, make your choice.”

“Don't kill Eddie. Please..PLEASE.” Leia was nearly hyperventilating now, and choking out sobs.

“Then you'll kill Sam with me.”

She nodded clenching her eyes shut, as if this were all just a bad dream and she could wake up. He grabbed her chin roughly. “Open your eyes, Leia. Open your eyes and say what you're about to do.”

She obeyed. “I'm...g..g..going to kill Sam with you.”

Henry's youthful smiling lips faded into the smiling bones of Vecna's scarred mouth. The monster swung her around and stood behind her, pulling her tightly against himself. His arm branched into viscous tentacles, spiraled and laced around her own limbs. His fingers slithered like vines around her own so her hand moved with him. It was an indescribable constricting ache, all the more agonizing because it went slowly, deliberately seeping into everything. She wondered if this is what small mammals feel like as they're crushed by a Boa constrictor; a demise in slow motion, painfully aware of it.

Another blink and they were standing over Sam as he slept. “Reach in. He broke your heart. Now break his. Yours will be the last face he sees.”

Leia did as she was told. Their joined hands wove into his chest cavity, cradling the wet pulsing organ, which felt so much smaller than she ever thought it would; such a small thing keeping us alive. Sam was still sleeping, eyes clenched shut, flinching and wriggling. He was having a nightmare. It was this.

“Squeeze, Leia...hard.”

She did as she was told; trying not to look, trying not to think, but the torrent of hot shame and guilt was already scorching through her like lava, and Vecna wouldn't let her look away.

“Eyes open now, darling...” Vecna told her as he held a hand against her forehead, urging her to look up, meeting Sam's sickly face from mere inches away.

“Tighter”

As she closed her fist she felt a strange fleshy pop, a spasm and a gush of hot blood. Sam's eyes shot open, two bright green disks which clashed with his red-laced corneas. He looked directly into her face as he awoke, screaming her name in shock and horror in his last living moment. Their faces were so close that she could feel his last breaths burst across her cheeks, and his howling battered her eardrums. Then he wasn't Sam anymore. He wasn't arrogant, angry, slyly cruel Sam anymore. He was just a corpse; just a few dozen pounds of flesh left behind. Leia stared in a strange sort of dissociation; thinking how a recently dead person didn't look nearly as gruesome as she thought it might. He looked the same, almost asleep, but some primal intuition knew undoubtedly that he was dead...that this wasn't a trick. She knew in the same instinctual way any animal knows that they are looking at a carcass, not a living thing.

Another blink and she was in a preternatural chasm, with red lightning flickering overhead, draping her small form in Vecna's long shadow. Her hair rose up, smoke-like, around her, and the air felt heavy. Looking up she saw a shimmering surface. They were submerged. Despite her panic, she tried to pay attention to every clue, every detail that might help the others, while he was preoccupied with her.

He had unraveled himself from her and now simply held her wrist, gently this time. A cold sweat of disgust erupted over her skin as Vecna raised her hand between them. It was coated in the thick syrupy blood, so dark it looked nearly black. Tendrils of it danced upwards from her fingertips, carried on the fluid like drops of oil in water. She tried to scream but it wouldn't dislodge from her throat as Vecna's long rough tongue lapped at the gore.

He hummed in satisfaction, finally releasing her hand. “So obedient. So good. And see where it gets you. Hrmm?” He stepped back opening his arms wide, gesturing around himself. “Now you know where I am. Come to me in the waking world, pet, and I'll spare your friends. Resist, and I will take them all.”

@sunflowerdaydreamer @veemoon @little-wormwood @elegantkoalapaper @sweetsigyn @hellfirenacht