#coin master rewards

[apotelesmaa]

I have finally full comboed every expert/master song below level 27 available on enpjsk & while the profits were great I will say the fact that the mad skillz achievement gives you nothing but a title & bragging rights is so stupid. Not even a title bonus. But you get a title bonus from everyone having one of the same title (even getting 5 ppl with a title from the same unit Is a pain in the ass) & for everyone picking the same song (I have literally never seen this happen)? Hateful game. Give me my pathetic +10 bonus miku.

[best-cm-strategies]

A scientific approach to playing Coin Master

A scientific approach to playing Coin Master involves applying probability principles, managing resources strategically, setting clear goals, networking with other players, and analyzing data for optimal gameplay. While it offers advantages like efficient resource utilization and goal-oriented gameplay, pitfalls include overreliance on probability and the need for time and patience.

Key Points:

Probability principles guide strategic spinning and resource management.

Clear goals drive focused gameplay and motivation.

Community engagement aids in faster progress and resource exchange.

Read the whole article on Medium

[dailyspinrewardscm]

Features Of Daily Spin Rewards-CM Link App

There are several features of the Daily Spin Rewards-CM Link app including:

You will receive daily updates on CM rewards, spins, and coins.

The app is smaller, and its user interface is easy to use.

Those spin, coin, and reward link that has been used will be already marked.

Using CM Link, you will receive daily CM rewards, free spins, and coin links, all in one place

Get rewards before all other resources

[themissinghand]

Omniscient Reader Viewpoint Have You Seen My Werepuppy?

Summary: In which our lovely regressor turned into a werewolf and craves your attention. (Or Kim Dokja wants some love too)

Pairing: Yoo Joonghyuk x GN! Reader x Kim Dokja 

Note: Love these two idiots to death. So here is a fluffy short.

Warning: None.

★・・・・・・★

[New Scenario available]

[Only available to incarnation "Yoo Joongyhyuk"]

[Accept?]

[Yes/No]

[The Constellation ‘Constellation Who Likes to Change Genders’ urges incarnation "Yoo Joonghyuk" to accept the scenario]

"What is the reward?" Yoo Joonghyuk says, suspicious of his intentions. 

[10,000 coins]

"What do I have to do?" 

[The Constellation ‘Constellation Who Likes to Change Genders’ tells incarnation "Yoo Joonghyuk" to make a choice quickly before he offers it to other incarnations] 

Yoo Joonghyuk twitched his eyebrow before he glared at the floating blue screen. 

"Don't you dare." Han Sooyoung (who believed she was at the wrong place and wrong time), warned him. 

"If it's something dangerous, I'm not going to take responsibility for your sorry ass." 

"Shut up."

Without another moment of thought, Yoo Joonghyuk accepted the scenario. 

"You idiot-"

A bright light and Yoo Joonghyuk prepared himself for a fight. 

But once the bright light faded away, there was nothing but a blue screen in front of him. 

He heard a dramatic gasp beside him, but his focus was on the blue screen. His eyes widened before he dropped to the ground on one knee and he felt his body change.

He can hear Loki, that bastard, and Han Sooyoung just laughing at him.

“For a scary bastard like you, you have a fluffy ass tail!”

Kim Dokja wasn't sure what he was witnessing. 

Everyone was panicking, to say the least, and you weren’t there. 

Perfect. 

A growling Yoo Joonghyuk in werewolf form. His sword was gripped tightly in his hand, and no matter what others were yelling, he wouldn't budge. It was as if he was protecting his territory, and Kim Dokja assumed it was because of his new transformation. 

Kim Dokja curses at whichever constellation that did this.

Kim Dokja felt a chill down his spine when the protagonist met his eyes. It was glaring at him like a mad dog, while grinding his teeth and brandishing his sword.

What did he do now? He didn't even do anything!

What could he even do? When that sunfish is swinging swords at whoever comes close? When that bastard is so angry that he is emitting such a murderous aura? 

Damn you protagonist! 

"What's going on?" Kim Dokja let out a sign of relief when you walked to his side.

You who had just come back from your training with Jung Heewon, and were very much tired to deal with this, but came anyway. 

After all, it is the sunfish bastard that you and Kim Dokja know very well.

As a fellow reader who committed to finishing the longest web novel in history, you bet that you would be here (with Kim Dokja) to make sure the protagonist survives. 

That is what you two swore upon after the world turned upside down. Just an oath between readers, as friends, to survive.

"That idiot turned into a werewolf!"

Thanks Han Sooyoung. 

"Is it Loki again?" You responded immediately and Kim Dokja returned a nod and a sigh.

“God Dammit. Alright, so Dokja, any plans or…” 

Dokja put a hand on your shoulder, “Nope, I got none-”

Holy shit, did Yoo Joonghyuk just growl at him? 

Kim Dokja heard a sigh beside him and something about more work before his best friend walked ahead. 

"(Y/N)! Don't get too close!" 

"That ahjussi went crazy!"

"Stay back! You're not a match for Master!"

The kids yelled and even Kim Dokja wanted to stop you, but after he saw how calm and collected you were, Kim Dokja held back. 

As always, you were confident and quick to adapt in any situation. Perhaps you noticed something about the werewolf state.

Until Kim Dokja saw you unbuttoning the top button and exposing your neck-

"(Y/N)! What are you doing?" Kim Dokja flushes. He would have rushed to your side if Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't ready to pounce on him.

"What a big angry pup." Kim Dokja hopes that his best friend won't be cut in half. 

But it was odd. The closer you went, the less fussy that sunfish seemed. In fact, when you stood in front of the growling wolf, the wolf seem to stop and wonder as well.

On how in the world that this little person wasn't afraid of him, and why they was exposing their neck-

“(Y/N)!”

You put up both hands in surrender before you spoke.

"Put down your sword, Joonghyuk-ah." 

Slowly (shockingly), the protagonist lowered his sword. Then, he just stared. 

What the fuck is happening? 

The sunfish hugged you and buried his face deep in the older's shoulder. Wait no, the Yoo Joonghyuk was sniffing your neck like a wolf. 

You and Kim Dokja let out a long sigh.

"(Y/N)?" 

"Yes?" Kim Dokja flinched when Yoo Joonghyuk growled at him and wrapped both arms around you possessively. 

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" 

"I'm fine. At least for now."

"Shouldn't we try to reverse this?" 

"We could, but we don't know what scenario Joonghyuk-ah got. Whatever it is, I'm assuming he must finish it. Right Loki?"

[The Constellation ‘Constellation Who Likes to Change Genders’ is nodding in agreement]

"Then shouldn't we try to get Master to communicate with us?" 

You rubbed the little wolf’s head and the other responded by rubbing his head back. 

Who would have thought that Yoo Joonghyuk could be tamed? 

Kim Dokja on the other hand, felt like whatever this scenario was, Yoo Joonghyuk was taking full advantage of it, seeing how the wolf kept looking his way in a smug way.

"He can't read, write, or speak, but he can fight like a wolf, and recognize people. Though if there is one thing about the scenario, it most likely has something to do with me." 

“Yea, and against me.” You chuckled at your best friend’s annoyed face, and he rolled his eyes. 

"Alright, alright, give me a day and I’ll see if I can figure it out. I'm gonna spend a day with this baby wolf." 

“Baby wolf? More like a beast.” Han Sooyoung quipped, and many agreed. 

You on the other hand had no issues, even while feeling the wolf’s sharp teeth against your neck. You thought it was cute that the Yoo Joonghyuk wanted your attention.

"If we're talking about taming animals, usually it would be Gilyoung-ah and Yoosung-ah to take care of it. But this one bites. So I'll take care of it." The children nod reluctantly. 

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ is amused by this situation]

While others seem a bit hesitant, after your reassurance, they trusted you to figure this out. Kim Dokja on the other hand, was very worried, and so decided to stay in the vicinity in case anything were to go wrong.

"Now then," You lean back into Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest and his body, feeling his body engulf your smaller one. 

[The Constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’ is cooing at how cute you two look]

[The Constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’ have sponsored you 1000 coins]

"Let's tame a wolf."

Kim Dokja couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous (just a little), as he watched his best friend invest all of their attention on the protagonist. 

And he knows that the werewolf is happy and smug about it! 

When you feed Yoo Joonghyuk, when you groom him, and when you have to physically entertain him, Kim Dokja knew this was a scenario to mess with him. 

[The Constellation ‘Constellation Who Likes to Change Genders’ hints to Incarnation ‘Kim Dokja’ to steal Incarnation ‘(Y/N)’ away]

[The Constellation ‘Prisoner of the Golden Headband’ agrees and urges Incarnation ‘Kim Dokja’ to be a brave man]

[The Constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’ is excited for the drama to unfold and is at the edge of her seats]

Kim Dokja sighs and before he could say anything, you called. 

“Dokja! I think I know what it is now!”

Kim Dokja widen his eyes in relief, finally-

“I think he just wants to make you jealous, so you have to kiss him or something. Like Beauty and the Beast!” 

Kim Dokja’s jaw dropped.

[The Constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’ squeals]

[The Constellation ‘Prisoner of the Golden Headband’ is pulling out his hair]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ is questioning your IQ but encourages anyway]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ have sponsored you 1000 coins]

“Haha, just kidding, look at your faces. Ow, Hey!” Yoo Joonghyuk nibs at your neck, leaving another mark. 

“(Y/N)...” Kim Dokja groans in frustration.

“But I do know the solution.” You say while suddenly standing up, knocking the wolf in his chin, and in that swift moment, you flipped your positions, with the wolf under your knee.

“You’re a good boy aren’t you?” 

In the next moment, you kissed the fluttered wolf on his nose and then whispered in his ear, 

“What a good boy.” In the most seductive voice you can mutter. 

“(Y/N)?!” Kim Dokja blushed slightly at how provocative you and Yoo Joonghyuk's position looked. 

One part of him want to be in that position too-

“Alright, you got what you wanted right? Loki?” 

[The Constellation ‘Constellation Who Likes to Change Genders’ is happy]

“What? What did he want?” Kim Dokja was confused in the midst of all the messages from literally every constellation.

Until Kim Dokja saw it.

Yoo Joonghyuk in his human form, blushing.

Under you. 

It didn’t last long before he violently reacted and wanted to murder both of you, but by then, you and Kim Dokja had already ran for your lives, and you with a picture in your hand.

“Worth it!” 

“Bruh, you’re telling me the Yoo Joonghyuk has a praise kink?” 

Han Sooyoung began running too.

“Oh and Dokja,” Kim Dokja looked your way, and suddenly he received a peck on his cheek. 

“Don’t sulk just because you didn’t get a kiss.” 

“Wha-” Kim Dokja flushed and put a hand to cover it.

“Don’t worry, you’re a good boy too.” 

“(Y/N)!” He screeches as he suddenly sprints faster away in embarrassment.

“(Y/N)! Collect your wolf hubby!” 

"I'm going to kill you (Y/N)!"

The chaos lasted for a bit, and in the midst of all that chaos, Loki was able to auction the video and images of every moment in the scenario. 

Needless to say, Uriel and Secretive Plotter was definitely winning the majority of that auction.

[ms0milk]

firework breathing, fifth form.

tengen uzui(s) x bounty hunter of sorts

no cw whipped tengen and the wives try to recruit the love of their lives using all means available. thank you @ltadoriyuujl for making this request for the @ficsforgaza initiative! to say I had fun with this one is an understatement 2.5k

Vigilante justice had repercussions, and before you would have said you were amply prepared. Law enforcement had no chance of keeping up with you. That’s what happens when you don’t believe in monsters. You could make all the noise you’d like in a hunt and their incompetence only served to soothe, always looking for the humans on their wanted posters. Bounty hunters cowered when your blade cleaved through the throats of demons and theirs hacked pitifully at the creatures happy to consume them.

A looted sword and penchant for timeliness, what fight couldn’t you weasel victory from? The answer was rhetorical until a letter arrived on scented paper, where, buried under three pages of classical poetry there lay a clear and calligraphed, 'Marry me.' Signed, Uzui Tengen.

“Saw your kill,” Tengen gleamed at dawn outside the shop that kept you good and fed on steamed buns. “Just as flashy as they say.”

“Next time someone has something to say about me, kindly change the subject.”

To call him persistent was an understatement. The Uzuis were old money with old traditions and older practices. Their mansion sat behind flowering hedges and wisteria vines on the stream at the lip of the forest, just too far to receive visitors and just close enough to rub the opulence in the whole town’s face. You quite liked your little life, the little apartment above Old Man Tatsu’s udon shop, the reward money that came in little pouches when you rolled bountyheads across the sheriff's desk. Though you had to be fast. Their expensive criminals had a habit of disintegrating.

“Are you Kinoe?” He’d ask as you shopped for dry goods. Obnoxiously tall and draped in silk for every color of the week, the master of the mysterious house was never too far from the hunter in her linen haori. “Who's your master?”

Sometimes a wife would come and when Makio accompanied you she would drop coin into the merchants’ dishes before you had the chance to pay for yourself, “Stop asking her so many questions.”

“Women like to talk.”

“Not to you.”

And so gifts started arriving shortly after. Clothes and ribbons, a barley pillow of purple silk, perfumes, ceramics– your one room above Tatsu’s udon shop was soon so laden with treasure you worried it might fall through the floor. “Leave it here,” Hina whispered to couriers from the staircase outside your apartments.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you yawned in the doorframe, wrapped in a padded red hanten. It was one of your many new treasures. Hina smiled wide at the insinuation and you could see even through sleep, all the notes she took behind bright eyes. Three more jackets came that autumn and the fourth was delivered in person.

You slid a cloth down the bladedge of your sword after a hunt. As always, your weapon had burst from the arc over your head and with shattering speed through the back of the creature’s throat, but it found your scent the second the rattling strike touched its flesh. It twisted this time and caught the blade at a notch in its neck before losing its head. Every swipe of the cloth down your sword was filled with the apprehension of it catching on a crack in the blade.

In the cold candlelight, there was a grunt and then a hand in your apartment window. You startled when the hand started to talk, and gripped your sword from the cover of blankets. “Don’t pounce, princess.” Tengen’s voice was at least better than the snarl of a demon. His head peeked over the frame. Two lilac eyes grinned at you.

“Little late for a climb, Uzui.”

“S’cold,” he grunted and his head dropped below the frame for a moment before his hand gripped the sill and the rest of him followed, swinging over itself into the room. His mountainous body landed without a sound and he smiled, white hair framed by moonlight, “brought a gift.”

You thought he might be referring to himself before he rummaged through his haori and pulled a twine wrapped bundle out from under his arm. You rolled your eyes, “How do you know where I live?”

“You know where I live.”

“You want me to know where you live,” you crept forward to accept the package, “you’ve practically spelled my name out with your hedges.”

“Did you like that?”

He crouched a respectful distance away from where you startled back into blankets and settled on his knees. He and his family moved like cats in the night. They appeared exactly where you expect them and still it was always surprising. “Why do you work so hard for my attention?”

“I want more than your atten–”

“Mr. Uzui.”

He bobbed his head in concession and shifted his legs underneath him so that the white muscle of his thigh glowed through the drapes and folds of his long pretty robes. He pulled one knee up and rested like a king against your simple wooden window. “Who taught you?”

“Taught me what?”

“The sword.” He pointed with a painted nail to the weapon you kept tucked against your chest.

You shook your head, “No one, I just– I found it.”

“And so you hunt demons for fun?”

You smiled through the sarcasm, “For money.”

“Is there much money to be had in bounties that disintegrate?” He loved to thread a reel between endearing and irritating and that evening was no different. He watched you like an acrobat on a line.

“And what do you know about hunting, Sir?”

“Why do you think the strong ones stay away from this town?” Strong ones, was a horrifying thought and for a moment you forgot to stay cool across from the sudden and fleeting stoicism of your patron. Tengen’s eyes darkened, his broad hands flexed like a fist would be more natural. “You’re safe here. Protected.”

“That’s not necessary.” 

And his facade changed with a nod of his head. The smile returned under summer eyes. “I hear you fighting, you strike like fifty firecrackers– a roman candle–” You jerked your hand to your lips in a signal to keep it down, which he did, and leaned forward with a simmered voice, “Your breath is like a firework. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.” It was as if the sound followed the command of its master and cupped your jaw where he’d like to. Worry about your chipped sword was as far away as ever. Your life was warmer with the Uzuis in it, if not just slightly more embarrassing. He raised an eyebrow, “Have you studied the poets?

One picture of your apartments could inspire a whole comedy performance. Cold and wooden and upholstered with jewels that could buy the building five times over. If he started sending poetry you might have actually had to pay taxes. Tengen waited, happy and handsome, for your response as you stared. Could you have ever guessed grabbing the sword of a fallen soldier as your village crumbled around you would have led to this?

“In pale moonlight,” he urged and leaned farther towards you, drawing his knuckle over your fingers at sword hilt, “the wisteria’s scent…”

You steadied yourself through the waves of goosebumps that came from his touch and his gaze, closer than he was before. “It’s late, Mr. Uzui,” you managed and closed your hands around his to keep it from wandering farther. He sighed through a smile and drew back slowly to stand.

“Then I’ll wish you goodnight, Mrs. Uzui.”

You pursed your lips and he laughed like a windchime, lightly, his warmth and perfume spilling from his chest as he drew a thick haori tight around himself. “I’ll show myself out.” He stood and crossed your room to pull open the door.

“No,” you startled again and covered your own mouth at the volume. He turned to you, grinning, surprised, and it took everything you had not to grin back behind your fingers. His flamboyant dress was already enough, townsfolk didn’t need any reason to speculate on why a man who dressed like a successful pimp was coming from your rooms at midnight.

Tengen flashed one more obnoxious and knowing smile before crossing back over his dozens of gifts and stepping through your window frame like there might be a staircase waiting outside. “As you wish.”

He dropped with your heart and your sword clattered to the ground and you dove to see, surely, a broken puddle of a man two stories down. But the master of the flamboyant mansion only dusted his shoulders off with his landing and turned back up to watch you from below. As always, every proposal of his was punctuated with a deep bow.

See how he likes it, you grumbled, brimming with renewed frustration. Just a few weeks later and it was supposed to be a simple night.​​ The edge of town reeked of blood that day, the blood of fresh kills and wild animals, all day it lingered on the shadows that touched the forest. A new demon was always easy to track because hunger is easy to smell when you’re quiet. You were the loudest thing at twilight. You hushed the moss underfoot and bobbed between branches. Simple. Night. You would have been easy to smell too if demons weren’t too gluttonous to realize humans can reek of bloodlust.

In the clearing ahead where iron mingled in the fog, stood a woman where, by all accounts of your tracking, the creature should have been. Uzui’s Suma stood alone, pregnant beyond imagining, and dropped her kunai in the grass when you stumbled into the open. She wailed when she saw you and sobbed immediately to the tune of, “s’not fair!” and “wanna propose too!” as she waddled closer.

Like gifts that much– lucky I’m even delivering this one.

You spent the better part of two hours walking her back home, sword raised and mind racing at all the ways you might strap a pregnant woman to your body and walk a little faster for the both of you. She apologized sixty-seven times and kept track herself and when you finally approached the back gate of her home, she labored over her belly to pull the latch open. No key, no guard, no Uzui. No supervision! No protection! No worried greeting at the door–

You gripped tighter at the vines on the side of the house and pushed higher. Your feet found purchase in wisteria so solid it must have been a hundred years old, farther, higher towards the window at the corner of the mansion that Suma pointed you towards. You hissed and pulled yourself the last two feet to the windowsill.

“Uzui,” came out as a grunt.

“M’lady,” he smiled. You edged yourself into the room with an arm braced over the sill. Tengen rose from his desk to meet you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bite me,” you grunted and regretted immediately and slung your other arm inside, ignoring all the retorts such a man might have to that.

He settled on, “Happily,” and offered you a hand. Suma had pointed you to her husband’s office before drifting towards the pantry for a snack. The room was modest, tatami mats and a paper door, and a low desk on the floor long enough to fit his long legs. Western paintings were hung satisfyingly asymmetrically in what would otherwise be a very traditional room. A coal brazier glowed beside the cushion he used as a seat. 

You tried your best to do without the hand but when footing gave way and your chin dipped below the window, he snatched you up by the bicep. The temperature difference inside was dizzying.

“Long night?”

“Understatement,” you shivered in the new heat. Your shoes and scabbard suddenly seemed too dirty inside such a pleasant home and a bit of your fire faded. You sat on the lip of the widow and pulled your legs up beside you. “You–”

“Yes?” Tengen cocked his head, smiling always smiling. His loose white hair fell in locks over his shoulders.

“Your wife was wandering demon-infested woods until just a minute ago.”

“My Suma?” You thought he might ask which one and had prepared a thousand scathing retorts, but he only watched your anger fall from you cooly, “she wanted to impress you.”

“By dying?”

“She killed your demon didn’t she?” You opened your mouth too quickly to realize you hadn’t processed the thought. Tengen massaged a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He almost looked normal like this, in a pretty house, in a warm room glowing by firelight. The cold of the night nipped your back in breezes. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“You impressed?” He chuckled and settled himself on the floor beside the window. He knelt beneath you, elbow on sill and cheek in hand. “Do we impress you?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight a smile, “You all do something to me, but impress it not the word.”

“Do you think of us?”

“Naggingly.”

“You worry?”

“Not anymore,” you sucked your teeth and pushed his head off balance with a finger to his forehead. “She really scared me, you know. All those months pregnant and alone like that.”

He grumbled something like, not alone, and, mice were with her, which you chose to ignore because Tengen Uzui took up your rough fingers in his. Whatever face you made he couldn’t see. He brought the knuckles to his lips and kissed your ring finger just once before releasing you. “My wives are capable. They don’t need permissions and they don’t need escorts, but know they are cherished by me.” You watched him, fingers lingering in the warm space. “They want you, I want you. Want to cherish you.

The sincerity, the lack of laughter, made your ears hot. His lilac eyes set to swallow you. “Mr. Uzui–”

“Tengen.”

“Tengen–”

“Mrs. Uzui?”

“No,” you giggled and rolled your eyes. He rose to his knees and made to guide you inside but you rested two hands on his broad shoulders to settle the advance. You turned and tucked your legs back out the window, “It’s late.”

“Then come rest.”

“Mr. Tengen,” and the voice came out so much softer than you meant it to, “In pale moonlight.”

He clenched his own jaw at that as if to keep himself from pouncing. The veins in his hands rose on the sill instead of around what he so badly wanted. “The wisteria’s scent..”

“Comes from far away.” With your last murmured words and a smile, you dropped back into the vines and floated to the garden floor. He stared after you from the second story as you took a theatrical bow and called back up just once, “G’night princess.”

Next time then, he agonized behind his own smile, pink climbing up his throat like a spell. In the hallway outside of his office, the wives groveled amongst each other in piles cursing their husband’s lack of charm.

"In pale moonlight the wisteria's scent comes from far away." -Yosa Buson, 18th c.

[ladystarksneedle]

The eye of awe

Aemond x maid reader

Summary: A maid at the Keep relishes in the sweetness of gratitude.

Word count: 1.2k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She hears the familiar clang of steel as she passes through the courtyard, wicker basket in hand daring to glance at the flash of silver dancing in the sun. He moves with the fluidity of men from myth, of childhood tales told by mothers of the Realm willing their meddlesome children to bed. Stories of agile and fearsome warriors fighting to save kingdoms of might and maidens of beauty, slender and graceful with their arms and legs, dancing to tunes of mystery. She finds him to have both, equal parts grace and ferocity as he dodges another blow before his blade lands against his opponent's throat. As the crowd erupts in applause she ducks under the archway leading indoors. Just like her childhood, her escape for the day is at its end and her eyes wide open to the life ahead.

Work at the Red Keep is equal parts arduous as it is rewarding. Despite her young age, she's been promoted from a scullery maid to working in service to the one eyed prince himself. She assists him daily, organizing his clothes, tidying his chambers, ordering his baths, serving his meals and above all making sure the order he has in place is never disrupted.

“Chaos is only tackled well on the battlefield” he'd said to her when she was brought to him “I do not expect an ounce near me. Should I find you lacking, you'll be sent away before you can make your apologies.”

His return to his chambers is angrier than usual. His bath lies ready at his disposal, his clothes laid out meticulously on the bed. A linen tunic, leather surcoat and coat, linen breeches, trousers of wool and two leather belts lined with gold are arranged in that order, all in shades of ivory, black and brown, adorned with the familiar three headed dragon glinting in gold ready to greet him once he finishes. The only piece of cloth that remains askew is his eyepatch discarded on the dresser in haste, as she stands waiting outside, unwilling to initiate change.

It is the only one he wears rather religiously despite its condition. It is whispered by the maids in passing, that it was Princess Helaena who made it for him, ever since he lost his eye at ten, the dreaded incident never spoken of lest one incur his wrath. It is said that the wound itself was inflicted by a lad of eight, his own nephew, for a purpose widely disputed by all she's heard from. She finds the whole thing rather nasty, a cruel punishment or perhaps an unfair trial from the Gods. The others think it rather fitting for a man so cruel to be felled in such a way, yet she finds it akin to being cursed, for him to be so beautiful yet troubled. Despite his harshness and cold gaze, he's been nothing but courteous to her which is the most she can expect from any master she serves and is far better than one with grabby hands and wayward eyes. He's expectant and demanding, yet acknowledges a task well done. Perhaps it is his look of quiet praise on a hard day that carries her to the markets at noon, skipping her meal with ease. The leather she requires has been borrowed from scraps cleaned at the dressmaker’s, earning her a bewildered gaze and an equally prompt dismissal. The clasp she looks for however, costs a silver dragon. It is a lot, nearly half of her earnings yet she parts with them willingly. The gold ornament burns her palms as she heads back in time to resume her duties, a thrilled smile on her face.

She's been taught how to sew since she was a child, enough to be able to fix a hole, a gape or tear in both tunic and chemise alike.

She has fixed her father's breeches after a hard day's work and her brothers’ after they'd torn theirs running through the crowded streets of King's landing. Even stitching a wound comes easy to her now, having learned how to do so, after a shoddy job a few moons back, when coin had run dry to turn to the local healer. She smiles to herself as she pulls the threads through the leather at hand. It is brown enough to hide the gaps in her work and though it isn't as fine as the embroidery of a lady she's satisfied with it nonetheless. She stares at her little contraption in awe as she finishes in time. It has a single strap running across its breath held together by a gold button she'd found lying on the floor. On its side she's opted for a sturdier one with the golden clasp holding it all together behind, a single flame for the prince she serves, the closest she'll ever come to the might of the dragon.

There's a feast to be held tonight, in honor of his nameday. Guests from all over the Realm have arrived and as the Keep buzzes with excitement of the festivities at dusk and she finds it hard to contain her own delight. There is much work to be done before she can part with her surprise. She tends to him soon, dressing him for dinner in leathers of green and black, clasping the familiar worn out strap as he leaves grumbling. It is hours later when she sees him again as she's summoned by the familiar ring of the bell in her quarters. She creeps to his room in trepidation, hands clasped behind her back as she greets and readies him for bed, her gift heavy in her pocket. As he turns to dismiss her she looks at him shyly

“If you don't mind me saying, I'd like to wish you a happy nameday my prince”

He nods in response, humming as he makes his way to the fireplace, seating himself as he stares ahead.

“I have something for you” she continues moving towards him as he looks up “It isn't much but a mere token of my gratitude” she says extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything” she continues, stopping as she looks at him. He takes the leather in his hand, turning it over in silence.

When she was a child her mother had taken her to see her aunt. It was the first trip she'd taken outside the capital to visit a dying woman and provide her comfort. As they'd returned she'd shown her the sky, full of stars at night, bright and beautiful away from the haze of the city.

“Your aunt's up there now girl, watching over you just as I'll be someday” she'd said pointing to the drops of light adorning the skies.

His eye runs over the gold in hand, flame fitting into his palm like it belongs, shining like the stars of a forgotten past.

“Come, help me wear it” he remarks as he leans back.

As she clasps it in place and curtsies, she’s lost to dreams of silver chased with a flame of gold.

Clashes of steel greet her the next morn, a flame of gold glinting in the sun. Her dreams don't end with the battle at hand anymore, for the mighty warrior now carries a part of the maiden with him and she's content to hold his gaze just a little longer.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

[punks-never-die205]

Their Top sexual fantasies?

oooooh - I am going to preface this with: I think all four are super kinky, super flexible, and super into a LOT of stuff. There's overlap galore. but if you wanted to narrow them down to one thing/idea/fantasy, then this is what I think they'd pick.

Kid - Free use/always on dom/sub relationship. It's a lot of work, on both sides of the coin, but once it becomes "the norm" it's easier and more fun all around. There's just a lot of trust required, so it's not something Kid can really hope for until he's settled down. But just being able to dress you up in ropes in the morning and bend you over whenever he wants - ah, that's the best.

Killer - Master/Servant role-play with a focus on acts of service. Things like, letting you give him a full ritual straight razor shave, shining his shoes, etc. After you've spent the day (or a block of time) pampering him, he'll reward your good service by railing you until your bones turn to mush and he has to carry you to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Heat - Two switches walk into a bar and suddenly bondage \o/ - which is to say Heat would love to trade off dom/sub roles with someone who is as much of a switch as he is, and the peak of that would be trading off who is in, and who is controlling, the shibari session.

Wire - Pirate/Marine role-play. Especially if you're chained in the brig at his mercy and he gets to use his dick to break your sassy little marine will until you're nothing but a cock-hungry little slut. The rougher the better too - if it takes a couple weeks for the bruises and such to heal then you both had the time of your life.

[munstysmind]

WARNING/S: non-con, rape, loss of virginity, rough sex, rough vaginal sex, rough oral sex, rough anal sex, unprotected sex, multiple men, blood, assault, abuse, slavery, trauma, threats of forced prostitution, mentions of kidnapping/abduction, mentions of death, mentions or murder, mentions of injuries, mentions of suicide. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know.

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT

THIS IS A DARK FIC, DO NOT READ IF THIS TYPE OF CONTENT TRIGGERS OR OFFENDS YOU.

You and you alone are responsible for what you choose to consume online.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Thank you to @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure for being my ideas gremlin, and @themaradwrites for beta-ing. This wouldn’t have been written without your help.

MAIN MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list

CH. 1 - THEIR REWARD

{54 BC}

Her heart pounds in her chest as she slowly walks down the hall towards the man she despises more than anything in this world.

Dominus Julius Fabius. Her owner. Her master.

She wishes she could stick him in the neck with a dagger and watch him bleed to death, just like all the men he condemns when he forces them into the arena.

He’s pure evil.

The kind of evil Orcus uses to make an example of. The God of punishment and the Underworld is going to have fun with her master when he passes into the afterlife.

She’s lost count of how long it’s been. Five years? Probably more, if she’s being honest with herself. She doesn’t even know who she is anymore.

Except her name.

Amina.

To everyone around her, she’s a thing. An object meant to do as she’s told. No exceptions.

She runs her finger along the cold iron bolted around her neck, her slave collar.

Thirty coins. That’s what he paid for her. She didn’t know you could put a price on someone’s life but that’s what hers was worth, thirty whole coins.

“There you are girl” he growls as he grabs her wrist tightly and drags her towards a door at the end of the hall “I’m in a right mind to give you a lashing for making me wait”

“I’m sorry, they… they wanted to make sure everything was perfect” she mumbles, keeping her eyes on the floor to help hide her tears as she recalls the looks of pity on the faces of the women who got her ready.

She knows they know what her Master’s plans are, and she suspects the reason they took so long was to keep her from her fate for as long as they possibly could.

“I don’t care. Those fighters in there won me a lot of denarii today. You’re going to let them do whatever they want to you. All. Night” her master tells her, getting so close to her she can feel his warm, vile breath across her face.

“I… I’ve never…” she stammers, her eyes going wide as she realises what he’s saying.

“I know. I know you’ve never laid with a man before, they checked you when I brought you. That’s why I chose you” he says, a smirk spreading across his face. “Maybe I should put you in the Lupanar and whore you out after they’ve broken you in. Gods know you’d make me a fortune”

It takes everything in her not to turn and run as fast as she can as she swallows down the bile rising in her throat.

It would be pointless though, there’s guards everywhere. She wouldn’t make it to the end of the hall before they caught her. She’d be guaranteed a lashing too, a public one at that. Just like Vesta.

“I mean it girl. You’re theirs tonight. I don’t care if it hurts… in fact, I want it to. A lot” he whispers, pulling out a small dagger and cutting one of the shoulders of her dress, exposing her breast.

He runs the dagger tip over her nipple, pressing it into the sensitive bud until it breaks the skin, making her let out a small whimper of pain.

“If you resist, or put up a fight, you’ll be punished, and it’ll be much worse than what they’re going to do” he growls before pushing her into the room.

She can’t help but flinch as the large wooden door is slammed in her face, the echo of the metal latch being closed ringing in her ears.

She just stands there, staring at it as she takes shuddery breaths.

She knows what’s about to happen. What she’s about to go through. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

She’s trapped.

Locked in a room with three blood covered fighters.

Their reward for winning their master 5000 coin.

She’s their prize.

“Turn around” a deep voice commands, making her jump.

She closes her eyes, praying to the Gods that she wakes up from this nightmare as she slowly turns around.

She sees the man the voice belongs to and her breath catches in her throat as she fights back tears.

He’s the one who killed her brother.

Champion gladiator August.

“Name” he growls, slowly approaching her with a look similar to the lions in the arena before they attack.

“Am… Amina” she stammers, stumbling back against the door as he towers over her.

She can smell death on him. The twang of iron, of blood. Was it her brothers?

Her stomach churns at the thought and she wants to be sick.

“Amina” he repeats “honest, faithful. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

Under any other circumstance she might have smiled and thanked him for his compliment, just like she was taught, but not this time. She just can’t.

“I like to know their names before I take what I want” he tells her with a smirk.

He remembers them, every name. All the women he’s taken this way. Amina’s the latest entry on his ever growing list.

He grabs her dress and tears it off her body, letting the fabric crumple to the floor.

She instinctively tries to cover herself, but he stops her, prying her hands away from her body before grasping her breasts and squeezing.

A grin spreads across his face as he continues to grope her, pinching and rolling her nipples tightly between his fingers, making her whimper in pain.

The noise makes him let out a low growl from deep in his chest and his eyes go dark, almost black.

Before she can fully register what’s happening, he grabs her by the back of her neck and yanks her towards the small table on the other side of the room, forcing her onto her back.

He takes her legs behind the knees and pushes them open, exposing her to not only him, but the other two men in the room who are now standing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

Her stomach churns as she stares at the ceiling, her face burning with embarrassment as she tries to think of anything to distract her from the way he’s inspecting her.

She bites back a whimper as he touches her, his fingers playing with her most intimate area before spreading it open.

He lets out a satisfied hum, a smirk spreading across his face when he sees she’s intact, just like their Master promised.

“I’ve never had a pure one before” he says, to no one in particular as he pinches the small bundle of nerves above her opening, making her gasp loudly.

“They’re my favourite. Oh, the noises they make” one of the other men says excitedly, much to August’s annoyance.

“She’s mine, Lloyd” he growls, glaring at the man before turning his attention back to her, really looking at her for the first time since she entered the room.

And as much as she tries to look away, to look anywhere but the face of the man that’s about to brutalise her, she can't. Her green, terror filled eyes just stare at him, transfixed.

He’s seen her eyes, and that look, before. He knows he has. There’s something so familiar about them and it takes him a minute to place it. The man he killed in the arena a mere hours before. Her brother.

“You’ve got his eyes” he tells her before turning his gaze back between her legs.

She’s so caught up in the flood of emotions at what he just said that she doesn’t notice his finger pushing into her until it’s too late.

She lets out a loud yelp at the sudden pain between her legs, her body instinctively trying to close her legs and move away from the beast of a man in front of her.

He lets out an angry growl and yanks her up by her arm, turning her around and bending her over the table with so much force all the air leaves her lungs when her chest makes contact with the wooden surface.

“Don’t move” he growls, kicking her legs apart with his feet.

She grips the edge of the table, so tightly her fingers hurt, as tears well in her eyes. She prays the talk of his stamina is wrong, that it will be over quickly.

But it won’t.

When he’s done with her, there’s two more waiting.

And they have her all night…

The sound of his armour dropping onto the ground behind her makes her heart pound.

It’s happening.

Right now.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying her best to relax when she feels him prod at her again, but it doesn’t matter.

He snaps his hips forward and tears into her with force, pulling a scream of pain from her that makes him grin.

In all the beatings she’s gotten over the years, she’s never felt pain like this.

It’s like a searing hot poker being forced into her over and over as she’s split in two.

The tears in her eyes escape and spill onto the table as he thrusts into her, over and over and over again. It feels like the more she cries, the harder his thrusts become.

“Best one I’ve had yet” he grunts as he lays over her, pressing her against the table with his full body weight, and starts grinding into her, moaning loudly in her ear.

He’s enjoying this, getting pleasure out of hurting her. How can he not? He’s a sadistic bastard!

Little does she know she’s not the first woman he’s forced himself into. It’s the whole reason he’s stuck fighting in that gods forsaken arena in the first place. And unless he dies there, she won’t be the last.

“You’re mine now, gonna take you like this whenever I want” he pants, making her let out a loud sob at the thought of him doing this to her over and over.

It all becomes too much and her stomach churns as bile rises in her throat, burning it as she chokes and coughs it up.

His moans start becoming louder as he ruts into her hard, his hips slamming her body into the table over and over and over.

“Oh Gods!” he roars, moaning loudly as his hips stutter then still before he thrusts into her as hard as he can, filling her with a strange warmth.

He says something to her, but she doesn’t hear a word of it, unable to hear anything except the loud ringing in her ears.

She lets out a loud whimper as he pulls out of her before kneeling and pushing her legs wider, smirking at the blood mixed with his spend dripping out of her.

He catches some with his fingers and pushes them inside her, forcing it back into her as she lies on the table, her entire body shaking and twitching from shock as she takes shallow, gasping breaths.

“My turn” the second of the men says, all but pushing August out of the way before grasping her by her hair and pulling her to her feet, making her cry out.

He pushes her to her knees, making quick work of removing his armour as she glances behind him at August drinking wine from a goblet and sees the size of him for the first time, enough to make Priapus himself blush.

She looks back at the second man, terror spreading through her yet again as she comes face to face with his member.

She can’t tell if he’s bigger, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to defile her the same way August did without a care for her.

He hooks his finger into her mouth and forces it open before pushing himself in until she starts to gag.

He holds onto the sides of her head and starts thrusting, hitting the back of her throat with each snap of his hips.

A smirk spreads across his face as he moves one of his hands to the back of her head and forces her down onto him, deep throating her.

He holds her there, moaning at the feeling of the muscles in her throat squeezing him as she chokes.

“We can’t kill her, Lloyd” August warns as she starts scratching at his legs, trying desperately to get air.

He lets out a growl as he pulls himself out of her mouth and slaps her hard across the face before grabbing it and pulling her to her feet.

“You’re going to pay for that” he hisses, manhandling her onto the small bed in the corner of the room.

He climbs on after her, roughly pulling her hips up and slamming into her from behind.

“Gods, I’ve not taken a woman this good in years” he moans, throwing his head back and gripping her hips tightly as he thrusts hard, spurred on by her cries.

“I wonder if her other hole’s just as good?” August says with a smirk, leaning against the table he just had her bent over.

“Let’s find out” Lloyd replies, spitting on her ass. He pulls out and lines himself up with her tiny puckered hole before pushing himself into her, moaning loudly at the muscles squeezing him tightly in an attempt to force him out.

She lets out a shriek of pain, her body going rigid as she tries, and fails, to get away from the man violating her in a way she didn’t think was possible.

He lets out an evil laugh and pushes her face into the bed as he starts thrusting, going out of his way to hurt her as much as he can.

The noises leaving him as he uses her body for his pleasure are burned into her mind as she prays to the Gods to take her and put an end to the indescribable pain coursing through her body.

He looks down at where he’s thrusting in and out of her and smirks proudly at the sight of blood.

“It’s even better” he grunts to August, gripping her hips so tightly his nails break her skin.

“I’ll have to try it next” August says, slowly stroking himself as he watches Lloyd pound into the woman at their mercy over and over again, moaning to himself at the sound of her cries.

Lloyd lifts her hips higher, thrusting as hard as he can into her at the new angle, turning her cries into screams with every snap of his hip.

He lets out a long moan, throwing his head back as he cums hard, filling her with the same strange warmth August did.

“Gods, I’m doing that again” he pants as he slowly pulls himself out of her bloody back passage before slapping her ass, making her yelp as she collapses into the bed.

“You’ll get your chance. It’s your turn, Nick” August says, getting the attention of the third man standing on the other side of the room.

Until now, he’s not paid much attention to the events happening in the small room, trying to drown out her cries and think of anything other than what he wants to do to her.

It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, but he doesn’t care. He wants her. And it’s his turn to take her.

He slowly walks towards her, removing his armour as he does before gently turning her over and climbing into the bed.

“No more… please” she begs quietly as he spreads her legs with his knees and settles between them.

Asking for mercy is useless, she knows that. All she is to them is an object to seek pleasure from, to defile.

The only thing she can do is close her eyes and brace herself for the pain as he slowly pushes in, a long moan leaving him as he fills her.

But when he starts to move, the pain doesn't come.

She opens her eyes and stares at him, confused, and scared, by what she's feeling.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Why is it so different?

Why does it feel… nice?

“Gods” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as he starts to speed up, letting out a moan that drowns out the one that slips past her lips.

She has no idea what he’s doing differently to August and Lloyd but she prays he keeps doing it because it feels good, amazing even.

Her mind races as she tries to understand what’s happening. Why does she feel bad, so embarrassed and ashamed, when what’s happening right now feels so good?

He moves his hips faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he gropes one of her breasts before pinching her nipple hard, pulling another moan from her.

He slowly glides his hand up her chest to around her neck, squeezing the sides. The sudden restriction of air makes her panic and start clawing at his hands, making him squeeze even more.

Her eyes roll back as a weird pressure builds between her legs, making whatever he’s doing to her feel even better.

It suddenly breaks, making her moan loudly as a pleasant burning sensation washes over her, before everything goes black…

VENERIS FILIA TAG LIST: @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @aussieez @identity2212 @fanfics-r-us-official @km-ffluv @ktficworld @sillyrabbit81 @juliaorplI78 @kingliam2019 @thebejeweledwatercat @red-write-hand @queenzee27 @therockandaroll

[project-sekai-facts]

TIL there'll be an update to EN on the anniv?

What are they adding?

i'm assuming that it'll just be the same update that JP got but EN sometimes doesn't entirely sync the updates so take this with a grain of salt

character archive - essentially an album where you can view all the cards, costumes, stamps, alt vocals, area conversations etc that you have unlocked for every character! it's a pretty cool feature and is sorta similar to the Album from SIF as a reference for the 3 people who follow this account who played that game

mirror mode - flips charts vertically

massive character rank system update - lots of new missons! skill level and master rank missions are now split by rarity due to Bday/4*s being significantly harder to rank up. alt vocals, number of cards (trained & untrained iirc are considered separate cards), area item level, and paid costumes now add to character rank. your ranks will be adjusted with the update and you will get thousands of gems (a lot of people last year were recording 20-30k)

improvements to virtual live 3D - characters will now face each other when talking to each other and generally move more naturally, including blinking

kizuna ranks updated to show the correct sekai-specific vsingers instead of the deafult one. the default ones are still selectable if you like them though

stamps for sekai-specific vocaloids that aren't miku will be added to the stamp shop

increased caps - rank cap increased, friend cap increased, mad skills and madder skills title cap increased, etc

mission pass update - some rewards are increased and music cards are removed for the free one. paid mission pass removed virtual coins and replaced them with wish pieces.

past paid costumes added to the shop permanently (still paid mind you). once a paid mission pass costume turns two it will go into the shop

character cosplay avatar costumes permanently added to the virtual shop (still paid)

43 kizuna ranks will be added a little bit later in October

[dms-a-jem]

Depeche Mode - Interview with Alan and Martin

International Musician and Recording World - Nov. 1984

Leaving their beginnings as wide-eyed Popsters behind them, Depeche Mode have become masters of the art of noise and the science of the studio. Adrian Deevoy had a rewarding chat with the Basildon-to-Berlin boys, Les Drennan took some great pictures.

Somewhere, off one of the corporate corridors in the labyrinthine complex we affectionately term Broadcasting House, a woman sits alone. Her job is to create emotion, tension and atmosphere. Her key to this process is a PPG system. Although this is heartbreakingly unromantic it is the ultimate argument for machines in the Machine vs Human debate. It’s also quite a nice little story.

Depeche Mode like this story.

“All the sounds for Life Of Earth,” declares Alan Wilder.

“All those little animals,” beams Martin Gore.

After four years Depeche Mode are pretty bogged off with being told that they make inhuman music. They quite rightly believe this accusation to be untrue. They might accept that their first two albums weren’t cataclysmic – catchy, melody blip-bops if you like your lager warm but nothing to telex home about – but they remain adamant that last year’s LP, Construction Time Again, this years singles People Are People and Master And Servant, and their latest album Some Great Reward are anything less than stirring. For in the last 18 months Depeche Mode have discovered, embraced and subsequently immersed themselves in sound. With the aid of producer Daniel Miller’s matchmaking Synclavier a strange love affair has developed between the band and sampled noise.

Alan Wilder and Martin Gore, the songwriters, seemed most smitten to a meeting between themselves, and a micro-Walkman was promptly arranged in a horrendously loud video wine bar where they both bawled unashamedly of their love for sound.

“I’ll take you through all the sounds on People Are People,” says Martin, eyes glazed, sparing the machine no blushes. “The bass drum at the beginning was just an acoustic bass drum sampled into a Synclavier then we added a piece of metal to that – just a sampled anvil type sound – to give it a slight click and make it sound a bit different. That’s the beauty of the Synclavier, you can edit sounds together to make what we call combination sounds. The main synth sound is the actual ‘synth’ sound on the Synclavier, that’s the one that plays the bass riff. But the bass sound is a combination sound too with part of it being an acoustic guitar plucked with a coin, which sounds very interesting when the two sounds are sequenced together.”

“There’s very little playing going on in People,” adds Alan, “virtually everything is sampled into the Synclavier. With the guitar sounds we altered them slightly once they were in the Synclavier because you sample in one note and then you can alter the length and dynamic of every note in the sequence for the guitar part so it will give expression, but it will still be completely in time. You can justify all the rhythms, you see, so that you can have articulation but it’s all in time.”

Getting back to the People Are People breakdown Martin unveils a short sampling anecdote: Love on a plane.

“I took a stereo Walkman when I was going on a plane from England to somewhere,” he begins. “I originally brought it along to take the takeoff but while the air hostess was doing her safety speech at the start of the flight I decided I’d tape that as well. But as she was telling everyone to ‘Check the instruction cards under your seat,’ the door flew open and all this air rushed in which made a real loud noise and everyone laughed. Anyway I looped the end of what she was saying and the laughter so it goes, ‘…tion cards ha ha ha ha …tion cards ha ha ha ha,’ which sounds funny but I used it in conjunction with a choir sound and it added a really nice texture to the bridge on People.”

“There’s a Synclavier harp sound in the verses,” contributes Alan, “and an ARP sequencer playing very fast in the chorus and there’s some Emulator sounds that we used for adding a few frills here and there.”

The three throaty clunks at the end of each chorus is in fact Martin’s throat.

“That was a combination sound,” says Alan. “First of all we sampled Martin going, ‘Unk Unk Unk,’ with his throat then we added a bell sound and a timpani to give it depth.”

“I felt a bit of a berk doing that,” admits Martin. But love’s a bit like that.

The vocal line, “It’s a lot… like life,” at the beginning of Master and Servant was yet more fodder for the Synclavier. As Alan explains.

“Firstly we got a lot of people singing the high, ‘It’s a lot,’ and then a low, ‘Like life.’ You don’t have to play one slower or faster than the other to get the octave either because you make a patch on the Synclavier keyboard for each part and then you play the parts in their natural pitches and both at the same speed which is very handy.”

The lead vocals on People Are People and Master and Servant (or M&S as us Depechies call it) on the 7” mixes at least, were pretty well the only sounds that weren’t sampled.

“The vocals,” explains Alan, “were recorded in a big room. That is the vocals were sent down through a PA into a big, live room so we could not only get a great big sound but so we could put effects on the vocal while it was being recorded and afterwards on the disk.

“Although we sample all the snare sounds,” he adds as an afterthought on live rooms, “we always record the initial sound in an ambient space. We like to vary the snare sounds a lot so we record all different acoustic snares in various rooms and we close mike them or mike them from a distance depending on the width of the sound that we require. Simmons pads? No, I don’t like them. After you’ve done all that fiddling around to get away from that factory preset sound you might as well have got a really good sound on the Synclavier. Simmons pads just remind me too much of that Howard Jones factory preset and Drumulator syndrome. Really boring ‘synth’ sounds. They’re just not interesting, they sort of scream ‘DX7!’ and ‘JP8!’ at you.”

The latest Depeche album boasts a myriad of sounds, less overtly metallic than the socialist sentiments that they reflected on Construction Time Again but just as fascinating. Love is all about contrasts.

“We don’t think that we overdid the metal-beating idea on Construction Time,” says Martin, “but we wanted to make this one less obviously metal sounds. We wanted a little more subtlety…”

So instead of belting skips they belted concrete.

“Yeah, on one of the tracks on the album, Blasphemous Rumours,” elaborates Alan, “we sampled some concrete being hit for what turned out to be the snare sound. All that entailed was us hitting a big lump of concrete with a sampling hammer…”

“…I’m sure they’re not actually called sampling hammers,” interjects Martin giggling.

“Anyway,” continues Alan, “the engineer / producer we use, Gareth Jones, has got this brilliant little recorder called a Stellavox which we use with two stereo mikes and it’s as good as any standard 30ips reel-to-real but this is very small and therefore very portable. So we just took the Stellavox out into the middle of this big, ambient space and miked up the ground and hit it with a big metal hammer. The sound was… like concrete being hit. I can’t really put it any other way.”

“Professional Walkmans are good for sampling too,” claims Martin. “Gareth has always got his out. On trains… at home. They’re good because they get a very impure sound that can often be really interesting. But if we want a very pure sound then we’ll take the thing, say a bit of scaffolding, into the studio and mike it up in the proper conditions and get a clean sound.”

If an equipment list had been included in the mentions on Some Great Reward, apart from pavements, buildings, bottles and old people being stapled together it would have incorporated a long list of toy instruments which Martin divulged as he became more intoxicated; by love of course.

“One morning me and Andy (Fletcher) went down to Hamleys, the toy shop in London, and bought as many toy instruments as we could find. Pianos, saxophones, xylophones and we took them all back to the studio and sampled them. One we used a lot was a Marina (?), a toy one, very strange, but after we’d sampled it, it was great. It sounded pretty terrible as a toy but when we took it down a couple of octaves it sounded really good.”

“People tend to think that if you’re using toy instruments then they have to sound whacky,” complains Alan, “but we put some to very good use because as soon as you sample them they take on a whole new quality and when you transpose them it puts them in a completely new context. Like the noises Martin was making with his throat, we only took those down a tone and it was unrecognisable as someone going, ‘Unk’, with their throat.”

But sampling, like love, isn’t all happiness and although Depeche have learnt to take the rough with the smooth, they found out the hard way. Alan breaks off in the middle of another ‘good combination sound’ story to tell how they were stitched up by a sussed, sampling percussionist.

“We were doing this combination with Martin doing his Indian voice combined with a bassoon type sound.”

“It was pretty ethnic,” says Martin launching into his Indian voice.

Alan ignores him. He has something on his mind that he’s not sure if he should tell us.

“I’m not sure I should tell you this,” he tells us, “but we got this percussionist in for the afternoon to sample his drums and the different techniques of playing them. We didn’t try to hide the fact that we were sampling him. We said, ‘We hope you don’t feel r*ped,’ and he agreed to be sampled literally just hitting one drum, once at a time. Anyway we sampled all his drums once, maybe twice. Now, the Musicians Union haven’t really caught up with sampling and this bloke had obviously contacted them when he got home because he gave us this bill for about 50 different sessions, plus sampling time plus a consultation fee. It was enormous and the stupid thing was that most of the sounds weren’t even as good as that (bangs two pint glasses together) and we only used about two for maybe two seconds each on a couple of songs.”

Another problem came when the band had to divide their recording time between Music Works in England and the 56-track, Solid State luxury of Hansa Mischraum in Berlin.

“There were all these builders in next door at Music Works,” moans Martin, “and we’d have the track running with us hitting skips and concrete and they’d be next door tearing a wall down and we couldn’t tell which was which. It was very confusing at times.”

Like love and marriage, sampling and timing tend to go together like the proverbial horse and jockey.

“Although it makes the whole process even longer, when you get into one you can’t really help but get into the other,” says Alan. “You can’t help, after you’ve been involved with sequencing for a while, noticing three millisecond or five millisecond discrepancies. So you end up time-shifting every sequence until it’s perfect. Then we got into consciously putting things slightly out of time. Like, for example, the choir sound on People again we used a combination sound of different choir sounds on different synths and then put them slightly out of time with each other. Like we took one sound from the Synclavier, one from the PPG and one was on the Emulator. Are you familiar with the Friendchip? It’s a time code reading clock that can monitor every single click output from all your drum machines and all your synths so when everything is going via the Friendchip you can adjust the feel by pulling something, say five or six milliseconds in one direction.

“The thing is so many things can’t play in perfect time anyway,” reveals Alan, “the Linn isn’t in time when it’s meant to be playing ‘drum machine’ perfect time without human error programmed in. It can go out by 20 milliseconds. We set an oscilloscope on several things to see how well they kept time. The one that came out best was the TR808 which only as a two millisecond shift. That’s better than the Synclavier. Rotten sounds though. But we actually ended up triggering stuff from the 808 just because it’s so tight within itself.”

“We always thought the 808 had a good feel,” chips in Martin before adding a bitchy, “even though Alan has a grade eight piano his playing is still incredibly out of time compared to the Synclavier sequencer… and even that’s out!”

All this and the Emulator II?

“Yeah,” admits Martin realising that his love has almost turned him into a technocrat, “the sampling time is about 17 seconds now, I think, and you can get more sampling across the keyboard, it gives better quality than the Fairlight and it only costs about seven grand which is a lot but it will be a big help to us live.”

And there’s a pianillow ballad, Somebody, to be sung love. Martin promises some. Kinda wonderful.

“We’re going to go for a completely human feel on that one. Just a piano played by Alan and Dave singing and Andy playing tapes on the Fostex X15. It’ll be very different.”

So the love for sound can take you backwards but what of the future?

“I don’t know,” confesses Martin, “the Synclavier can already go further than your imagination and they’re thinking of getting new software for that. Then there’s re-synthesis which might happen in a couple of years where you can take a sampled sound and change just tiny parts of it. It’s really impossible to say. Maybe we’ll just get the guitars out and make a Rock ’n’ Roll album. Who knows?”

…and somewhere, within the folds of Auntie Beeb’s ageing skin, a woman sits alone wrestling with a similar emotional predicament. Is she really in love with her PPG system is has it been David Attenborough all along?

Adrian Deevoy, November 1984 (some of the text is hard to read so transcribed to the best of my ability. Apologies for any typos)

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[astra-galaxie]

🏳️‍🌈🧸🪢 ❤️‍🔥🍫😶💔 about Jones, please?

(Idk what to say, so take a little Happy Jones

Yay! I got a happy little Jones! I love him and promise to take good care of him!

And here are your headcanons for him in return!

🏳️‍🌈 A sexuality headcanon

Jones is bisexual with a preference for women. But that's mostly because he's yet to realize his attraction to men. Compared to women, he often misses when other men are flirting with him and usually assumes they're just being nice. His friends have tried to help him realize his bisexuality, but it's a challenge.

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood

Jones wanted to become a magician to entertain people. But his passion for tricks started with his grandmother, who bought him his first magic kit one Christmas. Jones put on many shows for his family and friends, and while he didn't pursue a career as a magician, he still has a few tricks up his sleeves… And maybe a coin or two behind his ear!

🪢 A headcanon about their family

Jones has a sister and has always been close with her. Likewise, he is close with her son, a.k.a his nephew. The boy has always looked up to his Uncle David and has often said he wants to grow up to be like him. Jones feels honoured to have inspired his nephew and will always reward him with a treat (usually cookies), even if his sister keeps nagging him to stop feeding her son so much sugar.

❤️‍🔥 A romantic headcanon

Jones is always extremely awkward during the early stages of a relationship. He gets nervous trying to impress his date while also trying not to make a fool of himself. On one of his first dates with Zoe, they went roller skating, and while he tried to show off his skills, Jones was quickly reminded that he had NO SKILLS when it came to skating on land or ice! He immediately fell on his butt after stepping out onto the rink, and while Zoe giggled at him, she simply helped up, find his balance, and guided him on how to skate. Jones might have made himself look like an idiot, but to Zoe, he would never be one.

🍫 A headcanon about food

Jones has made and mastered almost all of Margaret Littlewood’s secret recipes. Even if he hates the woman for being a serial dog killer and murdering an innocent woman, he has to admit she knew her way around the kitchen. Practicing the recipes helped Jones hone his skills in the kitchen, and while he wouldn't call himself a five-star chef, he can say you won’t be disappointed after eating something he makes.

😶 A random headcanon!

Jones had a dog when he was a child. It was a big golden retriever who he loved dearly. When the dog passed away at the ripe old age of 11, he cried for days. He always dreamed of getting another dog one day and assumed it would be another large dog. But when he got Astrid, he was far from disappointed. She was happy and energetic, loved giving kisses, and was a great listener. Jones doesn’t think he could have gotten a better dog even if he tried.

💔 An angsty headcanon

Unknown to the rest of the Grimsborough team, Jones started drinking heavily following King’s suicide. He never got as bad as Frank, but most nights, he would have a few beers to try and numb the pain and sadness to help him sleep. He did this until they caught the Crimson Order and brought justice to Grimsborough and King’s family. Sadly, he wasn’t immediately cured of his borderline alcoholism, but he sought help from his physiatrist to regain control of his drinking.

Thanks for the request and pocket-sized Jones!

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #18

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: sickness

Elliot had an itch in his throat. At first he thought it was leftover from screaming during James’s visit, but that was a while ago and it hadn’t gone away. 

He kept on with his chores regardless. It was his place to serve, and a little cold shouldn’t stop him. Master had been rewarding him at the end of every day with a shiny gold coin and Elliot didn’t want to disappoint him. It would be just as bad as the beating that would follow.

He was tired now, too. It wasn’t the satisfying kind that he’d gotten used to after a day of being a good boy. Instead of sleeping pleasant and deep, he tossed and turned at night. Cold and hot all at once, and his beloved blanket wasn’t doing its job. It wasn’t fair. Elliot had been eating more than he’d ever gotten before. He slept well. He had no open wounds (the scratches had faded just like Ambrose said), so there was nothing to infect. It wasn’t fair!

And it wouldn’t be fair to Master Ambrose to stop working. So he didn’t.

___________________

He couldn’t get out of bed. Oh gods, he couldn’t get out of bed.

The fire had gone out during the night, and the fall air chilled him. He shivered, burrowing into the quilt, blanket, and pillows. His jaw barely creaked open enough to breathe, as his nose was clogged. Why did everything hurt? His limbs weighed him down and his muscles protested at the slightest movement.

Light began to filter through the windows. Dawn was approaching. His room faced the sunrise, and it was too bright. Just yesterday, he’d cleaned the windows and now he couldn’t get up to draw the curtains closed. How pathetic. 

He watched the beams of light grow longer on his floor. Master Ambrose would be awake soon. Please help me. 

___________________

Elliot wasn’t up and about yet. Odd. He wasn’t in the kitchen, or the dining room, or even outside watching the sunrise. 

Ambrose knocked on the bedroom door. He heard a faint whine from behind the wood.

“Ellie,” he called, turning the knob, “I’m coming in, sweetheart.”

Elliot was bundled in both his quilt and blanket. Shivering and squinting, he panted and looked absolutely awful. The fire was out, and cold. 

Ambrose crossed the room, closing the curtains. Dimming the light would help Elliot’s obvious headache. 

He arranged a few logs in the fireplace, striking a flint to light them. He would need to bring more wood from a neighboring room later.

___________________

“Oh Ellie,” said Master, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I’m so sorry.” 

Master’s cool hand brushed away his sweaty hair to take his temperature. Master tutted, and guilt swirled in his gut. If Ambrose wasn’t panicked, it must not be that bad. If it wasn’t that bad, Elliot should be working. 

He tried getting up, but Master Ambrose gently pushed him back onto the bed.

“None of that, love. Just stay in bed, and I’ll take care of everything.” Elliot was relieved. Now he could rest and obey at the same time. He’d make it up to Master later.

He let Ambrose rearrange the blankets, untangling them from between his legs. The fire was already warming the room and the pleasantness made his eyelids heavy. 

___________________

Ambrose let Elliot doze as he tiptoed down the stairs. Luckily, he’d made and canned a huge batch of chicken stock for soup season. Made with roasted chicken bones and bits with peppercorns, bundles of herbs, garlic, and vegetables, the hearty stock would be perfect for Elliot. And it would provide some fluid and nutrients. 

He grabbed a pint from the storeroom and set to work. He drizzled some oil in a copper pot and set the heat. Ambrose minced some garlic and ginger and tossed it in the pot. Ginger would help reduce the croaking pain in Elliot’s throat. He diced an onion while the aromatics became fragrant. He added the onion and gave it a stir. Ambrose uncapped the pint of stock, and carefully plopped it into the pot. It was so rich, it had partially congealed. Perfect.

Ambrose held off on adding potatoes. They would be fine for Elliot if cut small enough, but Ambrose knew swallowing would be tough for him. Better to start off with a thinner soup and gradually thicken it as Elliot recovered. Instead, he added some cream for protein. A generous amount of salt, and it was nearly ready.

Soon it was the perfect temperature and the scent was delightful. He ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and carried it up to Elliot’s room.

___________________

Elliot tried to sleep, but the rumble of his stomach kept the fuzziness in his brain from working. The ache in his joints was uncomfortable, and he just wanted everything to go away. He felt so heavy.

“Love, I’m coming in,” said Master.

Elliot saw the bowl and spoon as Master entered. His stuffy nose kept him from smelling anything, but even the promise of food made his mouth water. Master Ambrose sat the bowl on his nightstand, and helped him sit up. Ambrose even propped up the pillows to keep his head from lolling, and Elliot was too tired to even feel ashamed for being useless. 

___________________

He couldn’t lift the spoon. Damn. He should have thought of that.

Elliot stared at the soup, despair on his face. Elliot was so fond of food, and for good reason. Sympathy panged in Ambrose’s heart. It must be killer for Elliot to be so close and yet unable to eat without assistance. 

Ambrose put the bowl to Elliot’s lips, tilting it ever so slightly. He’d intentionally made it just warm enough to eat right away, thank goodness. Elliot drank, his eyes fluttering. After a moment, Ambrose pulled away to let him breathe. 

The look Elliot gave him was halfway murderous and it was almost comical if it weren’t for everything else. 

“I don’t want you to choke,” explained Ambrose, and Elliot settled down. Hiccups wouldn’t help either. They were unpleasant if your throat was raw. 

Ambrose fed him until the bowl was empty. Elliot had finished it quickly, drinking it down as greedily as a bottle-fed lamb. 

“Let’s wait to see how your stomach does,” said Ambrose. “I’ll get you more if you can keep it down, okay?”

Elliot gave him a small smile; he understood. 

“Do you want to sleep?” 

“Mhm.”

Ambrose helped him lay down again. He’d have to stay by Elliot’s side today. Thankfully it was the third day of the week, so he didn’t have to put out notice that he had closed.

But as he grabbed a book from his shelves and went back to Elliot’s side, he wondered. How did he get sick so fast? He understood why Elliot was hit so hard; he was still not physically recovered from before, and the stress of the recent fight must have contributed. But these things didn’t happen overnight. 

He watched Elliot’s chest rise and fall. The soup had loosened his stuffy nose a little, but he still couldn’t breathe through it. Ambrose would have to whip up some medicine to make that easier.

If Elliot had hidden his developing sickness from him, Ambrose needed to know. He’d ask as soon as Elliot could tell him.

___________________

Elliot’s fever broke as he slept, but a cough had taken its place. Ambrose dashed downstairs and hastily made a salve for Elliot’s chest. It was a sticky thing, full of strong scented herbs that would help Elliot breathe. 

Carefully, he pulled back the bedclothes and reached under Elliot’s nightshirt. The salve was still warm as he didn’t wait for it to set. He smeared a generous amount on Elliot. 

He barely stirred at the touch. It worried Ambrose, but at least he was sleeping. 

___________________

Elliot woke up groggy. His head was stuffed with cotton but he could breathe a bit better. Ambrose sat next to him, a book in his hands. He had stayed, and that meant the world to him.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ambrose, setting aside the book. 

“Better,” he croaked. And then he coughed and Ambrose sighed a little. His shirt stuck to his chest when he coughed and it felt… sticky under there. Alarmed, he clutched at his shirt and looked down. No blood. And hey, his arm was responding now. But what was it?

“What- what’s on-” he coughed again. 

“Just some breathing cream. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to put it on. You needed to rest.”

Oh. That was nice. It seemed to be working, at least.

“Do you want some more soup?”

“Mhm.”

___________________

The next few days were a blur of tissues and various teas and soups. Elliot’s fever had returned a couple times, and scared the hell out of Ambrose. He’d even gone delirious at one point and begged Ambrose to let him go. It broke his heart.

Elliot had nightmares, too. Eventually Ambrose started reading to him, and that seemed to help.

His cough had gone from a dry nuisance to a wet hack but a steady treatment of the cream and hearty, steaming food kept the worst of it at bay. At one point he’d hacked up something green and nasty and the cough significantly diminished. 

Elliot kept everything he ate down, and Ambrose was proud to say Elliot hadn’t lost any weight while bedridden. 

By the third day, Elliot was up and moving. His cough was gone, and the weakness subsided into a simple tiredness that could be treated with an afternoon nap. The worst of it was over, and Elliot would be fine.

Thank the gods. 

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

[makingspiritualityreal]

How Saturn is Misunderstood in Astrology

Saturn is commonly known as a malefic planet, causing pain and hardship earlier on in life but offering relief or even benefits later on in its state of maturity. The misconception is in associating Saturn with "hard work" as in aggressive efforts. You can debate on what is "hard work" in life in general. But what needs to be clarified is how precisely the hardship and the reward of Saturn manifests, which is linked to surrender than pushing through.

Saturn is a neutral feminine dominant planet. It's the polarity of the Moon, the other side of the same coin, the Mother that became the Crone. While the Moon comes alive and shines brightly in darkness, Saturn operates from the shadows in the daylight by regulating and controlling energy, deciding which, if any influences it wants to allow inside its world.

Many of Saturnian traits are commonly confused with the Lunar Nodes, because the Nodes both relate to our critical thinking. The South Node is critical, because it doesn't bother to engage in anything or improve it unless it sees a point. It has a quality of an eternally patient hunter in the wilderness, indulging only in the best prey. From South Node's criticism comes negligence of the house the South Node is positioned in, because we feel demotivated to put too many efforts in that area, not seeing it as "worth it". The North Node is critical, because it wants to engage in its given area constantly so that it can climb. It is obsessive in gaining new experience for the sake of aggressive, achievement oriented perfectionism. This is the trait of the North Node, that Saturn is most commonly mistaken for. The relentless, aggressive chase and pursuit and active "work" for every opportunity.

Saturn is ritualistically and deliberately slow and low-effort. Saturn's only interest is the long game and meeting its quality standard. Saturn's quality standard is not the same as the Nodes. The Nodes are based in our emotions, and thus lack clarity. Saturn is the master of objective quality. Saturn slowly and silently observes and gathers data over the years before it makes the tiniest move. Saturn conserves its energy, knowing it's limited and precious. Saturn invests itself solely in what it deems worthy, otherwise it does not move at all.

Where does Saturnian "pain and hardship" come into all this? Objectively, nowhere. From a Spiritual perspective, Saturn is your best friend. It ensures good results and energy efficiency. It is clear and fair.

The flaw is in us, human beings. We are ruled by the Moon. Our minds are fickle, restless and impatient. We demand instant gratification. We follow our impulses more than we follow any logic or even philosophy of objective personal benefit. We go for what feels good in the moment even if it's bad for us long term. We don't think long term because we live in the here and now.

Saturn doesn't actually do anything to punish or actively attack us. It simply erects an impenetrable wall. Saturn is merciless. It doesn't waver or change its opinion, like the Moon would. It's unresponsive to our pleas. To the Moon, so obsessed with experiencing satisfaction, this feels like a severe punishment, which is why acquiring Saturnian level of discipline feels so hard. The Moon is the Maiden, that revels in constant external attention. But Saturn knows better, as it is a mature woman, that not everything is worth reacting to, as it understands the value of concealing what is precious, until someone of worth comes along to earn to see it.

[existslikepristin]

Unexpectedly busy week, that was. Except today. Today I got home and ate ice cream

Only two options in the poll this time! Is there a secret reason?! Yes, it's because I didn't have any more ideas The poll is only going to be available for 24 hours, because I should be able to get the next part up tomorrow!

Tags: NSFW, S.M.U.T., genie, microtransactions???

(Story Index)

Anime Girls

"I wish for a harem of anime girls!" you blurt out before you can think.

Joy appears mildly shocked for a moment, but then she gives you a wry smirk. "Look at you, making a wish like that. You perverted weeb."

You frown and put up a finger of protest, but Joy quickly continues, "I know. I know. You're not the first of your kind I've come across, master. Being a weeb is an honored profession nowadays, and you're all special because of your unique waifu and/or husbando selection(s). I know the drill."

The air around you seems to contract and expand simultaneously, and everything in your line of sight briefly tints green. Except, that is, for Joy herself. Even as space bends in front of your very eyes, causing no small amount of queasiness to knot about in the pit of your stomach, Joy remains on the table, sitting up with the same smooth grace she has continuously displayed up to this point and only looking as green as usual, which isn’t all that green, really.

And then it's over. The air feels normal again, and your standard color vision has returned.

"Was that the wish?" you ask.

"Sure was!"

You look around. Nothing has changed. You see no anime girls. Not even your waifu (though, considering Joy told you she can't read your mind, you're not sure how she would have known to pick her). "So, where's the harem?"

"I figured you wouldn't be able to list each and every anime girl you've ever wanted to fuck."

Joy pauses. After a few seconds you say, "That's not a useful explanation."

"Oh. Right. Check your phone."

"My phone?" you inquire, as you reach down to take your phone from the pocket of your discarded shorts.

"Yup! I've noticed that most weebs are very heavily invested in their own tropes, which I appreciate, as you can imagine. And one of the more common tropes in harem anime I've seen is that the protagonist controls some aspect of the world around them with a supernaturally-powered smartphone."

You tap your phone out of sleep mode. "So, I have a phone… harem?"

"No, master. You have a magic app that summons anime girls into your presence, all of which are suspiciously and sexually attracted and devoted to you, of course. This will make your harem as weebly wobbly as you can possibly get!"

You exit your phone's internet browser, where, obviously, you had been reading existslikePristin fanfics, and go to your home screen. A new app does a little inflation animation to let you know of its location. The icon is a silhouette of a lithe woman on a green, circular background, and is not labeled. You tap to open it. There is no waiting on load time. You're immediately taken to a very cluttered generic fantasy town isometric view, with bubbles of text all over the place. You think the text might be Sumerian.

"It's a mobile gacha game!" Joy looks and sounds far too proud of herself. "And with my special djinnfluencer promo code, you get one thousand free shards! And that's not all! You get ten free spins, five billion gold coins, and double daily rewards for the first week!”

Options:

Okay, that was exceptionally dumb. Ask if there’s a way to undo a wish.

Whatever. A harem’s a harem. Figure out this app and summon an anime girl.

[jedi-order-apologist]

A Magician, Yoda is Not

After a disaster relief mission, Yoda entertains some local children. Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "Magic"

Read on AO3

“Your assistance has been greatly appreciated, Master Jedi,” the mayor said, with the utmost sincerity. The avalanche had been devastating, overpowering their safeguards and destroying half of their capital city. Rescue organizations and crews had arrived quickly after the request for help had gone out, but even with all their tireless hard work, things would have gone a lot differently without the aid of the Jedi, who could sense where people were trapped more quickly and accurately than the most sophisticated rescue droids, could predict and could lift snow and debris with their minds.

Many lives had been lost in the initial disaster, but so many more had been trapped, their survival entirely dependent on how quickly they could be reached and given medical attention. For many of those people, the involvement of the Jedi was that very difference between life and death.

There were so many more people saved today than the mayor could have ever imagined hoping for.

“You have our gratitude, and our friendship,” he continued, “and if there is any way we can repay you, you have but to name it.”

“Glad to be of service, we are,” Master Yoda said. “No reward do we require. But if offered, your friendship is, then glad we are to accept. No greater reward, could there be.”

A group of young children ran up to them. Not ones who had been rescued – they would still be receiving medical attention if they were – but children who had had family members and friends trapped, or knew someone who did, and had helped in whatever way they could, running comms between rescue teams, bringing food and water where it was needed, etc.

As such, they had witnessed the Jedi’s help as well.

“Show us your magic again!” one of them begged Yoda.

“It was amazing!”

“Please! Do some magic!”

The mayor frowned. They were children and didn’t know any better, of course, but he knew that the Jedi didn’t call their talents “magic”, so it seemed disrespectful to call it as such, even if it might as well have been to his eyes.

“I apologize…” he started to say to Yoda, but the Jedi had a twinkle in his eyes, and made the slightest shake of his head, so the mayor fell silent, and watched as Yoda turned to face the children.

“Magic?” he asked, with a teasing tone. “Magic, I know not. A magician, I saw once. Pull a coin from your ear, he could, and turn a scarf into a bird. Very impressive, it was. Offered his audience a turn, he did. Very bad at it, I was. Better at magic, I think, you would be, than old Yoda!”

The children were unconvinced.

“We saw you!” the first said.

“You lifted all the snow and ice!”

“The wind, it could have been,” Yoda said.

“The wind doesn’t lift up people,” another child said, matter-of-factly.

“Hmph! Say that, you do, but floating, you are!” Yoda said.

The children all looked down, realizing that in fact, their feet were no longer on the ground. They shrieked with delighted laughter, and two of them reached out to spin the third around in mid-air, to the amusement of all three.

“See?” Yoda said, “The wind, it was.”

“No, you’re doing this!” one of the children accused, giggling.

“Know what you’re talking about, I do not.”

“Yes, you do!”

“The mayor knows you’re doing it, too, right, Mr. Mayor?”

The mayor was a little taken aback by the question, unsure how he should respond. It was, of course, obvious that Master Yoda was lifting the children, but it was also clear that he was playing a game with them.

“I’m...afraid this is out of my area of expertise,” he said, finally.

The child pouted at him, but quickly bounced back to cheerfulness as the three of them floated higher into the air. It would have been alarming if the mayor had not completely trusted Yoda to keep them safe.

Slowly, the children were brought back down to the ground, only mildly disappointed to be back on their own feet.

“Thank you, Mr. Jedi! That was fun!”

“I always wanted to fly,” another said.

“Good-bye, Mr. Jedi!”

The three children ran off, and Yoda chuckled.

“Joy,” he said, “for the children, easy it is, to be found. Good, it is, to play. A relief from worries, it is.”

And, well, the mayor, even being of a more serious disposition himself, couldn’t argue with that.