#listen I’m sure there are gems out there but you have to be willing to really look

[planetsallalign]

Decided to look at what’s out there for online dating for fun. Bad idea, but my curiosity has been sated and once again my reaction is no thanks.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d.

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: Ahahahah fuck here we go again. Here’s to @bookxish and @ablondieproduction for helping me get this started and consequently probably ruining my life in the process :^)

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Princess

Karga slid a single puck across the table before he leaned back in the booth. “Client wants the quarry back alive.”

The Mandalorian didn’t reach for the puck. “Unless you have more, I’m not interested.”

“You will be when you hear how much they’re willing to pay,” Karga countered, a sly grin on his face. “Thirty thousand, with an extra five if you bring the quarry back before the end of the month.”

It was moments like this that the helmet was an excellent asset. The hunter’s brows had shot up in surprise, disbelief surely written in his features as he considered just how much that was —more than enough for fuel, for food and supplies. He couldn’t believe that one quarry was worth that much.

But the helmet hid the surprise just fine.

He took the puck, about to switch the hologram up but Karga stopped him.

“I’m gonna recommend you keep the details to yourself, Mando,” he warned, and for once, Mando considered listening. “She’s not missing because she’s a helpless damsel who got taken by an enemy. She’s missing because she wants to be missing. She’s been gone several days already. No one seems to be able to find her.”

Mando turned the hologram on, leaning back as the image of a young woman in Senate regalia faltered before him. The maroon color of her gown was accented by the gold chains that hung from her hands and ears —but what caught his attention were her eyes. He couldn’t tell the color; it didn’t matter. Her eyes were wide, cast to the side as if she was looking at something that surprised her. The rest of her face showed her emotions well, even if her body language was stiff. She was beautiful, in a frustrating way. A way that suggested she knew but didn’t want others to notice.

Another reason to appreciate the helmet —he noticed things that people didn’t want noticed. But they never knew.

He recognized the man behind her as the senator of Senex. Last Mando had heard, the senator had died. They had yet to find a replacement.

“Any idea why she doesn’t want to be found?” He asked, switching off the hologram and pocketing the puck. The whole thing felt ridiculous; searching for a missing princess like in a children’s story. But money was money.

Karga shook his head. “Rumors; whispers. But nothing I can confirm.”

“Helpful.”

“You want it or not?”

“I took the puck, didn’t I?”

Karga hummed, leaning back. “Good luck, Mando. I hear she’s a fighter.”

Behind his visor, Mando rolled his eyes.

Everyone was a fighter until they met the Mandalorian.

*****

She left him at the altar.

Oh, Maker. She left her fiancé at the altar.

No, no. She didn’t even make it to the altar. She didn’t even make it to the wedding.

What was she thinking? Was she thinking? Of course she was; she had to have been thinking because why else would she have left? Anyone in their right mind would have left too —no one truly wanted to marry someone old enough to be their grandfather. Not without a valid reason.

And her reason was far from valid.

Her reason wasn’t even hers. It was her mother’s.

But Maker —she left —what? Two? Three days ago? — without anything but the dress she wore, an empty backpack, and the credits she had been putting aside for years. No food, or water. No resources. Surely not a change of clothes, which she had to buy immediately. She had stuck out like a Wookiee among Ewoks. After several days of dancing around going home or staying missing, she finally decided she couldn’t go back. Not any time soon.

So, there she sat in a cantina, backpack tucked close to her side. The clothes she wore were far from royal. Instead of the decadent colors of gems, she wore a muted sort of brown tunic, with a scarf that covered her head and shoulders like a hood. She blended in well with the civilians around her, which was what she wanted.

Until she caught a glimpse of a Mandalorian across the room.

Looking at a hologram of her.

She nearly choked on her drink.

Maker help her —they’d put a bounty on her. And a Mandalorian was clearly in the middle of picking it up. If she left now, it would draw his attention. So she waited him out; kept her eyes down, breathing steady. If he left first, she would be fine.

*****

Back on the ship, Din sets the puck on the control panel and turns it back on. The kid sits in his crib, playing with the knob to shifter, but Din can’t bring himself to take it from him. It’s the only thing keeping the kid from crying, and he needs to focus on getting the coordinates for her last location.

The kid looks up at the hologram though, cooing at the image as he makes grabby hands for it.

“No,” Din commands, his voice soft but stern behind the modulator. Then he sighs with exasperation: her last known location was there, on Nevarro. He should have known better.

Sometimes he wondered if Karga liked omitting details. Just to be inconvenient.

The kid babbles but goes back to his ball as Din eyes the image of the young woman in the hologram. He catches every detail —the curve of her cheekbones, the angle of her nose, the fullness of her lips. Back to the length of her hair, where it’s pulled back to be out of her face but stray curls seem to escape.

But he can’t pinpoint her eyes. The color doesn’t capture in the hologram —not well at least. He’s good with details, but he can’t make this one out and it bothers him.

The kid reaches out again, babbling happily as he does so. Din gently pushes his hands away before standing up.

“Let’s go find a princess, kid.”

———

Taglist: OPEN

[aealzx]

“Leonardo.”

A female voice that Leo had heard before in recordings addressed him with a single word greeting. She sounded pleased. Unusual considering the past circumstances. “Augustine,” Leo responded casually, willing the rest of the fog to leave his brain. He had a lot of questions, but none that he wanted to ask her. Other than something to further annoy her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Augustine’s eye twitched, and she crossed her arms despite her smile never falling. “You speak as though this is your home, and I’m the visitor,” she pointed out.

Leo could only grin slightly, having achieved his goal. “Well, it’s just been so easy for me to come and go as I please.”

Now the smile fell into a frown. But just for a moment before she forced it back. “And yet you’ve never once stopped for a proper chat.”

“You know how it is. I’d hate to pull you away from your work. I’m just it’s been taking up a lot of your time,” Leo jabbed again, his head clear now and mind already examining where he was. Simple restraints, they had taken his weapons, and bags, but nothing else. He could probably get out of this.

“...You’re a daring creature to continue to antagonize me despite your current position…” The smile had faded again, and Leo could tell Augustine was tired of playing the game of banter they had been engaged in. Eventually she shrugged it off, memory of recent revelations lifting her mood. “No matter. Despite your attempts to prevent my work from progressing I relish to inform you that it has all been in vain.” Her phone was slipped from her lab coat pocket, and after a few taps she held the screen up for Leo to see. “I’m not nearly proud enough to conceal the fact it was an accident. I was merely attempting to capture you four by targeting mutant turtle signatures with a mystic influence. And while I caught one, these other two gems decided to… do me the favor of proving my hypothesis true.”

The first video Augustine showed him caused Leo so suck in a hissed breath, a much too small mutant turtle trapped on the floor and crowded by people in surgical coats. Needles and blades in their hands, smaller than what he’d seen in person with Bishop, but no less infuriating. And then she swiped her screen across to switch to a different, even smaller mutant turtle that was blessedly still asleep in his fetters. “Augustine…,” Leo growled, a warning tone saturating his voice and his brows furrowed.

“Oh don’t get so worked up. I don’t plan on killing them. I need them alive to track how they adjust to this dimension. How else am I supposed to confirm it’s safe? You and your brothers refuse to answer my questions afterall,” Augustine chided, chuckling in bubbling excitement. She was pleased to see that the first subject seemed to be calming down. Either because he realized the futility of his struggle, or because her employees had sedated him she wasn’t sure. But she’d rather not have another incident like with Evangeline. “And you, of course, are my constant for comparison. I anticipate their biological structure is much more similar to you than to humans. Obviously. So as a native of this dimension I’ll be keeping you for my tests as well. But as for your brothers…”

She was gloating. And Leo knew she was, but he was still curious when she trailed off, her phone vibrating in a silent call distracting her and earning a slight frown before she answered it, turning away from her captive. “Yes?” She sounded irritated, listening to the quick response and narrowing her eyes as she was informed of their intruders. “Tch…. Gas them,” she spoke after a moment to consider her decision. “Yes, I’m sure. Once they fall unconscious we can capture them and revitalize them, to a point. But if they ended up dying then it is no loss. I still have the others. Make sure the frontlines have the portable nullifiers as well.”

Leo had to keep from smiling when it sounded like his brothers were already there to rescue them all. They had acted fast. That was good. And it sounded like they were further in the building than Augustine had expected. But her response was definitely concerning, and only motivated Leo’s resolve to escape on his own. When she ended the call and half turned back to him he decidedly kept his expression neutral.

“Well, it seems your brothers have skittered their way inside sooner than expected. So you’ll have to excuse me while I deal with them elsewhere. Be good and stay silent, or I may have to sedate you,” she ordered, turning to leave the room without waiting for a response.

A raised brow was all Augustine got from Leo as he waited for the door to hiss closed. Then after a count of ten, or actually eight, he started twisting his hands, testing the tightness of the restraints on him. They hadn’t even bothered to take his tactical sleeves off. If he could just slide his hand through and slip one of them off, then getting the other off would be easy. Just squish his thumb in close to his palm, shift his weight as much as he could to let gravity help, nevermind the sharp pain building in his joint.

A series of soft clicks abruptly released all tension in Leo’s limbs, dropping him to the floor where he caught himself on the balls of his feet and fingertips. That was odd. Leo didn’t think he’d triggered anything that would disengage the restraints. And it was increasingly suspicious when the same door Augustine had left hissed open once more. Suspicious, until the protocol announcement coming through the intercom in the hallway was overridden by a familiar code.

“Flight 182, this is ground control, you are clear for landing.”

April. Leo thought, breaking into a wide smile as the redirected airplane chatter fizzled out. So this definitely wasn’t something Augustine was doing to manipulate him, or the others. Running out of the room, Leo gave one of the cameras a wave and a smile, just in case Mom April could see him, and continued his escape down the hallway bathed in red and white lights.

___________________

Previous Next

___________________

I wasn't sure what to draw for this one, but inevitably frog Leo won X'D

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I have came far and wide dear maiden to ask you …PLEASE , PLEASE YANDERE PAULIE!! I’m fine with platonic or romantic I just need more content for this man he’s a rare gem 🥰😍 

I feel like he be the type to use rope to keep his darling safe and captured but if reader ever wants to escape just show some skin and watch him fumble XD 

I've got lots of Paulie requests, so here's a short drabble about that one specific idea. Hope you like it!

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Yandere Paulie x Fem!Reader

.7k words

Tonight was supposed to be a cute little night in with your boyfriend, that’s it. Paulie had invited you over for dinner and to just hang out afterwards, so imagine your shock when you get there only to see all the windows nailed shut and an obscene number of locks on the door. 

Lucky for you, he’d made one massive oversight and forgot about the bathroom window. You’re not sure if he actually forgot, or if he’d just assumed it wasn’t big enough for you to escape through. Regardless of the reason, you were able to squeeze yourself out of it and were currently sprinting away from his home.

“(Y/N)! Get back here, this is for your own good!” You cursed under your breath as you heard his boots running right for you.

You try to turn the corner and get out of his direct line of sight, but are brought to a halt by a rope wrapping itself around your arm and tightening. The sudden loss of momentum nearly bowls you over, but you manage to catch yourself.

“Please just calm down, we can talk this out,” Paulie huffs out between breaths. The hand that isn’t clutching onto the rope attached to you is held out as if he’s trying to placate a scared animal.

“Talk this out?! Are you insane?! You tried to kidnap me!” You spat at him. 

“I did not! Don’t think of it like that! I was just- just- I was relocating you. Permanently,” his voice teetered off towards the end in what you hoped was realization. He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter, let’s go back home and we can talk more there.” 

Nope, Nevermind. He’s actually unhinged. 

“NO! Get away from me, you freak,” you screamed, desperately trying to get the rope unfastened from your arm.

“Would you keep it down?! People are going to think I’m hurting you!” Paulie hissed. He was pulling on the rope to drag you closer and was only a few steps away now. If you didn’t do something quick, he was going to take you away again, and you don’t think you’ll be able to escape as easily this time around.

In a fit of desperation, an idea came to you. An awful, terrible idea, but one that just might work. You stopped pulling away, and instead faced him fully. Your abrupt lack of resistance gave Paulie pause, and he eyed you warily, not sure what to make of this quite yet. 

Your hand found purchase on the front of your button up blouse. You clutched the shirt tightly, then violently ripped it open sending buttons flying everywhere. 

Paulie’s confused face turned bright red and his arms rose up to shield his eyes from the scandalous view, “What do you think you’re doing, you harlot! See! This is why I’m doing this! The world is corrupting you!”

While he’s screeching about your “indecency”, you’re able to slip the rope off and hand it to a yagara tied to a nearby dock. You free it and tell the animal to leave. Understanding the assignment, the yagara nods, takes the rope into its mouth, and takes off down the canal.

Paulie is immediately yanked into the water and is flailing and splashing as the yagara drags him away from you. You can hear him yelling for you to not leave, but you of course don’t listen and keep running now that you’ve gotten him off your tail for the time being.

There’s only one place you can think of that you can go. The train station. Nowhere else will truly be safe. Not only is Paulie well respected in Water 7, he has friends in very high places. If he decides to pull some strings, there won’t be anywhere you can go within the city where someone will be willing or able to help you.

The last train of the day should be leaving soon. If you can get on and it leaves before Paulie catches up, then you’ll be in the clear for the time being. 

And if worse comes to worst, you suppose you can try and kill him by flipping up your skirt if you see him again.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Schnapps 🥃 (A Pink Scarf U Exclusive!) out now on Patreon!

Inspired by this gem of a story from 1968 where Elvis gets drunk. Elvis gets Reader tipsy on peach schnapps and tension and shenanigans ensue...😏

Join HERE to read! ✨

SNEAK PEEK

TW: Alcohol use, drunkenness, flirtation/tension, nakedness, vomiting, hangover, Jack, Reader is confused and clueless as always lol

Early April 1968

“Baby. Baby, listen,” Elvis slurs, a long arm sliding over your shoulders like it has always belonged there. He doesn’t touch you much these days, so the sensation feels strangely intimate and peppers your skin with goosebumps.

You look at Jack, Charlie, and Joe in succession, all of whom throw their hands up in the air like they have no clue what has gotten into Elvis but judging by the almost empty half pint of liquor in one of his hands and an unopened, full bottle in the other, you know they aren’t innocent. Elvis Presley just doesn’t walk into liquor stores by himself. You’re not even sure he carries money on him.

“Ya gotta try this stuff, honey, it’s so good! Don’t even taste like al-kee-hol! Prolly don’t even have al-kee-hol in it cuz I could drink a barrel of this stuff an’ not feel a thing,” Elvis continues, shoving the bottle into your hand.

“Oh, E, I’m sure this—” You turn the bottle to read the label, willing yourself not to cringe, “—peach schnapps is great and all, but I don’t—”

“Ohhh, don’t be like that, honey,” he interrupts you. “These guys don’t get it but you, I know you get it.”

“Do I?” you say, eyebrow shooting up while you try to keep a straight face. “What exactly do I get?”

“That this is the nectar of the gods! They put it here for you and me,” he goes on, his depthless blue eyes watery but twinkling as they look down at you.

He’s positively smashed. You could count on one hand how many times you’ve seen this man drunk in the many years that you’ve known him, which might account for his current state. Elvis might pop pills like candy sometimes, but he doesn’t drink.

He pushes the nearly empty bottle into your hand. “C’mon, live a little, honey.” He grins wildly, bouncing on his toes. “Hey! That’s the name of my picture!” he exclaims like he’s discovered the answers to the mysteries of the universe. Then he starts giggling.

And the joy from a giggling, hiccupping Elvis is contagious. Always has been. You can’t help but smile. It feels foreign; you can’t remember the last time you really smiled.

The moment is nearly ruined by your husband’s sardonic eye roll, his chocolate eyes dull and bloodshot. Unlike Elvis, he is well acquainted with being drunk and it definitely doesn’t make him giggle. Jack looks disinterested and annoyed, not even hiding the pill he pops as he mutters, “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Your heart sinks. Part of you feels rejected—he didn’t even acknowledge you were there, much less say goodnight, but that’s nothing new. Another part of you thinks to go with him, but you know it’ll get you nowhere. If he took a pill, he’ll be out soon anyway.

Honestly, it saddens you that this is your life now. Long gone are the happy days of young love, replaced by an ever-present shadow of disappointment and indifference and, occasionally, fear. Jack can be a mean son of a bitch when he’s too far gone.

“What an ass,” Elvis says blatantly, seeming to surprise even himself and he giggles, taking a swig from the bottle.

Suddenly, you are feeling uncharacteristically awake. There’s a fire in your chest when you grab the liquor out of Elvis’ hand, taking a long draught from it. It’s cloyingly sweet but does the trick, the burn sinking down into your belly...

Join HERE to read the rest! ✨

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 4

Summary: In which you realize some things about your friend, Zagreus. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

WC: 1.5k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut

AN: What is a slow burn without the angst??

“Why go through all that effort? Surely you understand how dangerous it is,” You say, referring to his runs through the Underworld. As far as you know, there’s been several. Buried in the covers with a good book, you lay on your side and flip to the next page, though it's lost your attention since Zagreus arrived. “Death may be normal here, but the pain…”

At your lounge chair, Zagreus waves you off, eyes flicking from your figure to your sketchbook in his lap between exaggerated strokes, obnoxiously scritching the parchment. You roll your eyes. “I’m more than familiar with pain. As for why…”

Hearing the somber shift in his tone, you look up, willing him to meet your gaze. “Please don’t feel obligated to answer if it’s too personal.”

“No I… I trust you,” For a moment, Zagreus expression softens, like he can’t believe he’d befriend a demon to this point. You know you can’t, but you also know you could tell him anything and he’d listen.

Almost anything, that is.

The sketchbook shuts with a soft thud. Zagreus crosses the short distance to sit at the foot of your bed, by the curve of your hips. The bed dips under his weight before he takes a deep breath. “Long story short, I found out the mother that raised me isn’t my biological mother, and eventually I learned my biological mother escaped the Underworld and is somewhere on the surface.”

“So once you get to the surface, you intend to find her?”

“Exactly.”

“And what then?”

“Get answers,” He simply answers. Though his eyes steel with conviction, he slumps forward, resting his elbows on toned thighs.

Heat rises to your face, and you turn back to your book.

“You must think I’m a fool.”

“No.” Zagreus shoots you a flat look over his shoulder like he doesn't believe you, so you fully turn your attention to him. “Really! I don’t. I mean, shades aren’t allowed to leave the Underworld, natural order and all that.”

“…Shades. Right,” He says slowly, breaking eye contact for a split second.

“But I understand why you’d want to try. I just wish I could help you in some way, maybe smuggle you out on my next job.”

He perks up, gazing at you curiously, “You’ve been to the surface?”

“A few times for work. Though it has been a while since my last assignment…”

“What’d you have to do?”

Oh, you know: make contracts with humans and feed off them until they’re a husk of their former selves. You know, as succubus do. You settle on, “Demon things. You wouldn’t get it.”

Zagreus shrugs, unable to argue with that.

“… Suppose you do find your mother and get your answers,” You start, tone low and nervous. You swallow, trying to keep your nerves from wracking your vocal cords, keeping the tremble out of your voice. “What-what do you plan to do after?”

“That depends,” Wild, black hair falls over his eyes as his gaze drops to the floor. “If she hates me or not.”

You cock your head. Was that fear in his tone? For a moment, you allow yourself to study his broad back, scolding yourself when you admire the exposed ridges of muscle. Harsh, green light frames his profile, turning him into a slim silhouette among the soft shadows of your chamber. But now, as he sits at the edge of your bed, no longer he looks poised and regal as he usually does. No boons livening the air around him, no charming grin or cocky smirk. Posture be damned, he slouches, beautiful lips pressed thin, and he looks defeated—no, he looks…

Tired.

It never occurred to you how miserable your friend is here in the Underworld. He always seemed so lively by the time he reached your chamber, even when he’s scuffed and bloodied, like the heat of battle cheers him up. And yes, it’s Tartarus; souls are supposed to be despaired, miserable, tortured—for gods’ sake, it’s your jobs—but looking at Zagreus, exhausted yet still handsome as ever in his flaming laurels and refined chiton, feet seering footprints into your floor, he looks out of place in your humble abode.

Your heart clenches, suddenly self aware. Self conscious. Differences that hardly mattered before now at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I’m not finished, by the way.”

You meet his gaze, visibly perplexed though it’s painful. His heterochromia, the contrast of the blood red and forest green, is needlessly beautiful, as if the man isn’t magnificent enough already. Curse his family for whatever genes they poured into him.

The bed rises once more and as Zagreus leaves for the balcony, the gap between you—once miniscule and quickly closing—begins turning into a chasm.

“My drawing. It’s nowhere done.” Stopping before the balcony’s threshold, Zagreus gestures to the sketchbook. You sit up, blankets and furs pooling into your lap as you take it into your hands.

You, or a semblance of yourself at least, stares back. The strokes are short, thick, lines of charcoal jagged and uneven, though that’s to be expected. Zagreus snorted at you he buys art not create it, but that did nothing to deter him from trying. You lent him your sketchbook and pencils anyway, the thought of sharing your hobby with him filling you with giddiness you haven’t experienced in gods’ know how long.

As you study the amateur sketch of yourself, your heart swells so big, it terrifies you. There’s scuffed edges where the side of his palm pressed into the strokes, leaving partial prints. The proportions are atrocious, and if he’d been anyone else you’d tear into him. Yet, far from accurate as it may be, he manages to highlight your most discernible features. Just not the ones you expect. It’s not your chest or your hips or waist or even your legs, no.

It’s the fluid lash of your tail as you lay on your stomach, as if he tried to capture the cat-like movements on paper; the draping of your wings and the way you relax them against your back like a blanket; the graceful curve of your horns, the ends pointed not in a threat but a promise. And your face—

Smudges blot all over the background of your figure but most of all where your face is, the paper slightly damaged as if he erased one too many times trying to capture your visage.

Your heart skips. Blood and darkness.

As Zagreus’s back disappears behind the rumbling door to the next chamber, it’s for the best, you think, left to the familiarity of your quiet chamber. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Zagreus and you, a demon—a succubus? You’d never last.

As friends. As friends, of course.

This is for the best. 

It’s for the best.

…Is it possible to feel loss when there is nothing to begin with?

Eyes misting over, you snatch up your sketchbook and pencils, letting your tears stain the page with Zagreus’s eyes still fresh in your mind.

It’s for the best.

[a-queer-seminarian]

"A Degree in Surviving Assaults" by Basman Derawi, Gaza 2021

If there were a degree bestowed  for surviving armed assaults,  I would have earned it ‘with honors,’  magna cum laude.  I am living lived through my fourth now,  although I’m not sure if  I will live for graduation.

If you test me, I bet I’d ace the exam:  I can tell the difference between  the voice of an F16, F35 and Apache helicopter.  I can immediately detect  whether a sound is  the shelling of tanks  or bombing from airplanes.

But with my degree has come  different types of syndromes:  phobia of the night,  hypersensitivity to the sound  of moving chairs  (or really any banging object),  insomnia from anticipating death.

I have also learned a few truths:  First: The world is hypocritical,  yet is full of hidden gems:  good people willing to speak out.  Second: Actual death is when you don't  stand up for what is right.  And third: No matter what,  Palestine will always be my home.

[Look under the readmore for more information.]

Poem link.

Listen to me read this poem on TikTok.

About the Poet:

Basman Derawi (full bio + more poem links here) was born in Kuwait but grew up in Gaza and considers Gaza his home. He is part of a fantastic project co-founded by the late Professor Refaat Alareer called We Are Not Numbers, which pairs young poets like Derawi with experienced mentors.

According to a post in November, Basman was outside Gaza when October 7 happened, and longs to return home to his loved ones in Gaza City.

[dmwrites]

Gem and Pearl were spending the evening hanging out and chatting on top of one of Pearl’s mushrooms. Gem was carving little flowers into her bow, and Pearl was braiding tiny bits of her hair.

“I keep dreaming about you.” Pearl said abruptly.

“Oh Pearl, wow, that’s forward of you. I’m blushing!” Gem giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at Pearl.

“Oh shut up, not like that you nugget!” Pearl shoved Gem slightly, face red. “Let me clarify- not just you, but all of… you guys. The empires. And hermitcraft. I think. It’s hard to explain.” Pearl’s face was set, but eyes nervously searching Gem’s face as if it held an answer.

“Well, can you explain it a little bit? What do your dreams entail?” Gem put down her bow.

Pearl sighed, thinking before speaking. “It’s like- I know that there are many, many worlds, and that you are in both empires and hermitcraft. I mean, I was too. When I sleep, I know, logically, I’m laying in my bed in hermitcraft. But my dreams are so confusing, because I can see the empires world, from above, like I’m permanently flying or something. I can come down and stand next to you or Jimmy or Scott or Sausage. I can see you work. And it feels like I’m being electrocuted or something. No one can see me, and I can come and go, but it’s really odd. You just accidentally killed three bees the other day, I saw it.”

“I did do that!” Gem gasped. It was hard, sometimes, to pin down certain memories of a world when you’re in another, but that sounded familiar. “Pearl that’s so… woah! You’re, like, magical!”

“Magical? No, I don’t think so. I’m just me. But I don’t get what’s going on in my head. It’s so much. I wish there was a way for you to see it so I could have another perspective.” Pearl sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I almost don’t want to go to sleep. It’s so exhausting, these dreams.”

“I’d love to try and help you, Pearl.” Gem patted Pearl on the shoulder. “I feel like there has to be a way to get into your dreams. We just gotta find the right person with the right stuff.

It took a month to find someone, and that was between hermitcraft and empires. The right person turned out to be Cub, who listened to Gem’s query, nodded, said he had no idea how that would work or how to help, and then showed up in her castle window at one in the morning that same night holding out a glowing potion bottle to her.

“Keep that shit hidden, and don’t even try to find out where I got it. If anyone asks you about it, play dumb. But all you have to do is drink the potion with Pearl, and go to sleep. I wasn’t here.” And he’d left without another word.

“So, you ready?” Gem was in her pajamas, sitting on Pearl’s bed with her arms hugging her legs.

“Are you sure this isn’t just some kind of Cubfan trick or something? Seems sus, Gem.” Pearl was holding the potion bottle up to her lamp. It was a silvery color, and really looked like something no person should ever drink.

“I mean, it’s the only thing we got.” Gem pointed out.

Pearl sighed deeply, uncorking the bottle. “True. Well, Gem, if we both die, thanks for being a good friend. I can’t think of another person who would be so willing to enter my dreams.” She took a swig, and coughed, handing the rest of it to Gem.

“That good, huh?” Gem asked, eying the potion. Pearl just waved her hand at Gem, encouraging her. Gem drank the rest of the bottle. It was awful, like metal and rotted food. She wondered if it really was poisoned and if Cub was really just a massive asshole.

She felt a wave of tiredness pass through her suddenly- she looked over at Pearl to see she was already passed out. They had planned for Gem to go on the couch to sleep, but she didn’t have the energy now. She curled up on the edge of Pearl’s bed instead, and let her eyes fall shut.

And then, she was somewhere else.

To describe it would be impossible- it was light, in colors that didn’t even make sense to try to categorize. Gem was floating, but it didn’t feel like flying or laying in bed.

And in front of her was Pearl.

Pearl looked like dappled sunlight. Like the sun shifting through the branches of a swaying tree, Pearl’s form kept softly evolving. She was dressed in a gold dress and battle armor, and then she was wearing a black hoodie and shorts. There was a halo behind her, and then startling white wings.

Pearl’s eyes were closed, but her hand was held out in front of her, long fingers extending towards Gem. And Gem reached out too, and touched her fingertips against Pearl’s. And then, she could see exactly what Pearl had been talking about.

There were two worlds here in this weightless nothing, one to either side of the two girls. One was the empires lands, as if they were standing above it all, watching from the sky. The other was Pearl, asleep in her hermitcraft bedroom. Gem could see her own sleeping form too. It was creepy to see herself.

A hand cupped Gem’s cheek suddenly, and she turned her head back to look at Pearl. Her eyes were open now, full of a deep, powerful light.

“Gem?”

It was Pearl’s voice, but Pearl hadn’t opened her mouth. It just came from this blankness around them.

Gem didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

“Is it true? Is this real?”

Pearl’s voice was everywhere, but still Pearl. It echoed around the space in a way that would have been more confusing if there weren’t so much else to focus on.

Gem nodded again. She had to assume this was real, because to think otherwise would break her brain. Just bring here with this Pearl was already so intense.

“Which one is… home?” Pearl sounded scared.

Gem stretched her hand forward just a little more, so their fingers intertwined. “I think they both are, Pearl. Always.”

Gem didn’t open her mouth, just through the words directly at Pearl. And Pearl’s glowing eyes looked right into Gem’s, and there was an explosion of pain.

——

“I mean, you’re asking questions about magic and dreams and gods- not only is that type of thing practically impossible to quantify, it’s also only ever going to be in hypotheticals.” Doc looked tiredly at Gem, which was fair, since Gem had burst into his bedroom at sunrise and woken him up.

“Well, then speak in hypotheticals then.” Gem said, leaning against the doorframe, making out the creeper hybrid’s shape in the darkness.

“Fine.” Doc put his hands to his eyes. “Hypothetically, if someone, a mortal, were to go into a god’s dreamspace, the mortal would probably be dead within seconds. Magic is not a secure thing, hypothetically. And dreams are even less so- gods, if there were such things, would not be bothering to reign in their raw power during sleep. Any mortal or demigod would be crushed. Unless, for some reason, the god was counteracting with a very strong magical barrier. But that would take, I’m assuming, the mortal equivalent of billions of blocks of energy. But we know almost nothing about the reality behind myths of gods, Gem.”

“Okay.” Gem nodded slowly. “Okay, cool. Got it. Thanks Doc.”

Doc lowered his hands, and in the murky darkness of his bedroom, Gem could see his robotic eye glow red, looking right at her.

“You know, Gem, people don’t come running into my bedroom at daybreak to discuss hypotheticals.”

Gem just laughed- it didn’t sound very convincing- and backed down the hall and out to the courtyard, where she took off in a flurry of rockets.

Now up in the sky, she could let out the choked hiss of pain, and look down at her hand. Burned into her fingers and palm was a crescent moon; if she held her fingers just as they had been when holding Pearl’s hand, the image became clearer.

Doc’s voice came back to her in bits and pieces. No mortal should survive such a thing. Not unless someone very powerful exerted a lot of magic to protect the mortal. But if that magic were to, even briefly, fail…

Gem closed her hand into a fist, winced at the pain. Pearl was still sleeping- she’d checked before rushing to Doc. The time she’d spent in Pearl’s dreamspace was already fading from concrete memory, and she wondered if Pearl would even remember it had happened. She wondered if Pearl would ever really know what power she really had. Gem’s hand throbbed.

[thewales]

Interesting article by Tominey for The Telegraph:

The less Meghan and Harry earn, the more dangerous to the monarchy they may be

What Meghan wants is no longer what Meghan gets, it seems.

Perhaps it was by mutual consent but, to me, “part ways” sounds suspiciously like a more gentle way of saying: “You’re fired.”

Regardless of who actually pulled the plug, it must be deeply troubling for the couple that even those willing to pay a reported $20 million (£15 million) for the Duchess’s opinions no longer want to hear them.

For those who have never listened to Meghan “investigate, dissect and subvert the labels that try to hold women back”, the podcast largely featured the American former actress talking about herself through the medium of interviews with the likes of her “dear, dear friend” Serena Williams.

One particular gem was Meghan’s insistence that being “particular” does not make her difficult. As she explained: “I’m particular. I think a rising tide raises all ships. We’re all going to succeed so let’s make sure it’s really great – it’s a shared success ...You’re allowed to set a boundary. You’re allowed to be clear, does not make you demanding. It does not make you difficult, it makes you clear.”

Just to be clear – and I’m not trying to be difficult here – the recollections of those who worked for the Duchess at the Palace may vary. For further clarity – and I make no apology for being particular on this – she denies the bullying claims.

Meanwhile, Deadline claims that the people at WME, the big Hollywood agency that signed the Duchess in April, are building on the couple’s film and TV production, brand partnerships and overall business. 

Yet while there will no doubt be some toasting the news of Archetypes’s demise, the Palace powers-that-be should perhaps be mindful that the more the Sussexes’ earning power recedes, the more dangerous they could become.

While the Duke may have said all he wants to in his autobiography Spare, and accompanying interviews (although he has claimed he has enough material for a second book), the Duchess is clearly still brimming with “content” that is seemingly bursting to come out.

And while a great deal of it can easily be dismissed as word salad, she’s never been afraid of adding a splash of vinegar dressing when discussing her royal relatives.

 she rather ominously revealed to the US magazine The Cut last August: “It takes a lot of effort to forgive. I’ve really made an active effort, especially knowing that I can say anything … I have a lot to say until I don’t. Do you like that? Sometimes, as they say, the silent part is still part of the song.”

She also said: “It’s interesting, I’ve never had to sign anything that restricts me from talking. I can talk about my whole experience and make a choice not to.”

This is a woman, it appears, who has kept the receipts and may not be afraid to brandish them should the need arise.

Nor should it be overlooked just how expensive the Sussexes’ lives in Montecito are. If it wasn’t costly enough to be spending hundreds of thousands of dollars a year on security, Harry has also been involved in litigation against several newspaper groups and the Home Office.

So the Palace’s supporters are celebrating a pyrrhic victory if they think the Sussexes’ de-Spotification is a good thing.

The more desperate the duo are to land new deals, the more demanding their paymasters may be about the type of content they provide. Think Spare on steroids.

The other danger is the Sussexes’ constant desire to do everything in a hurry, which is what put them at odds with the steady House of Windsor in the first place. While the Duke and Duchess have been determined to share their “truth” at the speed of 100 mph, the Royals have always operated at a much slower pace (rather like travelling in a yellow cab through New York when you are not being “chased” by paparazzi).

Take this weekend’s Trooping the Colour. It’s hard to believe it now, but it was 10 years before the Princess of Wales was actually allowed to appear on the Buckingham Palace balcony under the Firm’s “no ring, no bring” policy. Royal life is a marathon, not a sprint.

Megxit may have been about many things. But one should never underestimate the lengths the Sussexes will go to to achieve the “financial independence” they have always been looking for.

Full article

[sammywolfgirl]

I finished all the cutscenes for the black pearl event so far! Like in game.

So uhh I’ll say it again, if the cannon takes the cowards path and makes the betrayal a big misunderstanding I will scream.

Not just because that’s a lame outcome, if they have it that alabone stole the pearl and was like “lmao your boyfriend left you bitch!” But lord oyster is occupied and just can’t get there to clarify then I will be a bit disappointed.

If the misunderstanding route is what they take they better make it dramatic. They better make it that lord oyster would have inevitably betrayed black pearl it alanone just upped that timeline with his bs.

But regardless of what happens in cannon that can’t happen in my au.

Because I made black pearl do too much shit for her actions to be spawned from “a big misunderstanding”

No listen, In my au she destroyed sugartaria, possibly also Tearcrown depending on what plays out!

She learns how to steal gem mermaids wills to make minions for herself

She fights sea fairy and made such a mess of the ocean she gets sealed into what will become the dusk gloom sea

She’s the one who cursed sea fairy!

She put a bloodline curse on the oyster family dooming them to die at sea

She stole one of the heart of the deep sea’s guardians to make them a minion!

And that’s not mentioning the countless numbers of sailors and sea life she likely killed in her rampage.

I can’t have that all sparked from a misunderstanding, it HAS To be betrayal.

I’ll kill abalone myself to make sure lord oyster betrays her! I need lord oyster to fall to greed and become the very thing they opposed in the first half of the story!

I mean regardless I’m killing abalone too, that man is gonna get eaten by a sea monster if cannon doesn’t explicitly kill him off itself.

Uhhh anyways hopping off my soap box to say, I got ideas to work with if I need to disregard canon.

I hope they don’t take a misunderstanding route but with how they characterized lord oyster I’m not hopeful.

Eager to be proven wrong though

[peakdeer]

hii. eswao guy here to ask for a ficlet. it was hard to think of an idea without incorporating outright spoilers so.

just asking for a simple little kathpearlgem date fic throw in a bit of gem's curse shenanigans, maybe a bit of kath's healing kiss shenanigans. what is important that they are all on a little date ! and they are happy that is all ty bye

kathgempearl the beloved <3

Katherine made good sandwiches.

That was what Pearl had decided, basing her judgement upon the sweet bread and raspberry jam that constituted the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. She’d have preferred meat, but since that was pretty much a no-go in Dawn she just took what she could get. And what she could get was definitely worth the lack of meat.

She glanced up, hoping she hadn’t missed something said. She’d spaced out quite a few times already, and she’d rather not have to ask one of her girlfriends what they’d said. She was supposed to be listening to them, wasn’t she? That was what girlfriends did, she was pretty sure.

Her eyes were immediately drawn up to their faces, and she raised her sandwich slightly to hide her blush. She’d thought she had dressed up for the date, wearing her cleanest cloak and tunic. They had gone overboard—at least to her; technically they both wore dresses as a casual fit anyway—Katherine had a clean dress on, with ruffled sleeves and a drooping collar that showed off her pretty skin. Gem wasn’t any less gorgeous, rocking one of her dresses with the wider skirt and her hair tied back in a braid.

Perhaps Pearl loved her girlfriends a bit too much. Then again, they were her girlfriends. Maybe that was normal.

The old Scott hadn’t been like that.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wasn’t here, and he didn’t matter, anyway. The new Scott was nice, at least, and Katherine and Gem were far better than he ever could have been anyway.

She takes her next bite of her sandwich, almost aggressively tearing into it. The sweet taste helps to distract her mind and her eyes flutter closed for a moment.

They snap up when she realizes the conversation has reached a lull, just in time to catch the rest of Gem’s sentence. “You look almost grumpy, Pearl,” she laughed with that pretty, pretty laugh of hers, Katherine joining in with a tinkling chuckle. Gem leaned forward a bit, reaching a finger to smooth Pearl’s brow. “What’s that about?” Pearl becomes speechless when she meets Gem’s eyes—probably a good thing; her girlfriends didn’t quite appreciate it when she talked with food in her mouth.

“N-nothing, really. Just… thinking.” Pearl stammered out. She figured Gem wouldn’t let it go without a better answer, so she decided to switch the topic to something safer. She’d rather not talk about… that now, not on a date with the two people she loved, loved them the way love was supposed to be. She was pretty sure, at least. She’d never quite experienced that, so she couldn’t be sure. “How’s your kingdom been going?” Pearl had learned early on that her girlfriends took a special sort of pride in their kingdoms, delighted to watch them grow and more than willing to talk about them for hours.

Pearl was proved right when Gem’s expression cleared, the ginger leaning back to talk, resting one of her hands on Katherine’s leg. Her face fell soon after, though, and for a moment Pearl worried that Gem had caught on to her.

“Oh, it’s terrible. I asked Jimmy the “Life God” for help restoring my kingdom—would you believe he killed nearly the entire thing? All the grass is dead. The plants are dead. The crops are dead. The sheep are dead. The castle is dead! It couldn’t be worse, Pearl, it couldn’t be worse.” Gem bemoaned, shaking her head in misery. She tugged at the sleeves of her dress, eyes clouded with worry.

Katherine’s eyes filled with sympathy, leaning towards Gem to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry, honeybun,” Katherine worried, searching Gem’s eyes as if she’d find something there. “Do your people need food? I’ve always got enough if you need any—"

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Gem was supposed to go on a rant about how cute sheep are, how well the sheep farm was doing, and maybe a bit about the new buildings she’d added… not this.

Pearl wasn’t sure she could deal with that. She should, though. That would be a good girlfriend thing to do, wouldn’t it?

She leaned over suddenly to reach Gem, knocking over the tea in her haste. She flinched at the burn now spreading where the hot tea touched her, gently moving the tea cup aside. She ignored the pain, cupping Gem’s face in her hand. “Really?? Jimmy did that? How dare—say the word and I’ll beat him up for you! He won’t come around after that!”

Gem pushed Pearl back until she was sitting again, taking Pearl’s hands in her own. “It’s alright! Well, it’s not, but… I can’t fix that, and you can’t either. I’ve told him not to come back, and he seemed sheepish enough to actually follow that. I’ll set you on him if he doesn’t obey,” Gem joked with a small smile. “I’ve got a… plan going to hopefully fix the curse, but… It’ll be fine.” Gem sounded unconvinced, but the kind of unconvinced that meant she needed to believe it and please don’t screw this up.

“I’m sure,” Pearl agreed, equally unconvinced and disgruntled with it. It wouldn’t do well to attack Jimmy anyway, though—Katherine wouldn’t approve, for starters, and Gem wouldn’t be happy Pearl had gone behind her back.

There was a beat of silence before Katherine leaned toward Pearl. “You spilled the tea,” Katherine accused, sounding more amused and exasperated than angry.

“I did,” Pearl admitted, glancing down at the stain on the picnic blanket. “Sorry. I’ll clean it up—I’d offer to make new tea, but I don’t think that would go well…” Her voice trailed off as Katherine leaned closer, her soft lips close enough to kiss.

“Darling, I’m less worried about the blanket and more about the fact that you burned yourself,” Katherine reprimanded gently, cold fingers pressing gently on the burn and earning a hiss of pain.

“Oh.” Pearl still forgot, sometimes, that they cared like that. That they loved her enough to care if she was hurt—he had, too, but only because it hurt him as well. He’d been mad at her for that—her trip to the Nether where she kept getting set on fire.

Katherine wasn’t mad at her, though. Gem wasn’t either. They looked at her with this strange, strange look in their eyes, one Pearl still couldn’t comprehend yet, but she knew what it meant, in the vaguest sense of knowing.

And then Katherine leaned forward all the way, planting a soft kiss on Pearl’s lips.

A tingle spread through Pearl’s body, warm in the way that the sun was, gentle and soothing but enough to make you want to lay down and never get up. She gasped when it reached the burn, so much warmer but still the same gentle caress as Katherine gave, the same love behind it as she felt when Katherine told her she’d be sick if she ate anymore of that delectable cinnamon bread.

She nearly whined when it was gone, as if it had left her—left her like so many others had. But when she opened her eyes, Katherine was still there, her same sweet smile and deep eyes and oh, that same love Pearl had always craved so desperately and was now finally hers.

“Hey! I want a kiss, too,” Gem complained. “I’m cursed! I deserve a kiss as well! And I want one from Pearl too. Y’know, they say kissing is like medicine!”

A laugh escaped from Pearl’s lips at that, and she tilted her head back, an unstoppable bark of pure joy spilling out with emotions she couldn’t begin to name or control. Katherine joined her laughter in a second later, rocking them back just enough to see Gem’s face spread in a smile as she chuckled.

[obsessedwithegos]

Hello again! I’m back but with a writing prompt! Doesn’t have to be filled or anything, just wanted to share it cause you’re one of my favorite writers :D A young (I don’t mean child like young adult) royal gets kidnapped by a criminal for ransom, but it turns out that the royal family was really toxic and abusive to the person so now this criminal has to deal with the repercussions of committing treason and crimes against the crown while having to take this little prince/princess/heir with them. Could be a whumpee/slightly better whumper situation or could be a whumpee/caretaker or even a whumpee/a bit healed other whumpee. Hope you enjoy!

So I took a little creative liberty and made a small change! Prince Thei is still kidnapped for ransom, but Alistair wasn’t specifically targeting royalty! 

Notes: Eldryth is a 5 headed dragon, but her green and black heads share a consciousness and her blue and white heads share a separate one. Meaning she has 3 separate consciousnesses! Also 10,000 gold is equivalent to $1,000,000 USD!

CWs: Draconic Sibling whumper(s), Vampiric Tiefling whumpee, Changling carewhumper, Sibling abuse, Downplaying abuse, Kidnapping, Improper wound care, Whumpee seeking out carewhumper

~~~~~~~~~

Thei harshly pulled their hood over their head as they stormed out of the castle.

“Oh come on you big baby! You know I’m just messing with you!” Eldryth’s primary head called out

“Messing with them typically doesn’t involve getting claws on them.” Her green and black heads pointed out, causing her to roll her eyes. “Oh please, they need to get over themself.” she huffed.

“Ma’am, should we send someone after them?” A guard asked. 

“No, if they want alone time let them have it.” She says at the same time as her blue and white heads, resulting in a slight echo effect.

~~

Thei sniffled as they try to wipe tears away so they don’t fall into the fresh claw wound on their face. 

Their face burned and they kept their eyes looking at the ground. “That sanctimonious bitch and her vacuous heads.” They muttered. 

They kicked a rock “Just once I’d like to take reprisal on her without getting in trouble.” They huffed 

They continued to rant to themself, unaware that there was someone just around the corner that was listening. 

“I- Just- AUGH–UMPF-” Their ranting was cut off by a paw slapping over their mouth as they’re grabbed and dragged off into the night. 

They attempted to struggle but it didn’t take long for something to wrap around their tail and legs, a blind fold thrown over their eyes before being gagged, and then their wrists being grabbed to be tied behind their back.

Despite being restrained they still continued to squirm and try to yell into the gag, regardless of their attempts they were still carried off.

~~

Alistair was breathing heavily by the time he got back to his cabin, while the person he caught seemed to have tired out a while ago, carrying them and keeping up this form was exhausting. 

He locked the door behind him and hulled the person over to a chair he had already prepared. He drops them into it, unwrapping his tail from around their legs and tail so he could tie them to the chair first. 

Once he had them secured to the chair he finally drops the tabaxi disguise. “Alright. Let's see who you are. Hopefully you have someone who’s willing to pay good money for you.” He mutters the last sentence as he grabs their hood and yanks it back. 

He hums as he looks over their green hair and pink skin. “Well, I can’t see your eyes but you’re pretty cute.” He grabs their chin so he could move their head to get a better look at them. One of their cheeks had a pretty deep cut in it. “Even if I can’t use you for ransom I’m sure I could sell-”

His eyes landed on the scale choker with 5 colorful gems that was clasped around the person’s neck. “Fuuuccckk.” He whispered as he felt his heart drop.

He just kidnapped Prince Thei. He just kidnapped one of the children of Tiamat. Oh he was so screwed. 

Then he paused. Why was the prince walking around without any guards? Why was he hurt?

He sighs and goes to get some rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and a bandage. When he returned, he kneeled down in front of the prince. “I’m going to take your gag off so I can clean your wound. If you yell I’ll shove it down your throat.” He threatened before taking the gag off.

To his surprise, the prince remained quiet. 

He poured rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball before pressing it against the wound, resulting in a hiss from them as it stung their wound. 

~~~~

Despite the stinging, Thei didn’t pull try to pull away. Other than the occasional hiss from the stinging, they remained quiet. 

“What happened?” The kidnapper asked as he put a bandage on the wound. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“It’s not everyday there’s an injured prince wandering around without guards.”

They hesitated for a moment as their ears pin back. “My sisters happened. It’s not that serious.” 

“It’s not? Is it a common occurrence?” He asked, sounding confused. 

“... Yes.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. 

“If I take off your blindfold, you won't have me executed when you’re brought back home. Will you?” He asked.

Thei snorts “As if I have that ability.” 

“Just answer the question.”

“No. I won’t have you executed. If you’re going to use me for ransom, I’d recommend sending it straight to Tiamat. She’s the only one likely to pay it.” 

The kidnapper was quiet for a moment as he took the blindfold off. “The name is Alistair.” He introduces himself. 

They squint their eyes and blink a few times to adjust to the light. Upon seeing the changling in front of them, they looked confused and then looked around. “Where’s your furry partner in crime?” 

“I don’t have a partner in crime. That was me.” Alistair answered as he turned his hands into fluffy orange paws. 

Thei looked at him in astonishment. “You can turn into animal folk? I thought humanoid changlings couldn’t do that.” 

He shrugs and poofs his arms back to normal. “Well, like you, I’m an oddball.” 

“How peculiar.” They muttered. 

“As for the ransom. If I attempted to do that, do you have any idea what the size of the bounty that would be put on my head would be?” He rhetorically asked. “Tomorrow I’ll drop you off somewhere outside of the city and you can walk back home.” 

“I imagine it’d be around ten thousand gold.” They answered, resulting in a choked sound from Alistair. 

They paused for a moment. “What if I don’t want to go back?” They asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“What?” Confusion was plastered across his face. “You’d rather stay with your kidnapper than go back home?”

They gave a half shrug as it was difficult to move their arms. “I mean, this is the most thrill I’ve had in a while! You aren’t beating me, you aren’t shouting at me, or claiming how much better you are than me. You actually tended to my wound.” They listed off as they managed to adjust their hands enough to be touching the rope around their wrists. 

“This is significantly better than that stuffy old castle.” They added on right before acid from their hands caused the rope around their wrists to snap. “That’s a little better.” They muttered. 

He looked at them, completely bewildered before shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not risking my head just because Prince Thei doesn’t want to go home.” 

He picks up the leftover supplies that he used to tend to their wound. “I hope you’re comfortable because I’m not untying you, so you’re going to be sleeping in that chair..” He says before leaving the room to put supplies away before retiring to bed.

“Wha- No dinner?!” Thei called out. Upon getting no response they pouted. “What an awful way to treat a captive.”

~~~~

Alistair woke up before the sun rose. He got dressed and left his room as he mentally prepared himself to carry Prince Thei back to the city. 

What he wasn’t prepared for was finding the chair that he had tied them to empty with the robes on the floor with ends that had been eaten away by acid. 

Panic started to build until he spotted the familiar pinks and greens of the prince sleeping on his couch. He breathed a sigh of relief before walking over to them. 

Despite the situation they looked like they were sleeping mostly peacefully. Their face was almost entirely relaxed with the exception of their eyebrows being slightly furrowed. 

“Alright escape artist. Get up.” He says as he knees them in the stomach.

They wake up with a yelp followed by wheezing as the air is forced out of their lungs as they try to roll onto their back. “You could’ve- fuck- just shaken me awake!” They managed to get out between wheezes and gasps. 

“And you could’ve stayed in the chair.” He snipped before grabbing one of their arms and forcing them up “Now come on.” 

Alistair just wanted to get this done and over with to get the prince out of his hair and to get the risk of such a high bounty off of his back. 

Little did he know that the prince would continue to seek him out, just for a bit of thrill and to get away from their family. 

~~~~~~~~

General: @emmettnet @thebluejaysworld

[satorugojowidow]

My fault, but what about the thread? Can you share thoughts? I don't know many k-pop fans personally so I want to know, be prepared for their joining. On here I only see gifs and fanfics.

A few things about me that are fair to know to judge my opinions. I'm a second gen fan, I began to listen to kpop in 2009, actually a fan in 2010. My first favorite band was DBSK/JYJ and was part of the whole “activism” to support JYJ in their way out of SM. Started in tumblr as an exo fan and my last fandom where I was active was loona in their golden days (2016-2018). To be honest I’m not active in fandom since 2018/19. I keep listening to kpop but I don’t keep up with new bands or whatever is going on in the kpop world. But it is actually pretty easy to assume this twitter user is talking about BTS and particularly RP. 

I can’t answer everything she is saying because it has been some years since i don’t keep up with what is going on there. However, I can confirm that the army acts like BTS invented kpop lol. They love to speak about how they made kpop popular overseas when there was an actually large fandom base in europe, usa and latin america before they even debuted. Actually some bands like JYJ did quite successful concerts at that time in latin america. Even the expansion to Japan is something that Boa and DBSK did. Of course, BTS is a massive success, but they didn’t happen in the nothing, there was a whole process and context. I can confirm this thing about how they glorify their artist as the only true artist and the others idols are just fakers. But to be fair, that is something that vips (big bang fandom) did before. Well, the army is large so everything will be more annoying with them for a matter of numbers. 

Army does act like they found the final gem, but it is not fair to say that only them are toxic with other artists because fanwars are old as kpop. I believe it is more a generational attitude or even an attitude with the past. I hear many young fans from different fandoms talking about a past where fanwars didn’t exist when such a thing never happened. We can recall fanwars from second gen groups with events like “black oceans” during festivals. 

I do agree, in theoretical terms, that each phenomenon has their own features and with BTS there must be some specific issues. I’m just not that invested or updated to talk about this. However, in my opinion there are some inherent issues with the phenomenon of being a “fan” that can’t be avoided no matter the fandom. The idealization of the artist, the feeling of belonging and loyalty, are all problematic. We surely need to build ways to interact with artists less toxic. But for the music industry (no matter how annoying it may be for artists who have obsessed fans) they gain more money from people who are willing to give everything to their artist. This is also a problem of capitalism and consumer culture. 

About twitter as a platform for fandom organization. Well in the old days 2011-2014, facebook and tumblr were also a big part of “spaces” for fandoms. Tumblr went down, facebook lost relevance yet fandom groups were still working until 2019 (when i last checked lol). Twitter has a specific feature for fans actions like TT, but fandoms won’t fall because the app falls, they are already important on tik tok and IG. With apps it’s a matter of adaptation, a big problem would be that twitter was still at its best but kpop fandom became irrelevant and can’t pull a TT. Why? because it is a battle to push your consumptions, make them relevant and gain space. Promotion helps to succeed and success sustains your cultural consumption. There will be more as long as they sell. Nevertheless, it is fair to say there are alot of “identity” issues in why kpop fandoms promote their artists. 

What is actually in danger with twitter is the capacity of collective actions in social websites. Other websites have tags and trendings but can’t pull like twitter does. Regarding kpop fandoms, in my opinion twitter was a space of action but not the source of organization. Fandoms tend to agree with their actions in closed groups (like facebook at the time) and go to twitter with a tag and schedule that was already decided somewhere else. 

In my opinion, being active in a fandom will consume too much of your personal time and will keep you frustrated because there is always some drama and fans are super annoying. However, you can still enjoy kpop from “outside”. IG is a good option, you find images and videos but don’t come across with the drama (not that much). Tumblr has very little these days but still can enjoy some gifs. I don’t have tik tok so I can’t talk about it. I’m not sure how is discord, but sound like the last place to be regarding fandoms (like forums) 

*Yes, I am naming fandom by their names because I fear nothing. 

[empty-masks]

Book Four, Chapter Five

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

There’s no small amount of dedication needed to maintain a backyard the way that Samson Parrish does. Firstly, the yard has not been cleared of its trees. Normally, this would only be a seasonal problem, as the deciduous trees native to the Eternal Autumn usually only drop their leaves during certain periods of the year, but as the name might suggest, the Eternal Autumn has a unique environmental effect on the local forests that makes them drop leaves year-round, slowly but surely. Some say it’s the soil, some say it’s magic, but regardless of what it is— it’s a labour of love to keep a yard clear of leaf cover year-long. Sam’s yard is, as noted by Azariah as soon as they show up, almost completely clear of leaves and creeping underbrush in favour of some natural species of clover and moss that would normally make their home on the sides of rocks and trees. And while there is no lack of small boulders in the yard, there’s a sense that they’ve been moved to the edges of his property by the efforts of a couple large folks and a case of beer, rather than a backhoe.

    Nearest to his freshly painted split-level, Sam also keeps a rather impressive row of neatly trimmed perennial bushes and a well-loved vegetable garden, both marked off with simple iron fences. Heads of painted pumpkin and crimson cabbage poke their way through their thick foliage and vines, and the pink leaves of pigmentine carrots sprout feet above the soil they originate from, though the carrots haven’t been as good this season since he switched off his usual fertilizer, according to Sam.

This, with the well-washed grey brick, hickory wood porch, and the ambiance of a cool afternoon, sets quite an impression for the group as they gather around a picnic table to eat their first proper home cooked dinner in a good, long while. Charred painted pumpkin soup filled with veggies and a sprinkle of cured bacon— excepting in Azariah's serving—  alongside a fresh, local loaf of brown bread. Evening peeper toads have begun to sing in the distance, and during the course of the dinner, things almost feel normal between the six of them. It certainly feels normal for Sam.

“Now, I’m glad y’all are appreciative of the hospitality, but I believe it’s due time that you learn what Pickman’s Hope really all about,” he starts, raising his glass. “I’m gonna give y’all a little history lesson, so long as Azariah’s willin’ to let me venture forth uncensored.” He winks at the Hare, who gives him a brief nod. Then, he begins to weave his tale for everyone to hear. Everyone who’s willing to listen, anyways.

    In the beginning, when this place was still called Gutter’s Glade, it was about as peaceful as the town you see today. The bakery I got your bread from was there. The bar you showed up at was there too, just under a different name and management. Most importantly though, there were a lot more craftsmen around, see. Lots of jewelers, mystics, the kinds that’re attracted to shiny stuff that comes out of the ground. People like that would find Gutter’s Glade on their radar thanks to it being a mining town, but not a mining town as y’all know it— we were independent, and we cared for one another.

Everything was connected, and we all understood that so we looked out for one another’s backs. The artisans would teach the miners what to look for, how to crack geodes to damage the least amount of product. The miners would teach the artisans their methods of dowsing the ground for product, and would keep them updated on finds and prospects. Medical folk would work with the both of them to keep’em happy and healthy, and everyone else in town provided what they could to keep the gems flowin’. I remember days when guys would come up from the mine coughin’ up their lungs and full of soot and dust and completely empty-handed, no product to speak of. And even on those days when you could see how pathetic they felt, they were still taken care of by everyone around ‘em. In fact, one of my old friends who, well, passed away, had developed some kinda apothecarial gas that’d get into your lungs, clean ‘em out, and ‘bout thirty seconds later, it’d come right back out as black gunk. We’re still tryin’ to find out how she did it, but the point is, the town was dedicated to itself and we were dedicated to each other.

Now, while I spawned back in Kiln with Azariah and a few of our old buddies, I found myself makin’ a home in Gutter’s Glade soon after. I was never cut out to be anythin’ but a miner— I didn’t have any particularly useful technical skills, and my hands were too big for those tiny jeweler’s tools anyways. I took to it naturally, in a way. I swung picks around for a couple years, made myself known to the locals, and soon enough I was bein’ treated like family. It made me the man I am today to have had such dedicated people lookin’ out for me, and I don’t dare to think who I’d be without them.

Though, I didn’t stay with ‘em forever. Miners around this region know that there’s an untold number of caves sittin’ just below a certain footage in the stone, and that if you dig too deep, there’s a good chance you’ll wake up some beasties you didn’t know existed. Now, I’m gonna be frank here, this is somethin’ that happened pretty often. Guys would have to take their weapons down into the mines if they knew that they’d hit a deep vein. I was no exception to that rule! Back in the day I had a cheap sword that looked like it’d been a fence post in a former life, and I always took it with me on dives. 

And I did my fair share of Monster killin’. Skitterbears, a heap’a those mushroom things, a few of those boulder serpents, and near the end of my career, I had the displeasure of runnin’ into a Cave Shadow. If you’ve never heard of one, the first thing you should know is that they’re beasties basically made’a magic. They hide in the darkest spots of caves, and ambush ya’ when you’ve got yer’ hands busy. They barely even make sense’ta look at, all eyes and teeth and claws— and one decided to jump me while I was with an exploration party. Gave me a big nasty scar on my belly, but I killed the damn thing, and lemme tell ya’, the adrenaline kept me alive for days while the medics patched me together. I was ridin’ high on that and while I was bedridden, I decided that it was time to put down the pick and take up the sword for a living.

So, after I made a full recovery, I left to adventure on my own. I went beyond these mountains, headed west for fame and fortune. And though I found some of both, lookin’ back on it? I would say I had let my success go to my head. I was self-absorbed to a point where I’d given up on the people who’d saved my damn life, and all because I was obsessed with the idea of seein’ how far I could take my heroism. Maybe it’s the guilt talkin’ there, I dunno. I’ve yet to talk ‘bout that era of my life with my counselor.

But while I was gone, Gutter’s Glade was havin’ the life choked out of her. Somewhere along the line, one of the miners found themselves a plot of land near the foot of the mountains, called it the “big one”. Now, since we were a minin’ town, we attracted the attention of many mining conglomerates who wanted to move in and run shop in our stead. Most of them, we told to beat it. Emphasis on “most,” ‘cause this miner received a massive lump sum of cold, hard cash for the plot of land from, you guessed it, Shepherd Gemstone. And from there, things went downhill.

While I can’t give ya’ specifics since I wasn’t there while this was happening, I trust in my friends enough to give ya’ a summary. The company established itself by hiring off a bunch of our miners at a pretty penny, since they knew that the vein was going to pay back tenfold. From there, they installed foremen and company stores, which respectively completely alienated the rest of the miners from their pals, and began keepin’ the local businesses from their cash with their prices. It hardly took a year before the entire town was workin’ for Shepherd Gemstone, breakin’ their backs strippin’ those mountains of everything they were worth. Everyone, even those artisans who’d never been the blue collar types to begin with, had to grab a pick to survive. That company was fast, efficient, and real goddamn thorough in the way that it destroyed our lives and our land. It got to a point where even if we wanted to, tryin’ to go down into those mines again would cause cave-ins like we’d never seen the likes of prior. 

It was three years of adventuring before I came back to Gutter’s Glade. I had seen enough of my life flashin’ before my eyes, but as fate would have it, it wouldn’t be the last time it’d happen. I saw the life I once knew shattered into a thousand pieces, the people I loved stripped of their health, dignity, and freedom. And my old adventurin’ buddies, the people I’d suffered and strived for greatness with, saw it too.

It awoke somethin’ in me, somethin’ that I hadn’t even had while I was out there chasin’ the Dragon’s tail. I vowed that day to free that town from the company, even if it were to cost me my own life. And from then forth, I dedicated myself entirely to the organization and proliferation of the union that you saw runnin’ the town today.

Now, if you think I make it sound like a piece of cake, I don’t know what kinda cake you’ve been eatin’, cause I don’t think I’ve seen more misery in my entire life than that point there. I put my heart and soul into these people, and there were times where I was afraid that they didn’t have any left to give back. There were times where I had to put my body on the line just to relieve some of the fear that they had toward the foremen.

God, the first fight I got into with a foreman was a guy who they’d hired specifically ‘cause he was the unhinged type. A real sadist, the kind that you’d see and think that they picked up outta banditry work. He was beatin’ down one one of the miners real hard, and in response I knocked the everlovin’ shit outta him. I made that motherfucker eat his own goddamn teeth for breakfast, but I was lucky, since there weren’t any other foremen watching and I knew nobody present would speak a word about it. Not even him, since his pride was too hurt. Not long after the vindictive bastard tried to sneak a knife under my ribs while I was sleepin’, which didn’t work, and I ended up puttin’ him six feet under with the little number I carry on my hip.

Point is, whether by conversation, union pressure, or by force alone, we worked our way up the corporate ladder, dismantling each pawn on the way up. It took years, but by the time I was just startin’ to turn grey ‘round the chops we had forced the company to pull back entirely from the town. Their profit margins were in the red, and so they abandoned everything where it stood, movin’ on to wherever the fuck snakes like them move on to.

Buildings upon buildings of corporate supplies and spoils, ours for the takin’. Though they left a little product around, it wasn’t enough to sustain ourselves off— and so, we had to get creative with our reconstruction. We also abandoned those mountains, as we learned quickly that there was nothin’ left for us either. At first we tried to invest in breweries, since the valley tends toward cool, dark weather. But, brewin’ takes time, so we did everythin’ else we could to bring the town back on its feet.

Odd jobs for nearby towns, sellin’ and movin’ stuff made by the artisans who still knew how, doin’ a little protection work for passing-by caravans; we were the handymen of the ridges, and our plan B turned into our plan A by accident. After a certain point we were on-call anytime a neighboring town needed somethin’ built, somethin’ torn down, somethin’ reconstructed, designed, you name it. Money flowed in the direction of our blue-collar labor force, so we leaned into it and let it carry us wherever it led.

It led to us renaming the town; “Pickman’s Hope”, the name you know today, was what we agreed upon. We’ve helped Fusillade rebuild itself a dozen or so times since our independence, we’ve helped carve out the hills of Kiln for their expansion project, we’ve helped build the road from here to Honeysett and further. And while our brewin’ work’s only now startin’ to pick up some traction, we’ve got a nice, healthy community goin’ now, and that’s what matters the most.

And that’s how Pickman’s Hope came to be, folks. Don’t listen to the folks ‘round here who refer to me with these nice titles, they did this, all this, themselves. All it took was me showin’ them they could do it. The only reason I’m the head of anythin’ at the moment is ‘cause I’m old, and ‘cause I’m good at diplomacy, even though there’s plenty’a fresher spawns here who’re lookin’ like they’ll surpass me someday.

    “I’m surprised you didn’t tell ‘em more about your shotgun, Sam,” Azariah chuckles, having finished his soup. “Practically gnawed the rest of my ear off with that earlier.”

“It ain’t all THAT important to the story. But if you insist,” he says.

In one swift motion, the sawed-off shotgun is pulled out from its holster, and set gently on the picnic table. “She used to be a little longer in both directions, but I found that she was harder to carry ‘round. I’ve turned quite a few of those nasty foremen inside out with ‘er, and I’ve never found somethin’ I couldn’t handle with her in my hands.”

“She?” Judith asks, frowning.

“Don’t be disrespectful, now, Judith.”

“I was just making a comment.”

“You just ain’t human if you don’t attach a pet name to somethin’ you love. Ain’t that right, Charlene?”

“I guess I’m not human, then. I’ve never gendered my gear before.”

Sam lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’m just pullin’ your chain, don’t you worry. ‘Sides I knew you weren’t human from the moment I saw you.” He points at his nose, sending a pang of realization toward Judith. “You got the werewolf smell whether you like it or not. Was worried too, since most of our werewolves don’t smell the same as anyone from Shepherd Gemstone.”

“Anyway,” he says, sliding his gun back into its holster. “I’m glad to have given y’all a little bit of history. I hope it means somethin’, considerin’ y’all are on the run from the same company we beat.” He stands up from his seat, bowl in hand. “If we did it, y’all can do it too. Remember that.”

==============================================================

“You’re a buzzkill, L. I think it would’ve been funny.”

“And I think the fact that I’m still awake is bad enough, Piper. Jules needs his rest, don’t aim for potholes.” Hypocritical, she knows, but Jules is really in a bad way even if he’s faster to recover than just about anyone when he’s had his fill. Lucille’s not in the mood to have to climb into the back of the car— again— to help fix the Vampire’s bandages after a particularly nasty bump or dip in the road just because Piper might get a kick out of jostling him.

Piper’s eyes roll, then settle back onto the road ahead, lit only by the now faint lamps at the head of her car. Her car, her car. It feels delightful to roll that around in her mind, settle on it for a while longer, and enjoy the smooth finish of the thought. She leans back a bit in her seat, easing on the gas. It’s long past being late and has breached into that strange territory where it’s beginning to become early, though the sunrise has some hours left before it claws its way over the horizon. It’s a long ride between Fusillade and Pickman’s Hope, but one somebody can make if they’re willing to take about most of their waking day to drive it, and Piper is nothing if not deeply and entirely dedicated to her work.

Lucille’s eyes, dark as the night itself, linger on Piper’s shoulders, drifting to her throat and then to the snake’s features. Her gaze narrows. Since the ride started, there’s been something eating at her, something about Piper she can’t place, and after a lengthy, engine-noise filled silence, she feels obligated to attempt to place it while she has the time.

This isn’t her Piper. Not the one she had spoken to uncomfortably often over the matter of stolen product back on site for some years during her tenure as head of security; no, this Piper is someone vastly different. It’s hard to notice, but this line of work leans heavy on information, and unless you’ve got someone to handle it, you either do it yourself or you die. She learned that lesson well enough on her way out of the frostbitten shithole she calls home, she learned it well during her traveling freelancer nights, her job as security head, and it seems she’s learning it all over again right now, in the passenger seat of this disgustingly lavish fuckmobile. Survival in a world of snap decisions and split second deaths depends upon power and honed senses, and if you don’t have one, pray you have the other.

Jules on his good nights is a powerhouse. Jules on his bad nights is a piece of cardboard recently soaked in rainwater. Lucille is always attentive, or at least believes herself to be. She’s attentive enough that, after a certain point, she begins to reach conclusions passively, without thinking, as the thoughts coalesce somewhere in the back of her skull, pooling close to where the base meets her spine, before they spring as fully formed ideas into the forefront. It’s a highly developed and effective collecting process that utilizes every scent; it’s that sixth sense that screams in the back of her mind when there’s enough external stimuli to tell her that, despite not seeing any direct signs of it, she is being followed by some monumentally skilled sneak. It’s what tells you you’re being watched. Her gut instinct, in time, has been honed to a razor’s edge. It’s what saved Jules when they first hauled up that corpse. It saved her on her way out of the frozen wastes. She thinks it might save her again, soon, but only if she’s right.

It’s rare she wants to be wrong. Much as she might complain about Piper, she’s not one to want to see her develop like this. The gloves would be a sign on anyone else, but she knows Piper to have been a mining foreman and a Weresnake, gloves with thick material leave little trace compared to bare hands but when one has claws and doesn’t wish to knick anybody, they’re practically a necessity unless you file often, a problem those with simple fingernails don’t run into. Largely it’s the coat, because she knows it.

She’d never really gotten all that chummy with the guy during his brief passes through, but she knows well enough that the coat belonged to Blondie at some point. Hard not to when she once had to endure the constant complaining Gilroy had in store when it comes to Blondie’s ideas regarding the structure of the whole operation top to bottom, especially when near the tail end of her time there many such ideas involved liquidating her own part of it. It’s not an easy coat to miss, it’s a custom job and it’s made to be wrapped around already large lycanthropes and hopefully survive a shift in the heat of battle. Aside from that, there’s an identifiable shape against the snake’s ribs— a weapon.

Piper’s tail shifts and runs against Lucille’s side before curling back behind the seat again. The driver smiles, offering a brief glance at her fangs alongside a sidelong look, the gold in her irises unsettlingly vivid amid the reflecting moonlight. Piper has some height on her, even sitting; she has to look up for her own dark eyes to drink in another change.

Posture, attitude, expression. Surprisingly, you learn to read people pretty well when you fight them for a living, just another set of information for her gut to digest. A person’s face can tell you when they’re about to punch you if you can really get it down pat, or it can tell a lot more. Piper reminds her, in this moment, of those idiots back north who wear their enthuse on their sleeve, or more aptly, on their faces.

The sun burned high in the sky behind cloud cover as Lucille wrapped her arms with rough leather straps, sitting in the back of a ramshackle pickup truck-sled monstrosity as it screamed across the ice. Half of her face was painted with vivid red, some crushed plant, as was what bits of her torso could be seen beneath patchwork leather and metal. Her feet were bare, but they were not cold.

Too recently had she stepped through the smoldering embers of burned tents, rendered to ash by the torches of crazed warriors, raiders and fiends. Those tents which were not crushed by the stampede of motor vehicle abominations were put to the flame by the wilder fighters on foot, those who’d leapt from their rides in pursuit of battle and plunder, taken by the throes of absolute and total war. Many of them wore less than her, painted from head to toe in a myriad of flaming colors, claiming that their flames would warm them so long as they were worn. She found no warmth in the paint, not like the fanatics did.

Across from her sat three other women and a couple men, all of whom also bore the paint and symbols of the gang, though unlike Lucille they were clawing at one another, screaming, laughing as they tossed around trophies from the latest excursion against a small sect of a larger rival gang. The trophies, when not stained by blood, were marked with blue smatterings and swirling symbols in contrast to her group’s sharper, geometric flame-based design ethic.

Between her feet sat a set of knives. Simple knives meant for tossing, they weren’t large or ornate, nor were they particularly expensive, but what drew her to them was the simple fact that they were still in a package marked with an actual brand. Like a cutlery set for throwing knives, though Lucille would not come to know what a cutlery set is until she headed down south.

Her hands balled into fists as she noticed the stares of her companions lingering dangerously on her prize, her lone and simple treasure. She had taken no trophies from her fights, taken no trinkets from the burnt tents, save for this single knife set. It was a set of six, marked with a title: “Crescent House — Daggerist Starter Kit.” A brand name. It did not confuse her, as some might think. It fascinated her. In this place if something had a name it was that of its creator, often in memoriam, so it was strange to see something named as such. After all, she’d never heard of anyone called “Crescent House.”

A man of chalky white skin and of wild hair, half-dyed with the red paint, grabbed the set from between Lucille’s legs. All the while he smiled, casting her only a passing glance, offering little but the derision one shows to someone unfortunate enough to be forced to give tithe. Though he was merely the single largest person on a single truck among a sea of such vehicles bearing the banner of their gang, a no-name like the rest of them, he held himself as the king of this tiny, metal realm, standing amidst his subjects as treads beneath them hauled it all alongside tens of similar machines, with many such similar men claiming many such familiar fantasies.

Lucille crushed his nose beneath the heel of her palm with a shout, pouncing upon him as she swung her leather-wrapped arms. The tall man went down, and she was on top, and the others were screaming with her, beating their sides, stomping their feet, the wind whipping around them as she continued to bring her hands down on him. They’re screaming words, but she heard none of them over those of her own, those of her normal mouth and the ungodly noises of that maw below her ribs as with every raising of her fists into the air it opened wide to let loose a battle yawp the likes of which none of her companions could have dared to match.

Her arms didn’t stop moving until she heard the whimpering admittance of submission, and the smug expression she so detested was ripped from his features by way of might, as all things were, as all things are.

Lucille blinks. Piper’s got that look, that “you owe this to me” look, the sort of entitled expression only backed up or put down by quick and decisive force. Her gut instinct is to strike her now, car crash be damned, but she’s been wrong about plenty lately. She had no clue Jules was working for the Carnevale, and even at this moment holds some reservations that he might start working for them again almost immediately after he recovers. Not to mention she hadn’t been able to predict any of what happened in Kiln, and Fusillade in near totality was an absolute shitshow. She’s been wrong a lot lately. She’s probably wrong right now.

“You’re staring, L.” Piper’s forked tongue slips between her fangs to extend the soft c in the shortening, a play to lighten the mood. It’s flagrant, as though taunting Lucille to question, to urge, to press and poke where she shouldn’t. It’s the rattle of a snake ready to bite, her guts scream. Kill her now, before she can take initiative.

Lucille settles with her head against the window, her arms wrapped around herself as though to shield her body from a chill far, far away. “The new coat looks good.”

“Thanks. It’s a Quilting Club custom piece, you know,” Piper replies.

Lucille’s head turns only slightly toward the dark, faintly moonlit dashboard. “Quilting Club? You can afford Quilting Club with this new job? Even Jules and I haven’t gotten a catalogue…”

“Hey, when you’re on the rise the major players take notice. Get on the ground level, invest in your big spenders. I didn’t buy it, instead just got it from the last guy, but that’s just being cost effective.” A laugh escapes the driver, but she calms herself quickly enough as her eyes drift along the road ahead. “Maybe sometime later on I can forward a letter of recommendation, but I don’t see you guys doing too many jobs that need this tier of gear in the near future.”

“I suppose you’re right, bounty hunting doesn’t need heavy ordnance. Usually just prep time and a decent execution.”

“Yeah.” Piper nods. “In my line of work we don’t only handle random miners, even if that’s my job right now.”

“Of course.” Lucille’s jaw refuses to settle. She needs to keep talking, but the words are awkward. Forcing her gut instinct down alone is enough to give her trouble, but the fact that it’s Piper doesn’t help. “Haircut?”

“Nope.” A grin is offered again. The smooth scales of Piper’s tail rub against Lucille’s hip once more, only to settle right back into position behind the driver’s seat as Jules turns over in the back, as if caught.

“This really isn’t the time to talk about this,” Lucille says, largely to herself.

“Just messing with you, L. Teasing.” Piper’s shoulders roll as she speaks, voice low. “I’m spoken for now anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Seen the beautiful brunette on the big makeup signs down south?” Piper asks with raised brows, expectant.

“Yes,” Lucille admits. It’s hard not to considering they’ve been up for years. Makeup’s apparently big in cities as far as she can tell, but there are some things a bit of foundation really can’t make look nice. Aside from that, any man or woman interested in her, ignoring the snaggle of fangs she calls a mouth and the maw in her torso, probably isn’t the type to be enticed by the prettier, more human looking sorts. “Hard to miss, considering anytime you enter a big city around here they’re up everywhere. Really? What’s her name?”

“Janet Campbell, and she’s even better looking in person.” Piper nods in faux humility, her smile widening. “Nice place. Wonderful kids. Her boy’s really taken a shine to me, L. I might take him hunting one day, if she lets me, like my daddy used to take me out hunting. The driveway is great, and the backyard—”

Lucille clears her throat. “I didn’t ask about her kids or what she has, I asked about her. What’s she like?” There’s no hint of jealousy, really, it’s just curiosity. “Let’s talk, Piper. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

“What’s there to talk about?” The tail wraps a little more firmly around her seat. “She’s beautiful and caring, that’s fine enough. There’s nothing to talk about, L, that ship’s sailed, the offer’s off the table. I’m seeing somebody. A model.”

“I wasn’t trying my luck,” Lucille mumbles. “You don’t have to repeat yourself.”

“Look, Lucille, I’m sure there are plenty of folks out there looking to get into all of… That. Plenty. Lots of people who’d adore to sort out your icicle hellhole baggage. Just not me, of course, because I’m a bit busy getting all up in—”

“I said I get the point, Piper, I get it.” Lucille sits up, away from the window. “Don’t be an ass.”

“If I find any nice guys, any decent fighter types without the fear that they’re going to wake up bitten in half, I’ll send ‘em your way, promise. Well, if they’re pretty enough then Jules might get to them first. Women too, if I meet any good matches, I’ll send ‘em on over. If anything that might be the safer bet, what with how Jules—”

Lucille lightly but sharply punches Piper’s tail with a rumbling growl not from her mouth but from the maw beneath her clothes before saying, in no uncertain terms, “Do not finish that fucking sentence.”

The pain’s enough to cause Piper’s grip to jerk as she hisses, said jerk subsequently translating into a much larger, more dangerous jerk of the car’s trajectory, sending them dangerously close to the right edge of the road before she compensates and brings them back to the center of the right half as the soon to be conscious Jules tumbles into the floor of the car. “Alright, I won’t. Bitch,” she spits.

Jules raises himself with a groan, using only his left arm, as the two women lock eyes. He blinks, then points out ahead between the both of them. “Sign.”

It’s a big, well carved and well tended wooden sign off the side of the road, with large text lifted out of the carving and painted white for reflection’s sake: “PICKMAN’S HOPE.” Beneath it is the sweet and simple statement, “Welcome home.” On either side of these statements are carvings of wild roses, painted yellow, and plentiful local vegetables painted onto the flat space beside.

Piper and Lucille both collect themselves as Jules settles back into his spot behind them.

“They’re not gonna like us in there,” Jules mumbles from beneath his drooping mustache.

“Of course they aren’t, we’re pretty obviously not your run of the mill migrant workers. You’re too prissy, she looks like she’s ready to kill anybody in the room, and I like to dress for the job I want— which means I’m not going to bother with a disguise. It’s why we’re riding in now rather than later.” Piper straightens herself out, narrowing her eyes at the town far, far ahead. “There’s a Shepherd connection in here that’s been feeding information to us for years, apparently. I’ve got an address, that’s our new base for the time being. Don’t screw it up by starting any random fights in bars over that stupid hat of yours, Jules. Keep civvie casualties to a minimum, ‘kay?”

“You think we’re idiots.” Lucille scoffs.

“No, I know you’re idiots, but you’re my idiots. World of difference. Both of you get ready to get your shit out of the car when we get there, we have to get in fast.”

==============================================================

    AH, ONYX. I EXPECTED YOU TO REQUEST A VISIT EARLIER IN YOUR JOURNEY, BUT IT APPEARS AS THOUGH YOU HAVE BEEN DOING WELL FOR YOURSELF. HOW IS YOUR EGO?

Azariah, opening his eyes to the wall of fog before him, rubs his head and laughs. “Well, if I’m bein’ honest, on top of the world. What kinda question is that?”

ONE OF IMPORTANCE TO CITRINE, AS WE BOTH KNOW.

“You’re right.”

I KNOW. WHAT IS IT YOU NEED? the voice booms. The Hare can see something massive rotating into place from beyond the fog wall.

I’d like to know when I can expect this all to end, he thinks to himself. Things have been going a little too well for them recently, and while he’s enjoying himself, he can’t shake the feeling that it won’t last. They discovered both Judith and Leons’ powers, they got in and out of Fusillade without a hitch. Sam’s still alive and kicking, which is a great bonus, and the only person he’s worried about right now is Roxanne (even if she is one of the hardest people to kill he knows). As far as he can tell, he’s sleeping with the guy right now— things are sweet as candy, and as everyone knows, too much sugar causes problems.

I MUST APOLOGIZE, BUT I AM NOT A SEER, ONYX. I CANNOT TELL YOU YOUR FUTURE. the voice booms again, much to Azariah’s confusion. I UNDERSTAND YOUR SENSE OF DREAD, AS IT IS WHY I CHOSE YOU TO BEGIN WITH. BUT MAY I PROPOSE A QUESTION IN RETURN?

“Of course,” Azariah responds. “Ain’t like I’m gonna refuse you in your own… home?”

OFFICE. REGARDLESS. The shape shifts in the dark again. WHEN DO YOU WANT THIS HAPPINESS TO END, ONYX?

“Well, that’s easy. If I could, I’d want it to keep goin’ ‘til I drop.”

ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR THAT FUTURE?

“Depends.”

I MEAN WHAT I SAY. SO, I SHALL SAY IT AGAIN, IN THE CASE THAT YOU DID NOT UNDERSTAND— ARE YOU PREPARED TO FIGHT FOR YOUR HAPPINESS, ONYX? THERE IS ONE WAY FOR YOU TO SECURE IT, AND THAT IS FOR YOU TO ACT WHEN THE TIME COMES.

Azariah wants to answer right away, yes, of course yes, I’d do anything for it. But something stops him before his mouth can carry him away. It’s a feeling, an old, gripping feeling that had recently slipped away from his conscience. That fearful trap that he had built for himself, the idea that while he can’t stop things from getting worse, the best he can do is enjoy himself while he can in the now. It wants to pull his tongue back down his throat, wants to keep him close in its overwhelming feeling of resignation.

He knows it’s there, he knows it’s a demon of his own design. And for the first time in his life, he realizes just how pitiful it is. The fire inside him had been replaced with a skittering, cowering little beast of burden, willing to carry the weight of his sins so long as he didn’t dare light the flame again. And now that there’s fire once more in his belly, it begs with him, pleads him to just let the future go, as it’s out of his grasp anyways. Something he knows to not be true in the slightest.

The Hare looks back up at the fog wall. He can feel It staring at him, knowingly. It did this on purpose, didn’t It. It put these rocks in his bones for the sake of helping him kill this imp in his gut. All those cryptic messages, all that painful adventuring. It was out to test him, to see if he could make it through this. By god, he certainly did.

So, he folds his arms and looks back at It through the fog. “Yeah. I’m prepared to do anythin’.”

THAT IS GOOD TO HEAR, ONYX. I QUESTIONED WHETHER YOU’D BE ABLE TO OVERCOME YOUR CRACKS, IF I AM TO BE HONEST. BUT, YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF ABLE TO FIX THEM YOURSELF, GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY.

“Opportunity is a pretty light term, considerin’ you single-handedly changed my life,” Azariah chuckles. “I’d say you handed me a one-way ticket to something new.”

THINK WHAT YOU PLEASE. KNOW THAT MY GIFT WAS SIMPLY THE NUDGE, AND NOT WHATEVER FOLLOWED.

“Landslides gotta start somewhere.”

It is silent for a moment. PERHAPS I SHOULD INVEST IN A BETTER ANALOGY. REALLY, IT WAS YOU WHO CRAFTED YOUR FUTURE, NOT I.

“I suppose so. Thank you, by the way. Is this somethin’ you do often?”

YOU ARE VERY WELCOME, ONYX. YES, THIS IS MY JOB. YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED AT HOW FEW BEINGS ON THIS PLANET GIVE EVEN A SIMPLE THANK-YOU FOR MY SERVICES. OF COURSE, DESPITE MY SERVICES NOT TECHNICALLY BEING FOR THEIR GAIN.

Is this thing like, an HR employee? he thinks to himself, without remembering who might be listening.

I AM NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN WHAT “HR” MEANS, BUT I BELIEVE I HAVE ALREADY OVERSTEPPED MY BOUNDS IN THIS CONVERSATION. IT HAS BEEN GOOD TALKING WITH YOU, ONYX. I WISH YOU THE BEST IN YOUR CONTINUED JOURNEY.

“It’s been good talkin’ with you too, uh. What should I call you? I don’t think I ever got your name.”

THAT IS INFORMATION I SADLY CANNOT SHARE— BUT IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, KNOW THAT YOU WOULD NOT BE CAPABLE OF HEARING IT WITHOUT SUFFERING A PARTICULARLY PAINFUL HEADACHE. OR, SO I HAVE HEARD.

Chapter End.

==============================================================

[ Table of Contents ]

Blondie & The Smokestone March is © 2020-2022 Empty Mask. All Rights Reserved.

[melcarrianna]

♣♦ 2022 WIZARDS HEARTS SURVEY ♠♥

My Survey for @gameofdrarry Wizard Hearts 2022. 

~~~~~~~~

What was the first fanwork you read/listened to for the game/fest? Why did you choose it? 

I believe it was Licurici by Louisfake, I chose it because a friend had it recommended as a really great representation of a Poly relationship. Positively fell head over heels for the three of them together. 

What was the last fanwork you read/listened to for the game/fest? Why did you choose it?

The last fic I read was The Trouble With Wanting by Waldorph. I used it for my 2nd wildcard to replace 2nd person POV because there were no 2nd person POV’s over 50k. It was a slow burn with tattoos which is always a win lol, and I always get intrigued with fics that have short summaries they don’t give anything away and you can really find some hidden gems. This one was wonderful, heartwarming, a perfect fic to end the fest on. 

What was your strategy for choosing fanworks throughout the game? Was there a tag/trope you found you simply couldn’t resist?

I am a sucker for the Holiday/Christmas fics and this was a perfect excuse to dive into all of those 25 day’s lists and find some really great longer ones I haven't read before that had the other tropes woven into them. Best of both worlds.

What's a moment in a fic/podfic that genuinely got you to tear up?

Harry Potter and the Elusive Day Off by Pleasebekidding. It was heartbreaking to see Harry stuck inside his own head because all he wanted was a day off. My heart still hurts for him. 

Was there a trope you’ve never read or heard of before? What did you think of it? 

I honestly had no idea what an Epistolary was. I had to look it up, I didn’t realize there was a special name for stories told through things like diary’s, letters, emails, texts etc. One of my favorite books ever is one of these so I do like them, it’s a refreshing take on what’s happening in the story, and of course I see them all over now that I know what they are. 

Which trope did you read that pleasantly surprised you?

Polyamory/Threesome for sure. I have been fairly protective of Drarry as a pair for a while and was not sure how well I would handle another person inserted into their love. But I read Licurici by Louisfake on a recommendation from a friend and fell head over heels for  Harry Draco and Charlie as a throuple. Louisfake writes them so perfectly that I never felt the Drarry dynamic was threatened and Charlie was simply impossible not to love 5/5 ⭐️.

Was there a fanwork that made you laugh out loud? Why

Draw the Line by Katt_Alexx, Draco so far in denial about his feelings, Lucious being so aware of Draco’s feeling for Harry in a *sigh* kind of way - always a laugh. 

Was there a fanwork that made you especially emotional? Why?

Does sexually frustrated count as an emotion because if so, oh man I have never had a fic blue ball me like Its Not Christmas Without You by LittleBozSheep, Every leadup to a kiss was filled with so much wonderful tension only to be thwarted at the last second by some outside force! So Many times! ...I also realized halfway through it was a WIP and may never be finished... so that also hurt. But where it stopped left me content even though tit wasn't finished. And I will say I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I earned getting a kiss out of these 2 frustrating men more than in this one. 

What is your favourite tag/trope? Why?

I think I’m gonna have to say fake dating because seriously these 2 are idiots, like fake dating is ever gonna end up in no one catching feels. Seriously.

Which tags/tropes did you skip? Would you be willing to share why? If you didn’t skip a tag/trope, was there one that gave you pause? 

Even if 2nd person POV had a 50k fic I probably would have still used a wildcard on it, I can’t imagine reading and actual story in 2nd person it really puts me off for some reason. I just cant picture a story written that way that isn't trying to sell me something. 

Who's an author you think deserves more hype? Why?

@drarrelie​ and @janieohio​, these two are a power writing pair and I love reading things they write together! For this fest I read Recipe for Life and it was incredible, it made me cry, it made me smile, the chemistry was spot on, even the OC’s were perfectly incorporated.

 I also recorded a podfic for them last year of their fic This will Be (An Everlasting Love) because I fell in love with everything about it. So I HIGHLY recommend reading their stuff them both together and apart!

Which suit did you have the most fun reading? Why?

Pentacles was probably the most fun overall for me to read it had so many of the tropes I love reading: Professors, Fake Dating, Accidental Bonding, Werewolves, Potions/Spell Accidents, Secret Relationship, Quidditch and Forced Proximity All A+ fun reading for me!

Did you rec any fics to your friends during the game/fest? Which ones? Why?

Here are few I haven't already talked about:  Paper Rings -  Picking up life, coming together again, Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love - Multiple POV’s Ron is hilarious, Hermione is so passionate, Draco and Harry are SO Draco and Harry, Rookie Moves - Self Discovery Harry Great Draco, Visavisavi - Edge of my Seat Case Fic, A Case of You - Great Twists

Do you have any feedback for the mods of the game/fest? Would you be interested in playing again if the opportunity arose? Share more info about your experience. 

I would absolutely love to play this game again, it was fun and quite challenging to find fics new to me that were over the 50K word count. The only thing I wish was that every category has fics available at the 50K+ word count. I had to use my wildcards to cover the ones that didn't, which meant that in order to reach my goal I had to read all of the other tags. At least one of which I would have liked to use a wildcard for. 

I liked almost all the tags that were selected some of which I hadn't really read before so it was cool to find some very new things to read. 

Overall it was a lot of fun. I really liked my teammates, I think the team activities were a lot of fun and I loved seeing what everyone came up with for the activities and its always nice to have a group of people to cheer on. 

Thanks for organizing such a fun game I truly had a blast reading all of these amazing fics! I look forward to the next one and seeing if any new challenges come along next time.

[iguessjustcallmesunflower]

The CEO Only Eats Pizza

Losing a resident will never get easier. I’m sorry, but it just won’t. When you grow attached to someone, care for them, get to know them, and their families... You become a part of their family. Sometimes, their only family.  

The CEO Only Eats Pizza 

Another of my favorites, who is both geriatric and psych, is the CEO. He’s a softie, you can’t help but love him. He’s a... hefty guy, but God is he a gem.  

He loves everyone. He’s a lover. You can’t walk into the building without hearing, “Hi baaaaby.” From him. Everyone is his baby. He and the med tech fell madly in love and got married (So he thinks.) There have been multiple nights he’s been an emotional wreck.  

Crocodile tears, insisting another resident killed his family... (He has it out for this other resident, the Hippie, let me tell you.)  

“The Hippie killed my whole family.”  

“The Hippie stabbed me.”  

“The Hippie ate my foot.”  

“Tomorrow’s my birthday, the Hippie ate my family.”  

And my favorite?  

“The Hippie shoved a tube up my ass and put a hamster there.”  

There wasn’t a single night I wasn’t cracking up. Not at his expense, of course. Just at the things he came up with.  

The CEO wasn’t treated kindly in another facility before he came to ours. Once he realized we’d actually take care of him, feed him, clean him, he wasn’t afraid. He ate when he wanted. Asked for what he wanted. He wasn’t shy anymore. And he was so polite and sweet about it. One night, he asked for pizza. He didn’t have the money for pizza, so one of us had to face the wrath and tears and tell him. I was voluntold.  

“Bubba, you don’t have money for pizza. I’ll get you some tomorrow night, okay?”  

“Yes, I do, I do to have money for pizza!”  

“No, bub, you don’t. I know, and I’m sorry. I’d be upset too.”  

He escalated to yelling at me in the middle of the lobby. “I do too! Get away from me! Help!”  

“Hey, bubs. Listen to me, can you do that?”  

A teary nod.  

“Okay. You don’t have money tonight, but I’ll make sure you have some tomorrow. Is that fair?”  

“You’re fired.”  

“I know bubs. I’d fire me too. But that’s what I can offer you, lovebug.”  

A resigned nod. A sigh.  

“What do you say we go into the dining room and watch the History channel for a while?”  

Another nod. Wouldn’t look me in the eye.  

We watched documentaries until he was falling asleep in his chair. (Quite frankly, I was falling asleep on the table.) Got him wheeled to his room, hoyered up, into bed... And he tells me he’s pooping. Starts crying more crocodile tears, apologizing, and it absolutely broke my heart.  

I ended up catching it in my (gloved) hands, so it didn’t touch the chuck pad. He’s still crying and apologizing, I dispose of his... gift, and he just keeps apologizing. So, I get down to eye level with him, right? And proceed to tell him about the time I had too much dairy at work (yay for lactose intolerance) and ultimately trusted a fart and shit my pants. He stopped crying, looked at me, determined I was telling the truth, and started laughing. He laughed so hard, he farted in my face when I moved to clean him up. That made him laugh harder.  

The CEO has very special needs. More so than most of the other residents. If it’s not pizza, he won’t eat it. Or he will, but he’ll drool it right back out. He’s a stubborn little shit for that. And I love him all the more because of his quirks.  

There was another night, he was having a rough day with his emotions. I was struggling from sleep deprivation from dealing with my mother. I told him I was going to lay down in the floor and take a nap in his room. He was all for it, let me tell you. Didn’t care that I snore, didn’t care that I starfish and take up as much space as possible. He was just happy that I was willing to sleep in his floor.  

He hated being alone. Absolutely hated it. When possible, he preferred someone to be with him. I think, in a way, I related to that. I have severe separation anxiety when I get close to someone. Really, just in general. I hate to be alone, but I’m getting more and more comfortable with it.  

The CEO is the CEO (in his mind) and when you make him mad, when he gets upset, he’ll fire you on the spot. Of course, it’s not actually true. He’s not the CEO, but you can’t tell him that.  

One night he was pissed. I don’t even remember what about, but he was pissed nonetheless. He was screaming at us from his chair, telling us to get out, he’d hit us, we were fired... He was livid. Nothing we could say would calm him. It got to the point where he tried to swing at me, and I had to take a step back.  

“CEO! Do we hit our friends?”  

Angry nod yes.  

“No, no we do not. We’re friends, aren’t we?”  

Angry grunt, and headshake no.  

“Yes, we are. And I don’t hit you, do I?”   Slightly calmer headshake no.  

“See? We don’t hit friends.”  

The CEO had his quirks, but he was also such a sweetheart you couldn’t be angry with him. You really couldn’t. He was too kind, too lovable, to be cross with. Even on my bad nights, when I didn’t want to be at work, because I knew exactly where I would be, he’d make me smile. He’d “walk” himself across the lobby, scooting his chair along until he got to the nurse’s station. Give me a big smile, and a “Hey, baby!” When I’d walk in the doors. He’s the life of that facility. He really is. I don’t want to imagine what it’ll be like after he passes.  

The thought alone breaks my heart.