#Rabbit Canal

[meadflo]

I wish pessimism and nihilism were less normalised mindsets, as at least in my opinion they can be extremely harmful to someone's wellbeing. No one can convince me it's healthier to see a something cool and be like ''I can't have that, I'm so lame'' and turn it into a negative when it's just *a cool thing*. I've also seen people not try at tasks because they automatically assume it will be a bad outcome, even if they do not face any negative repercussions if they do attempt it. I'm not an extreme optimist by any means, more like an anxious one, and I've found when I had an insanely pessimistic outlook it just fed into my mental health issues. Like to me the concept of life is insanely awesome and how can you not think the best when cats and temperate rainforests exist.

[softsoule]

The Wolf and The Rabbit P3.

Warning: This is my first story I'm not a writer never wrote or published anything before but I thought I would make this story so please don't criticize me too much. I hope you all enjoy that do read this!

*Warning: Smut

*Pairing: Cha Hyun-Su x Reader Part One Part Two

Your lips are numb from the rough kissing, and your tongue dances in his mouth, desperately fighting for dominance. You bite his lip, and it sends him into a frenzy.

He growls and lifts you up, his hands planted on your ass. His lips attack yours as he walks to the empty patient room. He roughly throws you on the nearest bed, and a wave of pain overcomes you.

His dick twitches at the sight of your discomfort; he craves to see it again. His blue eyes darken with passion, and his pants stiffen with lust.

You whine out in pain, and that's enough to send him over the edge. He rips off your clothes, leaving you in your tattered underwear. Before you can protest, he crashes his lips into yours, his hand now reaching dangerously close to your sweet spot. Tightly gripping your soaking wet baby pink panties, he destroys the piece of cloth.

You call out his name desperate from the teasing; he chuckles and gives you what you want. His hand leaves a slow, soft circle on your clitoral area while his mouth sucks and nibbles on your neck.

You moan out his name over and over as you grind against his hand. Almost reaching your peak, he pulls away. You whimper at the absence of his hand, but quickly it is replaced by his warm, wet mouth.

The pleasure of his tongue sends shivers through your body, and your toes curl as you cry out. He chuckles against your core at your reaction. He inserts a finger into your canal softly massaging your walls.

You pull and tug on his hair as he deliciously eats your box as if it were his last meal. He gently sucks and tugs on your clit while gently adding another finger.

You feel your clitoris pulsate, and your muscles tighten as if they were about to burst. "You better not" he warns.

His warning falls on deaf ears as his sweet licks hit your spot and you feel your body begin to release.

Almost instantly, Cha Hyun-Su lands a hard smack on your thigh, causing you to cry out. "Did I tell you to cum?" he growls.

His eyes darken, and his face is furious. He gave you a order and you disobeyed it. How bold of you; but every rule you break you must pay for it. He must teach you to obey him. He menacingly grins at the thought of it.

His eerie smile sends a shiver down your spine. "I-I'm S-orry" you stammer over your words, still breathless from your climax.

Your apology means nothing to him, and you know it. He'll be sure to spend the rest of the night teaching you what happens to disobedient girls.

"Let me show you what happens when you don't follow my orders little rabbit." he smirks.

[strangelittlestories]

Let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

It is well known that most fae are tricksters. They are creatures who do not lie per se, but who make truth light as chaos or heavy as a contract.

They distract you with the truth and while you are looking at it, they steal the ground from beneath your feet, the name from the craw of your soul, and the

They are like shitty close-up magicians, but the coin they produce from behind your ear is everything you ever valued. And the rabbit they vanish into their hat is reality itself.

They leave you untethered, unmoored, floating free in the summerlands while the path home unravels like a knot of handkerchiefs.

It is well known that fae do this. However, you should realise that 'it is well known' is also a clever illusion.

For while you *should* fear the fair folk, they are multi-faceted and manifold. There are some among them that you may still wish to seek out - for while they will *wreck you* quite thoroughly, sometimes a person must shipwreck themselves to reach their destination.

So let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

I first heard rumours of them when on my quest year. It's become something of a tradition among aspiring urban esotericists to take a year out to gain practical magical experience. Druids venture into the fragmented urban wilds beneath their city. Mages seek out spells and traditions in rare local dialects and folklores. Seers get very high and follow whatever visions they may have to their inevitable horrible conclusions.

Meanwhile, I started out seeking a simple remedy for mild dimensional bifurcation. One of the alchemists I spoke to mentioned they sometimes sourced ingredients from the fae - in particular, they had a connect for ice cold truths that they thought may help me.

Sadly, I was hot on the trail of the Reality-phage by that point. And that whole situation … escalated.

When I emerged from that densely-woven five-year headfuck with a master's degree in Divine Linguistics and a fully fractured sense of self, I went panning for gold through my memories … and I recalled the Truthspeaker.

The path to faerie is an easy one to find, but a hard one to walk. Especially if you want anything that resembles yourself to emerge on the other side.

I had little enough of my self left, so I took precautions.

I conjured a worm out of earth and lichen. I took one of my memories - one I could not afford to lose - and I fed it to the imaginary creature. It was fat and wriggling, as if ready to burst with dreams.

I wrote my own personal rune on the worm's skin in white marker. The worm wrote *its* rune on me in slime.

I took it to a dried up canal behind a main road. I walked onto the footbridge that crossed it. I speared the worm on a hook, tried it to a silver thread and I dangled it from a fishing pole.

From the canal bed beneath, hungry mouths began to warp out of the concrete. I snagged the biggest and reeled it in. Arms aching with the effort, finally it breached the guardrail with a squeal of metal. Its grey teeth gnashed towards me.

I dived in.

After a small unknowable bubble of time, in which the concrete hydra and I argued over semantics, we finally reached an accord.

I rode in its mouth into the Summerlands.

Apologies, I was supposed to be telling you about the Truthspeaker.

Reaching them was complex, even with my fearsome new ride. (Honestly, riding in that thing's maw made me feel I was in that book about the sandworms, but a bit more 'Vore.)

I won't repeat the trials I had to go through, the spirits I had to beg, bribe or bludgeon ... if you ever seek them yourself, you will need to pay your own way.

But eventually I reached their grove.

It was a strange place. It had a mushroom arch, like many fae groves, but if you looked close you could see spots of rust growing on the caps of them. I peered closer and saw: there was an iron frame beneath the fungi.

I've heard it said that fungus make death into the stuff of life. Even given some faeries' affinity for mushrooms, I think it takes a very special fae to take that which is inimical to you and make of it your sustenance. (And to be quite so cottagecore about it.)

I passed beneath the arch and felt my magical protections torn away by long intangible fingers clawed in ferrous decay.

Inside, the grove sat beneath ... what is the opposite of a 'verdant' canopy? A dying canopy? A putrefying canopy?

No, it was canopy of tomorrows. A vast and dense web of mycelial strands that ate dank darkness and shunned the sun. The interlaced fungal strings shone with strands of copper and arced with electricity.

At the centre of this dwelling with something akin to a cottage, but vast and ballooning with bulbous growths. Cosy and grand. Homely but haunting.

From within its cavernous doorway emerged the Truthspeaker.

My eyes were drawn first to the crown that burst from beneath the skin of their head. Filigreed wires wove in and out of their temples, burning where they met flesh. From that burning emerged green shoots and flowering fungus in all the colours of autumn killings.

They were dressed in stars and pale cotton. Their eyes were caverns. Their lips were lined with morning frost, which crunched softly as they spoke.

"You have travelled a long road." their sweet, soft voice was echoed deeply by the creatures that squirmed in the earth around their feet.

"I have, honoured one." My voice shook.

"There is no honour here, child."

"Nonetheless, I come to honour you."

"You come to ask of me."

Inside myself, I felt my heart shrivel and rot away and a new heart build itself again from the mess.

"From where I stand, to ask favour is to show my throat. This is honour."

"You are a sophist." they snorted and a cloud of spores filled the air, glittering.

"That is the source of my power, honoured one." The spores settled on my robe and began to form a sparkling crystal city.

"You bear the blessing of the Once God."

"I, uh..." I found myself reaching for my phone to take a scrying selfie and resisted. "I had honestly forgotten it was there."

"As had the blessing. Such is the way of things with the God That Was But Was Not."

"There is much I have lost."

"You are not special in this regard."

"Are there ... any ways in which I *am* special?"

"I don't especially care to name them if there are."

"I..." I licked my lips and they tasted of earthy spices. "I would ask you to tell me one true thing, Truthspeaker."

"I have already told you several."

"I can offer fair exchange. I can serve you. I had knowledge and skill once, I am sure I can find them again."

"No. You never shall."

I blanched.

"Never?"

"They are mulch. New talents will grow. Or you will die. Such is the way of things." they looked me up and down with their hollow, everything eyes, "Tell me what truth you would have. I will find something to do with you after."

My mouth was dry. My lungs filled with thick honey-like dreck. My skin shone translucent. The crystal city on my robe spread and grew, went through two cataclysms, rebuilt itself, then began to spread across my back.

I forget the truth I had planned to ask for.

Instead I said:

"Do you like me?"

"I do not know yet." The Truthspeaker said. "But I am willing to find out."

That is how I met the Truthspeaker. Our first meeting, but not our last. But that is all the detail I will give you for now. If you want more then you will have to seek me out and ask me or win it from me or remind me of it.

But what was it that I wanted to tell you about the Truthspeaker? What did I learn? What might you learn from them?

Surely, I have already told you that?

No, I will say one thing more:

Sometimes the truth does not set you free. Sometimes it anchors you.

Because sometimes you don't need a trickster fae to untie you from reality. Sometimes you are already doing a perfectly adequate job of that yourself.

And when that happens, a truth you can rely on is like cold iron for the soul.

---

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[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Busted - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco earns an ugly reckoning...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Pearl lays her fingertips on his bruised jaw. "Let's get you inside. That needs cleaning."

"It’s fine."

"C’mon. We can sit, and sip whiskey, and wait up for the wagon. Or—"

"Or?"

Her voice softens. "We skip whiskey and go straight to bed."

Her fingertips are soft too. He feels their flutter like a moth's wing. But their heat is a candle, and he's never burned so bright. It hurts. Hurts to look at her.  Because if he does, he'll see himself reflected. The man Sil might've been, if life hadn't chewed him up and spat him out. If he hadn't found Zaun, or Shimmer, or Jinx.

If, instead, he'd had a blank ledger, a clean slate, and a future laid bare.

There are engines rumbling in the distance.

"I can't," Silco says. "Pearl, I can't."

Her fingertips stay on his skin. "You could. If you wanted."

"I can't," he says again. Then, as the ache grows: "Jinx."

"Jinx?"

Now he does look at her. The torchlight catches her face in fractured portions—the high arc of cheekbone, the fluent line of brow, the full dark lips. Her braid has slipped its tie, and falls loose to her shoulders. In this shadow, in this light, she was beautiful. Not just in her face, or her body, but her spirit.

The fire she'd lit in his own, after a lifetime spent in darkness. 

"Jinx," he repeats. "My daughter."

Pearl sucks in a breath.

"You—?"

"I told you," he says. "After this was done, you'd know everything."

Her fingertips tremble against his skin. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she takes his face in both hands, and studies him. Searching, he knows, for the answer to a question she's asked herself, over and over. The answer she's known in her bones, but dared not say aloud.

The answer he'd given her, half-jest, half-warning, before she'd taken him to bed.

"Please," she whispers, and her voice threatens to break. "Tell me you're not—"

"Not who?"

"Him." Threat fractures into plea. "The Eye of Zaun."

Silco nods.

The townsfolk are still carousing. The torches still burn. The moon still cuts like a bloody fishhook. The engines rumble, closer now.

Between Silco and Pearl: silence. Total silence. Her hands drop from his face. The color leaches from her skin. She stumbles backwards, one hand rising to her mouth, as if to stifle a scream—or spewing vomit. Her eyes, locked on his, pick up the spooked gloss of a rabbit sighting a wolf.

Or a woman who's caught a glimpse of something unearthly. Unholy. 

Unforgivable.

"Oh my god," Pearl chokes. "It was you. The whole time."

Silco says nothing. He can't walk the days back, nor erase what's been said and done. He can't unsheathe his knife and slice out the memory of what they'd shared, or how it'd felt, or the secrets they'd whispered in each other's ears. Secrets that, in the dark, were real. Not a ruse, but a resurrection.

The first step towards something he'd thought, for so many years, lost to himself.

"I'm sorry," Silco says, and means it. "Pearl—"

"You bastard," Pearl whispers. Then: "You filthy fucking bastard! You've been here the whole time. Right under my nose. Playing me like a fool."

"Pearl, no—"

"My girls—what have you done to them? Have you hurt them?"

"They're safe. They're on their way. Pearl, I swear—"

"Don't fucking lie! You think I don't know the games you play? What business you traffic in? You've been poisoning this city for decades. Shimmer. Gangs. Bodies in the canals. You're worse than the Piltie fucks above us. At least they have the decency to pretend. But you? You revel in your sickness. Your poison. You freed this city only so you could choke it. Like you do with anyone who gets in your way. With those—those eyes of yours." Her hands knot in her hair. "Janna, those eyes. I've been smiling into yours every night."

"Pearl—"

"Oh, gods. How could I let you inside my house? Inside my—"

She stumbles, and her heel catches in a crack on the cobblestones. Reflexively, Silco catches her elbow. Her skin is ice-cold, but hatred leaps red-hot from her eyes. Catching her balance, she meets him squarely, toe-to-toe.

A sharp thwack, and her open palm collides with his right cheek.

Silco feels the imprint lacing his skin. It doesn't sting. But, for a moment, the world is tinged red.

"Bastard," Pearl spits. "Don't touch me. Don't even look at me."

"Pearl, sweetheart, listen—"

"Don't you dare call me that!" Her pitch cracks into a sob. She's trembling all over, and he wants, desperately, to hold her. But her stance promises a second slap. Or the business-end of her shotgun. "Don't call me sweetheart, or honey, or anything else.  Nothing about us is real. Nothing about Sil was real."

"Pearl—"

"This has all been a hit. From the start. You're here because Eramis muscled in on your turf. Stole your mines, and your profits. So you snuck in for payback. You wormed your way into our lives, and wormed your way into my bed. Used me as bait, and my girls as leverage. Just like Uppside did to us for years." Tears streak her cheeks. "And I—I let you. Gods, I let you. I gave you my home, and my trust. And it's all a fucking lie."

"No."

"You've been lying to me. To everyone." The tears keep coming. Her voice rises. In the crowd, the cheering ebbs. Heads swivel their way. "It's because of you that the Ditch has gone to shit. Because of you that we've lived with fear, and debt, and Lem breathing down our necks. You gave Eramis the mines. You gave him the whole town. It's thanks to you that his men drove out the Guilds. Thanks to you that they murdered my Daddy. Thanks to you that my sister ended up a plaything for Quince. And you knew. You knew, and did nothing."

"I made a mistake," Silco says. "I came to fix it. Please, let me—"

"Fix it?" She bristles, her hands balled into fists. "You could've fixed it years ago! We've been dying for your help, and you never gave a single fuck! I begged. My girls begged. The whole fucking Ditch begged. You didn't care. You couldn't be bothered. As long as you had your coin, and your Shimmer, and your power, why should we matter? We're just a bunch of pissant peasants, aren't we? Barely worth the trouble."

"I came, didn't I?"

"You came," she snaps, "because you had nowhere to go. Because you're the biggest fucking coward on Runeterra, and you've run out of hiding spots. You've made a career out of creeping in the shadows. But the shadows don't cut it anymore, do they? The sun's rising, and the curtain's gonna fall, and soon, the whole world will see what you really are."

Helpless, Silco reaches for her. Pearl recoils. As one, their eyes fall on the knife, still caught in his fist. The blade winks up at her, a mocking eye. In the torchlight, the blood is black as ink. Black as the bile surging in Silco's gut.

Her invective is a pittance compared to the litany he's heaped upon himself. But to see, and hear, and know the ways he's reduced her—this proud woman, who'd fought tooth and claw to save herself and her girls from the fire—makes him, for the first time, hate the thing he's made himself into.

The Eye of Zaun.

The monster at the end of every bedtime story.

The crowd falls silent. The torchlight casts eerie shadows over the townsfolk's faces. Their whispers, carried on the night's chill, are a lapping susurration. 

The engines rumble. Closer than before.

"Pearl," Silco says, and there's a raggedness in his voice. "If I could take it all back, I would. If it'd earn your forgiveness, I'd undo it. But I can't. It's done. What I can do is put things right." 

"Right?" Pearl is sobbing, and laughing, and livid. "What's a man like you know about right? Or forgiveness? You want that? Go down to the mines where men and women died by the score. Go down to the Black Lanes, where the girls sell themselves for a single Hex. Go down to the Pilt, where you dump your dead. Ask them if they'll forgive you. Ask them if you can make it right."

The crowd is talking among themselves. Shocked rises and falls in their voices. His name, passing and repassing, ripples through the throng.

The Eye. The Eye. The Eye.

For half the crowd, a specter of sinister legend. For the other half, a savior in snakeskin. None who've known, much less guessed, the truth.

The Eye is only a man.

A gaunt, graying, one-eyed man, with a knife in his fist, and his sins writ clear across his face.

"Pearl," he tries on last time. "I'm sorry. For everything. I know you don't believe me. I don't expect you to. But look how far you've come. Look what you've done. You've taken back the Ditch. You've settled old scores. Now you're free. You and your girls and the town—you're all free." He turns to the crowd. His voice, still ragged, carries. "All I've ever wanted was for you to have your freedom. That's all any of us ever asked for. The least we deserved."

"I don't want your freedom," Pearl snarls. "I don't want a fucking thing from you."

"Maybe not. But while I stand, I'll make sure you have it." He looks at them all—first at Pearl, meeting her eyes, seeing the fury there, and the sorrow too. Then at the crowd, and each torchlit face, for as long as it takes. "And if mine's not the freedom you want, I'll see that you have another. One that lasts, and holds, and doesn't sour. One that gives you what I couldn't." He looks at Pearl. "What you deserve."

He hears the quaver in his voice. It has quavered only twice before. Once, a lifetime ago, when he'd led the miner's strike against Topside And again, the day Zaun was born. The day he'd scrawled his name on the dotted line, and snatched freedom—freedom, as he saw it—out of Topside's bloody fist.

The crowd is silent. The torches burn. The moon, the color of a corpse, floats in the black sky.

The engines are almost on top of them. The air fills with the smell of diesel and hot metal.

Pearl is weeping in earnest. The fury's gone out of her. Snuffed like a candleflame. Because, even if the shock of Sil's identity will leave her reeling a lifetime, the truth of what he'd done, and the slate he'd wiped, cannot be denied.

The Ditch is hers. Hers and the town's. They've wrested it back, and he's the man who made it happen.

The man who, for all his failures, delivered the firepower straight to their doorstep.

"Oh, gods," Pearl breathes, eyes squeezed shut. "Why? Why'd it have to be you?"

"Because I'm all that this city's dredged up."

"That's not true." Her eyes open. They're the smoking dark of a burnt field. "You're not all it's dredged up. There's other men. Better men."

"There are. But that's the difference between a better man, and a man who gets it done." He takes a step backwards, the knife still in his hand. Wiping it against his trousers, he slips it back into his boot. "The first can only promise better. The second will make it happen."

[caffiend-queen]

Do NOT Say 'Always After My Lucky Charms,' Or I Will Stab You

Welcome to another addition to the Holidays in Hel series! Where Loki and Mina attempt to save the Avengers from yet another catastrophic holiday fuckup.

I've been cleaning up and adding bits to my Holidays in Hel series because really, it's my favorite. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for reading!

Chapter One: An Unmitigated Disaster Awaits

In which Loki and Mina once again find themselves in the middle of a colossal Avengers holiday fuckup. And who knew the Fey Folk were such assholes?

If there was blame to be assigned for the night that destroyed any charm and mystery left in St. Patrick’s Day, it should really go to The Paddy O’Hoolihan’s, an Irish folk band with a painfully cheesy name. But their music- it was frenzied and delightful, which was why Mina, Wanda, Jane, Pepper, Darcy, and even Natasha were swirling madly in some sort of a jig between each other like a flutter of butterflies, colorful spring dresses flaring out in a pleasing way that exposed a toned thigh or two. They were so fascinating to watch that the rest of the Avengers agreed right then that a Night Out On The Town would be necessary in the hopes of seeing more of this.

“A flutter of butterflies?” Tony blustered. “That can’t be right.”

Loki was seated elegantly on a comfortable chair in the middle of Central Park while most of the other male Avengers were seated in the grass, soaking the seat of their jeans. “A flutter,” he confirmed, watching closely as Mina sent him a saucy little wink. “Known also as a kaleidoscope or a swarm.”

“Swarm isn’t the right word,” mused Steve, still brushing at the green streaks on his pressed chinos. “That sounds like bugs. The girls are definitely butterflies.”

“Butterflies are bugs,” grunted Bucky, eyes closed and soaking in the weak spring sunlight.

“You romantic bastard,” chortled Sam, who was watching Thor capering with the women and getting the dance steps wrong. “I’m gonna go save those ladies from his bigass feet.” 

“That slick son of a bitch,” Tony observed morosely, watching Sam gracefully sweep Pepper under one arm and Natasha with the other.

It was a rare day, a blissful day where nothing was exploding, no one was invading anyone else’s borders, no one was getting kidnapped, and even HYDRA appeared to be taking a long afternoon nap. The Avengers were all lazing in Central Park on an almost unnaturally warm day for March 17th and enjoying a holiday where they were, for once, not urgently needed. Anywhere.

“To St. Patrick’s Day!” toasted Bucky, raising his bottle of Guinness to clink with Steve’s. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

Tony pulled another bottle from the specialty vibranium cooler that floated next to him, its propulsion jets hissing softly. “Watch the parade from Stark Tower, say a prayer at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and hit The Dead Rabbit Grocery & Grog. The Dropkick Murphy’s are headlining.”

Loki sniffed, still watching keenly as Mina took the hands of an elderly gentleman so wizened and stooped that he could legally be classified as a leprechaun. “My lady and I will be spending the evening safely at the Tower. I do not understand this keen desire for holiday-based mayhem and disaster, but I assure you we shall not participate.”

“Brother!” Thor’s voice was unfortunately right next to Loki’s ear, and God or no, the roar from the oaf seared through his ear canal and scrambled his ganglia. “You must bring the Lady Mina, she will be terribly disappointed! Darcy has been telling her of the majesty of the Celtic celebrations here. She must pay homage to her ancestors.”

Loki frowned. Mina had Irish blood? He would rather crush his own skull with Thor’s hammer than admit that his brother knew something about his Mina that he did not, so he settled for a haughty sniff. “Why must I be the sole sentinel during every holiday on this benighted excuse for a realm to remind you all that it will always, always invariably result in death and destruction? That there will be some unnatural force that will target the Avengers and endanger all those we love? Why must I be the-”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Tony interrupted happily, “Loki looooves Mina!”

And then the tiresome chorus rose from this pack of imbeciles. Loki rolled his eyes, wondering if he sent a hailstorm of toads down upon this crowd if it would immediately be traced back to him. But then his Mina returned and sat down in his lap. Kissing him on the tip of his aquiline nose, she sighed, “And Mina loves Loki, so all of you hush.”

“Darling, are you indeed of Irish descent?”

Mina looked up from the 3D chemical strain she was modeling for one of Jane’s experiments. “Yes, and Scottish. How did this come up?”

Loki sniffed haughtily. “My oaf of a brother attempted to claim that I must indulge you in a night of drunken excess with the rest of the team as some sort of homage to your heritage. Is this night one that must be dedicated to your ancestors? Is it a sacred rite?”

Giving a very unladylike snort, Mina said, “Nothing sacred about gulping down too much green beer and singing Irish folk songs. But…” Loki groaned internally. His sweet girl had a look of longing as she continued. “But it’s always such a fun night! I get to dance and sing, and the saying is that ‘On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.’” She smiled up at him sweetly. “Even you, Loki.”

Lip curled, he snarled, “Do not assign me a heritage from this insignificant rock!” Traditionally, this sort of elegant sneer would quail Mina, but this time, she gave him a sneer of her own. 

“Oh, you do not disrespect my people, Loki!” She quailed slightly before seeing his curled lip stretch into a smile. 

“My, my. Look at my fierce little banshee! I would not think of it.” Mina gave him the sort of shameless, hopeful grin that crumbled the God of Lies and Mischief’s will more often than he’d care to admit. 

Sliding her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the hard muscle beneath, she asked, “Does that mean you might be willing to join the group tonight at the Dead Rabbit?”

His elegant head pulled back from hers, “What a truly bizarre name. Does the proprietor wish to drive people away from his tavern?”

Mina cackled a bit. “We Irish are tough. We like it rough and difficult.” She instantly realized her mistake as Loki’s pupils flared.

“Really…” he purred, his deep tone more like a rumble against her spine. “You like it, ‘rough,’ do you, darling?”

It was a desperate scramble to get away from her God’s ruthless grasp, but Mina found herself pulling on her old plaid kilt and cream Irish fisherman’s sweater after a promise to show Loki later the bit of “rough” that a good girl from the Emerald Isle could handle. “My lovely Mina,” he approved, stepping behind her in the dressing room mirror to straighten his cuffs. She’d just pulled on some warm black tights and her knee-high riding boots. “You have a very delectable ‘upper-crust schoolgirl’ sort of look here. I find myself quite interested in knowing what good Irish schoolgirls wear under their kilts.”

“Well, I imagine a big, strong man like you can find out for yourself,” Mina answered primly, then leaped over the bench with a yelp when Loki made a sudden move at her. Chuckling, he straightened his tie and strolled sedately after her.

It was, of course, vile. Loki sighed in a long-suffering way as he surveyed the crowded bar, one hand securely on Mina’s back. “The sun barely set and here are your countrymen, already intoxicated,” he said, leaning in close so she could hear him over the drunken chorus of “Whiskey You’re the Devil.”

“Oh, look!” Mina shouted back, “There they are! In the Snug.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki raised a brow.

“The Snug,” Mina was the one carving a path through the partygoers, heading for their friends. “There’s one in every proper Irish bar.  It’s the room right off of the bar where the ladies used to go to have a pint or a sherry and not have to worry about being considered loose. Now the bars just rent them out as a VIP space.”

In his usual fashion, Tony had not only bought out the Snug, which had an excellent view of the rest of the pub, but he also had the management re-create the magnificent, shining walnut bar that ran nearly the length of the main room into a private version for the Avengers. When they drew closer, they found Thor in a handstand with one end of a tube in his mouth and the other in a cask of aged whiskey. 

Sam, Clint, Darcy, and the usually shy Bucky were circling the spectacle, shouting “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” Thor finished the cask and flipped upright with a flourish, raising his huge arms and roaring in triumph.

“What are you wearing?” Loki frowned, all the men were sporting hideous green plaid patterned neckties, and the more drunken amongst them - namely Clint and Tony - had little green bowler hats perched atop their messy hair.

“It was Tony’s idea, where’s your tie?” asked Bruce, who looked distinctly put out that he’d been forced to wear this itchy novelty neckwear while Loki looked as smooth and perfectly put together as always in an onyx Tom Ford suit.

Loki sniffed, “Ideally, at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

Tony stumbled up behind Loki and Mina, sunglasses askew as he looped an arm around each of them. “Your brother knows how to party, Severus Snape! Let’s tap another cask for you!”

“It is a crime to treat a good whiskey so,” admonished Loki, “and Thor must consume twenty or so of those casks for him to find something even approaching intoxication.” Nonetheless, he found himself relaxing and even amused as his Mina dragged Natasha up on to the bar for a round of Irish Ceili dancing, the Russian gracefully moving along as if she’d performed Irish jigs all her life.

“Man, is there anything Natasha can’t do perfectly?” groused Darcy, watching the footwork until it made her dizzy.

Bucky put his arm around her. “She can’t make that cute little noise you make when I…” She dissolved into a round of giggles and Loki rolled his eyes, looking around the pub. There was a thicket of drunk college students, singing along off-key with the Dropkick Murphys, who’d moved on to “Rose Tattoo.” The main bar was claimed by the regulars, who held court and toasted something new at least every sixty seconds, based on the cheers and clinking of glasses. Small islands of tourists floated through the crowd, gripping a beer mug in one hand and a souvenir Dead Rabbit t-shirt in the other. Irish flags were draped in every corner and the light glowed off the massive selection of alcohol behind the bar, bathing everything in a pleasingly golden glow. And… Loki raised one elegant brow. There was a small group of… small people?

“Little people,” Steve said, leaning in. “The correct phrase is little people.”

“Descendants of a visit long past from a group of lustful and irresponsible Nidavellir,” mused Loki, “the dwarves always eager to spread their seed.”

Steve looked alarmed, “I don’t think you want to be floating that theory, Loki. Especially not here, and not tonight.”

Before the God of Mischief could further discuss Nidavellir sex tourism, he heard a loud “Hellooo, Monty!” from his sweet girl, still tip-tapping away atop the bar.

One of the men broke away from the group and waved eagerly. “Éire go Brách, Mina!” 

Leaping rather gracefully from the bar, she took his small hand, greeting him warmly. “Éire go Brách, Monty! I’m so glad you came.”

The gentlemen had a face like a withered crabapple, all wrinkles and slightly sunken, but when he glanced at Loki, there was a spark of… something in his eye. One trickster always knew another, and he recognized the elderly gentleman she’d favored with a dance that afternoon at the park. “Well, when you promised me another dance, my dear, how could I not?” Monty turned to Loki and bent his head in a courtly gesture, “If your date for the evening has no objection, of course.”

Oddly, Loki did have an objection. The gleam in the small man’s eye was growing brighter, and his own emerald ones narrowed. “And what brings you to New York, Monty? Your accent has all the slurs and ellipses of a Dubliner, born and bred.”

Mina’s new friend threw back his head and laughed grandly, “Ach, you’ve caught me. I am, indeed. But I find that here in America, the Irish celebrate this day with greater enthusiasm.”

Just then the Dropkick Murphys launched into “The Boys are Back” and Mina squealed. “Monty! This is my song, let’s go!” And with a final smirk at Loki, her diminutive beau allowed her to pull him into the crowd. 

He stared after them disapprovingly. The Dead Rabbit was even louder - if possible - than it had been when they arrived and the discordant screech of electric guitar and the accompaniment of the Uilleann pipes rose over the crowd.

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

Standing on the highway, ???

I'm missing my home, and it's killing me

Down the ramp past the jail, I'm feeling alright

Bought roses for my ladies from a corner delight

It's time to get ready for that song and dance

Let's go my friends, it's time to take a chance

We're back in town, we're gonna get it done

We got nowhere to hide, we got nowhere to run

It's been a long time coming,

It's been a long time coming,

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

And in the blink of an eye, Mina and her questionable dance partner were swallowed up into the crowd. “Did he not seem unnatural to you?” Loki asked Tony, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder and wrinkling the perfect cut of his jacket.

Tony stumbled back, “Woah, Lokes, prejudiced much? What’s next, snide comments about the little people always being after your Lucky Charms?” He said the last in a deplorably bad Irish accent, and Loki’s brow furrowed. Tony (partially sober) was just barely endurable. Completely intoxicated Tony was a punishment that could make the strongest Asgardian choose Odin’s dungeons over Stark Tower.

Bucky gently elbowed Tony into a seat, where his head tipped back and a gentle snore rose from his slack mouth. “Ignore him, Loki. What’s the problem?”

“Most pressing,” he said, “is that my dear Mina seems to have disappeared into this drunken throng with a most untrustworthy creature.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky agreed, but he refused to take offense, still searching the crowd. Looking around, he frowned. “And where’s Darcy and Jane? And Pepper? And Natasha?” By now the others were closing in. Thor shouldered his way into the knot of drunken, flailing New Yorkers and Clint hopped up on the table.

Pale hands shooting out, Loki sent a silver stream of energy that coiled and ripped around the pub, curling and snaking along, but there was no sign of the women. “By the NORNIR!” he shouted. “Why? Why must it always be the holidays? You Avengers are a curse, I swear it!”

“Huh?” Tony woke up, standing and rubbing his face. “What?”

Loki turned on him. “You will never heed my warning, will you? All our women- they are gone. Gone!”

“Aw, damn,” sighed Steve, "AGAIN?"

Chapter Two is up tomorrow. You know, the one with all the smut.

I'm starting over with a vague memory of who might like my Loki and Avengers tales. If you would like on or off this list, please let me know! Thank you. Mwah!

@what-is-your-plan-today

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@the-soulofdevil

@americasass81

@mdemontespan1667

@sultry-rachael

@myoxisbroken

@gigglingtiggerv2

@notpedeka

@narnianarcher

@sylviefromneptune

@winterslove1917

@kimanne723

@hawkeyes-queen

@grymrayven

@stevihj

@lizette50

@jevans2

@wolfsmom1

@devikafernando

@wegingerangelica

@nildespirandum

@alexakeyloveloki

@thebatshitcrazyfangirl

@thehumming6ird

@archy3001

@iheartsebastianstan

@tomstinkerbell

@wolfpawn

@rayofdawnworld

@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

@dangertoozmanykids101

@alexakeyloveloki

@nuggsmum

@boredbrooder

@fairlightswiftly

@inkededucatednnerdy

@nonsensicalobsessions

@viv-annelore

@eleniblue

[pixiecactus]

🍂​book!(mostly)gendrya fanfic rec (part one)🍂​

oh boy this is a doozy, so here they are the first one to twenty, most of the summaries were written by me, so if you ask yourself why the summary is really shitty and not appealing, that's why. a high number of these fics are restricted so you'll need a ao3 account to be able to see them. any kind of triggering content i put with the corresponding warnings, same with any minor pairings featured and finally if the fic contains smut (so if that is not a thing you're interested in reading you can skip it)

➤the rabbit by aneedleofmyown - arry and gendry banter/friendship back when they were travelling with the night watch's recruits

➤out of the dark by schwoozie - arry and gendry share a bedroll/cloak on their way north as night watch's recruits

➤my forest lass by theviolentdelight - smut - before the battle against the others arya visits gendry's tent - future au

➤cold by callioope - arya returns to the inn at the crossroads, gendry does not recognize her - future au

➤lay me down by elenei - smut - gendry sees arya wearing a dress once again and pretty much my featherbed starts playing - future au

➤the tilt by acornsandravens - smut - jon arryn sends gendry to the vale and he end up as a knight during the bolton and frey rebellion. arya and gendry meet at a tourney with good old stubborn arya and good old stubborn gendry - canon divergence - arranged marriage - minor bran/meera

➤cloaked by acornsandravens - smut - five times arya and gendry share a cloak and one time they share a cloak with someone else - future au

➤sapling by elephant_eyelash - arry, gendry and hotpie friendship, arry teaches gendry and hotpie about nature

➤conversations with dead people by prettyy_vacant - gendry sees dead people when he's at the crossroads, i know it sounds like a modern au, but it's not - future au

➤forest love by elenei - arya is confused and scared about her feelings for gendry cue godswood love confessions - future au - really minor daenerys/jon - (fic has talks about gendry and lordship)

➤wild forest lass by persuade_me - arya is never found after the fight with joffrey at the trident, she and nymeria have been surviving alone for years until she is found by the inn's blacksmith where she was trying to get produce - canon divergence

➤ser gendry of the hollow hill by vanillamostly - gendry's pov during and after the red wedding do i need to say anything more

➤caught a long wind by macneiceisms - domestic gendrya, arya and gendry arguing about their family sigil - future au

➤warmth by madaboutasoiaf - arya and gendry friendship during the bwb days and the end of said friendship a little bit angsty

➤dream by madaboutasoiaf - gendrya reunion, a really heartfelt one - future au

➤the first one by aliceinwonderunderground - lovely gendrya reunion - future au

➤there us no word for bull in old valyrian by bluethunder - i know that this fic has lord of storm's end gendry, but most importanly has past cat of the canals x young griff, a rare pair that i found actually fun, so this is aegon meeting arya again and trying to woo her and arya is having none of that also it has dany as a interpreter and a reversal in the targaryen-stark-baratheon debacle of old time - future au

➤the green eyed monster by joyblue - going to copy the fic summary because it's perfect, times the green eyed monster visited catelyn, ned, jon, sansa and gendry all because of arya. it has gendry being legitimized by stannis, but he doesn't get storm's end - canon divergence

➤fair gendry & ser arya the gallant by macneiceisms - smut - forge sex with first times and love confessions other than arya saying that sansa would understand her wanting to be with gendry and not be betrothed to some lord (we know sansa would not) is pretty much perfect - fluffy fluff - future au

➤don't go without me by like_a_dove - gendrya childhood friends in winterfell, basically gendry is hidden in winterfell and you know how it goes with this couple - friend to lovers, but arya is betrothed to lord edric dayne of starfall and their time together is coming to an end - canon divergence

[smaller-comfort]

So how do you imagine snail love darts and necrontyr working/combining? Cause I am interested~

Aksjdhsk ahahaha oh god okay here we go

(Tumblr crashed on me three times while I tried to write this, but I will not let that stop me from rambling at length about snail sex, speculative xenobiology, and various ways that necrontyr get to be fucked up little guys.)

Okay. Some assumptions/general thoughts: necrontyr do not have "dual-use" reproductive/waste elimination systems (inferred from Trazyn's hilarious disgust at the idea, but honestly it would be entirely believable for him to have completely lost any and all memories of necrontyr biology). Most higher order animals do (they're efficient!), but you start to see ones that don't when you get down to bugs and marine creatures, so that's what kicked off this train of thought.

I'm assuming also there is relatively little sexual dimorphism among necrontyr (not for any particular reason, although my understanding is that actual female necrons are a relatively new thing in wh40k lore, so that fits). And finally, everyone constantly dying of turbo cancer has led to a 'throw everything but the kitchen sink at it' evolutionary approach to reproductive strategies.

Okay, now snails: they use the darts during courtship to deliver hormones that increase the likelihood of fertilizing their partner's eggs; after the several-hours-long mating dance, they'll exchange spermatophores. (Fun fact, the penis, copulatory canal, and dart sac are all located inside the genital pore, on the snail's head. Mating dances can involve a lot of biting.) Snails have bad aim, but it's not uncommon for both snails to end up getting stabbed during courtship.

"Copulatory canal" is a deeply unsexy phrase, btw. So are most words we use when talking about sex, unfortunately. *sigh*

Anyway. While many necrontyr do only have one set of functional reproductive organs by the time they reach adulthood (either because the other set was always vestigial or because it gets removed to reduce the spread of cancer), both sets are usually present in some fashion. Sterility would be fairly common, but medical technology is able to mitigate some of that; the lower classes, at least, need to be able to breed like rabbits to feed the war machine. Gender is mostly divorced from reproductive role by the time biotransference happens; in addition to male and female, there would have been at least one other normative gender, possibly two (to account for both null and multimodal genders). Gender fluidity would have been common and largely unremarkable for necrontyr. (It's still largely unremarkable for necrons, but it's not particularly common; they're mostly fixed with whatever gender they had at biotransference.)

Okay, so, love darts. Pretty much only ever used by nobles/the military, because in the upper classes of society, sex isn't about reproduction, it's about reinforcing social hierarchies. And necrontyr social hierarchies tend to be inherently about violence in one way or another. Sexual dominance is generally more about who gets stabbed with the dart than it is about which penis is going where. (That's still a factor, but it's secondary, since genital configurations/functionality can be a bit of a wildcard.) Snails take an egalitarian approach to sex; necrontyr categorically do not. Both parties consenting to be darted would be considered weird and perverted.

Kind of going off ancient greek/roman sexual mores here; it would be entirely unthinkable, for example, for Obyron to be the penetrative partner in either sense with Zahndrekh. (Then again, Zahndrekh is a shameless pervert.) Sex between two social equals is generally accompanied by an agreement- sometimes tacit, sometimes explicit- about not using the darts. Doing so would be an overt act of aggression. Often, to prevent any potential misunderstandings, they'll voluntarily empty their dart sacs ahead of time.

Forcing someone to empty their dart sac prior to sex is a pretty common form of sexual humiliation. When done voluntarily, it's a sign of submission or respect. (Darts usually have a refractory period of a few days, depending on the person's overall health. Single-chambered dart sacs are typical, but multiples aren't unheard of. Leads to occasional 'surprise! You thought I was submitting to you but now you're getting fucked instead' situations.)

The dart sac would be located in their mouths, under the tongue; it's meant to be ejected into the soft tissue of the mouth, but it's sharp enough to pierce the skin anywhere. (This does mean kissing can be Complicated, or at least somewhat subversive, depending on everyone's social standing.) Normally it gets broken down and absorbed by the recipient's body; pulling one out tends to be extremely uncomfortable/painful.

The exact cocktail of hormones and neurochemicals it injects the other person with would vary somewhat between individuals, but can potentially vary widely between dynasties or social classes due to genetic/geographic/cultural differences. Some might include a mild paralytic agent; some sort of euphoric effect is also common. (This is all in addition to the original function, which, uh. Is to make the recipient more likely to get pregnant.) The shape of the dart varies in a similar fashion, ranging from a straight, smooth bone spike to something more elaborate with barbs or fluting.

(A bloody mouth can signify a lot of things to necrontyr- in addition to violence or illness, it's also inherently erotic. Necrons who remember this try very, very hard not to think about it when confronted with Flayed Ones.)

(Yenekh: *very sexily smearing his mouth with blood and draping himself all over Oltyx*

Oltyx: *oblivious, can't stop thinking about how pretty Yenekh is*

The rest of the flayed ones: *still not sure why their king and his consort haven't fucked nasty in a pile of carrion yet. Maybe they need a bigger pile of carrion? Yes, that's probably it. They will take care of this for their beloved king.*)

Crypteks have their own social hierarchies within their conclaves, but they're usually not as concerned with sexual politics as nobles and the military tend to be. Most people believe that crypteks all lace their love darts with poison, and the crypteks don't try to discourage that assumption. Some of them probably do, tbh.

Necrons, of course, don't have genitalia, but they can still stab each other with love dart analogues- this ranges from things like executive buffer override packages sent via interstitial channel, to actually physically jamming a spike of necrodermis into a neural input node. (From a purely aesthetic/romantic standpoint I also like the idea of love darts constructed out of crystallized core flux. The first time Zahndrekh does that to Obyron he goes into complete cascade failure and takes several hours to reboot.)

If Orikan and Trazyn did have sex pre-biotransference, one of them would have darted the other without permission (probably accidentally, being that they are both intensely nerdy losers and thus Bad At Sex by necrontyr standards), setting off a sixty-five million year hate-sex feud that neither of them can even remember the origin of. Orikan would've gone after Trazyn's mouth with a pair of pliers at some point; joke's on him, Trazyn's into that.

(Trazyn does have a collection of necrontyr love darts in the archives- all of them ones he collected personally when he was alive. He has no absolutely no memory of slutting it up back in the day, though, and probably doesn't even realize what they are. Sannet, unfortunately, does remember, and wishes he didn't. He has had to put up with so, so much over the years.)

[visceravalentines]

threw this little blurb together based on a conversation with @curlytemple about the possibility that Benson meant to kill everyone at Burgersx3 including himself and uh......read at your own fucking risk, man.

tw graphic depiction of homicide, suicide, and animal death. reference to past child abuse. dead dove, do not eat.

in his dreams, they all die.

it plays out pretty much the same at first. he hits Chris in the gut, again, on purpose, again. he can still hear his old man saying "a gut shot's a helluva way to go, kid." sometimes, in the dream, he pulls the trigger again for the mercy kill. sometimes he doesn't.

Hardy's faster in his mind. makes it a little closer to the phone every time, but he gets him. he always gets him, and he always takes half the office down with him, papers and cups and pens and shit all over the floor.

it's funny, when it happened for real, he didn't hear Jess screaming until he was looking right at her, and then it was all he could fucking hear, all he could fucking think about, and she wouldn't fucking stop, and he tried to get her to stop, but what're you gonna do? what's he supposed to do? it's the same in the dream. she isn't screaming until he turns around and then she is and she always was.

he never sees it hit her. the camera of his mind always shifts angles. there's probably something to that but he can't think what and he doesn't really care. all he knows is, the sound her body makes when it hits the ground makes him think of when Ma would sit up late at the table and he'd know it meant the fucker was back in town, and he'd excuse himself to his room and out the window for the evening. easier for everyone that way.

that's all pretty much standard. it's the next part that's weird.

he feels the gun in his hand, hears the break and the hollow plastic clatter of spent shells on the linoleum. he just fucking mopped. he reaches in his pocket for the last two rounds.

once, he looked down and saw something written on one of them in permanent marker or some shit. a B or an R or something. but everybody knows you can't read in dreams, and it only happened the once as far as he can remember.

he walks slow, real slow, dream slow, around the tables until he's facing him head-on. and he's high-def every time. wet cheeks, trembling lips, and those fucking eyes, blue in a way that can't be real. lashes long like a girl's. looking at him with the blind fear of a baby animal too fresh-born to understand but with enough sense to know it's fucking over. enough instinct screaming in the blood to stay still, stay still, don't breathe, stay still.

stay still and let it happen.

stay still until it's over.

don't breathe or you'll never get the fucking smell out of your nostrils.

he tastes bile in his mouth when he pulls the trigger.

he never runs. never even tries. he hits him in the chest, dead center, every time. and he crumples like a beer can under a boot. goes to the ground with this soft, feathery gasp that echoes in his brain. it makes him sick.

he steps forward, stands over him. it takes him way too long to die, way too fucking long. the mess of his chest is seven shades of red. sometimes he can see his heartbeat in the swell and collapse of gore, and that's how he knows he's dreaming. because no man on earth takes a blast of buckshot to the ticker and keeps ticking.

it reminds of the time he hit a rabbit doing 95 on the canal road, vision so blurred he could barely see past the hood of the car. how he slammed on the brakes, skidded to the shoulder, and through the cloud of dust he watched the thing heave and die in the scarlet of his taillights, and he gripped the wheel so hard his fingers hurt the next day and sobbed until his voice went hoarse.

he never cries, in the dreams. never feels regret. never feels much of anything.

he stands and waits. watches the blood bubble helplessly on his lips, the tears coming down in sheets from those eyes. those fucking eyes. looking back at him glazed-over and heavy with an apology. more remorse in those eyes than he's ever felt for anything in his life. and it hollows him out. cleans him right out like a carcass strung up in the yard. empty in the ribs. blood all over the ground.

some of it oughta be his, right?

so he flips the gun, and from the floor he watches him do it, and the funny thing about dreams is that he sees it from both angles at the same time, from his own perspective and from the ground looking up with the light growing cold and faint around the edges.

he nestles the muzzle snug under his chin, back against his throat. you gotta aim it right or you'll miss the brain, blow off your face, and then you'll really wish you were dead. good thing he can see it from both angles. make sure he gets it right the first time.

he's not scared, before he pulls the trigger. for one goddamn glorious moment, he's not scared of anything.

it all goes red when the gun goes off, the red of taillights in the dark, and he never wakes up with the bang. no, he wakes up one...two...three seconds after with every muscle clenched and his tongue clamped between his teeth. and he stares up into the black and waits for it to come back to him. how it really happened. where he is. who he is.

what he's done and what he hasn't.

it's only once he's sure of things that he seeks him out, sends a hand roving through the sheets until it meets the angle of a hip or an elbow. sometimes that's enough. sometimes he won't allow himself more.

sometimes he will. sometimes he needs to. sometimes he rolls to the side and pulls him in under his arm like a teddy bear, shoves his face into the bone of his shoulder and pretends to sleep until the sun comes up.

either way, he spends the rest of the night trying to forget. trying to forget the sound, the screams of a girl or a boy or a rabbit. the smell of blood and gunpowder. the heat of steel against his throat.

the feeling of feeling nothing, nothing at all, when he looks into those eyes, blue in a way that can't be real.

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Any soft Wesper kid HC or prompts? I’ve always imagined Wespers kid as struggling to read just like Wylan and not fully understanding it. They just know that “Da reads everything for Dad” and growing up in a much healthier environment than Wylan they dont grow up with the same low self esteem issues and instead the idea that love is someone willing to read to you. They hope that in the future they find someone like that for themselves. IDK I’m a sucker for breaking they cycle lol

Aw Id love to share some soft Wesper Kid HCs!

Apologies for the delay in answering Ive had this in my drafts so I can build on it

- Wesper kid is an early riser and often wakes before his Dads, so the only sensible thing to do is bring his favourite book or toy and climb into their bed with them. They often spend the entire morning on off days just lounging in bed

- Swimming lessons! Being so close to canals and the harbour (and that swimming once saved his Pa’s life) having the Wesper Kid know how to swim and be confident in water is extremely important to them

- Ive always imagined if the Wesper kid had a cognitive disability it would be colourblindness or ADHD. Where his Da is the hyperactive sort he is the inattentive type and can struggle to sit for lessons without his mind wondering. So to help him they adjust his school day. They give him more frequent breaks in class and bigger gaps in-between lessons with lots of outside play, and they find tutors who teach in a very practical way to keep him engaged

- Wesper kids favourite animals are rabbits, little bit of Aditi coming to him. Jesper also sings Zemeni lullabies and reads him all his favourite stories from his childhood. Wesper kid becomes their ‘little rabbit’ and Grandma Aditi is well known in their home

- Ive love the idea that theres no shame or secret regarding Wylan not reading. Kids accept the world as it’s presented to them so he wouldnt think anything unusual of it. When it comes time to do homework or bedtime stories theres no hush-hush that only Da can read to him. But Wylan of course memorises bedtime stories and is Wesper kids go to for math/science homework

- Wesper kid has his Da’s energy and his Pa’s musical interest…which results in him wanting to learn the drums. Jesper is overjoyed, Wylan is of course delighted and supportive but makes a mental note to get ear plugs as a kid learning percussion can be quite overstimulating for autistic people

- As much as Wylan is dead set on gentle parenting that doesn’t mean it’s easy. When you’re brought up with harsh treatment and are used to that being ‘normal’, it takes daily conscious effort to break that cycle. He never ever lays a harsh hand or word on their son, but he does have to take time outs occasionally to gather himself on rough days. Its retraining mental instinct but he would do it a million times over for his son to feel safe and loved

- Wesper kid is asthmatic/anaemic like his Pa. Id love a fic of the first time the kid becomes really unwell with the flu or lung fever and Wylan & Jesper are just losing their minds. Luckily Nana Marya is there to help calm new parent worries and pass along some tips on soothing a poorly child

I may continue to add to this, but this is what I have at the moment 💕

[vanillabox]

Buneary (Psychic)

Lopunny (Psychic/Fighting)

Regional variants of Buneary and Lopunny based on the moon rabbit and magical girls (mainly Sailor Moon). I also wanted to design a regional variant of Mega Lopunny but my pen stopped working ;--;

Once I get a new pen I will finish the design.

Also since my fakemon region would be based on México you could see these designs as a reference to Canal 5 and Azteca 7, two mexican TV channels that have been streaming a lot of anime since the 70s and are one of the main reasons why old anime like Dragon Ball and Sailor Moon are so famous in this country.

[jasongotdrip]

Okay this is going to make me sound super sad but you said you were in New Orleans and right now that’s my current research rabbit hole obsession so if you find anything interesting particular history wise PLEASE LET ME KNOW (I’m such a neek I’m so sorry)

YEAH! Most of my family is from there so I know some stuff off the top of my head- all of this is either memorized from school or family, so correct me if im wrong😭

oh god I ACTUALLY YAPPED IM SO SORRY😭😭

cw: yapping, pretty pictures i took😍

New orleans was founded in (i think) 1718. France owned it first, then in 1803, Thomas Jefferson bought the Louisiana Purchase for approx 5 million dollars. It was actually very cheap for the amount of land it was, because it stretched across the entire middle of the (present day) U.S. It doubled the size of the land they owned, because the only settlements were east of the App mountain range. (I’m so sorry- im a history nerd😭)

it’s the most haunted city in the U.S. - i think San Antonio (TX) is also one of the top haunted cities but I can’t remember

the oldest part of the city is called the French Quarter!

the St. Louis Cathedral is the oldest cathedral in the country that’s still used to this day.

in 2005, (I wasn’t alive but my family told me about this) when Hurricane Katrina hit, a lot of people took shelter in the Superdome, which is a big stadium. The hurricane was horrible to the entire state really, but New Orleans is right on the coast so it was especially bad there. My family moved to a nearby state before it was too late. That’s actually how my parents met! But anyway, the city is actually below sea level (by like 2 meters) which is why it was so easy to flood. It’s surrounded by levees that help keep the water out. Still, many houses and buildings are elevated, or on stilts because of this. Cemeteries are the same- every tomb is above the ground, in cement blocks. When we go to my grandmother’s grave, we always cover it in purple flowers.💜

if you EVER go to new orleans, the food is amazing. Like seriously. Creole/cajun food has always been the best. No matter what place you go, it will be great. Most of it is seafood based, like shrimp, crab, crawfish, etc.

i’m gonna put some photos i took in case you want to see some! Though I really only took pictures of Canal St, a large street with palm trees and trolleys/trams galore. On a lot of the buildings, there balconies full of plants and flags (yes, there was the rainbow flag as well😝)

[little-cereal-draws]

Hi! I saw a post where you mentioned intersex Jesus being a part of medieval European alchemy and I'd love to learn more about that. Could you elaborate or maybe provide links to some articles? I know some saint mystics talked about Jesus being our Mother, and the holy wound in His side was often likened to a birth canal, especially in medieval times. Is it connected to that in any way?

I'd love to elaborate! (This is going to be a long post so buckle up lol)

I will be using the word "hermaphrodite" instead of "intersex" because that is the word that primary sources from medieval Europe and contemporary medieval scholars use when talking about this subject

The best scholarly article I've found is "The Jesus Hermaphrodite: Science and Sex Difference in Premodern Europe" by Leah DeVun. It talks about how the image of the hermaphrodite was used in a metaphorical way by alchemists to show the combining/transforming of two different metals. They believed that certain metals/elements were gendered, so combining male and female "traits" would make something of a completely new sex; similar to the way they perceived hermaphrodites as both but also neither sex.

The article then goes on to talk about two medieval texts: Aurora consurgens and the Book of the Holy Trinity. Aurora consurgens is an alchemic text and has the image below in it. The hermaphrodite is holding a rabbit and bat, both of which were thought to be hermaphroditic species where both males and females gave birth, to emphasize their dual sexuality as well as the conflicting male and female attributes of alchemy.

The Book of the Holy Trinity transitioned from the traditional alchemic hermaphrodite, like seen above, into the religious sphere by arguing that Jesus and Mary were two sides of the same coin. The author of the text says, "one can never see the mother of God without also seeing that God eternally hides and intermingles [his mother] within him. God was and is eternally his own mother and his own father, human and divine, his divinity and his humanity intermingled within. And he depends on that which he wishes to be hidden most of all within himself, the divine and the human, the feminine and the masculine." This makes Jesus/Mary a hermaphrodite.

As a bit of a fun side note to your ask, the author of the Book of the Holy Trinity gives a few more supporting points to his argument and then turns to say that as Christ contains Mary, He also contains the Antichrist which the Book illustrates like this:

The idea of the hermaphrodite Christ really took off after that and boosted the cult of Saint Wilgefortis, saint of monsters. Images of the hermaphrodite Wilgefortis were often indistinguishable from images of Christ because they were both depicted on a cross but where they both have beards, Wilgefortis only has one shoe on: a playful medieval illusion to female sex organs. Images of Saint Wilgefortis below (some images from the 1800s, some from the 1400s). You can read more about Wilegfortis in Bearded Woman, Female Christ: Gendered Transformations in the Legends and Cult of Saint Wilgefortis by Lewis Wallace.

About a hundred years later, “The Lamentation around the remains of Christ,” below, was made depicting Jesus with breasts and feminine curves. Not much is known about it and Christ's hermaphroditic traits weren't even discovered until it was restored in the 21st century. Because of how recent this discovery is, not much scholarly work has been published on it, but I did find this: "The androgyny of Christ" by H. Valdes‑Socin. It is now at the Museum of Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines, Belgium.

And you're absolutely right about Christ's stab wound being like a birth canal! I think the article Mysticism and queer readings of Christ’s Side Wound in the Prayer Book of Bonne of Luxembourg by  Dr. Maeve K. Doyle does a good job of explaining it. Dr. Doyle says, "The image of the side wound, ... grants feminine bodily attributes to Christ, destabilizing assumptions about his gender. In mystical images and texts, Christ’s capacity to transcend the gender binary, like his capacity to transcend the binary of life and death, underscores his divinity." Dr. Doyle then goes on to talk about how images of the stab wound looking like a birth canal would also be comforting to medieval women, trans people, and homosexuals on both sides. Now I'm not Christian but I think it's really amazing that such a simple image can elicited so much comfort and joy in so many groups of people who were not able to fully be themselves in the era they lived in. It was a reminder that even Christ was like them, their feelings were valid (to an extent), and that Jesus loved them anyway. Medieval Jesus stab wounds below for people interested.

----

Just for fun here are some more cool things!

A medieval wooden architectural relief with a person with a beard, phallus, and breasts

Potta di Modena Metope/The Hermaphrodite (left) and detail from the Southern Archivolt (right) of the Modena Cathedral Modena, Italy, c. 1099-1319, Marble reliefs

The Potta di Modena Metope (left) is damaged because people in the 1500s thought it was too sexual/offensive so they vandalized it

More journal articles:

Bearded Women in Early Modern England by Mark Albert Johnston

The Third Sex: The Idea of the Hermaphrodite in Twelfth-Century Europe by Cary J. Nederman

Transvestites in the Middle Ages by Vern L. Bullough

[sah-crescentmoon]

I haven't properly introduced her yet, but this is Iseul. A rabbit OC. With this image, it related more to her backstory. But, currently she is a rabbit drill sergeant (so she has a different outfit). She's friends with Dalbit (his name may change). And she is sure that he is willing to betray Flower Hill. Why she hasn't reported him is something she isn't sure on.

Short story about her backstory under the cut. CW: death (not graphic, but I still want to give a CW in case someone doesn't want to read it).

The Sky Lied:

Her eyes burned immediately as she opened the door. It took a while before Iseul could open her eyes. Once her eyes adjusted, Iseul quickly took note of the clear blue sky and the shining sun. It's been a while since the sky was clear after thunderstorms rocked the region. It seemed like today, the sky was promising a good day.

"Ah, the sun has finally shown itself, hasn't it?" Danbi, Iseul's older sister, said. Iseul turned to see that Danbi was looking at her. Iseul nodded. Danbi chuckled as she placed a satgat on her head. "Can you please check on the crops? I'm going to check up on our neighbors."

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Iseul said. Danbi tilted her head. As if she expected Iseul to say something else. Iseul sighed. "Please come back soon. I heard the battlefield has been getting closer." Danbi sighed herself. She hugged her little sister. Iseul didn't like hugs much, but she knew her sister did. So, she gave her a hug back.

"Iseul, I promise to be back soon, ok? The battlefields are still many miles away from us. So, let's focus on what's happening now," Danbi softly said as she patted her head. Iseul nodded. Danbi has never lied to her. She has never broken a promise. Everything should be fine. Danbi soon left the farm, leaving Iseul with the crops and her thoughts.

The rain had flooded the crops, and Iseul groaned. The canal her parents made wasn't deep enough to prevent the flooding of the crops this time. Iseul will need to find a way to divert the canal to push the water further away from the crops. For now, she needed to check on the crops.

"Damn," she whispered. All the crops that grew underground were flooded. They aren't salvageable at all. She would need to remove them. The other crops, like lettuce and cabbages, were also covered in flood waters. She'd need to get rid of them too. Luckily, the tomatoes and cucumbers were above flood waters. So they can be left alone. Iseul wanted to go ahead and remove all the flooded crops, but she also wanted her sister to return. She was more of an expert on these sorts of things. For now, Iseul headed back to the house. Leaving the scorching sun and clear blue sky behind.

"Iseul!" Iseul blinked. Who was calling her? She yawned. But her eyes snapped open as she was being shaken by someone. Iseul quickly took note of her sister's presence. Her eyes were wide as plates, and she was breathing heavily. "Get up! You need to hide!" Before Iseul could ask what in the world was happening, Danbi pulled her to the floor and got her on her feet. "Get in and don't say anything!"

"W-What? What's going on? Eonni?" Iseul asked. Danbi, with tears in her eyes, hugged her tightly. Iseul was shocked. Danbi hasn't hugged her this tightly since the death of her parents. Something was terribly wrong. She hugged her sister back without thinking of her dislike of it. "Eonni?!" Danbi covered her mouth and shushed her.

"No matter what. Stay hidden. Don't you dare come out or make a sound," she said. She pushed Iseul behind the false wall and closed it. Iseul tried to open it, but Danbi must have put something in the way so it couldn't be opened. She wanted to scream for her dear sister. But loud sounds erupted. She could hear screaming from an unknown man and her sister. Soon, loud popping sounds, then silence. Iseul covered her mouth in shock. Was it the enemies? She could hear the place being ransacked. Iseul silently cried as there was nothing she could do about it. Danbi, my sister. Please come back. I'm scared. I need you.

It must have been hours that Iseul remained hidden. Finally, the place was silent. Iseul bodyslammed the door multiple times until it finally opened. She gasped as she noticed her room was a mess! All her clothes were thrown, and her pictures as well. She gathered all the intact family pictures. She placed them in her pocket. She will never let them go. Iseul looked at the open door. She needed to find her sister, but she also needed to find that strange smell that flooded her sense of smell, too. It was a horrible smell.

Danbi's room was empty. And Iseul knew she would never go into her parents' room as they both told each other that the room should be preserved. Time to check the living room. Iseul gasped as she noticed her sister on the ground and a pool of red around her. She ran to her and kneeled down. "Eonni! Danbi! W-Wake up!" Danbi's eyes turned to look at her. "I-I'll get help! Just please stay awake!"

"I-Iseul. No. I-I won't survive. Lis-Listen to me," Danbi said. Iseul wanted to yell at her! She was going to live! She was going to live! She can't die now! Her eyes were watery. Danbi gave a small smile. "I hope I was... a good sister... I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. I love you so much." Tears fell from both sisters' eyes as they cried.

"O-Of course you are a good sister! You've always been a good sister ever since Mom and Dad adopted me! You've never been a bad sister! I-I love you too," Iseul cried out. She leaned down and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. Danbi did the same. By the time Iseul lifted her head, her sister's eyes were blank, and the tears stopped. Iseul checked her pulse... Nothing. Iseul couldn't stop crying. She was never an emotional person, but she cried so much. Iseul finally took notice of the setting sun. She should bury her sister.

After collecting what she needed from the house and for the burial, she finally took her sister's body outside. She dug a hole that was quite deep. She grabbed her sister's body and gently placed it into the hole. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I c-can't even give you a proper burial," Iseul whispered. She hopped out of the hole and covered it. She stayed until the moon rose. She stared at the moon and the clear starry sky. It seemed like the sky was promising a good night like it did this morning. So, then, why?

---------------------------------------------------------

Note: Iseul and Danbi both promised that if the war got too close then they would flee to Flower Hill since they lived of the outskirts of the country. So after the burial, Iseul fled to Flower Hill. She carried anything she could that reminded her of her family. She didn't even care to bring extra clothes or money. None of that mattered. Flower Hill citizens later on helped her out with necessities.

I also tried to draw her in a more traditional Korean farmer's outfit. But, finding images were hard and I think I made the vest too high. So, it looks like a regular outfit.

[astroboyart]

Tezucomi magazine receives a 2 volume release in North America in 2024; will only include manga from European artists

Sources: Amazon (Volume 1, Volume 2), Kickstarter

Tezucomi manga magazine will receive a 2 volume North American release through Magnetic Press; it will only include the European manga that were included in the original release from Japan.

Tezucomi Volume 1 is set to release on February 13, 2024, while Volume 2 will release on March 12, 2024.

These releases came about from a successful Kickstarter from Neurobellum Productions!

Tezucomi was an Osamu Tezuka anthology magazine containing manga drawn from comic/manga artists around the world. It began in 2018 and ran for 18 volumes.

A summary of both volumes as posted on Amazon's website:

Volume 1:

An anthology of short stories based on some of the many popular creations of legendary Japanese mangaka Osamu Tezuka, as illustrated by a collection of some of the greatest comic creators in Europe. This larger 300-page hardcover edition is presented in traditional manga reading order, right to left. This first volume includes "The Mouse" by Sourya, based on AYAKO; "The Moon Rabbit" by Brice Cossu and Valerie Mangin, based on BUDDHA; "A Taste for Blood" by Philippe Cardona and Florence Torta, based on DORORO; "The Cursed" by Mathieu Bablet, based on METROPOLIS; "The Eyes of Pandora" by Victor Santos, based on MW; "Love at First Sight" by JD Moravn and ScieTronc, based on MIDNIGHT; "Doppelganger" by Belen Ortega and Victor Santos, based on BARBARA; "The Parchment of the Cat" by Kenny Ruiz, based on MY SONGOKU; and "Catalante" by Mig, based on UNICO.

Volume 2:

An anthology of short stories based on some of the many popular creations of legendary Japanese mangaka Osamu Tezuka, as illustrated by a collection of some of the greatest comic creators in Europe. This larger 300-page hardcover edition is presented in traditional manga reading order, right to left. This second volume includes "Big X" by David Lafuente, based on BIG X; "The Creator and the Destroyer" by Philippe Cardona and Florence Torta, based on ASTRO BOY; "The Last Recital" by Bertrand Gatignol, based on BLACK JACK; "The 3 Richards" by Juan Diaz Canales, based on MESSAGE TO ADOLF; "The Guardian of Mount Moon" by Reno Lemaire, based on KIMBA THE WHITE LION; "Mina's Song" by Luis NCT, based on APOLLO'S SONG; "Heartless" by Joe Kelly and Ken Niimura, based on BLACK JACK; "Princess Knight" by Elsa Brants, based on PRINCESS KNIGHT; and "Team Phoenix" by Kenny Ruiz with Studio Kosen, based on several works of Osamu Tezuka.

[k-hippie]

CHAMPIGNAC CC and STUFF PART 1

Before the upload of Champignac, let's talk about the CC used in the World ...

Let's face it, there is a little bit more CC used in Champignac than in our other Sims 3 Worlds, because we really wanted to create a French ambiance for a French flavored world :)

Don't worry : except 2 or 3 things, we still use the same creators stuff aka mainly ATS ( Around the Sims 3 ) and Cyclone Sue ( from TSR ) for the build part. And of course, our own stuff which is not huge :D like our Rabbit Holes you may find here on Tumblr ...

Before any further, the fantastic towers you need to get in order to fully enjoy Champignac come from MTS ( Mod the Sims ) and have been converted from The Sims Medieval by Votenga ( MEDIEVAL TOWERS & BUILDINGS ) you may find there :)

I hope you'll enjoy discover all these gems in Champignac ;)

our "Stadium" is the Football Club by Norn @ MTS and tumblr

the Junk Yard is based on : Old Art Deco gas station yard by flora2 @ MTS :)

le Marché Bio ( Bio Market ) is based on Farmers Market by efolger997 @ MTS

the Supernatural Tavern is based on Old Tomes bookstore by Vera J @ MTS

the Bistro of Champignac is based on Rattlesnake Juice by bellakenobi @ MTS

the Vampire Lounge is fully based on Pastor John's Church by Diwtay @ MTS

the beautiful City Hall of Champignac is a simplified version of a community lot by Jeanpass ( here on tumblr )

the Museum of Champignac we named : Villa Medicis is a creation of Petalbot ( Palazzo Venezia )

Let's talk now about the CC ...

As you already know ;) ATS made a lot of French stuff for the Sims 3. In fact, it's even THE Place to find everything you need to create a French flavored World :D so, here everything we used in Champignac

Set Exhibition & Museum Shop

Book - laying | Livre - couché Panel | Panneau Information panel | Panneau d'informations Label - standing | Informations Posters - rolls | Posters - rouleaux

Set Eco Café

High Stool | Tabouret de bar Tree Guard | Protection pour arbre Bar | Bar Counter | Comptoir Counter Island | Ilôt

Set Grocery - Fresh product displays - add-ons

Market display | Présentoir de marché Asian fruits | Fruits d'Asie Market display | Présentoir de marché Asian vegetables | Légumes d'Asie Market display | Présentoir de marché Autumn crops | Récolte d'automne Market display | Présentoir de marché Empty | Vide

Set Bakery Shop Part 2

Baguettes Display | Baguettes Baguette | Baguette Bread | Pain Shelf | Etagère

Set Bistrot Part 2

Price List | Tarifs des consommations Wall Menu | Menu Shelf | Etagère

Set City Urban Objects

Community Trash Can | Poubelle Communautaire Mail box (decorative) | Boîte aux lettres Phone Cabin (mirror) | Cabine téléphonique

Set City Newspapers Kiosque

Magazine Wall Rack | Stand de magazines mural Magazine Rack | Stand de magazines Newspaper Stand | Stand de journaux Newspapers Stand | Stand de journaux Stack of Newspapers | Pile de journaux Magazine - Arts | Magazine - Arts Magazine - House | Magazine - Maison

Set Beach Activity Add-ons

Beach cabin | Cabine de plage (Decorative | Décor) Beach cabin | Cabine de plage (Toilets | Toilettes)

Set Uglify your Town

Concrete bench | Banc en béton Park bench | Banc de parc

Set Canal Locks

Canal / Street Light | Lampadaire Canal / Box of books | Coffre de livres Canal / Box of artwork | Coffre d'art Canal / Counter | Comptoir Canal / Stand Canal / Bollard Canal / Fence | Barrière Canal / Gate | Portillon

Set Church : ALL Items

Set The Dailies Café : Coffee Bar | Bar à café University Set Gardening Shop : Painted Crate | Cageot peint

Set Scuba diving & Surf Club : Surf board | Planche de surf

Set Electric Scooters : ALL Items

Set Misc Vehicles : Scooter with slot

Set Bakery 4to3 : Baking Pan - Bread | Moule - Pain/Cake + Bread | Pain

Sims 4 to 3 - City Living Landmarks #2 : Telephone pole | Poteau téléphonique x 2

Set Chocolate & Tea Shop : Chocolate Box | Boîte de chocolats ( ATS3-object-chocolatier-chocolatebox-heart-open )

In theory, all those items are .sims3pack files and should be encapsulated in the different lots. Anyway, we shall provide a folder with the .package files we used, just in case ;)

As said in the Road Map previous post, the tech-hippie website is already online and running fine. And the Sims 3 Lounge is mostly back too :) oh ! and Champignac will be uploaded later into the night or tomorrow maximum ...

Welcome in France :D

[victorluvsalice]

WIP Word Game

I was tagged in this by @dont-offend-the-bees in this post -- thanks for thinking of me, Newt!

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that start with each letter of that word. Word assigned by Newt: BITES

Because I'm a rebel, I'm going to do a bit from both my current WIP "Londerland Bloodlines: Downtown Queensland" and my just-finished-posting-today Valicer In The Dark story "Start At The Beginning...Sort Of" --

B

LB:DQ -- Briefcase Guy nodded, trembling. “What – what if their case is full of newspaper?” he got out after a second.

“Then at least we get to watch your illiterate ass try to read it later for laughs,” the leader spat, giving him a shove. “I know they got the goods. Just don’t ass it up, or they’re gonna kill the lot of us. Now get ready, it’s going down soon.”

SATBSO -- “By practicing my v-vows down the wrong alley,” Victor replied, worrying his bottom lip. “I – oh dear…” He grabbed his spoon and had a couple of fortifying sips of soup. “It’s like this – I’m due to be w-wed to the daughter of Lord and Lady Everglot, courtesy of my parents. We had the r-rehearsal today, and I was such a n-nervous wreck I couldn’t recall my lines at all. Pastor Galswells, our officiant, finally lost all patience with me after one too many mistakes, and b-banished me until I’d learned my vows. D-desperate to get them right, I ended up roaming Brightstone at random, repeating them to myself to try and get them straight in my head. I finally said them perfectly in an old forgotten side street overlooking one of the canals…and the moment I finished, a g-glowing blue figure in a w-wedding dress burst from the water, declaring ‘I do.’ I s-screamed and ran, but she managed to c-corner me on a nearby bridge and tried to k-kiss me. I fainted when her lips touched mine, and w-when I woke up, I was…” He waved his spoon in the air, as if trying to capture the enormity of the experience. “On the w-wrong side of the veil.”

I

LB:DQ -- “Indeed – or you could avoid the issue entirely,” Cheshire said, floating his smile over to another ladder on the wall in the darkened bay, just barely visible in the gloom. “I’m sure Rabbit would approve of you taking a shortcut, especially in order to avoid detection by anything that might try to stomp you.”

“I’ve apologized for that!” Hatter put in. “And made him that new watch!”

“It was the least you could do,” Rabbit said, paws on hips.

SATBSO -- “I don’t know – I don’t think so,” Victor said, letting his hands drop. “But you’re right, it is very hard to tell time in the ghost field…I’m sorry too, Emily,” he continued in a quieter voice. “I – I shouldn’t have lied to you about w-wanting to see my parents. I should have tried to explain better what was really wrong. But I – I didn’t have the words, and I was so scared and hungry and cold, and…” He sighed heavily, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “And absolutely nothing today has gone according to plan.”

“I know the feeling.” Emily perked up, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “But – but we can still make this work, right? We can alternate which side of the field we’re on day by day, so you can still eat and drink and not have to worry! We can even find a nice place to set up house together – one that’s in good shape in both my world and yours!”

“I think anyone who sees you two house-shopping is going to call the Spirit Wardens on you,” Alice couldn’t help saying.

T

LB:DQ -- “True,” Alice nodded. “Which reminds me – at some point tonight, I need to drop in on a certain Sean Milton. I don’t know how much honor there really is among thieves, but hopefully he has very little and will be willing to give up Muddy without a fight.”

“We’ll see on that front – and back, come to think of it,” Cheshire remarked, tail swaying as he kept pace. “But one side-quest at a time.”

SATBSO -- The gondolier gave Emily, floating near the prow, a significant look. “They always go up when the dead are involved.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Emily said, tone sulky and sparks crackling along the edge of her veil.

“And don’t start now,” the gondolier warned, frowning. “I may not be a Warden, but every one of us has got a bit of the Whisper about us. I know how to handle you lot.”

E

LB:DQ -- “Even better – they’re real robots! Well, sort of. . .” Victor popped open a bin and picked out a blue butterfly at random, showing her a block with some buttons on the – thorax, she believed it was called. “They each come with a ‘brain block’ like this where you can input simple commands. Obviously I can’t get any of them to fly – though I’ve always hoped – but I can get them to flap their wings if I shine a light on them, or follow a light being held in front of them – even play with a ball.”

“Neat,” Alice said, grinning. “You’ll have to show me later.”

SATBSO -- Emily went still, a frozen figure in tattered blue. Then she rushed forward at a speed no living human could have ever managed, face contorted in pure fury. Barkis yelped and tried to get out of the way, but she managed to clamp one spectral hand around his arm –

And, suddenly, she wasn’t there anymore. A split-second later, Barkis bent double, shrieking. “What – stop! No!”

“Yes!” came Emily’s voice – from Barkis’s own lips. Alice stared as he straightened up, wobbling like he was unused to controlling his own body. “The knife dropped from his fingers with a clatter. “You’re mine now, Eddie!”

S

LB:DQ -- She got to the bottom of the slope and looked around. While the layout was roughly the same, the entrance to level two was noticeably darker, thanks to a busted light fixture in the nearest “compact” bay. It also had different guards – two fellows who looked to be Chinese, dressed in matching burgundy jackets and wielding machine guns. One jerked his head around as she snuck closer, causing her to freeze out of habit. “It’s too quiet,” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “I-I don’t like this – this place. At night it seems so – haunted.”

SATBSO -- Smiler sorted and pointed at their eyes, brilliant yellow in their pale face. “What, do you think I was born with these?”

“...actually, it has genuinely never occurred to me to question why your eyes are bright glowing yellow before now,” Alice confessed, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. “They just seemed – completely natural on you.”

“I – I mean, I noticed, but – given everything else that was going on, they – didn’t really register as that weird?” Victor admitted, also going pink. “Alice is right, they do suit you...I sort of thought they might be a side effect of that Joy Serum you showed me before, since you said you make it yourself.”

Tagging: @nebbychan, @thesatiricaldemon, @anonymoose-au, @ace-of-tales -- the word I'm picking is TIMES!