#bazaar of the bizarre

[oldschoolfrp]

Stepping through a mirror of travel to emerge in a distant location (Ned Dameron, from "Bazaar of the Bizarre -- The magic fortress: magical items for fantasy castles" by J Jasper Owens, Dragon 145, May 1989) This article also describes the improved mirror of travel, 14 other magic items, and 2 new spells useful for castle owners. This lady also owns a basin of the angel, which pours healing water and radiates magical protection, and a horn of war to summon 10-200 quaggoths to attack her foes.

[hellisntreal]

Im not sure you can call this a crab anymore but it is unquestionably fashionable

edit: woke up in a cold sweat and realized it needed heart-shaped antenna

[b-skarsgard]

Duo Kurt and Bart speaks with Harper’s Bazaar about their costume design work on The Crow

[eternal-pie]

MJ’s bazaar adventure

———————————

Chapter 1

————

Someone unlocks and stumbles into their apartment, exhausted from a long day's work. They will be known as Mj throughout this story.

A notification sounds out as Mj lazily puts away their things, a message from a friend recounting a prior conversation involving the story that this tale will be both, started by and centred around. Laying on the couch, Mjs finds themself totally enthralled with the story their friend recommended, staying up far later than intended to watch the entire first part.

Mind still racing with the strange characters and bazaar story of this new world they have found, Mj lays their head down and closes their eyes, unaware that when they open again, they’ll be somewhere entirely new.

———————————————————————

I am one of very few who recalls their birth, it wasn’t anything exceptional. Blinding light after a beginning in absolute darkness prevented me from seeing much of anything.

Though what I do recall, is the moment I learned my name.

”Margret Jeckenson.” Even now I can recall my mother‘s voice softly whispering to me as she held me in her arms.

I was born into a lower class family. My father, Edward Jeckenson, had strived to improve life for both his family and the strangers he lived alongside, far before I was ever born. My mother, Wendy Jeckson was much the same, unendingly thoughtful, if a bit rugged. Both worked in medicine, providing care and treatment to the slums.

I grew up working alongside them, In the beginning I only passed them tools or bandages, soon I was the one using them. Suturing, diagnosing, drug making, I took to medicine like a swan to water, even with my talents, my parents were more comfortable with their young daughter, making beds and providing medication.

Much to my parents' dismay, I inherited their charitable nature and developed a habit of wandering the streets looking and injured on the street. As unsavory as the Neighbourhood was, I knew it well and figured I could handle it.

One night sticks out in my mind, I’ve been making my rounds as usual, and after peering into an alleyway, I spotted a group of men circling around something. A moment of listening told me it was a boy and that they were beating him.

Some of them were drunkenly shouting, most of it was intelligible. I heard bits and pieces about a lost game, and accusations of cheating.

As I approached to intervene, letting out a shout at them to stop, I realized I knew these men. There were three of them, each a customers who had visited my family with their wives or children for treatment.

So when they turned to me, sneering, one of them throwing a bottle at me, I simply called them out by name.

”Are you not ashamed? Three adult men ganging up on one poor boy, no doubt your wives would weep if they learned of this.” The men’s tune changed quickly, as the power of anonymity swiftly dissipated, before the trio drunkenly shuffled off into the night.

What remained was a boy. As he got up, he stood strong, as though the blood running down his face and onto his crumpled shirt never existed. He was quick to brush me off as I tried to check him over, only allowing me to guide him with the promise of a warm bed and free treatment for his wounds.

I couldn’t see him well on the dark street, and it was only after I brought him into my well at home that I truly saw him.

His hair, peppered with blood and dirt from his beating, was blonde. His pale skin was bruised and scraped. What trapped my breath within my throat for a moment was his eyes, a vibrant auburn holding a hidden depth, like an endless well covered with a tarp. He seemed to be around my age, far too young to be in the position I had found him in, but I couldn’t tell for sure. his eyes seemed to contain a wisdom and maturity I couldn’t comprehend.

His eyes made me feel something, something indescribable, not love or affection, just knowledge. I felt as though I knew him, far better than I could understand. That understanding stirred a sort of awe in me. Looking into his eyes, I understood that this boy was capable of indescribable things. He heard as much as I patched him up.

”Look boy, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders and a fine mug to match. Keep out of trouble and I’m sure you’ll do great things.” he only rolled his eyes at my lecturing.

I felt so wise when I said that. Like an elder imparting wisdom to the next generation. Though I’m sure I was probably only 8…. And younger than him.

I never saw the boy on those streets again nor did I learn his name. I’d come to hope I would never find him again, lest he be back where I found him last time. Some nights, I would think of him, wondering if he truly was on the path to greatness.

My sweeps made my family good money, there was no short supply of injured “gutter rats”, or drunkards who had no other place willing to fix them up for so little.

We did so well in fact, that not long after my younger brother, Henry Jeckenson, was born, my family had gone up in the world. Our work had brought us to the edge of town, to a two story house with all the amenities that a middle class doctor could ever yearn for. Even so our clientele never shifted, only expanded. rich and poor, my family sought to make life better for everyone of every walk of life.

By the age of 10 I was a very skilled nurse. Both my bedside manner and medical skills were seemingly unmatched, though I doubt many other kids were raised in hospitals. It was around this time that I began to recognize the disconnect I had with other kids. I was amputating limbs while they played kickball outside my window.

I had developed a pride in how different I was, those fools were out wasting time going on dates and talking about crushes, whilst I had matured far faster and clearly was on a better path. This belief held true until the day I met Erina.

She had rushed into the waiting room, mud and rips littering her dress, tears in her eyes, and scrapes all along her hands and knees. She had looked around frantically, before she spotted me and rushed over.

A gaggle of boys had followed in after her, laughing amongst themselves and calling after her mockingly. Only to quickly retreat upon spotting the dozens of adults sitting around.

Once I had gotten a proper look at Erina, my displeasure at her interrupting my brief break with her petty teenage drama was dispersed by the fluttering wings within my stomach.

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Diamond blue eyes, framed with wavy blonde hair. She was slender, pale and tall. So tall in fact, I had believed her to be a young woman.

Erina was beautiful and good, everything that I was not. Though much like the boy from the alley, I felt as though I had an understanding of her, one I couldn’t explain.

I don’t know why but I was sure she’d marry a good man who would love her with everything he had, and the things she would bring up about were once again indescribable.

I had taken her to an empty room, patched her up and mended and cleaned her dress the best I could without removing it. It was that day, as She tearfully told me stories of those boys, how they would steal her things, destroy them. How she felt as though she could not have a singular moment of joy to herself without them coming along to ruin it. I had learned Erina was only two years older than me

Desperate to see her again I offered the hospital as a refuge. It was on that day Erina Pendleton dubbed me MJ, and began to visit me on occasion. Not as often as I would have liked, but often enough for me to get to know her, bond with her, fall deeper in love with her.

It was only a year later before I learned of Jonathan Joestar.

Erina spoke with an excitement in her eyes, I could barely understand what she said, as she described her encounter with the boy. I hadn’t learned his name until she showed me the handkerchief he had left behind.

Even just his name sparked something in me, almost like the boy or Erina, but somehow earth shatteringly different. I felt so sure that I knew him, I must’ve the way his name seemed to stir so much feeling in me.

Excitement, fear, confusion, jealousy, all of them swirled together in a sensation so overwhelming it felt like two tangible forces inside of me, one desperate to meet him, the other screaming threat to meet him would spell disaster.

My feelings on the matter were irrelevant, he made Erina happy, happier that I ever could, and that’s all that mattered in the end. I would have to be a fool to believe he was getting in the way of something between us, there was no world where I would ever have a chance to begin with. Even so I wasn’t fond of the boy.

My feelings were only reaffirmed when, Not long into their courting, Erina came to me sobbing. Clothes, sweat, and muddy dirt smeared around her face and a large red fresh blemish across her face.

She wept in my arms for hours, told me of Dio. She had only been vaguely aware of him, Jojo’s adoptive brother, who held some form of grudge against him.

I got a good idea of what kind of person Dio was, conniving and petty. almost parasitic in his quest to take everything he could away from Jojo, including Erina.

Erina had always been a loyal girl, always striving to do right by the people she cared for. so it was no surprise to see her so shaken up by what Dio had done, I couldn’t blame her. to have someone force themselves upon you was bad enough, to learn you were being used to hurt someone you cared about would destroy anyone.

Erina was inconsolable, nothing I said could convince her that what had happened was not her fault, that she wasn’t the one who hurt Jojo. What seemed to hurt her the most was that she couldn’t bring herself to face JoJo again, terrified he would be disgusted with her or she would just hurt him more.

My words brought her no comfort and not long after the incident Erina, consumed by guilt, fled to India with her father to become a nurse. I was shattered to see her go, even with her promise of writing to me.

I sent Erina off with tears, well wishes and, though I didn’t tell her, a knowledge that her beloved Jojo’s presence spelled disaster, along with a desire to never meet him.

————

This story was originally intended to be a reader insert, but because of the way the character interacts with the world they needed a name (you’ll see later). Originally I was gonna have their initials be YN but there are so few English names that started with y I gave up.

[i-have-41-protons]

Just woke up from a dream where Mabel and Dipper ended up in the Bizarre Bazaar and ditched some people who tried to catch and stop them (since it’s dangerous and stuff) to explore it and have fun. They then proceeded to buy horrifying face masks to hide their true identity, by saying that a match box is actually a magical fire-producing artifact, but you only get THREE tries (they took all the other matches out) to make a flame, and then you would harness the force of nature that is fire. They conned the seller, of course

Then I woke up, sigh. I feel like they should make this into an episode please pleasepleaaeplwasepleasepleasepleaseeeeeee

[lemoni9s]

anything can be a jojo reference if u weeb hard enough

felix and lino for harpers bazaar

ko-fi

[mysf1t]

This is just the ballroom scene. 😆

[graphicpolicy]

The Twilight Zone meets Goosebumps in The Bizarre Bazaar, a new graphic novel series from Daniel Nayeri #comics #graphicnovel

[kristineknowlton]

You’re Never Fully Dressed without a Smile #gothicillustration #gothicartwork #gothart #darkstyle

[vaporlocke81]

Pacific Coast Hwy (feat. FM Skyline) by Limousine from Bizarre Bazaar.

🐝🍩🛍️ 𝓙𝔲ｓŦ ω𝓐𝕚丅 𝕗𝓸ᖇ 𝐃卂Ť ᑭคη-Ŧℓｕ𝓽𝓔...🪈💎💙

[yandere-wishes]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡Acolyte⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

𐙚Yandere! Qimir/The Master x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: Your loneliness is suffocating, engulfing. Qimir is the only one who seems to subdue the pain. But every forbidden fruit has its price.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, gore, angst (at the end), author having an anxiety attack over this fic  

🪐Note: Why is the longest thing I've ever written for a fandom that barely exists? Anyway, here's the long-awaited Qimir piece!

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : Disturbia - Rihanna, Dark Vacay & Motion Picture Soundtrack - CAS

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🍓⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your master's anger is tangible. You harbour it stubbornly on your tongue. Relishing in the frustration. You aren't sure how many times you've cut out your soul to place at a master's feet. Gnawing on perfect lips to keep quiet during another scolding. Your new master's disappointment reverberates through the room. Thick and oozing like an infected wound.

You messed up again.

"We do not injure other padawans during training. We do not lash out and attack, especially when your training partner has fallen. How have you trained for so long without comprehending these basics?"

The rage that boils inside you is not Jedi in nature. It's something else, a bizarre second, something ancient, ghoulish. An all-consuming fire that burns inside your veins. It shouldn't feel so welcoming, so familiar.

You roll your eyes.

"With all due respect master. How is one to win, if they do not strick when given the opportunity? That too should be a basic notion, no?"

You see the anger snake across your master's face. A defeated, disgruntled, glance that you've become a bit too acquainted with. This is the look that all your previous masters give you. And yet none have yet to master its eeriness quite as well as your first master. Master Sol.

Your master sighs, a piercing noise, deflating every ounce of his willpower. You are exhausting to be around, his annoyance is becoming discernible. "Master Sol is coming by the temple to check your...progress. He's requested a few items to take back with him. Please go fetch them from the apothecary."

Progress is a gentle word and Jedi love using gentle words. It's easier to say than the full truth. Sugar-coated things always taste better.

But the sugar refuses to stick to you.

It burns away in your bitterness.

Coruscant is a distant memory, it was never your home to begin with. But the high bustling volume is something that is hard to forget. Here things are quiet, you slip through the bazaar undetected. Small basket clutched tightly. You wonder what's dragging your former master halfway across the galaxy. You wonder if it's really just to see you.

You gaze blankly at the holographic list. A few rare herbs and some medical roots. This planet grows them in abundance, and the local apothecary carries more than its fair share.

The apothecary is an old, disheveled thing. The older Jedi say that its presence is as old as the temple itself. Odd how some things have a will of iron. You gently rap at the worn metal door, waiting for an invitation to enter. The hinges cry as the door opens ever so slightly. You squeeze in, surveying the cluttered den. Careful to avoid the half-empty bottles and neon puddles scattered across the floor.

"Excuse me" your voice holds an urgent annoyance. Where is the pharmacist? What kind of store owner abandons their shop in the midday? You run your fingers across the strange bottles, letting your nails pick at the murky glass. The colors flash, begging to be freed, strange space pinks, and summer oranges all trapped inside square prisons. Baby poisons dying to taste the world, burning it if they must, but experiencing it nonetheless, tasting their own form of freedom. Funny, they almost remind you of yourself.

Trapped and fatal.

"Hello?", the voice behind you is languid, dozy. Mirroring a late afternoon nap. When the man next speaks you notice a lyrical lint "What brings you here little lady?". You turn to see it, the voice, or rather the man harboring the voice. He's loosely robed and shaggy in the way that only the most spirited vagabonds are. He smiles tenderly upon seeing your face, strange red fruit caught between his teeth. "I um...I" you click your tongue anxiously against the roof of your mouth. Feeling around for those pesky words, in the end, you just shove the hologram holder forward, hoping he'll understand.

"Oh, I see, out here doing some chores?" You nod, mind preoccupied with the otherwordly fruit. "what's that?" you ask, schoolgirl curiosity lacing your voice. "What, this?" he asks holding the freckled thing between his fingers, it's only in the mild light that you notice the shimmering gold scattered across its red skin. The stranger laughs, walking closer, he places the hologram base on the black table, clicking it on as he studies the list. "They're called strawberries. They're from the forest planets, not many grow here in the mid-rims." He's nimble as he packs the herbs and roots, fumbling with the straw ties. "care for a bite" he asks, handing you the bitten fruit.

Hesitantly you bite.

Letting the sweetness erupt on your tongue.

"Thank you" you mumble trying not to moan at the foreign taste. The stranger laughs, it's a cheery noise like birds chirping in first bloom tress. "you're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asks stepping around the table, eyebrows furrowed, caught in a dream he doesn't seem to understand. You choke on the rogue static as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded dreaming of nothing. "Here..."

"Wha-" your voice catches in your throat, it's getting harder to breathe.

"Your supplies" He hands you the brown paper bag, motion a little too phlegmatic to be right.

"Oh, right...thanks" You anxiously shove the bag into your basket and scurry out of the shop. Holding your breath.

"Come back soon." the voice chirps behind you.

Your old master arrives by spaceship, a newer, albeit worn model. The landing pad ejects to reveal a small escort.

Master,

Knight,

Padwan,

Apostate,

You stand still watching as they descend. Bits of envy bubble in your throat watching your former master and his band of little heroes. You wish you had their belonging. Forgoing the loneliness to find kinsmanship with your coterie. You swallow down the bitter thoughts as they finally approach you.

Master Sol's smile reaches his eyes. Gentle and wise. The true epidemy of a Jedi in every sense of the word. Funny how he now has two failures under his belt. None of which are capable of scratching his shining repute.

His hands are on your shoulders, bright smile. "My padawan, it's been too long." You try to bow, awkwardly and stiffly. "Mater Sol, I'm grateful you've come to asses my progress". If he hears your doubt he doesn't show it. Instead, he reintroduces you to Yord, Jacki, Osha.

You try to be polite. Gulp down the awkwardness

You imagine the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Remember their stiff sweetness and prickly tasteless freckles.

You smile. Easier this time.

They'll stay here for some time. Hunting assassins and documenting progress in their free time. Jacki seems more invested in your training than you are, trying to teach you everything she knows. At least she doesn't mind the rough play, the violent strikes, and sloppy prideful defenses. She speaks in pointers and parries. She's the one to drag you along these assassin hunts. Welcoming you...or at least trying to.

But there is something else at play. Darker, broader, Sol and Jecki welcome you into the fray. Yet you still feel your old master's hesitance, he's still wary of you. Worried about your anger, your defiance.

The distance grows, some icy void.

Sol used to tell you fairytales. This was back when you'd been young and bright-eyed. Freshly welcomed into the order and still overflowing with artless hope for a colorful future.

But even back then, he had known there was something wrong with you.

Looking back it was evident.

Every story started and ended the same. Little princess against the big bad world. Holding out until her prince came along. Only problem was the morals never registered right in your little messed-up brain.

Why didn't the princess fall for the dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones? Why didn't she swoon and sigh over someone rousing, compelling? A paradox wrapped in black ember? Why settle for a sun-painted prince, with no complexities, no mysteries to unravel?

You would have married the dragon, or the wolf, or the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

Even back then, it was evident something was wrong.

The temple's roof isn't restricted per se.

It's rather abandoned as opposed to forbidden.

Maybe that's why you find solace here. The abandonment feels familiar, similar. The chipped cement kisses the soles of your feet, you imagine it's something like walking upon the rough terrain of a star.

You breathe in the night air deeply.

Expecting the fragile scents of moonshine and star glitter.

Instead, you choke on heavy mist and blood-drenched air.

The thing standing in front of you isn't human. It can't be human. It's created from the blackness, ebony in all the ways a living thing shouldn't be. For a second you think you're staring at a black hole. No doubt this creature crawled out of one.

What sheer willpower one must need to drag themselves out of endless nothingness?

"Little Jedi should not brave the night alone."

It speaks

"There are far too many monsters roaming in the dark"

Its face never moves, statue in all the ways the figures towering over the entrance aren't. This statue is something else, a lost page to some forgotten epic. Carved from gems born in darkness. Evil and rotten.

"What are you?" your voice susurrate, quivering in this surreal scene. The air is thicker now, overflowing with raw static.

Your fingers itch for your saber. Only when the cold metal kisses your palm do you regain some semblance of reality.

The hiss, the green light.

The figure chuckles.

Its voice bouncing from every direction. Everywhere all at once. When it speaks the air cackles, raining as if it were a frightened child.

"I am something akin to you, another child of the force" His voice comes out distorted, uneven in tone. "I am what's birthed when one learns of the true strength of the force."

Your body moves on its own, feet kicking the ground sprinting faster and faster before the final leap. You aim for the helmet, for the morbid toothy grin permanently etched within steel. In a flash the word stills, floating around you like fluorescent bubbles, the rain tumbles around you, curving and diving for the wet ground. It dares not land on something within his grasp.

You feel the slithering across your body. They start from the ground, summed from the unknown depths. Clinging firmly to your ankles before inching up your knees, your hips, your neck.

long, slipper tendrils curling around your body. The figure watches, bare arm outstretched. You should probably be focused on how the unseen things are inching closer to your mouth. Not on the toned muscles and limber fingers of the monster. Not on how, for a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile appears genuine, caring, aimed straight at you.

Only You

They finally reach your lips, prying your teeth ajar and flooding your mouth. Sinking deeper and deeper into your soul, your mind, you.

The smile grows.

In a blink you're suspended in the space between worlds, dark damning thing cradling your body.

"The dark side once belonged to the Jedi, yet they chose to discard it. Deeming it malignant, ungovernable."

Your weightlessness unnerves you. You're malleable in this void.

"Those few who embraced its calling were dubbed Sith." He says the word with such fervent pride. Devoted to it's weight and all it carries. You try to roll the word off your own tongue only for it to burn the roof of your mouth.

The stranger stalks closer, lethal and lithe.

The void vibrates, the darkness bends to his will.

He reaches down to cup your face. His fingers feel warm, welcoming. You nuzzle into his palm, fighting the urge to kiss each finger and suck on the dark force they emit. "You..." he starts, his voice shakes you to the core. Its horror amplifies with the proximity. You wonder if it'll cut through steel, armor, flesh.

your flesh.

"You aren't like the other temple dwellers. You have potential."

His thumb presses your lower lip, demanding entrancing. You comply, needing to feel something solid.

Something you've been denied your whole life.

"They keep you locked away. Trading you between craven masters. Seeing who can tame you first."

He nicks his thumb on your teeth,

Pressing bone into dentin.

His essence drips into you.

He tastes of power.

Of dark, dreadful things you can not name.

"They do not know how to train you. How to use your power..."

The world crumbles, ebony midnights giving way to reality. You feel yourself fall, plunging through the air like a comet bent on destruction.

"They only break you further"

Your knees collide with the harsh ground. Skin splintering in the aftermath giving way to bruises and bloodmarks.

The ground feels too solid beneath you.

A poly, a ruse.

You all but expect to melt through it. Slipping and falling into the vacuum, into him, once more.

He hovers above. Absolute in his strength. You're beginning to believe that blackholes birth divinity. Eyes shimmering with fanatic fidelity, staring up at the holy creature commanding the storm.

"Teach me..."

You've never begged for anything so terribly in your life.

But you need this.

this power

this control.

him.

Sol never told just how the princess met the villain.

He never said it wasn't love at first fright.

Sol insists that the local apothecary knows the truth behind the Jedi-killer. Definite that the unseemly man can tell you something important. He sends Osha inside to play Mea. To get the man to talk.

You crowd around the communicator urging back giggles. Yord's chin is placed upon your shoulder and Jecki's cheek rests against yours. Their touches come so early. And yet they are utterly alien.

"He will be so pleased." No sooner have the words chime from the corroded speakers that Sol is ushering you all towards the small metal hut.

Yord entwines his fingers with you as he runs.

Jacki wraps around your arm.

You feel at times they are trying to tame you.

Befriend the feral puppy they found in the backyard.

The apothecary's face is utterly stunned. He's stammering over his words fear glistening in his eyes as he stares at Sol. "Please, please don't wipe my memories. Or whatever it is you Jedi do." A rosy blush colors your cheeks, at his terror. It's terribly amusing seeing someone so carless, anxiously list off everything he knows. You almost feel bad for the poor scared man.

There isn't anything important here. But Sol decides that you will all return at midnight. The Jedi-killer will be back. Apparently, Qimir -that's his name, that the strawberry-eating, disheveled pharmacist's name- is holding something of value for her.

There's a tug on your wrist as you go to follow the others. Gentle and firm as he pulls you to his chest. "Come by tonight. I'll have some strawberries waiting for you." why does he feel too genuine? When you turn to look at him, he's painted in his usual sweet carefree smile that tugs at your heart.

He looks so innocent...

Starlight really brings out his eyes. He's laughing with a nervous smile,

School-boy crush on full display. You're licking strawberry juice from your hands as you listen to him talk. Backs pressed against the rusty wall and bodies half sprawled in the dirt. He's telling you about the first time the Hutts made him retrieve a plushie for their son from another solar system.

Qimir's voice feels like rose peddles melting into your skin. Sweet, jejeune, free. You offer him a berry from your pile. Watching tentatively as he submerges the red fruit into his mouth. Missing your fingers by an inch. He's laughing after the fact, head thrown back as if he's about to engulf the stars. You decide to laugh too.  

"Are you really that lonely," he says in a voice that's almost not his own. You're not expecting the invasive question, although you guess he means well. The words still cut deep. Piercing through the laughter, stunning you for a breath too long. "No...I'm a Jedi, we do not-"

"Form personal connection. I know...But you just look so lonely." He shuffles closer, the dirt particles almost look celestial in this light. Your fingers pitch a civil war. Pinching and clawing at each other. "No, yes. I don't really get along with the others." He rolls his eyes, bored and amused in the same breath. "Yeah, no wonder your money." He's picking at another strawberry, letting the crunch fill up the silence. You're beginning to think he just likes having something to chew on. Gulping down the anxiety with something toothsome.

He's a little closer now, fingers gingerly tucking back your hair. His fingerprints reverberate across the shell of your ear. Lips gliding against yours. You swallow as his lips fall across yours, pushing sweet stars past parted lips. He tastes of odd things, whimsy things. Everything you'll never come to understand. Xeno fruits and asteroid fields. His fingers glide up your arms, leaving moondust in their wake. He slowly parts, holding you softly with his soulful dark eyes

"You taste so sweet"

Strawberry, Starberry, You kiss him a little too deeply.

Maybe your new master is right.

Maybe there are other ways of being a Jedi.

The movie playing is doused in shades of rose and lilac. Gentle in all the ways. Everyway. The twi'lek girl is in love with the zabrak boy and their families do not approve. You think you remember Sol telling you a similar tale.  

The makeshift auditorium is cozy. Brown couch housing the three of you and your armada of blankets and popcorn buckets. Jacki's head is in your lap, you're playing with the end of her braid imagining the hair to be the lace of a Love-sick girl's ballgown. Yord's arm traverses the length of your arm, absentminded as he studies the motion picture, poking holes in the lose rose-tainted plot. Your head rests against his broad shoulder taking in his new cologne.

Maybe you really did miss them.

Jacki reaches for the popcorn, offering you some before shoving a handful into her mouth. You think the little symmetry-less kernels would taste better with a strawberry glaze. Qimir flashes across your mind, smiling sweetly as he tilts his head.

You think you're a little too similar to the star on screen.

Pinning after forbidden love,

Forbidden power.

Master Sol is growing acutely aware of your drastic improvements. He's noticed the betterment in your offense, your defense. To the way, you wield your saber, your techniques, and yourself. There is esteem in the way he smiles. In the words of praise, you've longed to hear. But you notice the lingering glances, the undertone of skepticism and worry when he asks about practice. He doesn't need to know of the black-glad creature that trains you in the unholy hours.

He doesn't need to know how beautifully your new master sculpts your rage into lessons. Teaching you how to wrangle the force and control it. How to use it to make the world bow.

These things will remain secret. For you fear Sol and the others will strip them of you. Strip them of the new master you've come to worship.

"Do you think people glow when they fall in love?" Jacki's voice is filled with sleep. Eyes closed as she murmurs remnants of movie memory. "No, I don't believe they do" you answer. "too...bad" There was a yawn there darling and vigorous like the rests of her. She looks so sweet like this, infantile in all the ways she can't be. Little girl dreaming of something impossible. You wonder if Sol's told her the fairytales too. You kiss the crown of her head, your baby sister you think. And big brother Yord, snoring with his head thrown back.

Maybe you should test her theory. rising softly from the couch you make your way to the door. Throwing one final glance at your sleeping siblings. Before going to find Qimir.

His lips ghost over yours, spilling star-clad secrets between each kiss. The apothecary has never been so dark, so secret, so secluded. Qimir's lips glided across your neck biting the flesh and licking the little diamond droplets of blood. Your nails rack across his spine, the wool of his throw-over itching the backs of your hands. "So precious" he mumbles, voice ridden with want, need. it's criminal how desperately he needs to feel you. You writhe under him, "Qimir, kiss." you whine. His lips feel like a lifeline, something keeping you sain. He pushes fireflies and lava pearls inside you, carving you open and enjoying you

He always enjoys you.

It's foggy outside when his tongue clashes against yours. A thick unsettling mist banging against the darkened window. "You're custom-made for me" Qimir mumbles against your lips. "Custome tailored" you boldly correct. "ummm, sure" his hands pinch at your hips, clawing mindlessly and leaving tails to your thighs. But the sensations are growing distant, you hear the heavy hum of saber activation. You psyche cracks

The world is dark,

He alone is absolute.

Your master's mask flashes dangerously across your mind. "Master Sol would be disappointed". You've heard that line a million times. Still, the words cut a little too deep coming from your demiurger. "Gullible" you don't understand, what have you done to earn his rage? He's gone, leaving you in the emptiness, you taste the charcoal from the landscape under your tongue.

Still, you long to call after him.

"Master"

The darkness subsides with the feeling of softness across your muscles. A breeze stirs you from the clutches of slumber. "Good morning" Qimir chirps, soft smile greeting you as you open your eyes. "Qimir, when did I?" he laughs, it's such a pretty sound this early in the morning. Sweet like caramel tea. He kisses your forehead. His quietude is commendable, he tries to calm you with feather-light kisses. You laugh pushing the covers away and still. Frozen.

What's this

The nightgown is lacy and short. It drapes expensively against your skin. Marring it with its tenderness. "Qimir, what's this!" he chuckles, "I couldn't let you sleep in those robes, they looked uncomfortable." You want to argue, to scream, and be angry. But the rage boils down slowly as you notice something dangling around your wrist. A bangle, and an anklet you notice later, black and gold entwined in patterns mirroring lighting stricks. "They're from Korriban, I had some relatives there." oh, why does that planet sound so familiar? "Thanks, but ask me next time before you go playing dress-up doll with my sleeping body" He pouts and can't help but trail a string of mouthy kisses across his neck. Qimir shuffles pulling you onto his lap. Pushing his nose under your chin. His eyes are honey-deo, adoring and scheming. "But you're mine." The possessive ness that flesh across his face is alarming. So is how tightly he grips your waist. It's only in this state of half-undressed that you begin to notice the taut muscles of his arms.

During your most recent lesson, your master gifts you a ripe juicy strawberry. He says it'll focus you, replenish your wither strength. You eat it a little too quickly, forgetting to savor the pink blush within. You believe too ferociously in everything your master says.

He can never be wrong.

You love the way your new master splatters blood across your sleeves. Be it yours or his enemies. He's started taking you out on his kills, having you watch as he hacks and mauls. His enemies must die, no one who doubts such marvels should be granted the privilege of life.

He's only ever spoken in half-riddles.

"Unfortunately legacy is a fickle thing. Tenacious, fervent, yet frail and erratic. No matter how hematological, we all read our bones differently."

The rain falls to your ragged heartbeat. Fast one minute and slow the next. You stick out your tongue desperate for a few drops. Your body is on fire, every muscle pushed to its limit. But the Force is screaming inside you, thumping dangerously between your fingers. You're ready for the next round. Saber ready and only half mesmerized as your master pulls out another blood-red saber. You charge, rage pumping deliciously through your body.

You forget to ask him where he got the berry from.

The next Jedi to die will be Kelnacca. That's why Sol is dragging all of you to the forest planet of Khofar. You think the name is utterly hilarious, the others don't understand the mirth.

Between briefings and Jacki and Yords packing quarrels. You sneak out to say goodbye to Qimir. Scribbling a half eligible not to leave for your master. But the apothecary is deserted upon your arrival, only a taped note on a half-full mortar.

'Gone to get more Strawberries.

Be back soon.'

You wonder if Khofar has strawberries.

Strawberry, Starberry, you're falling between the cracks of so many.

The Sun on Khofar is red, barely breaching the thick canopy. Maybe it's for the best. This scene is not one to remember, but how can you make yourself forget?

Death looms.

Permanent, Eternal

The fighting began in twilight.

The sky has grown two shades darker since.

He had floated in from the high reaches. You'd almost called out to him, 'master', the words die bitterly on your tongue. His saber ignites in the carnage, light growing redder after each kill. The bodies fall haphazardly stirring the quiet night.

Your saber falls onto the woodchip ground. No sound. He has followed you here. Yet it is not you, he seeks. Your master mask is haunting, in the dark the silver mouth glows bright white. Even against a massacre

the smile never relents.

He twirls the red saber with lethal accuracy, red arc severing another life. 'Take the right!' Jacki screams through the force, her eager voice bouncing inside your cranium. 'Don't' you scream but she's already attacked.

Saber sings saber.

Golden light flickers.

Forward. Backward. Lunge. Parry. Flunge.

Just like you practiced. Back in the quiet of the training room. Is it too late to return to the matted ground and wooden swords? Too late for safe comfort?

You won't take it for granted this time you swear.

Your master attacks with vicious zeal, cutting through the light. His black robes bleeding into the night. Jacki, scurries backward, trying to block with every ounce of strength. In one swift move, she spins freeing herself and assaulting his head with the metal of her weapon.

The mask clutters to the ground.

You scream.

He looks every bit the villain here. Blood drenched, water drenched. Smiling like the wolf in a child's picture book. Qimir's face stares back at you, hair matted to his forehead. He's panting, spent. You've never seen him toil. Dreaming him incapable of harm.

Yet he stands above the corpses. Wolf's teeth bared as he slices through the little girl.

It's been years since Master Sol tucked you into bed. Years since he's read you a story and listened to your baseless questions about romances.

You've finally gotten your answer. Painted in a shade of red indistinguishable from black.

Because the villain is too vile to be loved.

You run, catching the limp corpse before it joins the rest, you cradle her close. Tears landing on the orange of her face. There are no strawberry romances here. No sweet forbidden fruits. Just pain, hollow, empty, rotten. "Jacki" your voice muffles into her robes, rain-soaked, tear-soaked.

"Was that its name?" his voice doesn't sound right. No cheerful hellos or drowsy laughs. It's all menacing now, grating and hollow lilt. "Qimir" you wail, sob half caught in your throat. "It can't be you." He shakes his head, smile crooked and maniacal. "I'm afraid so, little one." The force pushed you up, pulling you to him. Qimirs head tilts, his fingers dancing around your throat. Squeezing squeezing squzing. Your glossy eyes take in his unruly appearance. Even now your master looks utterly perfect. Muscles relaxed as he steals your breath. "Master" you whine, your heart shouldn't be hammering like this, leaping through beats like something lovesick.

"(Y/n)" golden light fills the clearing. Yord runs, Prince Charming in every way you should have loved.

Qimir releases you, only to nestle your neck in the crook of his arm. "Don't worry darling. I'm almost done." He blocks the first attack.

Second, third. Yord scrambles to pull you away, missing each time. "Let her go" The urgency in his voice rattles you. He did love you.

Little sister, little princess.

Why is only starting to make sense now?

There's a crack, so loud it echoes across the woods.

"NO"

Yord's body joins the rest.

no no no

"Where were we?" Qimir is every bit the villain.

The dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

"You lied to me, you killed them. Why, why would you do this."

"Because the Jedi say I can not exist." Sith, right those things were supposed to be evil. Hailing from Koriiban, the evil Jedi forced to flee. And here you were having so readily given yourself to the enemy.

The blood flows free in the rain. Dozens of bodies drained.

There's a river of blood. You kneel by the holy thing, dipping your cupped hands into the crimson. You drink deeply from the massacre thinking it'll taste sweet. Qimir pulls you in holding your throat as he submerges you.

Baptized in blood

The world flashes red.

It feels so free here. Floating weightless, letting everything be. The rage can not find you in these depths. Free like an adrift astromech. Free to float amongst the stars.

When you emerge again. The world has grown brighter. You see the wide-eyed bodies, even Sol is among the dead, you swear you see disappointment in his lifeless orbs. You gulp, swallowing the euphoric faint. You see your new master before you. Swimming to him carefully, following the gentle tug of the force. Prey meets predator. Qimir chuckles, the water is shallow by the banks. He sits awaiting, on his makeshift throne.

There is no sympathy here you should know better

"You took adorable" Qimir rasps. Hot breath fanning your ear. "Master Qimir" you mumble shifting as he pulls you onto his lap. He laughs this is submission, a breath away from grasping his desire. He cups your cheeks, drifting his hands to your shoulders. Pulling you closer, bodies melting into one.

His kisses still taste like strawberries. Sweet and metallic. All possession and domination. Biting lips and tongue and flesh. Spilling fresh poison with each snip of your neck. He licks the blood from your fingers with feral pleasure. Swirling his tongue around each digit and pulling it further down his hungry mouth. You swallow the darkness from his tongue, letting him snuff out the little embers of light. The stars are burning away bit by bit. He pushes you under again.

Mornings on Khofar are dark, caught in a perpetual twilight. Qimir wraps his robes around you letting the midnight sink into your bones. "The ships a bit of a walk. But we should be there before noon." You paddle after him. Fingers lashing awkwardly at his hand. He turns and offers you that tilted smile once more, mask bouncing in his free hand.

"Master qimir" you confess, it feels so light on your tongue. Like clutching dying white-dwarf-stars behind your teeth. He chuckles, snapping a berry from a nearby bush. His smile sings of triumph, victory, earned in blood. He places the fruit amongst your teeth. You, his little war prize.

"My little acolyte"

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku

[nyc-looks]

Jess

“This top is by Chris Habana (my ode to New York), my skirt was made by a Japanese remake designer, using up-cycled scrap denim. Gotta gatekeep the boots, sadly… My bag is Vivienne Westwood, the braid charm is by Something Shit (no- it isn’t my own hair), and the little leather bunny mask charm is by Lou Clifton. Everything except my top and shoes is from my store in New Zealand, Bizarre Bazaar. It’s like having the adult equivalent of the Barbie Dream Closet.”

May 8, 2025 ∙ Williamsburg

[transbookoftheday]

Trans Rites by The Dionysian Public Library

The Dionysian Public Library is thrilled (and chilled) to present our first anthology, Trans Rites: An Anthology of Genderfucked Horror, for publication in print and digital. This collection features a bazaar of eleven bizarre tales of transition and transformation, beastliness and becoming: A bloody rebirth in the woods. A deadly game of consumption and corruption. A scientist putting the pieces of himself together. A patient becoming more and more like the china dolls she admires. A room with no exit except oblivion. A museum in a town renowned for its cryptids. These terrors and more await within.

To embody transness is to change shape, to become something else. The theorist Judith Butler refers to the construction of gender as a process of ritual and naturalization. Hear our screams, our howls, our primal gibbering, our moonlight dances and our bleeding guts.

This collection features the following stories, as well as lyrics and poetry from folk musician Skeleton Drive (Dillon Rae Oliver)

Birthday Suit by Lennox Rex

Fresh Meat by Thea Maeve

Death Taught Me How to Live by Alicia Hilton

Seen by Ju Collins

The Moss Witch of the Cascade Mountains by Mave Goren

Wolformation by Michelle Jacklyn Miller

Fly by Madeleine Varley

Figs for Thistles by E. B. Novetti

Bleed For Your Wishes by R.S. Saha

Frozen Charlotte by Mildred Faintly

Dr. Frankenstein Dabbles in Self-Discovery by C.C. Rayne

[free-queer-books]

Trans Rites: An Anthology of Genderfucked Horror presented by The Dionysian Public Library

The Dionysian Public Library is thrilled (and chilled) to present our first anthology, Trans Rites: An Anthology of Genderfucked Horror, for publication in print and digital. This collection features a bazaar of eleven bizarre tales of transition and transformation, beastliness and becoming: A bloody rebirth in the woods. A deadly game of consumption and corruption. A scientist putting the pieces of himself together. A patient becoming more and more like the china dolls she admires. A room with no exit except oblivion. A museum in a town renowned for its cryptids. These terrors and more await within. To embody transness is to change shape, to become something else. The theorist Judith Butler refers to the construction of gender as a process of ritual and naturalization. Hear our screams, our howls, our primal gibbering, our moonlight dances and our bleeding guts. This collection features the following stories, as well as lyrics and poetry from folk musician Skeleton Drive (Dillon Rae Oliver) • Birthday Suit by Lennox Rex • Fresh Meat by Thea Maeve • Death Taught Me How to Live by Alicia Hilton • Seen by Ju Collins • The Moss Witch of the Cascade Mountains by Mave Goren • Wolformation by Michelle Jacklyn Miller • Fly by Madeleine Varley • Figs for Thistles by E. B. Novetti • Bleed For Your Wishes by R.S. Saha • Frozen Charlotte by Mildred Faintly • Dr. Frankenstein Dabbles in Self-Discovery by C.C. Rayne

Promotion length: Permanently free

Markets available: Publisher website

Link to ebook: https://www.dionysianpubliclibrary.com/transrites

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Renaissance Loan Words in Middle English

Loan Word - vocabulary borrowings

Borrow - to introduce a word (or some other linguistic feature) from one language or dialect into another

From Latin and Greek absurdity, adapt, agile, alienate, allusion, anachronism, anonymous, appropriate, assassinate, atmosphere, autograph, benefit, capsule, catastrophe, chaos, climax, conspicuous, contradictory, crisis, criterion, critic, delirium, denunciation, disability, disrespect, emancipate, emphasis, encyclopedia, enthusiasm, epilepsy, eradicate, exact, exaggerate, excavate, excursion, exist, expectation, expensive, explain, external, extinguish, fact, glottis, habitual, halo, harass, idiosyncrasy, immaturity, impersonal, inclemency, jocular, larynx, lexicon, lunar, malignant, monopoly, monosyllable, necessitate, obstruction, pancreas, parasite, parenthesis, pathetic, pneumonia, relaxation, relevant, scheme, skeleton, soda, species, system, tactics, temperature, tendon, thermometer, tibia, tonic, transcribe, ulna, utopian, vacuum, virus

From or via French alloy, anatomy, battery, bayonet, bigot, bizarre, chocolate, colonel, comrade, detail, docility, duel, entrance, equip, explore, grotesque, invite, moustache, muscle, naturalize, passport, pioneer, probability, progress, shock, surpass, ticket, tomato, vase, vogue, volunteer

From or via Italian argosy, balcony, ballot, cameo, carnival, concerto, cupola, design, fuse, giraffe, grotto, lottery, macaroni, opera, piazza, portico, rocket, solo, sonata, sonnet, soprano, stanza, stucco, trill, violin, volcano

From or via Spanish and Portuguese alligator, anchovy, apricot, armada, banana, barricade, bravado, cannibal, canoe, cockroach, cocoa, corral, desperado, embargo, guitar, hammock, hurricane, maize, mosquito, mulatto, negro, potato, port (wine), rusk, sombrero, tank, tobacco, yam

From other languages bamboo (Malay), bazaar (Persian), caravan (Persian), coffee (Turkish), cruise (Dutch), curry (Tamil), easel (Dutch), flannel (Welsh), guru (Hindi), harem (Arabic), horde (Turkish), keelhaul (Dutch), ketchup (Malay), kiosk (Turkish), knapsack (Dutch), landscape (Dutch), pariah (Tamil), raccoon (Algonquian), rouble (Russian), sago (Malay), sheikh (Arabic), shekel (Hebrew), shogun (Japanese), troll (Norwegian), trousers (Irish Gaelic), turban (Persian), wampum (Algonquian), yacht (Dutch), yoghurt (Turkish)

Source ⚜ More References: Middle English ⚜ Renaissance

[starryeyed-seer]

I need to put it eloquently & will some day but. bc I've butt heads again with someone about this in the fl discord...

I do not have an issue with the sun/bazaar relationship being heavily one sided, toxic, just a bit weird, messed up from a power dynamic pov. these are great things which add spice to any dynamic. one of them is a god bound to an oppressive reality-dictating Law who determines What Is with its vision. the other is a highly dedicated freak. to say it is an equal relationship with no tricky factors would be silly.

but I do continue to feel strongly about it being Only Abusive. certainly some of it is personal distaste for how many handle the topic of abuse. I have seen more than enough takes which take the concept of "the sun/bazaar was abusive" and follow through to "the bazaar is delusional hysterical (Woman™️) who was used, abused, and abandoned by sol, and now mourns the relationship (like a moron) and just needs to Get Over It." This kind of take sucks. Reducing the Bazaar to simply a Crazy Victim just sucks.

I also just don't like how much this reduces the bazaar's agency as a character. it spends a lot of time being miserable and drinking but it is undeniably very capable and intelligent. it didn't just stumble into the neath blindly to pine pathetically for 1000s of years. say what you will of its motivations and actions, it is an active agent in its story.

however. the other part I dislike about positioning suncrab as Simply Shitty Abusive is that narratively... it'd really suck. "in matters of the bazaar, look to love, always" is a strong quote bc it extends outside the bazaar to... the bizarre. when times are strange and hard and everything's overturned it's like you've fallen into a Weird Cave, look to love, always. it can continue and exist. there is no fertile earth here, and love still can grow.

FL isn't a thing where we can have a 'narrative conclusion' for the bazaar, but imagine if the game ended and there was an epilogue and it was just. 'the bazaar was 1000% wrong. it was in a shitty relationship and needed to get over its ex. it killed all those people and did all those ridiculous things, and it was for nothing, because it was an idiot in a abusive relationship'. Is that. satisfying for anyone.

of course, even if suncrab is some happily ever after scenario, it still Can Never Be. Whatever those two are, it isn't something that can exist without thousands, millions of dead. but what's wrong with that?

this is what I was talking about with someone where.... yes, a theme of fallen london is love, which can be consuming, toxic, dangerous, alluring, hungry.... so many things! could a one sided endless yearning in an unhappy relationship bazaar fit that theme? sure.

but a destructive cosmic somewhat mutual love also fits that. these two love each other, in their own weird ways. they both are doing illegal red science and causing huge problems and also all the murder/cannibalism. why can't they just match each other's freak. the bazaar is already displaying a complicated, hungry, obsessive love! if that love is mutual, if that love is happy, it's still Pretty Dark Because Of The Bodies.

Like.

Okay you can tell I'm rambling because I'm a bit annoyed, but I hope you get it. I'm sick of crab misogyny. I think making the Setting Inciting Incident pointless and about abuse goes against theme. I think if you want them to be unhappy or toxic, you don't need to make it so the Bazaar is Just A Victim Who Has To Get Over A Shit Boyfriend. I think it being a complicated affair steeped in the laws of society and chains of caste is more interesting.

the moon makes me anxious.

(look I'm just hyper aware of abuse narratives in fiction and the way they are written and perceived, and while I generally like FBG and trust FL's writing, I don't exactly trust the broad concept of 'a fandom' with those storylines yknow)