#lawless husbands

[tiny-pun]

"You know how to clean up a crime scene but not how to wash the fucking dishes ?!?

...

How is that even possible?! "

[ineffablyruined]

Do Aziraphale's eyes snap down to Crowley's sprawled body before he says, "Temptation Accomplished?"

They absolutely do.

Temptation, indeed.

[ourtubahero-blog]

It’s my birthday today and I was today years old when I found out that it actually IS Michael Sheen. Up until today I’ve genuinely thought that the picture was of Lucy Lawless.

And holy shit HOW WAS HE NOT CAST BASED OFF OF THIS PHOTO ALONE? This is the biggest tragedy of my life.

[yeonban]

Going  through  my  folders  for  icons  and  just...  thinking  about  it,  Ash  was  so  lucky  to  have  met  Gear  as  early  on  as  he  did.  We  don’t  know  every  servamp’s  story  yet,  but  we  have  seen  how  Lawless  was  caught  and  tortured  by  humans,  and  how  Freya  was  caught  and  was  about  to  get  burned  at  the  stake,  and  how  pretty  much  every  servamp's  flashback  contained  wars  they  were  forced  to  take  part  in...  meanwhile  Gear  protected  Ash  from  any  incoming  threats  and,  unlike  with  Hugh  and  Jeje,  Gear’s  exorcism  ritual  kept  Ash’s  demon  at  bay  (as  much  as  possible)  for  a  good  few  hundreds  of  years.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States

The vast majority of America's debt collection targets $500-2,000 credit card debts. It is a filthy business, operated by lawless firms who hire unskilled workers drawn from the same economic background as their targets, who routinely and grotesquely flout the law, but only when it comes to the people with the least ability to pay.

America has fairly robust laws to protect debtors from sleazy debt-collection practices, notably the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA), which has been on the books since 1978. The FDCPA puts strict limits on the conduct of debt collectors, and offers real remedies to debtors when they are abused.

But for FDPCA provisions to be honored, they must be understood. The people who collect these debts are almost entirely untrained. The people they collected the debts from are likewise in the dark. The only specialized expertise debt-collection firms concern themselves with are a series of gotcha tricks and semi-automated legal shenanigans that let them take money they don't deserve from people who can't afford to pay it.

There's no better person to explain this dynamic than Patrick McKenzie, a finance and technology expert whose Bits About Money newsletter is absolutely essential reading. No one breaks down the internal operations of the finance sector like McKenzie. His latest edition, "Credit card debt collection," is a fantastic read:

https://www.bitsaboutmoney.com/archive/the-waste-stream-of-consumer-finance/

McKenzie describes how a debt collector who mistook him for a different PJ McKenzie and tried to shake him down for a couple hundred bucks, and how this launched him into a life as a volunteer advocate for debtors who were less equipped to defend themselves from collectors than he was.

McKenzie's conclusion is that "paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States." If you stand on your rights (which requires that you know your rights), then you will quickly discover that debt collectors don't have – and can't get – the documentation needed to collect on whatever debts they think you owe (even if you really owe them).

The credit card companies are fully aware of this, and bank (literally) on the fact that "the vast majority of consumers, including those with the socioeconomic wherewithal to walk away from their debts, feel themselves morally bound and pay as agreed."

If you find yourself on the business end of a debt collector's harassment campaign, you can generally make it end simply by "carefully sending a series of letters invoking [your] rights under the FDCPA." The debt collector who receives these letters will have bought your debt at five cents on the dollar, and will simply write it off.

By contrast, the mere act of paying anything marks you out as substantially more likely to pay than nearly everyone else on their hit-list. Paying anything doesn't trigger forbearance, it invites a flood of harassing calls and letters, because you've demonstrated that you can be coerced into paying.

But while learning FDCPA rules isn't overly difficult, it's also beyond the wherewithal of the most distressed debtors (and people falsely accused of being debtors). McKenzie recounts that many of the people he helped were living under chaotic circumstances that put seemingly simple things "like writing letters and counting to 30 days" beyond their needs.

This means that the people best able to defend themselves against illegal shakedowns are less likely to be targeted. Instead, debt collectors husband their resources so they can use them "to do abusive and frequently illegal shakedowns of the people the legislation was meant to benefit."

Here's how this debt market works. If you become delinquent in meeting your credit card payments ("delinquent" has a flexible meaning that varies with each issuer), then your debt will be sold to a collector. It is packaged in part of a large spreadsheet – a CSV file – and likely sold to one of 10 large firms that control 75% of the industry.

The "mom and pops" who have the other quarter of the industry might also get your debt, but it's more likely that they'll buy it as a kind of tailings from one of the big guys, who package up the debts they couldn't collect on and sell them at even deeper discounts.

The people who make the calls are often barely better off than the people they're calling. They're minimally trained and required to work at a breakneck pace. Employee turnover is 75-100% annually: imagine the worst call center job in the world, and then make it worse, and make "success" into a moral injury, and you've got the debt-collector rank-and-file.

To improve the yield on this awful process, debt collection companies start by purging these spreadsheets of likely duds: dead people, people with very low credit-scores, and people who appear on a list of debtors who know their rights and are likely to stand on them (that's right, merely insisting on your rights can ensure that the entire debt-collection industry leaves you alone, forever).

The FDPCA gives you rights: for example, you have the right to verify the debt and see the contract you signed when you took it on. The debt collector who calls you almost certainly does not have that contract and can't get it. Your original lender might, but they stopped caring about your debt the minute they sold it to a debt-collector. Their own IT systems are baling-wire-and-spit Rube Goldberg machines that glue together the wheezing computers of all the companies they've bought over the last 25 years. Retrieving your paperwork is a nontrivial task, and the lender doesn't have any reason to perform it.

Debt collectors are bottom feeders. They are buying delinquent debts at 5 cents on the dollar and hoping to recover 8 percent of them; at 7 percent, they're losing money. They aren't "large, nationally scaled, hypercompetent operators" – they're shoestring operations that can only be viable if they hire unskilled workers and fail to train them.

They are subject to automatic damages for illegal behavior, but they still break the law all the time. As McKenzie writes, a debt collector will "commit three federal torts in a few minutes of talking to a debtor then follow up with a confirmation of the same in writing." A statement like "if you don’t pay me I will sue you and then Immigration will take notice of that and yank your green card" makes the requisite three violations: a false threat of legal action, a false statement of affiliation with a federal agency, and "a false alleged consequence for debt nonpayment not provided for in law."

If you know this, you can likely end the process right there. If you don't, buckle in. The one area that debt collectors invest heavily in is the automation that allows them to engage in high-intensity harassment. They use "predictive dialers" to make multiple calls at once, only connecting the collector to the calls that pick up. They will call you repeatedly. They'll call your family, something they're legally prohibited from doing except to get your contact info, but they'll do it anyway, betting that you'll scrape up $250 to keep them from harassing your mother.

These dialing systems are far better organized than any of the company's record keeping about what you owe. A company may sell your debt on and fail to keep track of it, with the effect that multiple collectors will call you about the same debt, and even paying off one of them will not stop the other.

Talking to these people is a bad idea, because the one area where collectors get sophisticated training is in emptying your bank account. If you consent to a "payment plan," they will use your account and routing info to start whacking your bank account, and your bank will let them do it, because the one part of your conversation they reliably record is this payment plan rigamarole. Sending a check won't help – they'll use the account info on the front of your check to undertake "demand debits" from your account, and backstop it with that recorded call.

Any agreement on your part to get on a payment plan transforms the old, low-value debt you incurred with your credit card into a brand new, high value debt that you owe to the bill collector. There's a good chance they'll sell this debt to another collector and take the lump sum – and then the new collector will commence a fresh round of harassment.

McKenzie says you should never talk to a debt collector. Make them put everything in writing. They are almost certain to lie to you and violate your rights, and a written record will help you prove it later. What's more, debt collection agencies just don't have the capacity or competence to engage in written correspondence. Tell them to put it in writing and there's a good chance they'll just give up and move on, hunting softer targets.

One other thing debt collectors due is robo-sue their targets, bulk-filing boilerplate suits against debtors, real and imaginary. If you don't show up for court (which is what usually happens), they'll get a default judgment, and with it, the legal right to raid your bank account and your paycheck. That, in turn, is an asset that, once again, the debt collector can sell to an even scummier bottom-feeder, pocketing a lump sum.

McKenzie doesn't know what will fix this. But Michael Hudson, a renowned scholar of the debt practices of antiquity, has some ideas. Hudson has written eloquently and persuasively about the longstanding practice of jubilee, in which all debts were periodically wiped clean (say, whenever a new king took the throne, or once per generation):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/24/grandparents-optional-party/#jubilee

Hudson's core maxim is that "debt's that can't be paid won't be paid." The productive economy will have need for credit to secure the inputs to their processes. Farmers need to borrow every year for labor, seed and fertilizer. If all goes according to plan, the producer pays off the lender after the production is done and the goods are sold.

But even the most competent producer will eventually find themselves unable to pay. The best-prepared farmer can't save every harvest from blight, hailstorms or fire. When the producer can't pay the creditor, they go a little deeper into debt. That debt accumulates, getting worse with interest and with each bad beat.

Run this process long enough and the entire productive economy will be captive to lenders, who will be able to direct production for follies and fripperies. Farmers stop producing the food the people need so they can devote their land to ornamental flowers for creditors' tables. Left to themselves, credit markets produce hereditary castes of lenders and debtors, with lenders exercising ever-more power over debtors.

This is socially destabilizing; you can feel it in McKenzie's eloquent, barely controlled rage at the hopeless structural knot that produces the abusive and predatory debt industry. Hudson's claim is that the rulers of antiquity knew this – and that we forgot it. Jubilee was key to producing long term political stability. Take away Jubilee and civilizations collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

Debts that can't be paid won't be paid. Debt collectors know this. It's irrefutable. The point of debt markets isn't to ensure that debts are discharged – it's to ensure that every penny the hereditary debtor class has is transferred to the creditor class, at the hands of their fellow debtors.

In her 2021 Paris Review article "America's Dead Souls," Molly McGhee gives a haunting, wrenching account of the debts her parents incurred and the harassment they endured:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

After I published on it, many readers wrote in disbelief, insisting that the debt collection practices McGhee described were illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

And they are illegal. But debt collection is a trade founded on lawlessness, and its core competence is to identify and target people who can't invoke the law in their own defense.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” today (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt II our flag means death but I've never watched it

HELLO OFMD FANDOM! It's the Good Omens Mascot and Resident Dumbass, back again for part II. First, let's clear the air of all controversy!

Some of you lovely maggots were kind enough to warn me about certain discourse about a salad spoon and also about a certain gentleman named Izzy. I was warned not to make assumptions and not to take sides, and I hear some members had to leave the fandom for a while because it got toxic. Maggots. All the rest of you. Worry not about me. I'm here to unite the OFMD fandom! How, you ask? By being so undeniably stupid in my own opinions that you all will have to unite to disagree with me. You underestimate the power of my dumbassery. Well, let's not dilly dally and dawdle, here's the updated summary:

I have been informed there is cannibalism on this ship but it is not real. Someone pretends to eat someone and then their wife helps them fake their death while they run away from the ship though their lover wanted them to run to China.

There are BDSM lesbians, which is honestly such a slay, Pinterest has let me down by not informing me of that when I made Part I. I will no longer be using Pinterest a reliable source in future academic essays.

Mermaid Stede performs necromancy while a song called Kate Bush plays (I don't know who this is, a politician? Idk whether of US or UK).

Gravy Basket is a destination and Buttons is a sea witch and there is educational stabbing. Buttons is then a bird because of the BDSM lesbians.

There is a lady who is extremely beautiful and intimidating and powerful and she has twenty husbands and I assumed incorrectly that you were all talking about a Jack Russel terrier.

Let's start with the controversy! Izzy. Secondary protagonist or antagonist? Good or bad? Kindly father figure or homoerotically charged friend? Necessary death or not? No no no. Behold:

I present a new question, a hot take sizzling from the pan: Did Izzy really exist?

Personally, I firmly believe that no, he did not. I believe that the rum on the ship was spiked with hallucinogens.

Izzy was simply the manifestation of Ed's Freudian subconscious, taking the shape of a human being, vaguely resembling a humanoid potato Ed was forced to boil as a kid. I was a psychology student with a final grade of 99% and I accept only destructive criticism on my posts thank you. Feel free to discuss whether he boiled the potato in a fit of rage or whether he was forced to.

There are assorted Ned's, Mary's and an uncertain number of Jeff's on ship.

One of the Jeff's is an accountant, and there is a nonbinary talking sword named Jim. Actually I'm not sure if they talk.

Love you all, rooting for the show to be renewed.

REMINDERS. Be polite to each other in the reblogs, on tumblr reblogs spread posts and not likes (which don't do anything for visibility) unlike other social media sites, but MOST IMPORTANTLY.

I ACCEPT ONLY DESTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, THIS BLOG IS A GODLESS, LAWLESS LAND, AND ALL RAGE AT EACH OTHER MUST BE REDIRECTED AT ME. UNDERSTOOD? YAY.

[pilfappreciator]

ATTENTION TROLLS FANDOM!!

This is very important. Mostly to me but maybe you guys have been wondering this too idk but anyways:

How does troll reproduction work exactly?

Cuz I'm genuinely curious. I dont think anyone on the series production team has said anything and so far I've seen absolutely no one touch on this subject but as someone who's always had an interest in the habits of creatures (both fictional or otherwise), I kinda sorta maybe NEED to know this otherwise I'll never be able to sleep peacefully again

Full disclaimer that I'm specifically talking about the whole egg situation, I am NOT ASKING HOW THEY GET IT ON IF I WANTED THAT ANSWER I'D GO TO DEVIANT ART OR TWITTER OR WHATEVER LAWLESS PLATFORM GOD STEERS CLEAR OF. This discussion shall remain STRICTLY educational, thank you very much

But anywho. Let's dive in

So trolls come from eggs. This is basic knowledge. First instance of this phenomenon (as far as I know, I've only seen the movies) is from World Tour.

Egg pops out of Guy Diamond's hair, egg hatches and BOOM, (literal) baby. Now I understand that this whole sequence was probably just a gag and a way for DreamWorks to implement another (merchandisable) addition to the cast HOWEVER this sequence also raises a few questions

First off, as far as I know Guy Diamond has no partner (again: I haven't watched any of the spinoff shows). Either that or maybe the other troll was a sorta one-night-stand/no-longer-in-his-life kinda situation? Which is great either way cuz its shown he obviously cares for his son and we at Tumblr appreciate a loving single father no matter the circumstances, but if my former theory is correct than that would imply that trolls are capable of reproducing asexually. Like onions.

Now if that hypothesis is, as they call it, "cap" then that would mean that some sorta hanky panky has to go down before an egg comes into question. And if that's the case, does this mean that male trolls are traditionally the ones who carry the eggs?

But that can't be right, can it? Afterall, World Tour gave us yet ANOTHER egg scene later on in the movie

In Cooper's flashback, we clearly see Queen Essence being the one carrying the eggs meanwhile King Quincy is eggless. Now, as far as i see it, this could be explained either one of four ways:

1) Quincy was the one who actually produced the eggs and Essence is merely holding them for her husband (since her hair seems more fitting to be a makeshift nest compared to Quincy's)

2) Female trolls are the ones who produce the eggs. Guy Diamond is just a trans icon

3) Troll reproduction differs from genre to genre

4) There is a... *sighs* a/b/o type of dynamic among troll kind where certain trolls are capable of giving birth/siring children depending on a secondary gender

In regards to theory #3, this could also explain why Guy Diamond seems to reproduce and hatch an egg in such a short amount of time (like 5 seconds I'm pretty sure) as opposed to Queen Essence/King Quincy who's eggs presumably went a while longer before actually hatching.

Actually, speaking off eggs, are trolls the only species in their world that reproduce that way?

Because now that Band Together has officially been released, we now know for certain that it's possible for different species to crossbreed. Biggest example? Resident DILF Bruce and his giant muppet wife

(Credit to @captainunderkrupp )

When I saw these two... I swear...

And these two already have a shit ton of kids okay so like... either Brandi was the one giving birth or trollsona Daveed Digs was over here pumpin out eggs, which I mean-

DO YOU SEE HOW BIG THESE THINGS ARE COMPARED TO BRANCH AND POPPY?? Believe me I am PRAYING that Bruce gave himself some serious maternity/paternity leave because my guy is honestly a trooper

But yeah any thoughts? :))

[warnersister]

By the Book of Leviticus

Alfie Solomons x Jewish!reader

->Alfie while his wife is practicing niddah

niddah - “Biblically based in the Torah, these laws, also referred to as niddah, have developed into an intricate and detailed set of laws that prevent a menstruating woman from having sexual relations with her husband both during her menstrual cycle and for a period of seven 'white days' following”

Click here for the request

You and Alfie slept in separate beds pushed together to make one. Alfie wasn’t fussed but it was as per your request, and he’d cut his own ear off and eat it if you merely asked. Two days before your monthly practise begins, you would push the two adjust slightly, so the two mattresses were no longer touching and hence; no longer any risk of succumbing to any late-night desperations that were so easily achievable.

Alfie strolled into the house with Cyril, hearing scuffling and scraping upstairs and quirking an eyebrow; eyes flicking over to the calendar and there it was: clearly marked in red pen ‘two days’, followed by five days scribbled out in the same red, then several crossed neatly with a pencil. Alfie hummed as his lips kissed his teeth with a tut. That’s why you’d been a bit agitated the past few days.

While practicing Jewish religions, Alfie was a lawless man who only used to turn to God at his darkest hour, breaking down to his Rabbi and shaking when that recent job was just that tad too delicate. Until he met you. Sincere, pure, religion. You were complete oxymorons of each other. Hot ice: shivering in the summer. You completely juxtaposed Alfie and it made him feel whole: holy, even. And it didn’t take long for your religious ways to start rubbing off on him. You weren’t completely blind sighted by the ways of God, but you were raised to practise in such ways and that was what you were going to do.

Alfie never argued when it came to judaism. You tell him what you’re up too, he steps back and lets you do what you need to do. When you’d first started seeing each other, he’d invited you back home after a lovely meal by the docks. You’d sheepishly agree and linked arms with the larger man, allowing yourself to take some of his weight to ease the ever growing pain of his sciatica.

When nearing his house he’d cheekily took his arm you were holding and wrapped it around your waist, leaning down to kiss you to which you instinctively lurched back in response. Alfie pulled away, hurt clearly evident in his eyes but you were quick to speak. “I practise being a niddah, Alf.” You say quickly and his eyes softened in understanding. “I’m sorry I should’ve told you sooner and god do I want to kiss you but I can’t, and” he stopped you by planting a kiss on the top of your head and smiling down to you. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, treacle. I understand. We’ll do everything or nothing when you’re ready.”

And after two years, a marriage certificate and abiding in the same home, he’d become accustomed to the monthly abstinence. Alfie let a tired Cyril march over to his bed and lazily plop down, eyes drooping as he silently moaned at Alfie for moving him. Alfie removed his coat, his shoes and his hat before moving up the stairs to you.

He leant against the doorframe as you’d victoriously placed the bed where it reiteratively sat every month, resting your hands on your hips to admire the handiwork you’d done without the assistance of your big strong Alfie who usually insisted on rolling up his sleeves and shifting it for you.

“See you don’t need me then, do ya treacle? Don’t need your old Alfie. Just an old bag in the wind, hmm?” He grunted, trying to seem unimpressed but couldn’t surprise the smile tugging at his lips when you pivoted to meet him, hurrying over and kissing him sweetly. “I’ll always need you, Alfie.” He smiled down at you. “Has it started yet?” He asked, head motioning over to your bed. You shook your head in response. “Not yet, tomorrow or the day after.” “Great” Alfie threw you over his shoulder and you yelped in surprise, carrying you over to the best and climbing on top of you. “Can have you one last time.” “What happened to the sciatica?” You teased, and he shook his head, already working on the zip of your skirt. “Hush now, darlin”

He loved making love to you before the practise of niddah, enough so you’d remember and carry a loving lisp until the day after it had finished so he was able to do it all over again. During niddah however, Alfie was completely respectful. Doing minimal, yet lovable touches reminding you he was still there. He’d make you breakfast and kiss the top of your head, hugging you close. He’d sit before bed and brush your hair gently. Regardless of his sciatica, he’d carry you through the threshold of the bedroom and to your own bed and tuck you in, telling you “a woman working as hard as yourself right now shouldn’t lift a finger.”

Sure, he’d get antsy at some point. But he’d never tell you that, instead humming a song to you and swaying you gently as he gritted his jaw and glare into the calendar, counting the days which seemed to prologue. But Alfie wouldn’t change it for the world.

And on that evening, when he’d walk back in with Cyril - cursing under his breath as a downpour had caught them by surprise half way. Mood dampened until he heard the all familiar screeching up stairs, beds reconnecting and he smiled, barely able to get his shoes and boots off and adrenaline easing the sciatic pain for a moment, half of his clothes off by the time he got up the stairs. Rushing into the bedroom, and pushing you gently but meaningfully onto the bed as you’d giggle as he’d devour you, a man starved.

Yeah, Alfie didn’t mind this life at all.

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by blood and shadow (11)

Azriel x magic!fem!reader

“We need to go back, now.” You bark.

You haven’t talked since the man said his name. Your ex-husband. What words could you use to describe him? Deceitful, lawless, cowardly, stupid. 

“Woah, can we just talk about what you did?” Cassian asks.

You give him a sharp look, “I’m about to do the opposite of healing if we don’t go.” 

Cassian’s eyes widen. Then he’s offering you his hand, you take it. He winnows you back to the dawn court. Right in the middle of the tea room actually. Which creates quite a fuss.

“What happened?” Feyre shouts.

You are reminded of your dress and the mess you have on it. You look over to Thesan who shares Feyre’s sentiments. You run your hands over the blood stains on the dress and get rid of it. Like the blood was never there.

“Nothing. I need to go home.” You say.

“I thought this was your home?” Nesta asks.

You roll your eyes. Right. You live here all of the time, at least that’s what they think. Not anymore. Right now you couldn’t be vexed to keep up with the lie.

“It’s one of them.” You answer quickly.

“The last boat went out at least two hours ago.” Thesan says to you.

You sigh, “This can’t wait until morning.” 

“They can take you.” Amren says from behind you.

You look at her like she’s grown another head. She gives you a look too, like she didn’t want to say it but she still did. You cannot bring the fae back home. 

“Where exactly are we taking you?” Cassian asks.

“You’re not taking me home. That’s out of the question.” You answer.

“We just saw you heal a child with a life threatening wound.” Morrigan pipes in.

“So you’re a healer?” Nesta asks.

You groan, “I don’t have time for this. People are in danger!” 

Thesan grabs a hold of your shoulders. You hadn’t realized he had gotten up from his seat. He looks at you sternly.

“Speak plainly.” He whispers.

You shake your head, “It’s Kynas. He has to be behind this, behind everything.”

Thesan holds a hand over his mouth.

“Who is Kynas?” Rhysand asks.

Thesan nods his head, “If you want to get home tonight, you have to tell them.” 

You crack your knuckles. Great. You needed the night court. You never thought that sentence would come to your mind. How you hated too. You’re not used to needing anyone, not anymore.

“It’s a long story. But to keep it short Kynas is my ex husband.” You explain.

At your admission you see a few things. Nesta's face doesn't change. Feyre and Rhysand share a look between each other. The other sister, Elaine, her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead.

“And he has to do with your brother’s sudden disappearance?” Rhysand asks.

You nod your head, “It has to be him.”

“I’m confused, what the hell are you?” Cassian throws the question out.

“Tiyamelu.” 

At the sound of Azriel’s voice finally joining in the conversation you turn to him.

How did he know that name? It was very old. You don’t think you’ve heard it for at least five centuries. Maybe more.

He’s looking you in the eye now. You keep eye contact with him.

“Where’d you get that name from?” You ask him.

It’s dead silent in the tea room. He clears his throat. 

“The man said it, after Cassian winnowed you out.” he answered.

You let out a shaky breath, “It what they used to call us. But the most recent term is Blood benders.”

You watch as realization settles across some faces. Or confusion in some cases. Like for Nesta, Elaine and Freyre. But Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel seem to understand even if a little about what you just said. So does Morrigan. 

“You can’t read her mind but you can read mine, I’ve been to her home before.” Amren says, switching the topic back.

“Okay, Azriel can take you there.” Rhysand says.

“Wait. The wards! No fae are allowed inside.” You explain.

Amren curses under her breath. She had been the exception because she’s not fae. You couldn’t get there without them, but you couldn’t get in with them. 

No unless—it would be dangerous but it might work. They would probably never go for it.

“Do you have another way?” Azriel asks.

“It’s dangerous.” You shake your head.

“Well we live a bit for danger. Don’t we?” Cassian says jokingly.

You look at Thesan, “Hand me that knife.” 

Thesan does so without asking why. The metal feels cold in your hand. You turn the blade around so the sharp part is pointing at you. 

“Hold on, what do you need that for—“ Cassian starts to ask.

“It’s for me.” You cut him off.

You make the incision on your palm, not too deep and not too wide. The blood flows slowly, red liquid taking up the expanse of your palm. You look at Azriel then.

“If you’re the one taking me, you’ll need this. To trick the wards and get in.” You explain to him.

You see Cassian and Morrigan make faces at the thought. It would weird you out too if you weren’t a blood bender. Azriel, without saying a word, steps to you and takes your arm in his hand. You watch him carefully as he raises your hand up.

He ducks his head below your closed palm, “Go ahead.” 

You open your hand and the blood starts dripping into his open mouth. His eye pierce right into you, you can’t keep eye contact with him. No one in the room knew the significance of this. No one knew the last time you fed someone your blood you were getting married.

After a few more drops land you take your hand back. He stands up straight. You look him over once. The transfer can be different for everyone but especially for those who are not blood benders.

“Are you okay? Do you feel different?” You ask him quietly.

He looks around the room, no doubt feeling the effects already. You aren’t sure he’ll be able to winnow you right at this moment. He needs some time to adjust. 

“It feels,” he breathes and smiles the tiniest bit, “light.”

You only saw him smile a handful of times. Around his family all of the times you can recall. He looks nice with a smile.

His eyes glide to you, “Are you ready?”

You can’t speak right now. A bit too tongue tied. You just nod. He holds out his hand for you to take. You take his hand into yours. It feels warmer than usual. Maybe its’ your blood in his system. 

Darkness surrounds the both of you.

-

He lands you right in the palace. It’s eerie and silent. Like before, but this time you can feel the presence of no one inside. This is bad. Really bad. You turn to Azriel.

“Okay, you should winnow back. I don’t know how long my blood will trick the wards.” You tell him.

He gives you a look, “And leave you to fend for yourself?”

You pull the end of your dress up, reaching for the hilt that you had strapped to your heel. You take it out and stand up straight.

“Where’s the—“ he starts to ask.

You know what he’s going to ask so you beat him to it. You summon the blood blade. You watch as his face goes from unsure to shocked in a matter of moments. 

“I’m serious. You have to go now.” You speak.

He nods his head, “Okay.”

He turns to leave and you realize how rude you might have been. He basically helped you get back home. Well, not basically, actually. You reach out and grab his wrist which stops him from moving. 

He looks down at your hand and then at you.

“Thank you.” You say.

He gives you a firm look. It’s not a smile. It’s not a frown either. You let go of his wrist. He turns back around and so do you. You can hear the whooshing sound that usually comes with winnowing. 

You hold your sword up in defense as you begin to ease further into the palace. Doors are left ajar, which you know is wrong. Cyril would never let that stand. 

As you approach the council room you stop. You don’t know what you’re going to find in there. It could be the worst sight of your life. It could be nothing. Maybe everyone had just simply gone out. 

Gone out, didn’t leave a note or think to lock the palace doors. Yeah. That would explain it.

You peer your head over the door. You see it slowly then all at once. Bodies in chairs, unmoving and inbreathing. You enter the doorway quickly and almost drop your sword.

Cyril. He sits at the same seat as always. They all sit at the same seats. But they are no longer alive. They are pale, no blood in them. That’s why you couldn’t sense them. They were here but they weren’t alive. 

You run over to Cyril’s body and put your sword down on the table. You cradle his face in your hands, trying to shake him awake. A big part of you knows that it won’t do anything. If all of his blood was drained there was nothing for you to work with, no one for you to save.

“Cyril, please, please don’t leave me…” you cry, tucking your head into his chest.

You can’t will him to hug you back, you can’t will him to breath. You can’t do anything. You sink to your knees. The red drops of blood from your eyes falling on your dress, staining it once again. 

[surrogate-fawn]

May I... humbly suggest #17 for the ask meme 👀

The Outlaw's Labor (Wild West AU)

Prompt: "I really need to change position"

Characters: Fawn/Newt/Hassan, in a poly marriage. ((Newt & Hassan both belong to @mittysins))

Context: Fawn is the leader of an outlaw gang, and just so happens to be the only woman among them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was anything Fawn could appreciate about the desert, it was the transformation it made after dark. The unrelenting sun would shatter into twinkling silver pieces all across the sky, the burning sand would become a cool ocean of silk, and the lonely wind came alive with the sounds of nighttime critters.

Fawn heard the wail of a lone coyote somewhere off in the distance. It was separated from its pack, and that made them kindred spirits. She glanced down the hill at the dying embers of the campfire below her, and at the circle of men sleeping around it. Her own empty bedroll lay open in the formation of snoring bodies, between the two boys she'd taken as her husbands.

A small smile graced her lips as she watched her lovers' slumber from afar. Newt had placed his Stetson over his face while his head rested back on his saddle. Hassan lay curled on his side, his long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and the handle of a shiny revolver nestled in his fist. Fawn wondered how the man could be such a ball of nerves but still sleep so close to a loaded weapon.

Her hands moved to cradle the underside of her greatly swollen belly, its curve hardly contained by the fastenings of her shirt. The denim didn't have much give to it and -- even though it was one of Hassan's shirts -- it just barely fit her gravid bump . . . especially now that labor had dropped it low and heavy on her frame. The only sign of pain throughout Fawn's entire being was the shallow sway of her hips as she felt the next contraction starting.

She'd been "keeping watch" atop that hill for a few hours, laboring quietly to herself while gazing down the length of the canyon. It weren't no secret she was keeping; hell, her boys had known the baby was on its way since that afternoon. She'd mostly kept her discomfort to herself all day, until her husbands had asked what was wrong.

Newt had convinced her to make the gang camp early, to give herself plenty of time off Sidewinder's back before labor got too deep. She was grateful he'd talked some sense into her, because she'd been much deeper in labor when they made camp among the hoodoos than she'd been letting on.

It's not that the labor didn't hurt -- it sure as hell did! -- it just wasn't anything Fawn found herself unable to handle. Her reactions to the intensifying pain were so mild, her gang was under the impression her labor had only recently begun. Why cause a stir by correcting them? What on God's earth were those lawless men supposed to do with that information?

While the men of her gang sat around drinking and playing rounds of cards until sunset, Fawn and her husbands had moved to a more private area of the canyon -- where she could feel free to labor away from gawking eyes. Well, except four of 'em.

For the five hours the gang had lollygagged around camp before nightfall, Hassan and Newt had never left her side -- Hassan, especially. He was the one who had gotten her pregnant, there was no mystery there, and he took that responsibility as seriously has he handled his guns.

Hassan's hands trembled with anxiety every time Fawn furrowed her brow in pain, and he'd startled at every tiny groan she uttered. For such a talented and imposing gunslinger, he could act as frightened as a rabbit in a jackal's den. His fear was evident in the fact he never laid a hand on her -- he'd been hesitant to touch her in any way since he learned about the pregnancy, as if she'd suddenly become made of glass. Instead, he'd stood a few feet away and annoyed her with constant suggestions on how to make her labor "easier" -- all of which were total nonsense. Where he got the idea that drinking water somehow opened the womb, she'd never know.

Newt was a more hands-on in his support, offering his wife reassuring backrubs while she rested between contractions. Naturally, he had more innate sympathy to the kind of pain she was experiencing; but he was a bit over-eager to help ease it. He seemed to be under the impression that digging his hands into her sides somehow eased the pain -- when it, in fact, made it much worse. During a contraction, Fawn had needed to bark at him several times to stop touching her before he finally got the message. After that incident, Fawn just wanted to be left alone.

For all their sweetness, her boys had really started to try her patience by the time the stars came out. She'd managed to convince them to sleep for a while -- assuring them that once her labor "started picking up", she'd wake them.

Yeah . . . she never had any intention of doing that.

She'd brought a child into the world before, her husbands hadn't -- but goddamn, if they didn't act like they knew better than her. As the one most experienced in childbirth out of that whole gang of ruffians, Fawn qualified to be her own doctor. She knew what the subtle cues of her body meant as it slowly worked her new baby out of the womb -- that ancient language of birth between mother and child.

"Oh, you're fixin' to come out before sunrise," Fawn thought, internally speaking to her baby. She rocked her hips a bit wider, a huff of air leaving her nostrils as she felt the harsh pinch of her cervix being pulled further over the mass of her child.

The contraction faded away, and the outlaw leader rested her back against a rough pillar of stone -- one of hundreds surrounding their campsite. Auburn ringlets of her hair had escaped the pinned updo she tamed her curls in, falling loose throughout the day's sweat and toil; but now, even in the chill of the night, they clung to the back of her neck.

"Actually," Fawn thought, "you might be comin' a lot sooner than that."

Ever since that morning a pressure had been rolling into her hips like a thunderstorm on the horizon, getting louder and deeper every hour. Now, it was barreling over her.

Another contraction started less than a minute after the last one. Fawn pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow, her hands continuing to support the weight of her low-hanging belly. She felt the heft of her child moving down. With her own hands, she felt the rough outline of its shoulder resting just above the bony squeeze of her pelvis.

"Mmm-hmm, you're comin' a lot sooner than that."

Fawn shuffled around the edge of the rocky pillar, hiding herself from the view of camp behind an outcrop at its base. Her hands moved from her underbelly to her belt buckle as she doubled over with a breathy groan -- the contraction reaching its peak of intensity and refusing to let up. She shimmied her trousers and undergarments down to her knees and held herself in a supported crouch against the jagged rock, her hands splayed out to either side of her.

Lightning flashed behind her eyelids as they closed tight. The pressure was thundering and insistent, pounding on her bones with every heartbeat. Then, the storm inside her finally broke.

Fawn let out a soft sigh of relief when she felt her bag of waters rupture. The immense pressure lessened in an instant as a gout of hot fluid hit the cool sand with a dull splash. Fawn let her head lull back, thankful to the Lord above that she'd thought to remove her trousers before it happened; they were her only pair.

She had no hope of getting her boots and pants off in her condition -- her boys had needed to help her with that for weeks -- so why fret over it? Besides, this would make it easier for her to hike her clothes back up and head into camp once she was done. There was no reason to be indecent around her men . . . her authority was threatened enough as it was by her pregnancy.

To outside eyes, she looked every bit a woman in a desperate plight: outlawed to the wastelands, a price on her head, laboring with no assistance, and preparing to give birth with her most of her clothes still on; but Fawn was the picture of serenity.

"Alright, rugrat, your cushion's gone. Can't be very comfy in there now," Fawn thought with a flood of anticipation. "Are 'ya ready to come out now?"

She gave a few experimental pushes as she felt the next contraction ramping up. With the third timid push, she felt the cold night air enter her canal as her body started to flower open.

"Ooh, yeah," Fawn thought, adjusting her stance to be wider, "you're ready."

When the contraction reached its peak, Fawn pressed her boot heels into the soil and bore down with all her might. She held her breath until she was lightheaded, stopped to exhale, inhaled, and pushed again. Her nails dragged against the rock as her fingers spiked to find better purchase.

Fawn was able to wring about three good pushes from each contraction, but she lost count of how many she endured -- they were starting to bleed into each other. Excess fluid dripped from her folds as she silently worked her baby down. One long, deep push had her skin bulging out obscenely, the head finally slipping down to fill up her canal.

Pressing her back harder against the pillar, Fawn lowered herself into more of a squat, allowing her to bring her hands around. She swiped away the pebbles digging into her palms and put both hands between her legs to explore her progress.

She didn't need a doctor to tell her what was going on, Fawn could feel it all for herself. Her vulva was hot to the touch and firm as a stone wrapped in skin -- everything flushed with blood and straining with the pressure that would soon force it to open.

The pad of her left middle finger accidentally dipped into her enflamed opening, and Fawn let out an involuntary gasp as she felt a bit of damp hair sitting just inside her stretched perineum.

"Oh! Hey'ya, rugrat," she said inside her head. A small chuckle left her dry throat. "I wasn't expectin' 'ya to be there, yet."

Unbidden tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. It didn't matter if she was in the middle of the desert without a bed or a home to call her own, she felt much more at ease giving birth here than she had her first go-around:

Long before her days as "Fawn", she'd married young -- far, far too young in hindsight -- to a much older man. Her beautiful little Mercy had been born when Fawn herself was still little more than a child, and it had been an agonizing ordeal. Her daughter was yanked into the world with forceps by a doctor who was far too rough. The tongs had left indents on her baby's soft skull for days, and they'd left bruises in their wake. All that pain, all that trauma for them both . . . only for whooping cough to steal her daughter from her arms within the year.

Fawn tilted her head to gaze up at the milky way, and wondered if Mercy was anywhere among those flecks of light. Just to be safe, she blew a kiss to the sky. Then, she readied herself to deliver her second-born.

She reached into the back pocket of her trousers, pulling out the flask she'd snuck out of camp with her. Fawn twisted off the cap with her teeth and drenched her hands in the whiskey. A subdued grunt was the only sound she made as she threw her hands between her legs and dove into another push.

The top of her baby's head began to appear. Fawn's fingerpad traced its shape as it forced her opening to stretch, until that little patch of hair was the rough shape of a teardrop. Fawn pressed her hands to either side of her labia, cradling the bulging near-crown. As she pushed, she held the skin open in preparation of what was to come. It wasn't long until a sharper grunt left her strained throat -- the baby's head stretching her in earnest with her most recent push.

Fawn tried to relax her body as the stinging burn of crowning began, but her thighs and back were aching from holding a squat for so long. She turned her eyes back to the stars as a focal point, admiring their heavenly glow while she bore down on her baby.

Her fingertips lightly pressed on each side of the slimy, squishy bubble of hair as it opened into a proper crown. Long, deep breaths were the closest thing to a scream Fawn allowed herself as the ring of fire branded her between the legs.

Wider, wider, wider, she opened. With each push her fingertips were pulled further apart. God, how much of a head did this child have?! She should've expected the child to be large, Hassan was a biblical giant of a man. She tried opening her legs to make room, but her trousers acted as shackles, only allowing her knees to move about a foot apart.

Fawn threw her head back, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight against the pain she was feeling in every inch of her body now. She tried standing up straighter, but her legs refused to close. Fawn blew out a loud breath from pursed lips as she gave into another desperate effort. She continued to prod at the reddened, stretched skin around the emerging head, hoping to peel as much of it back as possible to move things along.

When she felt a large, trembling hand touch her knee, she didn't need to open her eyes to see who it was that had found her. It was Hassan. She knew his touch very well . . . the evidence of that was currently being born. She'd missed it.

But if Hassan had managed to find her out there in the dark, then where was...?

"We're here, darlin'," a soft voice came from the other side of her. A smaller hand touched her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Ah, there was Newt.

Fawn blinked her eyes open. Once her vision adjusted, the light from the stars and half-moon were enough to see by. She saw the worried creases on the faces of her boys as they knelt in front of her.

"Evenin', fellas," Fawn croaked out. It was the first sentence she'd said aloud in hours, and her voice was parched as her tongue. "You're just in time. The 'lil anklebiter's makin' an appearance."

The boys glanced at each other and almost in unison craned their necks to see between her legs.

Newt's face twisted in an odd mix of shock and awe. "Lord Almighty . . ." he murmured.

Hassan's tanned face went so pale he reflected the moonlight like a mirror.

Fawn whined, bucking her hips as she felt another contraction rearing its ugly head. "Boys, I really need to change position," she said, her tone amazingly subdued for the situation. "I can't . . . can't open my hips enough. Get my trousers off."

The boys leapt into action. Hassan removed her boots with practiced ease and both helped pull her bunched-up trousers the rest of the way down her legs. Freed from her cloth prison, Fawn sank the rest of the way to the ground, her legs falling wide open and bracing on each side of the rocky outcrop.

"God, that's better," Fawn sighed, finally feeling some of her muscles relax.

When their crowning child was fully revealed to them, Hassan put his hand over his mouth and his shoulder slumped against the rock.

"Don't you dare go dark on me, Has," Fawn scolded, her words pinched and breathless as she pushed into her hands. She paused to take in a huge gasp of air. "This is your doin', remember?"

It was as if the baby had been waiting on its fathers to be there, as suddenly every push Fawn gave sent the head surging forward. Even when the pain was at its worst, Fawn never lost her composure. She panted, she hissed, and she gave the occasional quiet groan; but otherwise, she voiced no complaints.

Her boys were still and silent, perhaps too unsure what to do to offer any more unsolicited advice -- thank God. At least they could see for themselves she knew what she was doing.

With the chirping crickets and hooting owls as her background music, Fawn managed to slide the head of her child free in just four more good shoves after changing position.

"Do . . . you need anything?" Hassan timidly asked.

"I just need y'all to be quiet."

It wasn't an insult. With a large head hanging out of her and shoulders already pressing their way through her pelvis, any sound louder than a whisper was making her nauseous.

Fawn breathed deep, her thumb lovingly stroking the cheek of her baby while she waited for their body to turn. She felt their face twitch under her fingers, their mouth opening in a cry that had no breath behind it yet.

"I know, rugrat. I know it's uncomfortable, I'm sorry," she thought, her breath coming in harsh huffs through her nose. "Mama's got 'ya, though. She's got 'ya and your daddies are both here waitin'. It'll be okay, sweetie."

With her next contraction, Fawn made it her mission to push until her baby was out; and, by God, birth that child she did -- feet pressing against rock, hips angled towards the sky, and with both fathers watching on in stunned and obedient silence. The shoulders pressed through one right after the other, and all Fawn had to do was give a gentle tug under the chubby arms once they came free.

The sand under her became drenched as the hips of the baby slipped free of her own. Fawn held the scrunched newborn up in front of her for a few seconds, giving it a quick once-over with her eyes. From what she could tell, he was perfect!

"Well, ain't you a handsome one?" she crooned, laying her son over her stomach. He squirmed face-down on the worn denim of her shirt, whimpering quietly. "Come on, you can do better than that," Fawn encouraged, giving his shoulders a rub.

The newborn must've been exhausted from the hours-long squeeze. He could still only muster enough life to whimper, until his mother gave him a flurry of harsh pats to the butt. Then, he finally cried.

With his very first breath, that little boy proved he had his mother's authority in his blood. Because forty feet downhill, the entire gang was woken to the sound of his cries.

It didn't matter if they'd been sound asleep, they were all going to know his Mama had a new reason to kick their asses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

((I'd love to receive more prompts for this AU! I'd love to get one that would allow me to continue with the family fluff after this birth scene. I would've added it to this drabble, but I didn't want to get too far away from the prompt/))

Hope you enjoyed!

[anitalenia]

━━━ .°˖✧ forbidden romance ⋆˙⊹

꒰ঌ definition ໒꒱ 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ below you will find sub genres under this category, as well as some useful pairings for this trope. for educational writing purposes <3

note: several of these can also be used in other tropes as well, just depends on how you write it and interpret it.

╰₊✧ ﾟOTHER LINKS . ྀི ⊹ masterlist | romance tropes |

taglist | prompt help | symbol packs | dividers page

꒰ঌ group one ໒꒱

teacher x student | rivaling families | rich x poor | princess x peasant | old money x lower class | two groups at war | monster x slayer | criminal x detective | bridesmaid x best man | both love interests betrothed to another | only one love interest betrothed to another

꒰ঌ group two ໒꒱

corrupt priest x nun | corrupt priest x church goer | assassin x person they’re supposed to kill | step!siblings | boss x employee | rivaling sports teams | parents don’t approve of love interest | different cultures | family doesn’t approve

꒰ঌ group three ໒꒱

parents forbid it | a friends ex lover | a siblings ex lover | queen x bodyguard | housewife x gardener | rivaling species | older generation judges young love | bodyguard x who they’re protecting | interspecies love | big age gap

꒰ঌ group four ໒꒱

siblings best friend | nobody likes the love interest except you | partners in a shared rank | relationships not allowed at work | rich guy x prostitute | boyfriends brother | boyfriends best friend | fem is the wife of a dangerous player | man x widow

꒰ঌ group five ໒꒱

teacher x students parent | man raises girl and when she grows up she’s in love with him | exiled man x village girl | laws forbid them | prisoner x prison guard | angel x demon | clashing religions | robot x human | alien x human

꒰ঌ group six ໒꒱

alpha x omega | step father x step daughter | dads best friend x daughter | love interest is “bad news” | friends don’t approve | husband x babysitter | popular x loner (cool x loser) | immortal x mortal | god/goddess x human

꒰ঌ group seven ໒꒱

zombie x human | light x dark | wolf boy x bunny girl | rivaling kingdoms | criminal x sweetheart | doctor x patient | destined for different things | celebrity x fan | celebrity x average person | pirate x bereaucrat

꒰ঌ group eight ໒꒱

rich bachelor x ‘average’ girl | chefs of rivaling restaurants | counselor x patient (this can be therapy, rehab) | loyal butler x married queen | queen x kings brother | cyborg x scientist meant to deactivate them | mad scientist x their creation

꒰ঌ group nine ໒꒱

if they’re together their powers fade / go away (if you’ve seen Hancock you know) | clan leader x handmaiden | lawyer x criminal they’re prosecuting | person on the jury x criminal | vampire royalty x lawless vampire

꒰ঌ group ten ໒꒱

vampire royalty x lycan prisoner | vampire cursed with a soul who can’t experience true happiness because of his sins x the woman he loves (if you’ve seen buffy the vampire slayer you’ll know) | orphan x headmistress / headmaster (obviously not a child orphan, can be a fantasy au or dark world / apocalyptic au)

will update when I think of new ones. hope this helps if you’re not sure what story to tell but you want something new <3

[kittycatboyhalo]

Okay so vampire AU!

The world had a war that resulted in vampires being subjected to a lot of shitty stuff. They have the basic negative stereotypes and the one place that vampires actually rule is a lawless wasteland where all humans die. Most places kill or do not allow vampires to reside there, but Quesadilla Island does, albeit for shady reasons. 

Vampires are allowed to live in Quesadilla Island relatively peacefully, however they must stay at one of three group homes. I imagine BBH, Philza, and Foolish each running one. BBH runs one in the far north where it’s cold and rainy most the year, Foolish in the south of the archipelago where it’s warm and daywalking is more common, and Philza somewhere in the middle, maybe he’s the only one who owns a group home in the city. 

Foolish, BBH, and Philza are all 2nd generation vampires which means they were sired by the “original vampires”. No original vampire still survives which makes the few remaining 2nd generation ones the strongest around making them ideal to run group homes. BBH, Foolish, and Philza are all reasonable and kindhearted in their own ways, which make them ideal to run group homes. Their power also makes them ideal to have under control. 

I haven’t quite divided up who would live under which group home but I think vaguely it would follow purgatory grouping, though I imagine tina with foolish and bagi with bbh so maybe not. Tubbo is a human who got forced to live at BBH’s home for reasons I haven’t fully fleshed out. Bad and the vampires are surprised. Tubbo is scared at first but they all adapt.

That’s basically the bones of my AU. It’s so far completely been in my head so the details are jumbled.

Some plot lines I’ve had are that BBH and Foolish were sired by the same vampire so they were both under his control at the same time. This led to them somewhat trauma bonding. Philza is somewhat of a mentor to bbh and foolish being older than them by a few hundred years. BBh is older than foolish by about 50 and holds it over his head all the time. 

BBH takes in a lot of children who got turned and abandoned, Dapper being one of them. Cellbit was sired by BBH and went on to later sire his husband Roier himself. They both used to stay in Philza’s coven but were forcibly removed and sent to bbh and foolish separately after an incident. They’re both depressed. 

Tina and Bagi are also separated, but they didn’t do anything so there’s conspiracy that the federation wont tolerate vampire couples or something. 

Pac is a newly turned vampire. He lives in a anti vampire city with Mike who is his sole source of food. Pac begins to hunt after Mike gets more and more anemic. Fit is a handsome vampire hunter that visits the 24/7 diner that pac works the night shift at. Fit was in an awful accident where he and his family ended up in the vampire lands. Fit was the sole survivor and really buys into anti vampire propaganda. One night he gets a call reporting a vampire and finds the cute waiter that’s been working the night shift at his favorite diner. He freezes and lets Pac escape. This leads to him questioning all of his beliefs and when he finds Ramon, a child vampire a week later that he can’t kill, he knows there’s only one person he can turn to for help.

[physalian]

On Writing Theme (Or, Make it a Question)

An element of story so superficially understood and yet is the backbone of what your work is trying to say. Theme is my favorite element to design and implement and the easiest way to do that? Make it a question.

A solid theme takes an okay action movie and propels it into blockbuster infamy, like Curse of the Black Pearl. It turns yet another Batman adaptation into an endlessly rewatchable masterpiece, seeing the same characters reinvented yet again and still seeing something new, in The Dark Knight. It’s the spiraling drain at the bottom of classic tragedies, pulling its characters inevitably down to their dooms, like in The Great Gatsby.

Theme is more than just “dark and light” or “good and evil”. Those are elements that your story explores, but your theme is what your story *says* with those elements. 

For example: Star Wars takes “dark vs light” incredibly literally (ignoring the Sequels). Dark vs Light is what the movies pit against each other. How the selfish, corrupted, short-sighted nature of the Dark Side inevitably leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom—that’s what the story is about.

A story can have more than one theme, more than one statement it wants to make and more than one question to answer. Star Wars is also about the inevitable triumph of unity and ‘goodness’ over division and ‘evil’.

Part of why I love fantasy is how allegorical it can be. Yes I’m writing a story with vampires, but my questions to my characters are, “What makes a monster? Why is it a monster?” My characters’ arcs are the answer to my theme question.

Black Pearl is a movie that dabbles in the dichotomy between law-abiding soldiers and citizens, and the lawless pirates who elude them. Black Pearl’s theme is that one can be a pirate and also a good man, and that neither side is perfect or mutually exclusive, and that strictly adhering to either extreme will lead you to tragedy.

Implementing your theme means, in my opinion, staging your theme like a question and answering it with as many characters and plot beats as possible. In practice?

Q: Can a pirate be a good man? A: Jack is. Will is. Elizabeth is. Barbossa is selfish and short-sighted, and he loses. Norrington is too focused on propriety and selfless duty, and he loses.

Or, in Gatsby.

Q: Is life fulfilled by living in the past? A: Mr. Buchanan clings to his old-money ways and is a sour lout with no respect for anyone or himself. Daisy clings to a marriage that failed long ago, to retain an image and security she thinks she needs. Myrtle chases a man she can’t ever have. Her husband lusts after a wife who’s no longer his. Gatsby… well we all know what happens to him.

The more characters and plot beats you have to answer your theme’s question, the more cohesive a message you’ll send. It can be a statment the story backs up as well, as seen below, questions just naturally invite answers.

—

Do you need a theme?

Not technically, no. Plenty of stories get by on their other solid elements and leave the audience to draw their own conclusions and take their own meaning and messages. Your average romance novel probably isn’t written with a moral. Neither are your 80s/90s action thrillers. Neither are many horror movies. Theme is usually reserved for dramas, and usually in dramatic fantasy and sci-fi, where the setting tends to be an allegory for whatever message the author is trying to send. That, and kids movies.

Sometimes you just want to tell a funny story and you don’t set out with any goals of espousing morals and lessons you want your readers to learn and that is perfectly okay. I still think saying *something* will make the funny funnier or the drama more dramatic or the romance more romantic, but that’s just me and what I like to read.

When it is there, it’s right in front of your face way more often than you might think. Here’s some direct quotes succinctly capturing the main theses of a couple famous works:

“He’s a good man.” / “No, he’s a pirate.” - Curse of the Black Pearl

“What are we holding onto, Sam?” / “That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.” - LotR, Two Towers

“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” - LotR, Fellowship of the Ring

“A person’s a person, no matter how small.” - Horton Hears a Who

“You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” - The Dark Knight

“Can’t repeat the past? Why of course you can!” - The Great Gatsby

“Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.” & “Life finds a way.” - Jurassic Park

"Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind." - Lilo & Stitch

“But… I’m supposed to be beautiful.” / “You are beautiful.” - Shrek

“I didn’t kill him because he looked as scared as I was. I looked at him, and I saw myself.” - How to Train Your Dragon

“There are no accidents.” & “There is no secret ingredient.” & “You might wish for an apple or an orange, but you will get a peach.” - Kung Fu Panda

*If any of those are wrong, I did them entirely from memory, sue me.

Some of the best scenes in these stories are where the theme synthesizes in direct dialogue. There’s this moment of catharsis where you, the audience, knew what the story has been saying, but now you get to hear it put into words.

Or, these are the lines that stick in your head as you watch the tragedy unfold around the characters and all they didn’t learn when they had the chance.

When it comes to stories that have a very strong moral and never feel like they’re preaching to you, look no further than classic Pixar movies.

“Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.” - Ratatouille

“I’m not strong enough.” / “If we work together, you don’t have to be.” - The Incredibles

“Just keep swimming!” - Finding Nemo

Ellie’s adventure book, to live your own adventure, even if it’s not the one you thought it would be - Up

The Wheel Well montage, to slow down every once in a while, because in a flash, it’ll be gone - Cars

The entire first dialogue-less section of Wall-E, to stop our endless consumption or else

The real monsters are corporate consumption - Monsters Inc

One cannot fully appreciate happiness without a little sadness - Inside Out

With enough loud voices, the common man can overthrow The Man - A Bug’s Life

A person’s worth is not determined by their value to other people - Toy Story

These are the themes that I, personally, took from these movies as a kid and later in life. If I remembered the scripts any better I could probably pull some direct dialogue to support them, but, sadly, I do not have the entire Pixar catalog memorized.

—

After you’ve suffered through rigorous literary analysis classes for years on end, the “lit analyst” hat kind of never comes off. Sometimes you try to find a theme where none exists, coming up with your own. Sometimes you can very easily see the skeleton attempt at having a theme and a message that came out half-baked, and all the missed opportunities to polish it.

Whatever the case, while theme isn’t *necessary*, having that through line, an axis around which your entire story revolves, can be a fantastic way to examine which elements of your WIP aren’t meshing with the rest, why a character is or isn’t clicking, how you want to end it, or, even, how you want to approach a sequel.

Unfortunately, very, very often, a movie, book, or season of TV has a fantastic execution of a theme in its first run, and the ensuing sequels forget all about it.

No one here is going to defend Michael Bay’s Transformers movies as cinematic masterpieces, however, the first movie did actually have a thematic through line: “No sacrifice, no victory.” They didn’t stick the landing but, you know, the attempt was made. Where is that theme at all in the sequels? Nonexistent. They could have even explored a different theme and they abandoned it altogether.

Black Pearl’s thematic efforts fell away to lore and worldbuilding in its two sequels. Not that they’re bad! I love Dead Man’s Chest, but to those who don’t like the sequels, that missing element may be part of why.

Shrek and Shrek 2 both centered on their theme of beauty being how you define it and no one else. Fiona finds true love in her “true” form, then strengthens that message in the sequel when she has the chance to be “normal” and conventionally attractive, and still chooses to be an ogre, to be with Shrek. Shrek 3’s theme is…? 

When it was never there, that theme is missing isn’t so obvious. When it used to be there and got left behind, it leaves a crater in its wake everyone notices, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

—

TLDR: Theme is more than just vague nouns and dichotomies. Good, evil, dark, light, selfishness, altruism, beauty, ugliness, riches, poverty, etc are what your story uses. Your theme is what your story has to say with those elements, using as many characters and plot points as possible to reinforce its message. Is it necessary? No. Is it helpful and does it lead to a richer experience? Yes.

[thedemonofcat]

Wild West Au: In the rugged, lawless Wild West town where Ciri had recently settled, she quickly discovered that it was ruled with an iron fist by a cruel outlaw turned Lord. This revelation shook her to the core, but what truly confounded her was the town's sheriff, Geralt Rivia, who appeared to be complacent in the Lord's tyranny. It seemed like Geralt spent his days serving the Lord's interests, leaving Ciri deeply disillusioned.

One fateful day, frustration and disbelief led Ciri to confront Geralt. She accused him of being a coward, unable to stand up to the oppressive Lord. Geralt's normally stoic demeanour shattered, and he snapped at her in a way she had never seen before. Just then, a fragile-looking man emerged from Geralt's modest house, and Ciri observed in astonishment as Geralt approached him with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his earlier outburst. It was clear that there was a deep and complex bond between the two men.

As days turned into weeks, Ciri could not shake her curiosity about the mysterious man, and she eventually found herself in a conversation with a local woman named Yennefer. It was through this conversation that Ciri learned the man's name was Jaskier, and he was, in fact, Geralt's husband. Yennefer shared the heartbreaking truth of their story.

Shortly after the Lord had assumed power in the town, Jaskier had fallen gravely ill. The Lord, ruthless and cunning, had seized upon Jaskier's vulnerability. He had taken control of the medication that Jaskier needed to survive and had coerced Geralt into doing his bidding. The sheriff, who had once been known for his unwavering sense of justice, was now forced into service under the Lord's thumb, carrying out deeds he despised to ensure Jaskier's fragile existence.

This revelation painted a different picture of Geralt's character in Ciri's eyes. He wasn't a coward but a man trapped in a difficult situation, doing whatever it took to protect the person he loved. The Wild West had a way of turning even the most virtuous into reluctant outlaws, and Ciri realized there was more to this story than met the eye.

[buldakdrama]

5 KDramas to Watch if You Want to See Female Villains in Action

There are three main elements to make a Kdrama worth watching - the main leads, the execution of the storyline and the villains. You can’t deny the fact that villains like Jung Joon Ho and Imoogi have made the courses of the dramas even more exciting and enthralling to watch. Villains have sometimes made us hate them with all of our hearts, sometimes they silently secured a place in it (just like Jung Guen Won from Itaewon Class). 

When it comes to Kdrama villains, they are mostly male but that doesn’t mean Korean Industry has not gifted us some of the cruelest and toughest female villains. And if you are yet to enjoy one of these bone-chilling female villains of Kdrama, then you are at the right place because today we have brought 5 deadliest yet underrated female villains for you to enjoy.  

1. Park Yeon Jin - The Glory

There is hardly anyone who has not watched The Glory yet. The drama deals with sensitive themes like high school bullying, abuse of power and money, infidelity and so on. And when a drama is mainly dark themed, the actors playing these dark roles need to be talented enough to pull the roles perfectly without leaving any loopholes. Lim Ji Yeon here plays the role of Park Yeon Jin, who is the leader of the bully group. She is a spoiled teen brat, who abuses her power and money to get away with her wrong doings. She constantly bullies Moon Dong Eun, pushes another student from the rooftop, kills one of her notorious friends, cheats on her husband and what not. She has all the ill-qualities that will make you hate her from the core of your heart. But her character and Lim Ji Yeon’s ability to blend with the role, makes the drama much more enjoyable and thrilling. So, if you have not watched it, you should give it a try but proceed with caution since there are triggering concepts.  

2. Choi Myeong Hee - Vincenzo

Everything I try to write about Choi Myeong Hee will fall short. The way we all wanted to kill her while watching Vicenzo is proof of the ability of Kim Yeo Jin in portraying this evil lawyer, who is also Jung Joon Ho’s ally. She’s nasty, she is evil, she is cruel, even her accent will tick you off very badly. But we have to admit to the fact that the drama would not be as marvelous as it is without her character in it. She constantly commits many wrong deeds only to gain more and more power. However, we must admit that we all have been quite impressed by her zumba dancing skills anyway. 

3. Cha Moon Suk - Lawless Lawyer

The character of Cha Moon Suk is the perfect example of two-faced. This Lawless Lawyer villain appears to be all noble and caring but she is actually corrupt and greedy. Lee Hye Young plays the role of a senior judge, who secretly runs a corrupt charity and spares absolutely no one who comes in her way. She doesn’t even hesitate to kill her dear friend nor does she show mercy for her long-time right hand man Ahn Oh Joo. She’s driven by her greed and can do anything to attain more power and money. In my personal opinion, her character and awesome screenplay is probably the only thing that makes the drama worth watching, as for me, both of the main leads could have portrayed themselves a lot better. 

4. Kang So Young - School 2015

Here comes another bully, Kang So Young from School 2015. Cha Soo Hyang plays this character of this spoiled teenager Kang So Young who finds great pleasure in bullying her orphan classmate, Eun Bi. Her bullying goes so far that Eun Bi is pushed to the verge of death. However, Kang So Young feels no remorse. As the drama goes, she gets even more evil as she does not show any sign of leaving Eun Bi alone. She does not even regret her choices and uses her parent’s power to get away with everything. However, at the end of the drama she reflects upon her choices and apologies to Eun Bi. But that does not mean her character is easily forgiven, am I right? 

5. Choi Yoo Jin - The K2

Here comes our last and my personal favorite pick, Choi Yoo Jin from The K2. Even though Yoo Jin’s character is not the villain but an antagonist, still she is a deserving candidate for this list. Song Yoon Ah plays the role of Choi Yoo Jin, who is a woman of mid 40s, she is also a daughter from a chaebol family but is disinherited. Her father disowned her because she married a politician. And guess what, that same husband, goes behind her back every night and cheats on her on a daily basis. She is also the CEO of JSS Security, which is responsible for her presidential candidate husband’s security. Her character certainly makes some bad choices, such as separating her step-daughter from her husband and using her constantly to blackmail the man, but she is the one to hurt the most as well. 

Even though her relationship with her family and husband is dianted and she is mostly used for money, she gives her everything to keep his husband’s image spotless. She grows a fondness, dare I say romantic feelings, for Kim Je Ha (Ji Chang Wook) but that too is quickly shut down as the main female lead comes into the picture. All in all, she may seem to be an evil woman but she actually is a victim of fate and betrayal, which is understandable. Song Yoon Ah’s incredible acting and her on screen chemistry with Ji Chang Wook is one of the primary reasons why you should watch the drama if you have not already. 

That was all for today, we will come with another recommendation post, sooner than you think. 

– Admin Nika

[bethanydelleman]

Reading The Last Man by Mary Shelley and the main character Lionel is obsessed with this man Adrian:

Friendship, hand in hand with admiration, tenderness and respect, built a bower of delight in my heart... I read or listened to Adrian; and his discourse, whether it concerned his love or his theories for the improvement of man, alike entranced me. Sometimes my lawless mood would return, my love of peril, my resistance to authority; but this was in his absence; under the mild sway of his dear eyes, I was obedient and good as a boy of five years old, who does his mother’s bidding.

And at first I'm like, "Wow, you are so obviously in romantic love with this man." But then I started thinking, "Is this how men would talk about their true friendships if they weren't so frightened about being called gay?" (and they were also poets)

Now obviously, this is written by a woman, but I have to imagine that Mary Shelley heard Byron or her husband talk about their male friends this way. Or perhaps this is just how she talks about her friends and she feels like men should do the same. Do close friendships in older novels look really gay to us now because men in our culture never talk about how much their friends mean to them? Like in The Lord of the Rings, Sam saying that he loves Frodo, sounds gay to me but is that just the effect of so many men screaming "no homo" if they show any amount of normal affection for a fellow male human?

Also, if these were two female characters would I feel the same way? Maybe. But when Mary Crawford says she loves Fanny and embraces her in Mansfield Park it doesn't feel as sapphic as a man doing a similar thing.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, maybe we will finally conquer homophobia when straight guys admit that their close male friends build a "bower of delight" in their hearts.

Or Mary Shelley just spent a lot of time around bisexual men.