#Southern Blotting

[bluespiritshonour]

so i drew spidersonas of my favourite atla girls

[nemo-duspy-writes]

A small funny tidbit from the realm of Biology/Chemistry:

In 1975, the scientist Edwin Southern developed a method to separate DNA fragments in a gel, then transfer it to a membrane, which makes it possible to label it according to their sequence. The method was named 'Southern blot' to honour its creator.

Later, similar methods were made for RNA and Protein. And these were aptly named 'Northern blot' and 'Western blot'

And I find that beautiful.

[pig-wings]

They have got to stop letting biologists name things

[lincolndjarin]

Every Now and Then - ch. one

[ I Dream of Something Wild ]

pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader

word count : 6.4k

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!

a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters

ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi

He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary. 

And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.

He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark. 

So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.

You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him. 

But you can’t.

So you don’t. 

It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.    

Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.  

Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away. 

Until he himself makes it impossible.

Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019

“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”

That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle. 

A couple weeks without working is a death sentence. 

If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from. 

Lose your leg or starve. 

As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful. 

So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge. 

You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable. 

So there’s only one other option for you. 

You steal. 

You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk. 

The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching. 

By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day. 

You need more. 

You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea. 

Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal. 

The only problem is your neighbors reputation. 

You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time. 

But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty. 

So you’d have to be careful. 

He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area. 

You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings. 

Lucky you. 

Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process. 

“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor. 

A revolver. 

You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window? 

You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear. 

“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness. 

You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way. 

“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you. 

No one would look for you. 

The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner. 

“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all. 

He isn’t a terrible last sight. 

Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.

“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.” 

Maybe he’s right. 

Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you. 

You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes. 

It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.

So you close your eyes.

Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed. 

You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch. 

You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.

Shit. 

You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all. 

“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.

“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all. 

Fuck. 

It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh. 

“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively. 

“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.

“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?” 

“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself. 

“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?” 

A lot. 

More than you’d have even if you were working overtime. 

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. 

His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you. 

“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising. 

“I can’t afford it-”

“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.” 

You told him you’d think about it. 

And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.

So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help. 

And just like that, it was your idea. 

It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after. 

You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did. 

But he wanted nothing of the sort. 

Southern Manners.

All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning. 

But you still don’t relax around him.

It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before. 

He must like having someone to take care of. 

That’s how you explain it to yourself. 

You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you. 

It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was. 

After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.

But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that. 

And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was. 

So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already. 

He had acted unsure. 

You know now that it was acting. 

So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him. 

It was your idea. 

Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.

You had insisted he get in the bed with you. 

A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come. 

He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning. 

So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment. 

It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet. 

It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his. 

It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed. 

And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them. 

Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg. 

You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing. 

Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023

“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs. 

Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.

“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.

“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend. 

You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go. 

You have nothing planned on Sunday.

You’ll have to change that. 

You hate having nothing to do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them. 

“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing. 

You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister. 

“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other. 

A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one. 

One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down. 

“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall. 

You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it. 

Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about. 

You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules. 

You keep Jackson moving. 

When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms. 

Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.

No surprises. 

You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)

One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule. 

“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.

“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans. 

“Maria gets to go on patrol.” 

“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls. 

Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two. 

“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins. 

“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work. 

“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son. 

“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work. 

“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing. 

“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists. 

“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.” 

“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.” 

You’re thankful for Tommy.

He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.

“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated. 

“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother. 

“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone. 

You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs. 

And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to. 

(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.) 

You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks. 

It’s all exactly how it should be. 

Until she frowns. 

“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol. 

“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow. 

“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.” 

Odd. 

Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.

“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.

It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent. 

It’s a look of pity. 

As if she feels bad for even asking. 

It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind. 

“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one. 

“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed. 

“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different. 

“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy. 

“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light. 

God, you're tired. 

You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday. 

You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment. 

You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams. 

It works.

Your dreams never feature him. 

They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.

The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays. 

support me on kofi!!

a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!

[galedekarios]

waterdeep & the city's wards: castle ward - part 2

"The splendors that await you in Waterdeep are legendary. Each of the city’s wards is detailed in this work, telling you what to expect depending on where you are, as well as what thrilling things you might see and do."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

waterdeep is divided into a system of wards and civic districts. the six recognized wards are:

dock ward

castle ward

north ward

sea ward

southern ward

trades ward

notable parts of the city that aren't considered wards are the city of the dead and deepwater harbour and its surrounding isles (deepwater isle and stormhaven island).

in this meta, i'd like to first focus on the castle ward of waterdeep. the ward contains blackstaff academy, the yawning portal, the undermountain as well as other important landmarks and locations.

castle ward

castle ward heraldry with a golden griffon

castle ward map made by reddit user ravenxalmasy

i'll include an ambience video to listen to while reading:

rainy streets of waterdeep by dungeon crawler audio

general information

in his waterdeep echiridion, volo introduces the castle ward as follows:

"The Castle Ward is the heart and mind of Waterdeep, if not its soul. It houses the city’s military forces, courts, government, and the Market — the largest market square of any city in the North. It encompasses the City Navy’s docks in the Great Harbor and all of Mount Waterdeep, and it is home to six walking statues, numerous temples, and many other landmarks."

i already wrote a meta including the walking statues of waterdeep in my the splendours of waterdeep meta.

the important landmarks volo further highlights are the following:

"Castle Waterdeep stands above the city on a great bluff that extends out from the mountain, its towers soaring hundreds of feet into the sky. It surprises many to learn that this isn’t where Waterdeep’s rulers reside, nor from where the city is governed. The castle was and is a redoubt of last defense should the city be attacked, but for well over a century, the ruler of Waterdeep has occupied the Palace of Waterdeep — also known as Piergeiron’s Palace, and still called that by elderly and long-lived citizens (including many elves). Though not quite as large as the castle, the palace is far more comfortable and lavishly decorated, with many halls used by government officials, guildmasters, and nobles for meetings and court proceedings. If you have reason to be invited (not compelled, I should hope!) to meet with the Masked Lords or the Open Lord of Waterdeep, it will likely take place in the audience chamber of the palace. There, you can witness the ancient and humble throne that Ahghairon first sat upon so long ago.

Many other buildings in the ward are given over to city business, including several courts for magisters and the barracks of the City Guard. So many of the ward’s structures are offices and meeting halls for business owners, solicitors, publishers, and the like that the Castle Ward has the smallest resident population of all the wards. Many landmarks of interest are found in this ward aside from the six walking statues (discussed later in this chapbook). You could hardly see them all in a day, but the following are highly recommended.

Blackstaff Tower is a squat black blot in the otherwise pretty ward. Humble though the edifice might be, looking at the place for too long can give you a queasy feeling and the sense that you are being watched — almost as if the tower itself has turned an unseen and wrathful eye upon you. Perhaps you think this fanciful. Well, go and try it yourself!

On the opposite end of the mountain, close to the Naval Harbor, stands Mirt’s Mansion. Once a fortress-like and glowering tower, it has been upgraded with more delicate fashions of architecture since the return of its long-absent owner. Mirt has quite a history with Durnan, the proprietor of the Yawning Portal. Together they descended into “the Well,” as the entrance to Undermountain was known in olden days. Waterdeep used to throw criminals in the Well, leaving them to die horribly in Undermountain’s dungeons. Durnan and Mirt entered the dungeons of their own free will — and not only that, but returned laden with treasures. Both used magic to extend their lives, but they eventually parted ways. Mirt kept on with a life of adventure, while Durnan built the tavern called the Yawning Portal over the Well and now, almost two centuries later, charges coin to descend into it. Not a bad way to part fools from their money!

The glorious Spires of the Morning, dedicated to Lathander, is one of Waterdeep’s most beautiful temples. But it is rivaled in this ward by the Temple of the Seldarine, dedicated to all the elf gods. The journey through Mount Melody Walk, a tunnel cut through Mount Waterdeep, to New Olamn’s academy of music and other arts is a wondrous daytime excursion. The Market offers a wild array of sights, smells, and sounds in which folk might lose themselves for a tenday. The Font of Knowledge is a temple to Oghma, yes, but also the city’s largest public library. Titles written throughout the ages can be viewed here — under the watchful eyes of the temple’s priests. In short (if I can claim this section of the enchiridion to be such), the Castle Ward offers far too many splendors to list them all here.

The Castle Ward’s colors are blue and purple, and its mascot is a griffon, typically depicted in gold. These borrow colors from the city’s flag and reference the Griffon Cavalry, of course. Champions for the ward often come from among the ranks of the Guard, the Navy, or the Cavalry. Although such competitors have often have the advantage in races and competitions, their crowds of rabidly cheering fans are naturally much smaller than those of other wards."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

the description of the castle ward from waterdeep dragon heist reads as follows, echoing the stateliness of this ward in particular, with its many temples and sights of commerce:

"In terms of both geography and power, Castle Ward is the city's center. Most, if not all, of the city's administrative buildings are within the ward boundaries, from the lofty spires of Piergeiron's Palace to the low-slung crenelations of the guard smithy. While money and social standing are the prevalent benchmarks of might in the City of Splendors, Waterdeep's true power and what keeps it running are the Lords and Magisters here. If you like the taste of power and authority mixed with the usual commerce of the city, Castle Ward is the place to go. The city guard maintains a strong presence in Castle Ward due to the concentration of city officials and areas of importance in need of heavier security. Even so, the watch maintains much of the order, especially around the Market, the Palace, and the Castle Ward docks. Like the guard, the watch makes a show of force in Castle. Ward, traveling in larger patrols of six and brandishing short swords in addition to their normal rods and clubs. The ward boundaries are the southern side of Julthoon Street over to Shield Street and down to Trader's Way on the north, meeting up with the High Road and Snail Street for the eastern perimeter. Lackpurse Lane, Belnimbra's Street, Gut Alley, and Shesstra's Street combine in an uneven boundary to the south, whereas the mountain and the coastline form the western edges of the ward. While Castle Ward covers the most territory, Mount Waterdeep makes up a lot of empty land and the ward is effectively a little larger than Sea or North Ward."

"It is hard to pin down a "typical" architectural detail for Castle Ward, as there are so many different structures here that dominate the skyline. The city buildings, temples, and wizards towers are impressive stone structures, with the Palace and Castle in leagues of their own. Folk who quest for power but lack the funds to rise above the merchant class often dwell in the environs north of Waterdeep Way, their homes either well-kept row houses of three to four stories or individual homes of one or two stories. In either case, structures tend to be timber and wattle-and-daub with stone foundations nestled among the shops. The southern leg of the ward is primarily made up of barracks and warehouses attached to the castle and to various wealthier merchants and noble houses. The only discernible difference between Castle Ward's docks and Dock Ward are the heavier watch patrols. In terms of roads and byways, Castle Ward is by far the easiest ward to traverse due to the paving on many of its larger, primary roads. Even with heavy cart traffic on the roads, it is possible to travel from the Field of Triumph to Castle Waterdeep in the same time it takes to cover one-third of Dock Ward's docks. The paving is primarily for access by dignitaries and officials of the city and other foreign powers (and use during holidays for parades)."

[source: waterdeep dragon heist]

neighbourhoods of the castle ward

the neighbourhoods of the castle ward with notable landmarks and buildings are listed as follows:

The Market

Upmarket: Amberpaths, Cascades, The Cliffride, Elvarren's Lane, Head Lane, Highdrake, Melshar's Ride, Spireshadows, Tanthruil, Tchozal's Race, Toalar's Path

East Midcastle: The Buckle, The Catwind, Duir's Trod, Eldath's Alley, Elsambul's Lane, Goldstar Path, The Houndtwist, Lamp Courts, Lhestyn's Turn, Lhoril's Alley, Manyspells Court, Solemnar's Trod, Summerkeep, Sweetglade, The Waverise, Zeldan's Alley

West Midcastle: Alnether's Prowl, Asmach's Wind, Autumngleam, Blackstave, Cage Street, Cymbril's Trod, Dozenalley, Hippogriff Maze, Jester's Court, Marlar's Lane, Mulgomir's Way, North Swords, Siren Lane, Threeshields, Turnback Court

Piergeiron's Palace: Aghairon's Plaza, Fetlock Court, Piergeiron's Palace

Downcastle: Barracks Court, Castlefoot, Court of Gems, Glittergleam, Mountroot, Old Temple, Owlroost, Portal Lane, the Reach, Tarnished Silver

while the living conditions range from the very wretched to those wealthy and aristocratic.

landmarks and notable locations in the castle ward

there are many landmarks worth exploring in the castle ward. in this post, as well as the posts centered around the wards, i'll mainly focus on those important to gale's story:

blackstaff tower/academy

the yawning portal

promenade of the dark maiden (my own oc purposes and all those who have a drow tav or a tav that follows the dark maiden eilistraee)

i will still touch on other landsmarks and locations, but not as in depth.

blackstaff tower / academy

Gale: “A misadventure from my days as an apprentice at Blackstaff Academy. I was but a child, only a few months into my studies, but already I knew I was destined for greatness. No one believed me, of course, so I decided to prove it. To cast a spell with the Blackstaff itself. From one perspective, I succeeded. I opened a portal. However, instead of pointing it at the first year dormitory, I found myself pulled into limbo, facing a very irritated Death Slaad. Fortunately the Blackstaff himself came to the rescue, hauling me backwards from the brink, and straight into several months of writing lines. Or rather, finessing my autograph.”

[source: gale's dialogue after visiting the abandoned wizard tower in the underdark]

blackstaff tower concept art

the tower is described as a foreboding structure, made out of smooth black stone, with no apparent way to enter it, seemingly having no windows or doors. its main entrance was on swords street, while apprentices could gain access by touching the gate with a left palm. the tower itself was surrounded by a great wall (20 foot / 6 meters). [source: forgottenrealmswiki].

most notably, the tower also has the ability to magically repair itself, a process supported by laeral silverhand, one of the seven sisters and chosen of mystra.

more views of the interior of the tower, including the great staircase which connects the different levels of the tower, a reading room, an apothecary, the library and other interior structures:

the interior of blackstaff tower is also described as follows:

"From the inside, windows appeared to show what was going on outside, but these were illusions. The interior (but not the exterior) of the tower was warded against magical intrusion. The tower was protected against scrying magic. Rooms were connected to the central stairwell and entry hall, which was full of floating doors and arches. Many alcoves and shelves covered the walls of the stairwell, displaying magical items and artifacts, and although they seemed unprotected, a command word was needed to remove any of them. The items changed on a regular basis, so returning to the same stairwell on another day might result in seeing different items. Leaving the dormitories without issuing a command word would lead to the second level's stairwell. Saying the command word nhurlaen in the stairwell took one to the study. On the top floor of the tower was a study and a scrying chamber. There was also a parlor where Khelben displayed his art. In the library was one-way dimensional door to Candlekeep (the other side of the door led to Jester's Court nearby). As of 1374 DR, the tower's entry chamber contained a wardrobe that Khelben was able to use to access almost any closet in the tower. In the tower's kitchen, Khelben liked to serve cups of roasted chicory. Tunnels linked the tower's basement to Piergeiron's Palace and other locations in Waterdeep, which could be accessed by uttering the command word vhuarm. One such tunnel could be accessed at Northspur Rock on Northspur Landing on the Talltumble Stairs in Mountainside. [...] From the mid-to-late 14th century DR onward, the Tower was home not only to the Blackstaff, but to the Blackstaff's apprentices, which numbered fifty or so at any time. These apprentices, and their apprentices in turn, formed the Blackstaff Academy, an elite yet informal school for the training of wizards.

[source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal

Gale: Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar standoff back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments. Player: What’s the Yawning Portal Gale: An inn in Waterdeep. Never a dull moment there. Adventurers come from all over Faerûn to try their luck down the well: Leads into the Undermountain, you see - full of death, danger, and vast amounts of treasure. Hard to resist. Player: What was the standoff about? Gale: Oh, a drow, a dragonborn, and a cleric of Cyric walk into a bar. Your standard fare. Maybe someone was cheating at cards, maybe it was some weird lovers’ quarrel. In any case, out came the crossbow, and a hush fell over the entire room.devnote Player: What happened next? Gale: I stood up and yelled: ‘Shadowdark ale for everyone!’ The crowd cheered, the tension drained into five dozen tankards, and soon all was well again. Gale: In a place like the Yawning Portal, the most powerful magic is calling for a round of drinks. Gale: Mind you, all I did was call for ale, but you went and stood in front of that crossbow. I’d drink to that.

[source: gale's dialogue after saving sazza the goblin]

concept art of the yawning portal [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal, which we know gale references once in the main game and once in the epilogue, implying that he's quite a frequent patron, is an infamous landmark in waterdeep:

The Yawning Portal was an inn and tavern in the city of Waterdeep that was renowned for being the primary open route into Undermountain. A well within its walls led down into the first level of the vast dungeon complex. It was owned and run by the famous adventurer Durnan the Wanderer. The name "Yawning Portal" referred to the deep well and also alluded to the habit of its patrons to tell wild stories. Naturally, the inn was a popular attraction among visitors to Waterdeep and a common point of departure as well as a refuge for expeditions into the extensive dungeons. [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

A well-known inn and tavern whose main feature is a massive well on the ground floor of the tavern, some 40 feet across, that descends 140 feet into the first level of Undermountain. There is a rope hoist that can be used to lower or raise those foolhardy enough to venture into Undermountain, at a cost of 1 gp per person. [source: waterdeep dragon heist]

layout and menu of the yawning portral [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

location of the yawning portral

The Yawning Portal was located on Rainrun Street in the upper part of Waterdeep's Castle Ward between Waterdeep Castle and Snail Street[ and close to Mount Waterdeep's eastern slope. Fronting onto the north side of the road, it stood next door to Mother Salinka's House of Pleasure, and beyond that, The Empty Keg tavern, on the west side, and next door Lankathla Dree's Bakery on the east side. Nearby also stood the magician Sobrey's Magic Shoppe and the smithy of Argali Smith. The inn's relative proximity to the city's docks helped it do good business. Its site was exactly that of the former Halaster's Hold, the demolished tower of the mad mage Halaster Blackcloak, the builder of Undermountain, and the inn was constructed over the well to Undermountain, which had previously been a place of execution, simply known as "the Well". [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

its exterior was made up out of mismatched fieldstone and a roof of "a steep-angled roof of unpainted dark-gray and black slate", giving it a rather drab appearance from the outside. the building had no windows on the ground floor, only on the upper floors, but it boasted several chimneys.

an old wooden sign, which was recovered and reused each time the inn was rebuilt, read simply "the yawning portal".

volo during a visit to the yawning portal [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal also boasts a host of rumours and legends, most recently, however, this:

Circa 1492 DR, a band of doppelgangers were rumored to operate out of the Yawning Portal. The Harpers and Emerald Enclave even sought people to investigate this.

the promenade of the dark maiden

"Eilistraee teaches us that we are not bound by the circumstances of our birth. We all may find beauty and light, if we have the courage to seek them." — Trelasarra Zuind

trelassara zuind, informal leader of the promenade since��1491 dr

the promenade of the dark maiden is located in the undermountain of waterdeep.

"The Promenade of the Dark Maiden was the most sacred temple to Eilistraee. It lay beneath Waterdeep, northeast of Skullport in Undermountain. The temple was composed of four major caverns. One cavern contained multiple buildings that were used as living quarters for the faithful. Another cavern named the Cavern of Song served as an open amphitheater used for songs and celebrations dedicated to Eilistraee. The third cavern consisted of living quarters for the priestesses. The fourth cavern was mostly occupied by the temple guards, storehouses, and armories. A large side cavern connected the Cavern of Song with Eilistraee's Mound. Within stood a large statue portraying the Dark Maiden (but actually modeled on Qilué Veladorn's appearance) and sculpted from a mound of rock. Next to the main temple was the Hall of Healing (a former temple of Moander that had been destroyed by worshipers of Tyr). This section was used as a place to shelter and tend to the temple's wounded and all those who were rescued by the Dark Ladies (including adventurers lost in the Undermountain). North of the Hall of Healing was a small cavern that was the destination of a one-way portal connecting to the sixth level of the Undermountain used to deliver wounded adventurers to the temple. Priestesses of the Promenade healed and welcomed any who came to the Hall, and were known to offer their friendship to (non-ill-intentioned) individuals of races who were more frequently than not met with prejudice and hostility." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the promenade held some influence in skullport and they had made it their mission to free slaves and adventurers that ran afoul the more powerful groups and bands within skullport. this earned them the nickname "slave shelterers" and they were regarded with animosity by those groups. other enemies were also worshippers of ghaunadaur (greater god of abominations, oozes and outcasts believed to be touched by the dark realms, and a part of the dark seldarine) as well as worshippers of lolth (most influential drow goddess, mother to eilistraee and vhaeraun) and vhaeraun (eilistraee's elder twin brother and part of the dark seldarine).

the dark promenade's history is defined by those friends and enemies:

the founder of the promenade qilué veladron, youngest of the seven sisters and chosen of mystra, was guided by eilistraee to extinguish the presence of ghanaudar. qilué was helped to victory by the dark maiden and mystra against ghanaudar. the battle took place within the undermountain (third-level). after her victory, eilistraee spoke to her:

"You must make a stand here close to the surface world, and you must be ever vigilant against the return of Ghaunadar. For a mighty city of humans shall rise above this place, and if you are to make peace with humankind and your elven kin of the surface world, this place is best suited for you."

qilué obeyed the words of her goddess, and she and other chosen of eilistraee patrolled these dark corridors (mockingly called promenades). during that time, the temple was being constructed, becoming habitable by 1357 dr.

the promenade had 392 habitants by 1375 dr.

the population of the promenade was severely diminished in 1370s, after an attack by followers of ghanaudar, nightshadows, followers of vhaeraun:

"In the 1370s DR, the Promenade was attacked by a new cult of Ghaunadaur. Nightshadows, former followers of Vhaeraun and later followers of the "Masked Lady" (following the death of Vhaeraun at Eilistraee's hand, and her taking on his portfolio), were sent to infiltrate various drow houses who worshiped Ghaunadaur, but this allowed the cultists to locate some portals leading to the temple. Taking advantage of this, the followers of the Elder Eye proceeded to attack, hoping to release the trapped avatar of their god. However, the glyph of insanity that Qilué had placed on the prison made many cultists go insane. Despite this, the assailants were supported by an army of slimes and decimated the population of the Promenade. In the fierce battle, almost all the Protectors of the Song and Darksong Knights were killed, along with many of the priestesses and of the followers who lived there or were visiting. The battle also caused the seals on Ghaunadaur's prison to break and his avatar to escape, even though it would be soon tricked into attaching itself to a fleeing Nightshadow. He sacrificed himself, going through a portal that led to "a plane of endless mazes" and dying in the process, to trap the avatar there." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

after the second sundering, eilistraee returned and with that, she also breathed new life into the promenade:

"After returning, Eilistraee personally appeared under the walls of Waterdeep, leading many of her followers to travel to the city. Some of them found the support of Remallia Haventree and started creating a forest-temple, named The Dancing Haven, within Waterdeep itself. While originally meant to be created in the Field Ward of Waterdeep, due to the chaotic developments of that area, the Dancing Haven was temporarily moved to the North Ward. The Eilistraeens planted and grew a small grove of trees within an abandoned, roofless building, and then used it as a temple and base of operations. From there, the moondancers led a series of expeditions to cleanse, rebuild and resupply the Promenade. In the 1490s DR, a dozen priestesses, four novices, and nine lay guardians populated the temple; Trelasarra Zuind was their (informal) leader. Few knew of the restored Promenade (aside from followers of Eilistraee), but rumors regarding it restoration spread in Skullport." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

by 1491 dr, the promenade would have around 25 inhabitants again, including trelassara zuind:

"After the restoration of the temple, Trelasarra, a dozen clerics of the Dark Maiden, four novices, and nine lay warriors moved there. They established a new base of operations, linked to the Dancing Haven in Waterdeep. The followers of Eilistraee tried to keep their presence a secret but, as rumors started spreading in the near and dangerous Skullport, Trelasarra opted to garrison the temple as if at war." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

of course, the castle ward has many more locations of note to offer. the following list is taken from waterdeep dragon heist:

Rentals

Banderly Rooming House: A four-story boarding house kept by the Banderlys, two married women who pride themselves on providing good, clean, safe accommodations.

Fair Winds: Rental Villa

Heroes' Rest: Rental Villa, owned by House Melshimber

Marblehearth: Rental Villa

Sablehearth: Rental Townhouse (Northern Swords Street)

Sapphire House: Inn, Rooming House

Stormwatch: Rental Villa

Businesses

Baltorr's Rare & Wondrous Treasures: Shop (Curios) and Warehouse. A curio and coin shop owned by an expert on coins and military markings.

Crommor's Warehouse: Warehouse

The Curious Past: Shop (Historical Curios & Books)

Danimar Fine Wines: Shop (Wine) The Danimar family are one of the oldest holders of licenses by House Melshimber to sell its wines in the city of Waterdeep. They do a brisk business in both the imported and domestic Melshimber vintages.

Dathchant Engravings: Shop (Engraving services)

Diloontier's Apothecary: Shop (Apothecary)

The Golden Key: Shop (Locks) Ansilver the Locksmith (Southern Street of the Sword)

Halambar Lute & Harps: Shop (Stringed Musical Instruments) The premiere place to find any stringed instrument of the Realms. It is also host to a magical harp that sings by itself and is rumored to have connections to the Harpers in some capacity. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Halls of Hilmer: Shop (Armor). Master Armorer Hilmer's shop is hard to miss due to its front of polished plate armor. He sells custom-made armor that is without parallel on the Sword Coast. The shop features practice rooms for trying out his armor. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Hilmer Warehouse: Warehouse (Halls of Hilmer) (Southern Street of the Sword)

Kreis' Fine Wine and Spirits: Import/Export (Spirits) An import business run by Tyrannus Adarbrent.

Mother Tamra's House of Graces: School (Grace, Etiquette, Comportment)

The Market: The largest open area of the city that plays host to hundreds of stalls and camped vendors able to sell nearly anything in the Realms, and many thieves to relieve one of same.

Nureene's Marvelous Masks: Shop (Masks)

Old Knot Shop: Shop (Sailing Gear)

Olmhazan's Jewels: Shop (Jewelry)

Paethier's Pipeweed: Shop (Tobacco)

Phalantar's Philtres & Components: Shop (Herbs and Medicines) (4c). A small shop for medicinal herbs and ingredients for oils, perfumes and potions. It is said that Phalantar allegedly supports adventuring companies in exchange for the rare substances he sells here.

Rebeleigh's Elegant Headware: Shop (Hats)

Sorynth's Silverware: Shop (Silver Goods)

"Sharkroar" Horth Sharlark's Broadsheets: Printer (Broadsheets)

Velstrode the Venturer's: Shop: (Adventuring Goods)

Inns

The Jade Jug: Waterdeep's plushest inn with luxury in every detail, and well worth the expensive price.

Lazy Dragon: A newly-established inn (Old Temple)

The Pampered Traveler

Sapphire House: An expensive rooming five-story house across Swords Street from Blackstaff Tower that has provided room and board for more than one of the Blackstaff's apprentices who found the Tower to be a little too confining (Northern Swords Street)

Wyrmbones Inn

The Yawning Portal: A well-known inn and tavern whose main feature is a massive well on the ground floor of the tavern, some 40 feet across, that descends 140 feet into the first level of Undermountain. There is a rope hoist that can be used to lower or raise those foolhardy enough to venture into Undermountain, at a cost of 1 gp per person. (Southern Castle Ward)

Taverns

The Asp's Strike

The Blue Jack

The Crawling Spider: A tavern for subterraneans that pine for their homes (as well as regulars who like the thrilling atmosphere), decorated as if underground with serving folk dressed as drow elves. Well known for its subterranean dancing floor, and the many small "caverns" that lead off of it whose dark recesses are best left alone by the curious. (Southern Street of the Sword)

The Crow's Nest: A modest but comfortable tavern; a favorite among the clerks, bureaucrats, and visitors of nearby Castle Waterdeep. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Dragon's Head

The Elfstone: An old earthy tavern, with live trees in the walls and the bar, that caters to elves and half-elves, and is a rare source of such delicacies as elverquisst, guldathen nectar and maerlathen blue wine. (Southern Street of the Sword)

The Empty Keg: A rough-and-tumble beer-hall. Later in the eve, it often sees visits from some of the unattached ladies from Mother Salinka's next door, looking to lure some of the drinkers back to their boudoirs. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Flagon Dragon: A modest neighborhood pub renowned for its zzar (Waterdhavian mulled wine) and talyths (a palm-sized cracker with a thin slice of sausage on top, and a mixture of cheese, herbs, mashed root vegetables and other ingredients whose recipe is a house secret) (Northern Swords Street)

The Mighty Manticore: An older friendly tavern with ample ale and light evening fare at affordable prices that attracts a loyal clientele of merchants at the close of day.

The Quaffing Quaggoth:A dwarf-owned tavern and a growing favorite among the city's sailors, merchants and young nobles. The tavern is well-known for the house specialty: a thick-brewed stout mixed with an unknown liquor that is called the Quaggoth for its rumored ability to cure every hair on a quaggoth and then some.

The Red-Eyed Owl: A comfortable, unimpressive local ale-house that is a favorite of the average Waterdhavian locals, well-loved for its cheap ale and heavily spiced coast chowder. (Southern Castle Ward)

Sailor's Own: A crowded, dark, and dirty sailor's dive bar.

The Singing Sword

The Sleepy Sylph: A popular tavern for visitors to Waterdeep, featuring driftglobe lights and scantily clad waitstaff dressed as fairies. (Southern Castle Ward)

Festhalls

Blushing Nymph: An upscale brothel known for its exotic pleasures. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Crawling Spider: A tavern for subterraneans that pine for their homes (as well as regulars who like the thrilling atmosphere), decorated as if underground with serving folk dressed as drow elves. Well known for its subterranean dancing floor, and the many small "caverns" that lead off of it whose dark recesses are best left alone by the curious. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Genmura's Stage: A bawdy burlesque palace with two floors of small, cheap, stinking rooms above its taphall, Genmura's sees plenty of seedy sorts, criminals, dock hands, and sailors just come a'shore. (Old Temple).

Jhural's Dance: Nowhere near as raucous as many festhalls, Jhrual prides himself on the seductive, intimate environment he fosters in his hall. Plenty of alcoves and nooks to hide in with someone in close company, all surrounding a stage where his festhall workers dance to advertise their wares. His festhall is also notable for its equal proportion of men and women performers. (Northern Swords Street)

Lightsinger Theater

Mother Salinka's House of Pleasure: A shabby, low-coin festhall. (Southern Castle Ward)

Mother Tathlorn's House of Pleasure & Healing

The Smiling Siren: A festhall that specializes in small plays and the hosting of traveling troupes (burlesque and otherwise). (Northern Street of Silver)

Temples

The Font of Knowledge: Temple to Oghma.

The Halls of Justice: Temple to Tyr.

The House of Two Hands: Monastery to Tyr.

The Pantheon Temple of the Seldarine: Temple to the Seldarine (Elven Gods). When elven clergy of the Seldarine approached the Masked Lords to ask for permission to establish a Pantheon temple to their gods, it was considered a coup for relations between Waterdeep and the elven peoples. Waterdeep has always had an extensive elven population and is indeed the site where the Grey Ships of Evermeet come at Midsummer to carry away those elves who tire of Faerûn and seek to return to elven lands. When that permission was quickly given, the elves asked for an allotment of property right in the middle of a busy and crowded Castle Ward neighborhood, shocking the Lords. Even when pressed, the elves would not explain their choice; so without further ado, the grant was given. The Pantheon Temple is a tall, dour structure of gleaming white stone flecked with silver, but has within it a garden and long walking galleries between the shrines to the elven deities.

The Spires of Morning: Temple to Lathander. A walled garden compound with eight beautiful gilded towers that reflect Lathander's dawn. (Northern Swords Street)

City Buildings

Peaktop Aerie :Headquarters for griffon mounts of City Guard. Rorden Rialter Obyrdar is currently on duty at the Peaktop Aerie where the griffons are kept. 

Guard Barracks: City Guard Barracks (Southern Castle Ward)

Guard Smithy: Smithy for City Guard

Bell Tower: A simple bell tower used to signal fires, attacks and calls for assembly at the Palace. (15 Guard at all times)

Palace Storage: Warehouses for Piergeiron's Palace

Palace Stables: Stables for Piergeiron's Palace

Palace Paddocks: Paddocks for Piergeiron's Palace

Walking Statue: One of the eight known 90-foot-tall stone golems created by Khelben Arunsun to defend any gaps in Waterdeep's defenses, this regal figure stands at the Gull Leap cliff at the end of Julthoon Street.

Watching Towers: Sentry Towers

Piergeiron's Palace: The center of Waterdeep's government with various courts, embassies and city offices therein, as well as the living chambers of the Open Lord Piergeiron the Paladinson.

Castle Waterdeep: Castle for the Masked Lords of Waterdeep and the Magistrates' Courts.

Ahghairon's Tower: The slim stone tower of the original First Lord of the city that is surrounded by invisible magical barriers that suspend the skeletal remains of a wizard that tried to get into the tower.

Guildhalls

The House of Gems: Jeweller's Guild

The Map House: Surveyors', Map and Chart-Makers Guild

Fellowship Hall: Fellowship of Innkeepers. The headquarters of the Fellowship of Innkeepers that operates as a member-only inn one night a tenday.

The Master Baker's Hall: Bakers' Guild (Southern Street of the Sword)

Tower of the Order: Watchful Order of Magists & Protectors. A three-story stone tower surrounded by a fence of sparkling green lights that coalesce into Azuth's and Mystra's symbols, with the hand of Azuth over the tower door rumored to watch the tower and fire magic at any intruders.

Guildhall of the Order: Solemn Order of Recognized Furriers & Woolmen

Pewterer's Guildhall: Pewterers & Casters Guild

House of Fine Carvers: Fine Carvers Guild. The slate-roofed wooden base of the Fine Carvers Guild, easily found on the High Road with its frieze of carved animals and people, including Ahghairon and other First Lords.

The Market Hall: Farmers and Grocers Guild

Alleys & Courts

Cat Alley: this narrow twisting, turning passage was frequented years ago by a masked, rapier-wielding man of wealth who scared young women and cut away their garments but was never arrested.

Elsambul's Lane: named for a long-dead priest of Mask and now one of the few areas with graffiti on its walls (they say Elsambul himself still leaves enigmatic messages and clues to hidden treasures on the walls!), it attracts many folk beyond simple curiosity seekers.

Jesters' Court: a courtyard frequented now by hard-currency girls and minstrels that has also been a performance stage for jugglers and comics as well as a meeting place for eloping lovers.

Sevenlamps Cut: named for seven fancy magical lamps placed here long ago by Ahghairon himself, this safe alley is the place to hire spellcasters (apprentice wizards and poor underpriests) for quick healing, curse removals, or some magical firepower for your latest excursion into Undermountain.

Turnback Court: a lamplit, shallow alley at the end of Selduth Street that is used as a rallying point for watch and guard patrols both day and night.

this concludes my collection of information about waterdeep's castle ward for now. it's a sprawling topic, each and every ward, and i'm sure there are things i missed or forgot!

still, i hope this was of use to someone other than myself!

tag list: @evenstar-crescentmoon, @criticalgale, @ofthedirewolves

if you want to be added (or taken off) the tag list, please let me know! 🖤

[paganimagevault]

Siberian snow goggles from the Khanty, Nganasan, & Sakha

Toying with an idea here. The concept of the one-eyed Arimaspians has me curious if this was a nickname for people from the north who lived in places where snow goggles may have given the appearance of having a single eye. Given a far enough physical distance and passing through the gossip of enough different languages, by the time this info made it to the Greeks what began as a nickname may have sounded like these people were literal cyclopes. Just a thought. I assume people back then used eye protection from the snow, in some manner, just like people do today. Some of the snow goggles (both modern and historical) do give the appearance of a single giant eye, while others have two eye spots. I wasn't able to find much on this as far as historical info goes, and unfortunately I couldn't find images of the ancient grave finds the article talked about. The oldest of the discovered snow goggles being 2,000 years old from northeast Asia. I'm not sure if the initial black and white sketch is of the ancient goggles or not, the post didn't explicitly say. Below is whatever info I could find on historical snow glasses in Eurasia: 

"In ancient times, like today, these goggles were made by skilled masters to combine effectiveness in blotting out the blinding light in some cases looking amazing.

Different ethnic groups across polar regions evolved their own distinctive style in snow goggles.

The most ancient known eyewear belong to the Old Bering Sea culture, the sites of which are located on the both sides of Bering Strait.

The oldest date for the culture - around 400 years BC - was obtained on Russian side, at Ekven graveyard, in Chukotka.

The peak of the culture is considered to be in second and third centuries AD. 

At Ekven and also Uelen graveyards snow goggles made of bone were found, dating from the first to the fifth centuries AD.

Some were decorated with carvings, some not, and examples are shown here in these drawings.

Later the snow goggle tradition by Eskimos, for example the Inuits and Yupik, and the Chukchi people.

While there was an obvious practical use for the goggles, a variant of these ‘spectacles’ xxxx is believed to have been used by traditional shamans; for example a pair of goggles without holes of slips was found at Ekve

The Event and Dolgans people turned to metal in making the eyewear with copper or tin or silver goggles inserted into a half-mask made of reindeer skin or other pelt, or, later, cloth obtained from Russian incomers. Decorations with beads was also a feature.

The same type of goggles was also used by other Arctic people such as the  Nganasan or Khanty. The British Museum even has some examples.

The tradition continues to this day and is thriving in Yakutia - also known as Sakha Republic, the largest region in the Russian Federation. 

Going back in time, the Yakut people used a wide range of materials to make goggles - metal, birch bark, wood, bone, skin, and horsehair. 

The goggles created from horsehair comprised strips of intricate net. A surviving 19th century example comes not from Yakutia but Tuva, the mountainous region in southern Siberia, now in a collection in the Irkutsk Museum of Local History. 

Most of the metal goggles in Yakut collections are dated from between the 18th and early 20th centuries. 

Again, some definitely had ritualistic uses: they were deployed by shamans, and not in everyday day life for use in snow.

Many Yakuts recall that their grandfathers had very simple goggles made of birch bark. 

Local historian Prokopy Nagovitsyn said: 'The round shaped silver goggles began to make an appearance in 19th century, when there appeared many rich people. 

‘The shape had a symbolic meaning - cross in the circle had been the symbol of the sun since neolithic times. 

‘Yet the cross-shaped cuts are convenient not when you are in tundra, but when you, for example, climb steps.’

Most of the older goggles look rather simple - for example a metal strip with the small deepening for the nose and slots for sight. Others have  two round metal discs with a slit to see through while blotting out most of the glare; these were fixed into a the mask of skin or fur."

-taken from SiberianTimes

[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 5) Chapter Four

Father Figure! Lucifer x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Four: Celestial Family Issues Strike Again

Summary: (Y/N) confronts Michael.

            “I’m Michael.”

            The clipped, southern accent, so lacking in the smooth speech Lucifer had, spoke the words (Y/N) had known in their heart: this wasn’t Lucifer. This was an angel, yes, but this one lied.

            “Michael?” they repeated, narrowing their eyes.

            Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course my brother didn’t talk about me. Always was self-centered.”

            “Don’t think you’re special, he doesn’t talk about any angels,” said (Y/N), unimpressed by his attempt to anger them.

            Little did Michael know, (Y/N) was fantastic at being angry and still handling their shit. It was Celestials and everyone else from the Bible that made problems and then couldn’t fix them themselves.

            Michael sneered, and (Y/N) was quite satisfied to see that he was easier to perturb than Lucifer. They could work with that. (Admittedly, they shouldn’t be upsetting a Celestial since they also had terrible anger-management skills, but what did (Y/N) care?)

            “Well, he left his family, and now he left you, so we’re on the same level,” said Michael.

            “You guys threw him out,” snapped (Y/N).

            “He deserved it,” said Michael. “He wanted power that wasn’t his to take.”

            “And yet you’re the one down here trying to be him. Seems like you want power,” said (Y/N).

            Michael’s jaw tightened, and (Y/N) recognized the identical expression from Lucifer (mostly when Cain had been an issue and flirting with Chloe). They had hit the bullseye head-on.

            “I’m here to mess up his power,” said Michael defensively. “I don’t need anything that he has.”

            “Then leave,” said (Y/N) sharply. “If this was just you being a shitty brother, then just leave. You got found out. The game’s up. Go away.”

            Michael stepped forward, and (Y/N) tensed. “You think just because Lucifer’s brat knows who I am that anything is over? I’m still here. He’s still in Hell.”

            “Why do you care about Lucifer? You’re right, he’s not here. So what you do doesn’t matter. Just leave,” said (Y/N).

            They just wanted Michael to go. They were furious at him, but they just wanted him to leave. He had already hurt them by making them think Lucifer returned and creating a lie. All they wanted was for him to leave.

            Michael grinned. “Just because he’s in Hell doesn’t mean he doesn’t know when his toys get a little broken.”

            The shadows quivered as (Y/N) heard the words. Cocking their head, they regarded him darkly.

            “Breaking his ‘toys?’ ” The words were light but holding a lot of emotion.

            Michael grinned. “Chloe Decker. You. Who knows what could happen.”

            Thwip!

            Lashing out, razor-quick, the shadows grabbed for Michael. He paused in surprise, but his black wings (so different from Lucifer’s brilliant white feathers) erupted from his back and carried him away from the shadows.

            Michael dodged in the air, but (Y/N) wasn’t done. Their red wings burst from their back, and they launched through the air. Michael twisted away, but (Y/N) pushed off the wall. Their wings beat powerfully against the air, and they were in front of Michael in the next moment.

            They grabbed him and slammed him down on the ground. With only wings, Michael, although he had experience flying, was at a slight disadvantage. While (Y/N) hit his head against the ground, the shadows grabbed him to restrain him.

            “Don’t threaten Chloe. Don’t threaten me. Don’t threaten Lucifer!” they shouted, shadows crawling up the walls and blotting out the light.

            “You brat,” snarled Michael. Beating his wings against the ground, he dislodged the shadows and threw (Y/N) back.

            They hit a table hard, and it cracked, breaking. Hitting the ground, (Y/N) yelped as fractured wood cut their wings and arms. They groaned and tried to push themself up. Their wings fluttered in an attempt to pull them up. As they regained their focus, though, Michael was approaching with a fury in his eyes that made (Y/N) flinch back. They’d seen that look in people’s eyes before—in their biological “family.”

            “If I have to do some real damage to get Lucifer’s attention, then so be it,” sneered Michael. “He likes drama, right? I can give him some.”

            Panic gripped (Y/N)’s heart. Scrambling back, instinct took over as Michael surged towards them with a single powerful flap of his dark wings. Shadows ripped up from the ground in a wave of pure darkness, overcoming even the color of Michael’s wings.

            “Don’t touch me!” screamed (Y/N), squeezing their eyes shut.

            The entire room shook as shadows pulled from every surface, shattering glass, metal, and wood. Pieces of all of it slammed into Michael in a tidal wave, sending him flying. Michael let out a shout of pain as he hit the ground and the shadows pummeled him into the ground.

            (Y/N) flinched and pulled back more as he screamed. Opening their eyes, they stared in fright at Michael. Their eyes widened. A large, bleeding wound cut across his face. Next to him, carried in the storm of shadows (Y/N) had summoned, one of Em’s demon blades lay bloody on the floor.

            Michael pressed a shaky hand to his face. It came away red. His eyes raised to meet (Y/N)’s. Silence reigned.

            Frozen, (Y/N) stared back. And then, shakily, they stood. Their red wings folded behind them as they looked at Michael. Narrowing their eyes into a glare, (Y/N) forced strength into their words.

            “Get out of my home, Michael,” said (Y/N).

            Michael gritted his teeth, and his wings extended. In his eyes remained a fury that promised more trouble for (Y/N) and everyone else connected with them and Lucifer. But with a single flap of his wings, the angel disappeared to who-knows-where.

            (Y/N) was left alone. Exhausted, their wings retracted, and they collapsed onto the couch.

            Ding!

            The elevator doors beeped as they slid open.

            I swear to God, if this is another problem, I’m going to throw it off the terrace, thought (Y/N), lifting their head.

            “Holy shit, Birdie, are you okay?!”

            Well, that’s not bad. (Y/N)’s heartbeat quickened as Em ran over to their side.

            “I’m fine, I just broke the table and window for fun,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N), the sarcasm isn’t really helpful when it’s obvious something happened,” said Chloe.

            “Oh, hi, Chloe,” said (Y/N).

            “Birdie, just tell us what happened,” said Em. They held (Y/N)’s shoulders tightly and nearly shook them. “I’ve been calling for ages, but you weren’t answering!”

            “They were so worried they called me,” said Chloe, looking around. “Obviously, they were right to be.”

            “Seriously, what happened?” said Em, letting (Y/N) go.

            “I was right. Lucifer wasn’t himself,” said (Y/N).

            “What?” asked Chloe. “What’s wrong with him?”

            “It’s not Lucifer,” said (Y/N). “It’s his brother, Michael. He was trying to mess up Lucifer’s life by being him or whatever.”

            “Oh my god, and he did this?” said Chloe, looking around.

            “Well, kind of, it was him and me,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Where is he? I need to talk to him,” said Em, standing and looking around for any of her weapons.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re not doing anything,” said Chloe. “We can’t even convince anyone he’s not Lucifer.”

            “I solved that problem,” said (Y/N).

            Chloe and Em looked at them.

            They shrugged. “I accidentally scarred his face.”

            “You scarred an angel’s face?” Em’s eyes widened.

            “It was an accident!” said (Y/N) defensively. “I didn’t want to.”

            “You clash with authority and other mean people,” said Em.

            “I don’t go looking for fights; fights look for me.”

            Sighing, Chloe knelt by (Y/N) and Em. “We’re glad you’re okay, (Y/N). Really. But next time, make sure someone’s with you. If you had gotten hurt, none of us could’ve forgiven ourselves.”

            “Seriously, Birdie. We want you safe,” said Em.

            (Y/N) turned red as Em looked at them and nodded shortly. “Uh, yeah. You’re probably right,” they admitted.

            “What do we do next?” asked Em, looking at Chloe.

            “You make sure they’re not hurt and hiding it,” said Chloe, clocking (Y/N)’s habits instantly. “I’m going to call Linda to warn her.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I’m going to let Amenadiel know what one of his brothers is up to.”

            Celestial family issues strike again, thought (Y/N).

l

            “Michael.”

            Michael gritted his teeth before putting on a smile to face Amenadiel as he walked up behind him. “Looks like the cats out of the bag.”

            Amenadiel’s expression remained solemn, but his eyes flicked to Michael’s new scar.

            “Oh, yeah, you see that? Lucifer’s brat did that,” said Michael sourly, downing his drink.

            “You shouldn’t have tried to trick them. They still haven’t mastered their abilities,” said Amenadiel. “I’m sorry you’re hurt, Michael, but you shouldn’t have done what you did. And you shouldn’t have used fear to get into everyone’s heads, including mine.” He looked at the cut. “That’s what happens when you do what you shouldn’t. Eventually, you get hurt.”

            “Spare me,” said Michael, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need the righteous speech. I still live in the Silver City, unlike you.”

            Amenadiel narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I don’t live there, and you do. So you should go home, Michael. Just go home, heal, and let all of this go. You don’t belong here.”

            “Right, right. And when I do go home, I could also tell Remy it’s time to come back, ‘cause you know who else doesn’t belong here?” Michael cocked his head. Fear was his specialty. He knew what made Amenadiel tick and knew precisely where to twist the knife. “That’s right. Your son, Chucky. And, you know, Lucifer’s brat, (Y/N), isn’t exactly human, either. Maybe it’s time for them to go to the Silver City.”

            “I’m not afraid of you, Michael,” said Amenadiel. “Now go home.”

            Michael downed his drink. “Lucifer’s life sucks anyways.” He stood. “Only thing worse is his kid.”

            Amenadiel refused to let Michael leave feeling self-satisfied. “Oh, I think you doth protest too much.” Michael paused and looked back at him. “You see, you pride yourself on exploiting everyone’s fears, but we’ve always known yours. You’re terrified that Lucifer is better than you. That he’ll always be better than you.”

            “Please,” scoffed Michael, but his face was frozen at the words Amenadiel spoke. “Our brother? The Devil? The-the-the guy that was cast out of Heaven for all eternity?”

            “Exactly, Michael, because despite even that, you know, deep down…he’ll always end up winning,” said Amenadiel. “He found friends. He found a woman to love. He created a family with an amazing kid. And you can’t stand that he created all that on his own, despite everything else he’s done.”

            Michael’s jaw clenched. “We’ll see.”

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

@theurbannoodle

@lookitseddie

[avonne-writes]

I was tagged by the lovely @ww2yaoi to share an excerpt from a WIP I'm working on. Thank you for the tag, dear! 🩷 I'm gonna share a part of the second chapter of Reverie (draft version!).

I'm tagging @hogans-heroes next (if she'd like to do it) 😊

~○~

Something felt different in the air. A blurry, silver hue over the sun, the taste of iron on Bucky’s tongue when he breathed through his mouth. The sky rumbled ominously above the peak, even though he couldn't see a single cloud. He frowned. Discomfort skittered across his skin in a trail of goosebumps as he approached Gale. There was no breeze in the air. The clean laundry hung in limp, heavy folds from its lines.

“What are you staring at?” Bucky asked when he reached Gale, but he didn’t get a response. Gale's blue eyes were wide open and fixed on one of the white shirts as if it hid a monster about to strike. He blanched pale as a corpse. The hair stood up on the back of Bucky's neck. “What's going on?”

Something dripped wetly on the ground. Bucky's gaze snapped to it. Dark red liquid seeped into the sand. Another drop. Dread crawled up on Bucky’s spine as he trailed his eyes up - and as he watched, crimson blotted the pristine cotton. A spot the size of a coin, then spreading, spreading, dribbling on the soil in thick, clotting rivulets. Bucky swore. He grabbed Gale by the elbow and pulled, but Gale's legs didn't budge. It was as if they were fused in place.

Gale tipped his head back to look at the sky, his lips moving around words Bucky couldn't catch, until the sun disappeared behind a cloud that grew pink, then red, then purple, like a bruise spreading, blood spilled under the skin. The horror on Gale's face punched Bucky in the gut, and he reached out for him again -

He woke up gasping in his bunk in the training camp. The hot southern summer felt suffocating but his skin still seemed clammy and his shirt stuck to his back.

“Fuck.” He said under his breath and pushed himself off the mattress. 

It was pitch black in the barrack but he had plenty of experience navigating the spaces between their bunks. He knew exactly how many steps to take to Gale, how far from the boys’ snoring could he find Gale's soft exhales. He made his way to him as quickly as he could and sighed in relief when his hand made contact with a warm shoulder. 

Gale stirred awake immediately.

He didn't say anything. Didn't panic or get confused by Bucky's touch. The only sign that something was wrong at all was the quickness of his breaths and the sweat on his neck that rubbed damply on Bucky’s cheek when Bucky folded over him to give him a hug.

“It was just a nightmare.” He whispered into Gale's ear in what he hoped was a comforting voice. 

Gale stayed silent still, but his breathing started to slow down. He wrapped his arms tighter around Bucky. His right hand slid up to Bucky's nape and squeezed.

“You okay?” Bucky asked. He felt Gale nod. His hand slipped to Bucky's neck, stroking mindlessly.

Guilt nipped at Bucky from all sides. He wanted to stay and hold Gale as long as Gale needed, but that touch and the sweet, familiar smell that clung so strongly to Gale at that moment woke a hunger in him he couldn't suppress. Acting on it would have been a crime in and of itself. A blue ticket if ever found out. A shameful trip home.

So, Bucky pulled himself away from his heaven just out of reach, and patted Gale's chest. “Let’s go back to sleep, yeah?”

He couldn't see Gale's face, but he heard a hum. Gale squeezed his forearm in thanks, then turned away to curl up on his side. Bucky hesitated for a heartbeat before he stood and returned to his bed.

[bonefall]

I wanna make a Bright Storm MAP so bad, I think the YouTube WC community needs Bright Storm in their lives. Better Bones in general would be good for them but especially Bright Storm. I probably won't but the brain worms would greatly appreciate any songs anyone associates with her

God, anything with weather allegories honestly. Something about clouds, how they blot out the sky, how rain and THUNDER specifically bring the storm to a head as a sort of catharsis

"You're So Vain" by Carly Simon is actually THE song that wouldn't get out of my head and forced me to kill Gray Wing in book 1 of BB!DOTC, to make way for Bright Storm. So that's HER song in my mind.

But I also really like several Fleetwood Mac songs for her, but especially "Dreams". "It Never Rains in Southern California" is also a really good song for her, imo.

For some reason I just also always imagine All Along The Watchtower (especially the bob dylan version) as a sort of bittersweet conversation between Bright Storm and Bumble, after they're both now part of early ThunderClan. I can't really explain it-- the way that it's sort of guarded between the Joker and the Thief, like how Bumble gets along with Bright but never fully trusts her again, the weariness and frustration with being bullied by the bigger groups.

[battleoftheicyfreaks]

Round 3, Match 2: The Icewarden (Flight Rising) vs. Leif (Bug Fables)

Icewarden Propaganda:

sorry but the icewarden is the dragon Ice Diety not totally sure about his lore bc the only diety I bothered to learn the indepth Lore of was Spacedad but the guy lives in the frozenest part of the land has ice in his NAME created two seperate fuzzy dragon breeds (so that they could also live in the frozenest part of sornieth) i cannot stress enough this man is the dragon god of being cold also 90% sure he was created when a cloud of ash blotted out the sun and froze over the southern part of the sea creating the southern icefields and one (1) very cold god

Leif Propaganda:

he's a silly lil guy who has seen the Horrors™️. unwillingly subjected to experimentation and fusing with a corpse after being abandoned, he woke up decades later with amnesia, trauma and ice powers! they join a rag-tag explorer team in hopes to uncover who he is and help his new friends with they're quest

[shiny-jr]

Praise be the seven, I guess. Finally, I got Beans Day Azul. He was one of the first SSRs I was missing, mostly because I never wished on his banner when he first came out because I had no idea how twst’s gacha system worked. I was worried I was going to have to save and do every achievement I could to collect more gems to wish for him, but he came home on the last key I had. It was a little over 20, no more than 30, I think that’s a win. 

Anyways, I’m a little bored, gonna try to write for Scarabia (damnation) again and probably post the sneak-peek after I check it. But for now, here are some random twst thoughts I have. Enjoy?

- Do y’all think Twisted Wonderland might be a little more peaceful say, compared to Yuu’s world, if they’re from Earth? Think about it. There’s a lot of issues with this world like climate change, wars, pollution, etc. But I imagine in a world filled with magic, some of those issues may not be as big of a deal. Like, I imagine that there’s magic or some magical machine that acts as a resource and energy source and is much cleaner than using gas or oil. 

- Kinda related to the last point, but do you think the reason the “wand” happens to actually be a pen is due to the fact that because magic creates the hazardous blot, the pen uses up that blot when they write? 

- Not gonna get into this one too much, but I wonder if some people will obsess over a certain species or kinds of people and commit cultural appropriation. Example: A regular human wearing fake ears and a tail then claiming they’re a real beastmen.

- Thinking about the existence of Noble Bell College and the whole City of Flowers. The interior of the school was decorated a lot like a church, so that makes me wonder if it was like a religious school because of the movie’s close association with religion. Does that mean there’s a religion akin to Christianity in Twisted Wonderland? What about other religions? How would that even work? 

- I wonder how languages work in twst, since it doesn’t appear like there’s a ton of countries (makes sense if I was right about the war thing, so there wouldn’t be a lot of countries with conflict). Also, if there normally is a language barrier, how is everyone able to communicate perfectly fine on campus? Is there like a commonly used language, or is it some magic that allows everyone to understand each other?

- Obviously the Queendom of Roses would probably be the equivalent of the U.K. and Island of Woe being Greece with it’s connection to Idia and Hercules, but what about other places? Would Briar Valley be like France then, because it’s connection to Sleeping Beauty being set in France? But it’s mostly fae, does that matter? What about the Country of Pyroxene (Shaftlands)? That’s the home of Vil, Cater, Jack, Epel, Trein, and Vargas. But Snow White is supposed to be German, and Cinderella with Beauty and the Beast were supposed to be French. So is Pyroxene French, German, or just a land based off Europe? Is the City of Flowers somewhere here? Don’t forget the Land of Scalding Sands where Kalim and Jamil are, it’s obviously supposed to be inspired by someplace in the Middle East, is it just based off the region and not a single nation? Similar to the Afterglow Savanna, is it just based off the continent of Africa and not a single nation? Many many questions. 

- Kinda back to the language thing, I wonder how accents would be like. Riddle? Definitely British, there’s not a doubt in my mind about that. Maybe Trey too, I can see him going either way. Everyone else in Heartslabyul though? I cannot imagine them with a British accent. Deuce? Upper US east coast kinda guy, definitely used to reply with “ya mutha” in his delinquent days. Ace? Southern US west coast, along with Cater too. Cater definitely has the valley accent, says “like” all the time. Others I like to imagine are Azul, Jade, and Floyd. They’re from the Coral Sea, but they mention it gets really really cold so of course I’m gonna imagine it as the Nordic Sea and they have this subtle Scandinavian accent, but since they probably practiced a lot to cover it. Another one is Vil, obviously I imagine him with a German accent because his last name is Schoenheit. A while ago I was unsure about Epel because he says the most out of pocket stuff in the weirdest ways sometimes, but because of the Harveston outfit I’ve seen on him, I’m gonna say he has like this Russian accent. Rook... starting to think Rook isn’t even French since apparently he’s from the Afterglow Savanna. 

- Something that I personally wonder a lot, are there Latinos in this world?? Like, c’mon. I saw the tacos in the cooking event, I know they’re hiding them somewhere. You can’t hide them forever. At least I know there’s Mexicans. But who knows? Maybe if they add more villains like they did with Rollo, they’ll add a character that’s probably Mexican like Ernesto De La Cruz (Coco) or Peruvian like Yzma and Kronk (Emperor’s New Groove). 

- Sometimes I wonder, they say that everyone knows about the seven. Like apparently in Twisted Wonderland they learn about them when they’re young, and they’re not seen as bad guys. So if that’s the case, do some people learn about the good guys? Do their beliefs kinda conflict and clash or does it conveniently not clash? That’s something I wondered when thinking if RSA has statues like NRC does. 

- RSA would treat Yuu right, just saying. It might not be fun all the time, but it’s probably better than some aspects of NRC.

[plethoraworldatlas]

In just the latest example of a top Israeli official openly calling for the elimination of Gaza and the 2.3 million Palestinians who live there, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich on Tuesday demanded the destruction of cities and refugee camps in the blockaded enclave.

"There are no half measures," said Smotrich at a government meeting. "Rafah, Deir al-Balah, Nuseirat—total annihilation."

"'You will blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven,'" he added, quoting the biblical story of the nation of Amalek, whose people God commanded the Israelites to exterminate and which right-wing Israeli leaders have long invoked to justify the killing of Palestinians.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu also referenced Amalek in the first weeks of Israel's current escalation against Gaza; Smotrich's comments came as he and other government officials pushed Netanyahu to forge ahead with a planned attack on the southern city of Rafah, where more than 1.5 million people have been displaced as other cities across Gaza have been decimated by Israeli forces.

Ibrahim Hooper, national communications director for the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), called on President Joe Biden to stop condemning thousands of U.S. college students who have demanded a cease-fire and an end to military aid for Israel and direct his ire toward the Israeli government, which he has repeatedly insisted is targeting Hamas despite its genocidal statements and indiscriminate attacks.

"In case the Israeli government's genocidal intent in Gaza was unclear to anyone despite its daily war crimes against the Palestinian people, Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich's words should serve as another wake-up call," said Hooper. "The intent of the Netanyahu government has always been Palestinian land without Palestinians, and violence has always been the route to achieve that heinous goal. Instead of condemning college students, President Biden must condemn Israeli leaders for making and acting on their genocidal threats."

In recent months, Israeli officials have stated that the "migration" of Gaza residents is their ultimate goal in relentlessly attacking the enclave, that all Palestinians in Gaza are "responsible" for a Hamas-led attack on southern Israel in October and are legitimate targets, that the enclave should be "flattened," and that the Israel Defense Forces is fighting "human animals."

Journalist Mehdi Hasan sardonically suggested that Smotrich's comments will be deemed acceptable by the Biden administration, members of Congress, and the U.S. corporate media because he didn't "say it on a college campus."

[tricornonthecob]

sometimes when I write my silly little amrev fics, I stop and think about how I could possibly write the environment when there were big ass sturgeons in the rivers, honest-to-god old growth forest in the Appalachias/Ohio/more with VERY successful land management by the first nations, a fucking parakeet of all things in the southern midwest, flocks of passenger pigeons so large they blotted out the sun, mountain lions all across the Appalachias, an eastern subspecies of wapiti/elk as far east as Pennsylvania until the 18-fucking-70s (which is why there are so many places on the east coast with Elk in the name,) lets not even start with how far east buffalo were encouraged to roam due to the aforementioned land management practices, and of course red wolves. And that's just a handful!

Its infuriating and depressing, knowing just how much has been robbed from the earth, and all the stupid reasons for it.

[boltupbitches]

Coffee Spills - Justin Herbert

The morning starting out pretty well for Justin. He got up early, spent some time in the gym at his house, cuddled with his cat Nova, and his favorite hole-in-the-wall cafe was not busy at all at 10:00am on a Wednesday. Maybe it was the cloudy weather and rain keeping people from being out in the typical sunny southern California weather. If anything, he was extremely grateful.

"A medium iced mocha for Justin!" the barista called from the bar.

Justin got up from leather couch and went to get his drink. He mumbled a thank you to the barista and slipped a $20 in the tipping jar as he turned around.

Just as he did, he collided with another person and he stumbled a bit in shock, his drink flying forward and onto the person in front of him.

"Oh my god!" A feminine voice shouted.

Justin looked up in shock to see a young woman attempting to plot away the large, dark coffee stain that spread across her white blouse. She was dressed in business casual clothing and Justin had a sinking feeling he just ruined her shirt.

"Oh shit! I am so sorry!" He stumbled over his apology, immediately grabbing handfuls of paper napkins and attempting to blot the shirt as well.

The young woman sniffled and swatted his hand away. "No, no, it's ok. I suppose this is icing on the cake of my life. I don't get the job I wanted and then get coffee spilled on me." She started to walk towards a table in the corner, quickly ducking her head into her folded arms.

Justin stood there helplessly for a minute, looking to the approaching barista with a mop, unsure of what to say or do. "I'm very sorry for the mess." He said to the barista, who just shrugged her shoulder and smiled.

"Shit happens, dude. Don't sweat it. But, if I were you, I'd offer to replace the shirt of that lady over there. It sounds like she's not having a good day." She smiled at him and started to mop up the spill.

Justin scratched his head slightly before looking at the woman again. 'Fucking great job, Herbert," he thought bitterly to himself.

------

Anya had her head pressed down into the corner of her elbow, her chai latte long forgotten in front of her as she quietly continued to cry.

Her day was absolute shit. Just the worst day she's had in a long time. She was certain she'd be moving back to Washington after this last failed interview. There was no way she was going to remain in Los Angeles after the latest fiasco.

It didn't help her feel any better to have coffee spilled on her and that she publicly freaked out on a poor guy that didn't mean too.

Honestly, the floor could open up right now and swallow her up and she'd be thankful.

"Ehem." She heard.

She wiped her eyes and looked up to a sheepish looking man smiling awkwardly at her. Her eyes trailed down to see him holding out a plate with a slice of chocolate mousse cake on it. In fact, he was holding two plates.

"Hi.. um, may I sit here?" He asked.

She blinked at him before nodding shyly.

He sat down and gently slid the slice of cake over to her. "My name is Justin and I came over to say that I am so sorry for spilling my drink on you. I didn't realize anyone was standing close behind me and I should have paid better attention to where I was going. Please tell me how much your shirt cost and I can either pay for it to get dry cleaned or give you money to replace it." He rambled, his cheeks burning red with obvious embarrassment. He was very bashful, choosing to stare down at his hands as he spoke, not once making eye contact.

Anya smiled, wiping her eyes again before speaking, "You don't have to do that. It was an honest accident and I was having a bad day. I'm sorry as well for freaking out on you. What happened wasn't intentional and I've had my equal share of moments like that too. All is forgiven." She smiled at him and held her hand out to him over the table. "My name is Anya, by the way, and it is very nice to meet you Justin."

He shook it and smiled back. "Well, for what it's worth, bad days are few and far inbetween. Hopefully the next day will be a better one - at least that's what I always hope for."

She nodded at that. "I hope so. I didn't get the job I interviewed for, even though I was plenty qualified. No reason was given either. I guess that's just how things are sometimes." She looked down at her lap. She couldn't believe she was sharing such personal information with a stranger.

"Well, if they were dumb enough to overlook you as a candidate, then they clearly weren't the ones for you. What field are you working in?" He inquired.

"Well, not working right now per se, but I'm trying to get back into data analytics, but it is a field heavily dominated by men.. and as a young woman, I am usually the ONLY woman at these interviews with men much older than me. I often think they see me as incapable and inexperienced because of my appearance and my age. Yet, I'm sure if I had applied to be there personal secretary, I probably would have been a shoo-in." She said bitterly.

"That's total bullshit. Are there any women-led companies in the city you could apply for?" Justin asked, slightly angered at the idea of it all. He didn't know Anya well, but he felt for her. No one deserved to be disrespected like that.

"I've looked, but with only a BA currently and my MA half-completed at this point, it's been hard to get interviews with really good companies." She said.

"Well, where I work we might have something like that. I can ask around if you'd like. Do you have a Linkedin?"

Anya nodded and pulled out her phone. "Yeah, could I email it or text it to you? Who do you work for?"

Justin frozed up for a brief moment before clearing his throat. He hadn't thought that part through well enough. "I.. um. I work for the LA Chargers as a quarterback.. I play football for a living." He said lowly.

Anya blinked in shock. "Really no way? For real?"

Justin nodded and quickly looked himself up, cringing internally as he held up his Wikipedia page to her on his phone. Anya's eyes widen even more at the information.

"Well.. holy shit. I've never met someone who has their own Wikipedia page!" She laughed in shock.

"Yeah.. it's not that big of a deal.. really. I just didn't want you to think I was being a creep or something for asking for your personal info.. If you'd like, I can forward information over to our HR and see what's available. I don't know how much weight I have in hiring decisions to be fair, but knowing someone in the company might help." He offered.

Anya nodded in excitement at the prospect. "No.. I mean yeah, I totally get what you're saying. I'm just shocked.. You don't even really know me and you're being more than kind. The cake, offering to pay for my shirt, and now trying to help me get a job? I'm just not used to such kindness in a city like LA. I'm from a little town in Washington who has gotten used to the lack of hospitality here."

Justin nodded. "I totally get it. I'm from Oregon and it's a very different place than where I'm from too.. and yeah, I just figured I can help where I can... and maybe you're phone number?" He asked shyly.

Anya giggled at that last part. "Well, Mr. I-Have-My-Own-Wikipedia-Page, I think I can do that."

He smiled back shyly at that. "We'll have to try somewhere where I can't spill coffee on you," he joked.

"Well, wine stains as well so I better avoid where white near you!" she joked back.

As the two continued chatting in the corner of the cafe, the barista from earlier leaned against the side of the counter, gesturing to her coworker, "You see, I'm 2 for 2 this week in my matchmaking."

Her coworker rolled his eyes and said, "If only your own love life was that exciting."

"You ain't no better!"

They started to bicker quietly as Justin and Anya continued to be in their own little world together, both of them thinking, 'coffee spills aren't so bad afterall.'

[mariacallous]

The lost cause of British conservatism is like the lost cause of the US Confederacy. Myth-making and evasion dominate the writing of Conservative intellectuals just as they dominated the self-justification of the defeated American south.

To Confederate sympathisers the south did not lose because it was defending slavery. The southern states were a victim of an attack on their rights by the north, a position still maintained today by Nikki Haley and other right-wing politicians seeking southern votes. 

Equally, today’s Conservative writers insist that they are not going down to a potentially catastrophic defeat because Conservatism betrayed the UK by imposing Brexit, Boris Johnson and Liz Truss on a country in no condition to take any of them.

No, the right is losing because it is not right-wing enough.

It feels mean to pick out examples when there is so much special pleading to choose from. But as readers need evidence, here is the pro-Brexit historian Robert Tombs (an old friend of this Substack).

 Writing in the Telegraph  Tombs says that the Tories “have lost much of their middle-class vote and their working class vote too”. So they have. But Tombs hastens to add, not because of Brexit being a disaster, or Johnson turning Downing Street into a pub, or unfunded tax cuts for the wealthy but because along the way the Conservatives embraced policies that Tombs and the Telegraph don’t like.

 “High taxes, mass immigration, projects like HS2 and hasty attempts to impose net zero”.

There is no need for right-wingers to ask hard questions of themselves. They weren’t wrong. They were betrayed by cowardly politicians and the civil service.

Henry Hill, the deputy editor of Conservative Home, who was writing in the Guardian this week, exemplifies the determination of modern Conservatives to avoid a reckoning with what they have done.

He asks a good question: how did the Tories go from a landslide victory in 2019 to what looks like being a landslide defeat in 2024.  But once again he does not blame Brexit, or Boris Johnson, or Liz Truss or any policy or politician right-wingers endorsed but too many immigrants and too many tax rises.

The modern right-winger is always the victim and never the aggressor. He does not harm others; others harm him.

The great southern novelist William Faulkner wrote in the 1940s about how we use fantasy to blot out history.

To men of his generation the worst moment in the history of the south was on the afternoon of July 3, 1863, during the Battle of Gettysburg. The Confederates were still in the civil war. But then the southern high command ordered Major General Thomas Pickett to lead his men in an insane charge uphill against entrenched Union positions.

The battle was lost, and eventually the war was lost too.

Faulkner wrote

“For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances.”

For every Tory boy today, there is an instant when it is not yet ten o’clock on that October morning in 2022.  Kwasi Kwarteng has not delivered his mini budget. It hasn’t happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin …

It is easy to mock. And just because it is easy does not mean one should do it. But once you have stopped laughing at them, it’s worth noting that the future of conservatism is one of perpetual motion to the right.

If American conservatism is dominated by the Donald Trump personality cult, British conservatism is dominated by the Brexit cargo cult.

You cannot say that Brexit has failed and remain a Conservative. It is heresy. Taboo. Question Brexit and the shamans of the Tory tribe will curse you, and its warriors will pick up their clubs and spears and drive you from the warmth of the campfire into the cold, darkness of the real world.

In this know-nothing atmosphere I can see four reasons why Tory radicalisation is inevitable

1/ The power of fantasy

The inability of Conservatives to face what they have done delivers the first shove to the right. They believe that a public sector conspiracy explains their lamentable record in government rather than their own ideologies.

Liz Truss (see video above) and Kwasi Kwarteng, forced out the permanent secretary to the Treasury and sidelined the Bank of England and the Office for Budget Responsibility before they crashed the economy. They now pretend that the fault lies with the institutions they ignored, not themselves.

British deference, our awful class inferiority, means that we assume that establishment politicians are moderate and respectable. But Rishi Sunak has chosen to waste his time trying to enact a spiteful and unworkable policy of deporting asylum seekers to Rwanda.  He is pushing his party to the extreme.

You cannot say that the British radical right is being constrained or having its ideas contested by a sensible centre-right.

2/ The perverse triumph of progressivism

And yet if you take conservatives on their own terms, some of what they say is true.  They are genuinely furious that, despite 14 years of Conservative rule, taxes and immigration rates are at record highs. And they genuinely fear cultural change.

Yet, rather than confront their fears, Conservatives are engaged in aimless rage.

Taxes are at a record high because of covid, whose costs will pass eventually, and because of an ageing population, whose cost will only rise.

Conservatives might find the money for tax cuts by reducing the old-age pension or by demanding more money from the elderly for health care. Because the old vote Conservative, they do neither.

Immigration covers the UK’s acute labour shortages. Conservative writers complain but offer no alternatives to bringing in new workers.

As for woke culture, anyone who works in the arts, academia, the charitable sector and other liberal institutions knows that there has been a cultural revolution.  No one who has witnessed the attacks on gender-critical feminism can doubt that it can be, like all revolutions, viciously authoritarian.

But in a free society there is very little a government can do about, for instance, liberal newspaper and book publishers censoring feminists. Cultural battles are largely fought outside politics. Politicians can change laws but they cannot force people to think the way Conservatives want them to think, and impotence adds to Tory anger.

Rage without purpose drives you to extremes. There is no need to stop and work out practical policies. You are free to revel in the purity of your anger.

3/ The media-political complex

In our interview Tim Bale described how new media encouraged extremism. The right has given the UK GB News our own version of Fox News, even though we all assumed the law prevented politically biased broadcasting.

Tory MPs have become TV presenters producing sound bites for social media. Extreme postures and simple solutions attract attention. Demagoguery has now become the smart career move on the right. If a Tory gets thrown out of Parliament, he or she can work as a loudmouth in the media until fresh political openings arise.

As Tim Bale said, new media…

“…gave opportunities to Conservative MPs who otherwise would've been fairly unknown. Conservative voices who probably would've been shouting into the void now make a name for themselves, much faster and much more frequently than would've been the case. It’s made the party much more difficult to manage. And it's also put pressure on the leadership to move to the radical right.”

4/ The wave of the future

Everywhere in Europe and the Americas radical right politicians and parties are driving out the centre-right politicians.

The UK seems to be about to elect a moderate centre-left government. But the forces that are driving conservative politics rightwards – mass immigration, the rise of authoritarian liberalism, new media technologies – will continue to drive the British conservatives rightwards too.

If Labour fails, they will be waiting to take over  

[kivaember]

8, 14, 28, 33!

8. how slow is slow burn?

To me slowburn is sloooooooooooooooow. I love it when they take like 53472374 chapters to build up their relationship and organically ease into a romantic relationship. Though I gotta admit, I also love it when they have a sort of fuck buddies relationship and the slowburn is from them developing actual romantic feelings for each other hah

14. write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

From a AC6 ficwip:

On the western shores of southern Belius, a tentative summer had begun to settle, breaking the perpetual winter that had gripped the region since the Fires had blotted the skies with ash.

28. Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

I had like three people ask me this LMAO so i'm just gonna answer it here but, let's see. I guess my biggest bit of writing advice is that when you're writing dialogue that's conversational, actually recite it. Act out the convo! Because let me tell ya, you will automatically correct any parts that sound clunky or not right as you're talking, or figure out how to edit stuff.

It's easy for conversation to become clunky if you just purely write it, because writing and speaking are two different methods of communication. So, yeah, don't be afraid to act out conversational dialogue. I do it all the time and I feel like it makes my dialogue quite well-written and natural-sounding.

Another bit of advice is don't be afraid to let wips sit for months. Genuinely, I stick some wips into a folder and don't touch it - don't even look at it for months - then when i open it up and reread it, I suddenly realise how much better I can write it, or how to overcome whatever block I had with it. Sometimes you just need to brain dump what you wrote to look at it with fresh eyes, and the only way you can do that is by letting your brain forget about it via time.

33. Give your writing a compliment.

Hrm, I think I'm pretty good at worldbuilding and expanding on canon to fill in the gaps in the background. I really do enjoy deeply exploring characters as well, and their relationships with each other, so I feel like this gives my writing a very personal and human feeling. Idk how to word it. But ye.