#or a way to further camouflage themselves?

[gallawitchxx]

Okay I have so many but I'm gonna pace myself because I love hearing your thoughts so much (:

Do you think Mickey has always known he's gay? Do you thing when he may or may not fucked women, he was trying to figure it out or just doing for survival? Do you think Ian was his first guy?

I think Ian is a bit more obvious canonically but Mick can go either way in my head

Always a pleasure (;

-anon xx

oh LORDY xx anon, good thing my wife is out with friends because i guess we are tucking IN tonight!!!! 😂🖤🥳

ooooof, i have a bajillion thoughts about mickey’s sexuality & they all conflict! GET READY!

if i may be a bit serious here, on my very own blog, i think the reality of mickey’s situation is that he knew he was gay or he knew that girls didn’t do it for him, but he also very likely did try to “make a girl work.” his situation with terry was so violent & so dangerous that he probably would have gone a lot longer/the rest of his fucking life with a woman to stay alive/in good graces/employed/housed/whatever the fuck he needed from & with terry. not to mention all of the internalized homophobia.

if not for ian.

so yeah, i would like to think that ian was mickey’s first guy, but i’m open to the possibility that he wasn’t? mickey read that wrestling situation & took his clothes off SUPES QUICK! lolol. like, the boy knows how to hook up, ok?

or he was so swept up in his love & lust for ian that he just took a fucking flyer & thank christ it worked out for him, minus the terrifying moment when terry literally caught them in bed together!!!! because it is undeniable that ian is the catalyst for mickey having to come to terms with his sexuality, both privately & publicly. & i like to think that mickey had a thing for ian & would go to the kash & grab to terrorize him in an “if he pulls your hair, he likes you” kind of a way.

ok also, i don’t know where this thought goes in the overall puzzle/it’s always sunny diagram board of my wild thoughts, but when ian went to the army, mickey went back to hooking up with women.

HOW DID I DO?! 👻

[cosmicconversations]

Thoughts on Scorpio (Sun, Moon, Rising) 🦂

SCORPIO SUN

Scorpio Sun people are like poetry in human form. Whatever they say or do, there is something deeper or more complex underneath the surface. Like a great poem, you could dismiss them on a superficial level or take the time to analyze their true meaning. Yet, at the same time, they can be very frank and very raw people. Their personalities are unapologetic in their authenticity yet it is in a subtle fashion. Whether they are loud or quiet, they are always themselves. Never phony. Scorpio’s multi-dimensional nature is seen by how this sign is represented by multiple animals: the Scorpion, the Phoenix, the Eagle. Some also attribute Snake and Lizard energy to Scorpio. This reveals their various layers of expression. They can be cutthroat and lethal (Scorpion), a fierce survivor who always reinvents themselves after every failure or crisis (Phoenix) or a powerful being defined by their nobility and capacity for rising above (Eagle). Snakes, of course, shed their skins in order to grow. But, they are also known as sneaky and deadly. And the Lizard? Uh, yeah, that one has me stumped. Leave it to Scorpio to not give all the answers. Whatever their spiritual mascot of choice is depends on their level of evolution and self-mastery. Scorpio Suns can either be highly destructive (including to themselves) or remarkably empowered.

SCORPIO MOON

Who’s afraid of the dark? Well, Scorpio Moons probably were as children. But, darkness eventually becomes an old friend to those with this Moon sign. And it can be a friend that nourishes and transforms you or sabotages you. Let’s be honest. This isn’t the easiest placement as there is typically a lot of emotional trauma or childhood pain to unravel. It may not be obvious to most, either. Moon in Scorpio can spend their childhood in a seemingly stable or well-off family. But, behind closed doors? That’s a totally different story. Although their mother figure can be a turbulent or controlling or smothering influence, there can also be an intense closeness and love shared. Often times both, only further complicating things. But, Scorpio Moons were meant to be cycle breakers. Whether or not they answer that call is up to them, once again highlighting the Scorpio choice to either heal or self-destruct. While some with this placement can choose a path of profound mistrust or volatility or toxic unions, many others go the total opposite route and become soulful examples of empowerment. Not without flaw, as they will still be very at ease with their shadow self in a creative or reflective way. But, capable of showing others that you can beat the odds and transform generational trauma. No matter their lot in life, Scorpio Moons feel things very strongly, whether it’s their emotions or their intuitive nudges. They just know things, even when others try to hide from them, and this psychic power and insight makes them both wise counselors to others and a vaguely intimidating presence to some.

SCORPIO RISING

Camouflage is how a Scorpio Rising moves through the world. They are wearing some kind of “costume” in terms of their personality. This doesn’t make them fake. Far from it. They are just very private souls who aren’t eager to reveal much and tend to be more on the reserved or introverted side. Even if they seem like the total opposite. That, in and of itself, is a ruse. They tend to over-complicate things. Scorpio Rising people can be confusing, in a sense, and often need to work on their transparency or directness. They have a way of even physically sneaking up on people. Although they possess a magnetic air, you might not notice them right away. Their energy is most powerful when you really engage with them. Their intense gaze is the stuff of legend. But, it may not exactly be their eyes that are intense. It’s more so the energy they transmit (or even pick up from you) during eye contact. Their voice is either soft and silky or somewhat harsh on the ears, in tone or volume. And yes, some may give off the obvious vibes of a vampire or a witch or a goth via their style. They all feel that way on the inside but it doesn’t manifest so literally. Scorpio Risings have definitely seen some things. They either feel like a dark force maneuvering through a painfully sunny world or the opposite: a carefree Persephone constantly being pulled down to the Underworld. But, they can always shift their reality. They only remain in that place of torment if they choose to.

////////

Paid Readings

[nova-amor]

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ◞

könig was tired. after a long day of training and monitoring new recruits, his social battery was drained, and his muscles were beyond sore. he was desperate to get home— the idea of drinking a couple of beers and nuzzling his face into your chest serving as the last ounce of motivation to get him through the rest of the day. 

"schatzi?" könig called out into the foyer of your home, abandoning his combat boots and gym bag by the front door. with every step, his feet began to feel heavier— practically dragging themselves across the floor by the time he got to your shared bedroom. 

pillows of steam rolled out from under the bathroom door as he made his way into the bedroom, the warm clouds an indication that you were in the shower. he tossed his uniform blouse and gloves onto the bed, his curiosity certainly peaked.

"schatzi?" he knocked on the door lightly, waiting a few beats for a reply. and, when there was none, anxiety began to brew in his mind. how long had you been in the shower? had you fallen because of the water floor? were you drowning under the shower stream? he knocked one more time before announcing: "schatzi, i'm going to come in, okay?"

as soon as he cracked the bathroom door open, he was met with a heavenly sight— your gorgeous body wrapped in a thick blanket of steam, one hand squeezing your breast as the other rubbed sloppy circles around your clit. your eyes pinched close, and soft chants of his name leaving your lips.

a surge of energy coursed through him, his body instinctively taking swift yet inaudible steps towards you. it wasn't until the glass shower door slid open that you finally noticed his presence, his blue eyes darkening as a knowing smirk crossed his lips. 

"am i interrupting something, kätzchen?" könig teased, the startled expression on your face only adding fuel to the fire growing within him. 

"könig— i didn't hear you get home," a wave of embarrassment washed over you, watching with wide eyes as your husband enclosed himself in the shower with you. he was still wearing his uniform, the shower water soaking through his camouflage pants and tan shirt, not that he really cared. "would've greeted you properly if i knew."

könig's hands grabbed at your waist, pinning your body between him and the cool tiled wall behind you. his arousal was evident, his wet pants barely able to conceal the erection stirring beneath the fabric. you could feel it against your abdomen, your pussy beginning to tingle at the idea of him taking you right then and there.

"you greeted me just fine, kätzchen, 's not every day i get to see you pleasuring yourself," he hoisted you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. "you were thinking about this exact scenario, ja?"

one of his hands moved up the length of your body, his calloused hand kneading the underside of your wet breast. "thinkin' about my hands playing with these pretty tits?" his head dipped down to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck. "thinkin' about my lips kissing up your neck? leaving little bite marks and sucking— right— here."

you inhaled sharply, craning your neck further to the side to allow könig more access, his lips latched to your pulse point. you bucked your hips into him, the rough cloth of his shirt providing you with just enough clitoral stimulation to make you see stars. 

"yes, ohmygod— yes," your fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the short auburn strands. könig began to feast on your skin, lapping at your neck with the flat of his tongue while, his fingers pinched and twisted your puffy nipples. "need you, könig, been thinkin' about you all day. couldn't wait for you t' get home—"

könig licked his lips, slowly pulling away to meet your lustful gaze. his hand abandoned your nipple to dive underneath your thighs, rubbing the tips of his fingers along your wet folds. he gathered up your arousal, smearing it all along your slit.

"mmm, i knew it, kätzchen," his fingers dipped into your entrance until he was knuckle deep, your tight walls clamping down on the thick digits. your jaw went slack, a guttural moan escaping from the depths of your throat as he stretched you out with just two of his fingers. "don't worry, schatzi, i'll take good care of you. i'm just lending a helping hand, ja?"

[wileycap]

Further Excerpts From The Fire Nation Royal Palace Servants' (Unofficial) Handbook

Or: More Revisions To Normal Protocol After The Ascension Of Agni's Exalted Flame, The Dragon Of The Sun, et cetera, Fire Lord Zuko

Part 1:

7. If His Majesty offers you advice regarding martial arts, camouflage, theatre, or any other subject which he is commonly known to be well-versed in, accept it gratefully. If His Majesty offers you advice on emotional matters, listen politely and then disregard it.

7.1. If His Majesty uses the phrase "silver sandwich", you are entitled to a longer lunch break. So you can take a longer bite out of your silver sandwich.

7.1.1. Please do not vandalize the handbook, even if you think it's funny.

7.1.2. Especially if you think it's funny, Chikao.

7.2. If you share something tragic with His Majesty, and he replies "that's rough, buddy", it means he empathizes with your situation.

7.2.1 Alright, maybe he did need to learn that it's not a great way to respond to tragedy. But "rough like the boulders that crushed my father?" was a bit much.

8. Prince Iroh has advised the servants not to reveal to His Majesty what the meat in turtleduck dumplings is. Apparently, he thinks the name comes from their shape. The dumplings are not shaped like turtleducks.

8.1. Now that His Majesty knows, be ready to recite the names of all the turtleducks in the palace at a moment's notice, and also to reassure His Majesty that they are all safe, accounted for, and uneaten.

9. His Majesty should be kept apprised of any "sightings" of the Blue Spirit. The Blue Spirit is an entirely fictional creature. However, his belief in it is entirely benign (and as far as eccentricities go, we've all seen worse) and likely something he will outgrow with age.

9.1. Do not lie about any "sightings". If His Majesty is told that the Blue Spirit was sighted near his window, he will be extremely distraught for the entire day. The Fire Lord has too many real assassins to worry about already. There is no need to add imaginary ones to the mix.

9.1.1. And whenever he is distraught, his footsteps are even quieter than they normally are. It is hard enough to keep track of his movements as it is.

10. While His Majesty has approved the "Kick Ozai Retreat" for servants who were mistreated by Ozai of the Fire Nation (titles rmvd, dishon.), it will never be organized. Please suggest other activities for the Servant Wellness Day.

10.1. Yes, that is because Avatar Aang found out.

10.1.1. Specifically because of the very heartfelt and very long speech he gave on the matter. And the fear that he might give one again.

10.1.2. And no, we can not "simply tell the Avatar to shut up." He is the Avatar. And he is also a 13-year-old boy. His dragonling eyes are very effective.

11. Princess Azula is at the stage of her treatment where she will take regular trips to the palace, dividing her time between her island and here. We're all terrified, but there's nothing we can do.

11.1. Lady Beifong has offered to act as protection, should the need arise. On an unrelated note, the kitchens will now be serving a number of delicacies from the State of Gaoling.

11.2. At the specific and undeniable request of Master Toph, The Blind Bandit, her titles and styles have been updated and they will be enforced effective immediately.

12. If Avatar Aang is seen on a rooftop with no apparent purpose, that means that Fire Lord Zuko is also on that rooftop. Get him down.

12.1. If Master Katara appears to be discreetly looking for someone, that usually means that one or all of His Majesty, Avatar Aang, Master Toph, the Honorable Tribesman Sokka, or the lemur Momo are in some kind of trouble. Assist her. Before one of those idiots gets themselves killed.

12.2. Do not vandalize the handbook, even if it's true. Also, please do not call our Fire Lord, the Avatar, Master Toph, or the Avatar's beloved pet an idiot.

13. Any senior officials who wish to challenge Fire Lord Zuko to an Agni Kai should be directed to the Fourth Scribe's office. They should also be told that there is a waitlist.

13.1. If the Honorable Tribesman Sokka wishes to challenge the Fire Lord to an Agni Kai again, he should be denied. No matter what he tells you, he has not developed Firebending abilities by means of "Spirit World shenanigans" or by Avatar Aang "just giving them to him, Energybending style, like best buddies do, you know."

13.1.1. The Matron has made it known that if the Honorable Tribesman Sokka offers to demonstrate his so-called "Firebending abilities" again, servants are allowed one free kick. The last time he did it, the stench from his blubber bombs lingered for three weeks.

[circeyoru]

I firmly believe that Lucifer thinks reader (unwanted soul) as either his kid or younger sibling by how he threatened Alastor if he hurts them. Also I find it cute if Lucifer makes reader an unlimited page book since he's worried if they got into a too heated battle they won't notice their pages are thinning. I mean if he can make fantastic rubber ducks with amazing abilities, I'm sure he can somehow make an unlimited notepad for reader to use. Or at least he gives reader a new welcome to the hotel gift, and because he hasn't seen them in a while

Also I wanted to add to the if alastor got into heaven version where he's dead and got redeemed. Reader would isolate themselves so much so that Lucifer visits once a week to check them. And when extermination day hits again (if it happens again), Lucifer would force reader to reside in the hotel for their well-being. That's where they meet Alastor in his all angel-looking feature glory. He probably checked on their old house first, when he didn't find them he definitely raged killed some demons on the way. But he still feels some sort of connection that lead him to the hotel where he finally found reader.

(Can you tell how obsessed I'm with this series)

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}.

Ohh, I wonder if you're making Reader too op.

Part 1: Reader's/your gift from Lucifer

Instead of focusing on the book or notebook, let me direct your attention elsewhere. Ever thought about the quill? If you know how a feathered quill looks, you'll get what I mean. A quill essentially needs to be dipped in a jar of ink to write. Did I ever mention Reader/you carrying one or even using one? No. Never was 'ink' even mentioned in the story or the trivia (asks). Because that quill was a gift from Lucifer. A quill created by Lucifer and gifted to you. It's enchanted to be writable without ink and on any surface, with a camouflage mode to suit your preference, last feature is that only you can use it. Why Lucifer gave you a quill is because he knows you don't have to use pages as your surface to do crazy things (summoning weapons and casting spells). You can write on a wall, blow on it and it disappears to do what you wrote. That includes writing on the skin of a demon. If you read the demon design, you'll know what I mean. The writing on pages part was just a handicap you gave yourself and it was convenient for you to carry around a book or even a small pad to write with. Plus, you don't like attention, so you use a book with limits. You know you'll go overboard when your emotions rule over you, so you limit yourself.

Part 2: Yandere Redeemed Exterminator Leader!Alastor (what a long title for him)

For context, check this ask.

You do isolate yourself to the point it is concerning. Because you don't ask for help and you did when you asked Lucifer if he could provide you with new quarters that was far from where you were or the hotel. So many reminders of Alastor around you, you can't take it.

Seeing you in such despair, Lucifer shared with you that the souls in Heaven were granted the gift of forgetting when they entered the golden gates. You got the idea of forgetting the years spent with Alastor, from the point you saved him to the point you rage-killed for him. Lucifer advised you not to, but you were persistent in your plan. You returned back to the old place, scrolling around to make sure nothing was amiss and took in the final sorrow of nostalgia. Then you wrote down your command on your skin, you watched the words sink in and then everything went black.

Here, you were back to normal, save for Lucifer being the only one (again) who knew what happened to you. Not sure if exterminations continue (since no season 2 yet), but say that it does but further apart as a compromise for Charlie to save more souls. Lucifer visits you, but only to check and see if your memories came back, when they didn't for a long while, he didn't come as often.

When Alastor came down to Hell, he went to your apartment first thing. It was extermination day, so you were definitely there. You were sleeping through the day until your charms alerted you that there was someone in your apartment. You summoned a dagger made of angelic steel, creeping to the living room.

The moment you saw the pair of white wings, you ambushed and knocked Alastor down to the ground. You kneel on top of him to keep him down, the blade at his neck. "I'll give you a chance to leave and your head won't go rolling on my floor. You can fly back to your precious paradise and I'll let you."

Alastor's head turned to face you, a complete 180 without trouble, his smile softened as he praised, "My darling, you're beautiful."

"What?"

"Why would I want to leave you? I've done so much to come back to you. I'll never leave you, dear. If you want, I can give you my wings to make up for my absence."

Your face twisted to confusion and disgust. "What? Who are you?"

Alastor's eyes searched your face, his eyes scanned around, some things and items were missing. His signature red that would be mixed into your apartment. It was all gone. Just as he lost his memory, yours was somehow gone as well. "I'm.. Alastor. Don't you remember me, My Doe?"

[mysticstronomy]

DID MARS EVER CONTAIN WATER??

Blog#428

Saturday, August 17th, 2024.

Welcome back,

While the icy moons of Jupiter and Saturn contain water, Mars remains dry. Despite dozens of space missions, the Red Planet has yet to provide convincing proof that it conceals significant water reserves beneath its surface.

Yet Earth's little cousin hasn't always been so secretive. Various studies have shown that a little over 4 billion years ago, it experienced a "watery" era when lakes, rivers and perhaps even oceans could maintain themselves on its soil. Branching valleys and ancient terrains rich in hydrated clays are evidence of this blissful period of abundance.

Subsequently, the loss of part of the Martian atmosphere led to a reduction in the greenhouse effect followed by a gradual disappearance of water. The question is how long this process lasted and under what conditions. This is what the American Space Agency's (NASA) Curiosity and Perseverance spacecraft have been trying to establish since their arrival in 2012 and 2021 in the Gale and Jezero craters.

"Lakes occupied these depressions 3.5 or 3.6 billion years ago," explained Nicolas Mangold, a director of research at the French National Center for Scientific Research (CNRS) Laboratory of Planetology and Geosciences in Nantes.

By studying the sedimentary and clay deposits left by the former and exploring the ancient river delta that fed the latter, the aim is to determine whether the climate at the time was wet and cold, or dry and hot. The Perseverance rover is also collecting samples, to be brought back to Earth as part of the MSR mission [Mars Sample Return, NASA-European Space Agency (ESA)]. They should provide precise information."

For the moment, things are hazy. If water has flowed on Mars, where has it gone? Was it sucked up into space with the Martian atmosphere or did some of it remain on site, buried underground? Many teams around the world are working to find answers by searching for clues to its presence other than those offered by polar ice caps and glaciers.

As water cannot remain in a liquid state for long on the surface of Mars, these investigations often consist of spotting recent traces of its passage using instruments placed in orbit. This opens the way to all kinds of controversy about how to interpret observations of this world, whose morphology is radically different from that of Earth. "Some of these controversies, such as those concerning gullies – ravines 1 or 2 kilometers long, discovered by the hundreds along certain landforms in the early 2000s – have finally been settled," said Susan Conway, a CNRS researcher at the Laboratory of Planetology and Geosciences in Nantes.

Her team recently demonstrated in the journal Nature Communications that seasonal deposits of dry ice explain the phenomenon, and not water flows.

Other clues continue to fuel debate and even controversy among scientists. The nature of "equatorial dark flows," the background noise of radar signals suggesting the existence of an underground sea beneath the North Cap, the presence of possible channels in the ejecta of impact craters and the hypothetical formation of "rides" in areas of glacial retreat. If water exists on Mars, it is well camouflaged.

Why not deep underground, frozen in the cryosphere? Or preserved in liquid form in aquifers, or inside the thin film of perchlorate brine that supposedly exists at the base of the permafrost that covers Mars at high latitudes? The Marsis and Sharad radars of the Mars Express (ESA) and MRO (NASA) probes have pinpointed promising regions. And when NASA's Phoenix lander dug a few centimeters into the frozen ground just after it arrived in 2008, it immediately uncovered blocks of water ice – a further reason for hypothesis and speculation.

Originally published on https://www.lemonde.fr

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, August 21st, 2024)

"DID LIFE EXIST ON VENUS??"

[kana-daydreams]

𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 || 𝐋𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲

summary: you take Luffy’s hat hostage and use it as leverage to get him to look your way in hopes of rekindling what was once an unbreakable bond between childhood friends. genre: (attempted) angst w/ happy ending, gen wc: 3.4k

Crouching, barely camouflaged between lush tangerine trees, their citrusy and saccharine scent almost overwhelming your sense of smell, you peer down at the deck below you watching as every member of the straw hat pirates bustle about the Going Merry. 

“We’ve searched everywhere Luffy. Are you sure you checked every corner of the boys’ cabin?” You hear Nami let out an exasperated sigh and see her wipe a hand across at her brows.

Luffy, a few paces beside Nami, fixes a potted plant back into place, craning his neck to look over at her. His eyes fix her with a watery stare and his face is stained with tears; new ones threatening to emerge as he answers her with a weak nod.

“It’s probably overboard.” An audible yawn follows Zoro’s voice which cuts across from their right. 

His comment elicits a whimper from Luffy and a death glare from Nami, the former suddenly flopping to the ground, wailing a river of tears at the thought of his missing and beloved treasure.

“Idiot, look what you did!” Nami scolds and Zoro matches her frown with one of his own, the two commencing a wage of war through a bickering contest. 

You watch in slight amusement despite the seriousness of the situation as the rest of the crew attempts to calm down their navigator and swordsman, deciding that now was the perfect time to intervene.

 “I found it!” you hail them from atop Nami’s tangerine garden. 

All eyes direct themselves to you; all except one pair, and you earn somewhat of a look between  hesitance and relief from the straw hats as you begin to make your way towards them and towards the owner of the straw hat held firmly in your grasp.

Nami’s figure, however, stops you in your tracks before you could take another step closer to the hat’s owner.

“Thanks for finding Luffy’s hat.” A warm smile tugs at her lips though you notice it doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. “I’ll give it back to him.” She offers.

You look down at her outstretched hand which demands you give her the hat before raising your gaze to meet her brown eyes. “I’d like to give it to him myself if that’s alright.” You smile, a sweet and practised one like her own. 

You notice her hesitate at your words. “I…I don’t think that’s a—” A sudden weight on Nami’s shoulder, followed by Luffy’s voice, interrupts her. 

“It’s alright Nami.” 

Nami’s eyebrows draw together as she gives him a worried look. “Are you sure?”

Luffy removes his hand from her shoulder, returning it to his side as he nods slightly in response. 

Nami, although hesitant to leave you both in each other's company, returns a nod the same and leaves you two to your own, but not before sending a warning glance your way.

You watch as she retreats to a further corner of the ship; her along with the others keeping their attention fixed across at both you and Luffy and you wonder what warrants their audience—your marine uniform or something Luffy’s told them about you…Did he tell them about you?

Your attention draws back to Luffy who takes a while to meet your eyes and when he does, he plasters on a strained smile. “I’m glad you found my hat— thought I’d lost it for good.” 

At his words, you spare a glance down at the said object. You examine it— how battered and weathered it is, the red sash that rings around it just below the crown and the telltale signs that it’d been patched up a few times. 

I hate you! 

A frown ghosts over your expression and your grip around the hat tightens.

You loathe this hat.

It’s a feeling that has always lingered inside you since the day Luffy showed it to you with that wide toothy grin he always sported, saying he’d gotten it from a pirate.

You hate pirates. Always had and always will. 

Except for…

You return your gaze to look at the boy in front you, his mop of black curls becoming more dishevelled from the wind lashing against it. “You really treasure it, don’t you?” 

Luffy watches as your gloved hands fiddle around with his hat. “...I do.”

“Then I’ll return it.” You brandish the prized possession towards him and Luffy reaches a hand to retrieve his hat, but before his hands could make contact with it, you pull your own away.

Luffy’s face contorts in confusion at your action, though he doesn’t question it and instead takes a step forward, attempting to pry his hat out of your grasp; his movement urging you to take a step back.

Again, he takes a step forward.

You step back.

He matches it with another step of his own and so do you. 

“What are you doing?” His voice sounds annoyed as he pins you with a stern gaze.

You do not waver at the glare he sends your way and instead remain calm as you speak. “I’ll return the hat to you,” you start. “But only if you allow me to speak to you, Luffy…please.” You say, your tone pleading.

An indiscernible expression shadows Luffy's face at your words and a momentary silence settles between you both.

“Give me back my hat.” Luffy finally says.

You furrow your brows slightly, hurt that he’d refused your offer. What did you expect? You stole his hat— something he cherished with his life, which was now being used as a bartering tool.

“I won’t until you speak to me.” 

Stealing Luffy’s hat, you’re aware, was a low move and most likely a counterintuitive one, but left empty of an idea that could get him to acknowledge you, you opted to steal his hat as your last resort.

You scoff. How fate plays—forcing you to use the very thing that inflicted scars upon your relationship years ago to try and mend it. 

“I said give me back my hat.” Luffy takes a step towards you as your name grates against his teeth, a slight warning in his tone.

You steel yourself cradling the hat close to your chest. “No. I won’t until you stop acting like a five year old and speak to me!” 

Luffy’s lips curl into a frown, his brows pinching together in anger and frustration at your stubbornness and without warning, one of his hands darts out, shooting forward in your direction and towards the hat.

Fortunately, your quick reflexes allow you to get both you and the hat out of the way, though the action seems to anger Luffy further who persists in attempting to retrieve his hat, and thus a game of cat and mouse begins as his rubber hands begin to chase you around the ship.

It’s a game that continues for minutes—almost an hour— his hand twisting and turning, weaving and zipping their way through and under both narrow and wide spaces in every direction while you expertly evade his every attempt to grasp a hold of his hat as you dodge, skid, jump and even manage a backflip, almost tripping over your feet.

The rest of the straw hats remain silent spectators to the tom and jerry chase around the ship, though at one point during the chase, Zoro offers to intervene, but Luffy warns him against meddling with his fight.

“Just give it back to me!” Luffy bellows your name as you both are scrambling around on the deck.

 His elastic hands aim towards you and you duck, barely managing to dodge it as it crashes into the wooden wall behind you, splinters of wood pitching dangerously in all directions, and a shriek escapes both yours and Usopp’s lips who cries at Luffy to be more careful with his baby.

“If you want it back, you’re going to let me talk to you first!”

“I don’t wanna talk to you!” Luffy shoots his arm in your direction from beside the ship’s guardrail and this time you're unable to dodge it as they tangle themselves around you like a rope, rendering you unable to move.

You struggle in his tight grasp, though not tight enough to hurt you, as he reels you in closer to him.

Up close, you notice his face flushed and covered with beads of sweat, and watch as he reaches a hand to retrieve the hat that had fallen out of your grasp;  it being your only hope of reviving your friendship.

“Please Luffy…I just want you to hear me out.”

Luffy tenses at the crack of your voice and at the flood of memories that ambushes him, along with the familiar feelings of guilt and regret.

“Why should I, after you stole my hat?” He fixes the said item back on his head.

You avert your eyes and are slow to respond after the mention of your sin. “Because…we’re friends.” You eventually say.

Luffy’s eyes widen slightly at your words—at your lie. “Were friends.” He corrects and though his tone is cold as he speaks, there’s a tinge of  hurt as he forces himself to say the next few words. “Now you’re my enemy.” 

You feel your heart pinch in your chest and tears slowly brim at your eyes, reminded of the words that were spoken–you’d spoken–that brought your friendship to an end.

But couldn’t he see how desperate you were to fix that. How many times you’ve tried gaining his attention for the past couple of days you’ve been stuck on this damn ship because of him, sneaking on board after a fight between your ship and his. All because you wanted to correct the wrongs of the past and attempted day by day; relentless, every idea that sprung to mind, to rekindle that bond you once had— 

You bite down on your lip in a futile attempt to subdue any sobs that might escape.

But it seems you’re the only one who cares.

“You rubber jerk!” 

Luffy is taken aback by the tears that start streaming down your face and isn’t prepared for when you unexpectedly nail him in the head with your own. 

A grunt escapes you both when your heads knock together, sending a vibration rippling through your skulls and you feel Luffy’s arms untangle themselves from around you, the action causing you to slump to your knees.

You hardly hear the splash that follows and the worried voices of Luffy’s friends as you grip at your head which rings in pain, and only manage to come to your senses when Nami’s horrified voice screams at you, Luffy’s name, alerting you of his presence being no longer in front of you.

Later when the sun sets in, painting the ocean’s dark blue waters in its orange hue, you find yourself leaving Nami and Robin’s shared room in desperate need of some fresh air.

You’ve been cooped up inside their room the entire day after your fight with Luffy which ended with the taste of salt on your lips and your uniform soaking wet when you rescued him after he’d fallen overboard and into the sea.

“Luffy I–” your words were lost, interrupted when Luffy  hacked out a violent cough from beside you on the deck after you’d just fished him out from the sea.

You didn’t reckon that your headbutt would be strong enough to send him toppling over the guardrail and now both of you were drenched in salt water that pooled to the floor beneath you.

You waited for his coughing fits to cease before once again attempting to apologise. “Luffy I-I didn’t mean for all of this to happen— I was only trying to get your attention.” You admitted, not proud of the fact that you’d had to resort to stealing his hat to do so.

Luffy remained  silent at your apology and his lack of a response invited with it, a tense and uncomfortable silence. He didn’t even make an effort to spare a look in your direction.  

Instead, he raised himself off his back, reaching for his hat further beside him which too had been a victim of the sea, before putting it on his head.

It was all the hint you needed to know that he didn’t wish to speak to you and thus you pulled yourself to your feet, taking your leave. 

It’s been hours since neither of you’ve spoken to each other after your one-sided exchange, avoiding each other like a plague throughout the day.

You close the door to the lounge room behind you as you step outside, shivering slightly when a cold breeze attacks your skin; Nami’s clothes which she’d lent you after yours became drenched in water, not aiding much.

“Maybe I should have brought a jacket…” you murmur to yourself, rubbing your hands up and down your arms to warm yourself up as you start padding over to the guardrail near the figurehead of the ship.

As you approach, ahead of you, you notice a familiar figure seated atop it, seeming to be lost in thought.

Luffy is yet to notice your presence and before he could, you spin around on your heels, ready to head back in the opposite direction. 

However, you only manage to take a few steps forward when you hear him call out your name.

You ignore him, racing back in the direction of the lounge room, and although he continues to call your name, you still do not slow your steps; increasing your pace at the sound of his footsteps trailing after you.

Just as you’re about to take the first step up the staircase that leads to the lounge, you’re abruptly forced to a stop when a hand catches your wrist.

 “Wait, don’t go." Luffy’s voice pleads urgently from behind you. “I wanna talk.”

You remain silent for a beat as you crane your neck to look back at him in surprise. "W-What?" you ask, not certain if you'd heard him right.

"I wanna talk to you...please." Luffy says again.

“Really?” you ask, wondering why he’d had a sudden change of mind. 

Luffy answers you with a single nod, silently hoping that you would agree to his request.

“Uh…sure.”

There’s a faint smile on his lips at your response as he releases his grip on your hand before leading you both away in the opposite direction of the lounge.

A minute later, you’re both standing side by side; a few feet between you, near the railing closest to the figurehead.

Both of you are yet to speak a word to the other, the waves crashing against the ship and the howls of the wind, the only sounds which fills the silence that lingers between you.

It is soon broken when Luffy finally decides to speak.

“I’m sorry.” 

You turn your gaze away from the sea and over at him when you hear his voice that comes out barely above a whisper. 

 “For what?” Your brows knit together in confusion.

“For being a liar.” His eyes do not meet yours when he speaks.

Immediately the image of two children; a little boy with a mop of black hair and a little girl, the same age, makes its way to the forefront of your mind. Wide smiles grace their faces as they’re chasing each other around a lush open field of green, then clambering up a fruit tree; the boy’s hand reaching down to help the girl onto the branch he sits on before gathering the tree’s ripe fruits and eating their fill.

Later they’re settled next to each other on the pillow-soft grass, the girl’s eyes  pinned up at the sky watching the passing clouds and the boy snuggled up beside her, fast asleep while their pinky fingers remain entwined in a lifetime promise.

The wholesome image soon dies away when another appears in its stead, showing the same two children in the same field, but this time their bodies roll in the grass; their faces stained with dirt and bruises, and adorned with frowns as they tug and push at each.

“You’re not the one who should be apologising.” You return your attention back to the sea. “Becoming a marine was never your dream; it was mine.”

It was true. A younger and selfish you had forced Luffy into sharing a dream that was only truly ever yours, something you didn’t realise until you’d grown out of your childhood years and into your big girl pants.

When he’d come running to you one afternoon during your usual playdate session with a straw hat festooned with a single red sash attached to his head, announcing he’d gotten it from that red head pirate that’d come to town and followed it with the line that he was going to become the 'King of Pirates', you felt hurt—betrayed. 

His news to you had then escalated into a fight in which Luffy’s newly gifted hat got buried in the mud underneath your feet, him shouting that he hated you with a ruddy face, puffed with anger and with you declaring him your enemy, adding that if he did really become the King of pirates or even a pirate at all, you’d be the one to put him behind bars.

Your lips pull into a sad frown. “And I’m truly sorry that I took your hat...again.” You add with a whisper, recalling again when as a child, how you'd ripped the hat away from his grasp, how you’d tossed it in the mud— and how you’d trampled on it with your feet all while Luffy was screaming at the top of his voice for you to stop. 

Luffy looks over at you with a small smile. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not!” You whip your head around, staring at him in disbelief. “I acted like an immature brat like I did that day, and because of it I lost you.” Your voice cracks. “ I…I don’t want to lose you again.”

Luffy notices you bite down on your lips and that your eyes begin to flood with unshed tears. 

The sight reminds him of back then when he’d told you he’d hated you and how a single tear had trickled its way down your face as you fought hard to stifle the rest.

“I missed our friendship Luffy…I missed you.”

Luffy felt his heart both ache and warm at your words.

He'd missed you to— Always had.

He'd thought about you everyday, since you'd left his town; the same day you no longer would be known as best friends. 

Losing you that day made him regret showing you the hat Shanks gave him and telling you his dream. Maybe he should have kept it a secret and if he did, maybe things would have been different—maybe your friendship would have lasted at least a little longer than it did. 

He’d thought that either that day would be the last he would see your face or that if he did see you again, you would be chasing after him from a marine warship. 

Apparently it was the latter. 

The initial feeling that bombarded him when he saw your face again was a heart-stopping surprise. But then a rush of other emotions accompanied it; guilt being the strongest, especially when the image of your crying face flickered to mind after he’d told you in a fit of rage how much he’d hated you.

Luffy points his gaze away from your own. “Back then when I said I hated you”—his hands ball into fists at the memory— “I didn’t mean it.”

You look at him with teary eyes. “R-Really?”

You can vividly recall that horrible moment when Luffy had uttered words you’d never imagined he would say to you, and which had brought tears to your eyes for weeks anytime you were to recall the memory.

Luffy looks at you, noticing your quivering lips and his starts doing the same. “Yeah, I do. I’m sor—” 

He’s barely finished with his response when you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and engulfing him in a tight hug.

“I miss you so much, Luffy, I really do.” You sob violently into his shoulder.

Luffy stills for a moment at your unanticipated action but soon relaxes, his gaze softening down at you as you continue to unleash a happy stream of tears.

He then slowly and gently wraps his own arms around you, burying his face against your shoulder as he feels his eyes brim with tears, his lips pulling into their usual wide smile. 

“Missed you a lot, too.”

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[mukuharakazui]

i'm obsessed with everything about amane and kazui as a parallel prisoner duo. amane, the youngest prisoner, has had the least amount of time to see the world beyond the cult, to discover and create her own values. kazui, the oldest prisoner, has had the most time to live under all the pressures of the dominant culture and understand how he differs from what people expect him to be.

amane was punished for disobeying the sub/counterculture she was born into (cult members abusing her for not following rules), then simultaneously rewarded and punished for obeying it (murder eliminated a major source of trauma in her life and also got her into milgram. kazui was both rewarded and punished for obeying the dominant culture he was raised in (marrying hinako caused him emotional turmoil but granted him the benefit of camouflage) and was punished for disobeying it (enging up in milgram and hinako straight up dying).

both were influenced greatly by their parents and other forces within the cultures their parents raised them into. both of their crimes relate to some combination of personal gratification and "saving" someone they held dear to them (though not to the extent of mikoto and kotoko--that's one of their main parallels).

amane regrets nothing while kazui regrets everything. voters widely/generally want to change how kazui and amane fundamentally view themselves, wanting amane to feel like she needs to change and kazui to feel like he shouldn't. both have received very split votes in each trial so far.

some milgram prisoners may feel like a case of "why is this normal ass cat in the zoo?" amane and kazui are not those prisoners. the results of their "sins" brought them closure, but neither in a positive sense. amane's beliefs in the cult's philosophies have been further solidified in her mind. she is also willing to enforce these beliefs on others. kazui's self-hatred has lept to an all-time high as he believes that lying about himself is the only way to keep everyone else in his life safe and happy at his own expense.

anyways can trial 3 give us that kazui cover of rabbit hole or what

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Now You See 'Em, Now You Don't (18+)

Part 1 of Ghosts and Mirages

Warning: Heavy mentions of blood, gore, violence, and smut. Choking, finger fucking, mirror sex, voice kink. Plenty of smut.

!Please beware!

Summary: After a dangerous encounter leading towards your own capture and torture, you; Codename "Mirage", went from one of the best snipers on the task force with a bubbly sense of humor and strong wit, to a stone-cold demeanor woman who let her vendetta get the better of her, almost costing her the lives of her teammates.

Ghost wasn't too happy about this, and based off experience, he refuses to let your mind head down that path any further.

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

A Mirage can be many things: A body of water in the middle of a desert, an assassin in the dead dark of the night on a rooftop, a glimmer of light reflecting off hot pavement before the sun set, all disappearing from the eye the moment you get too close.

People could say that the words ghost and mirage have pretty similar meanings, but not towards those who took the names to identify themselves by.

You wished you could say you worked hard to earn that name, which you slightly did. Once the name was put to the wind, it permanently stuck to you ever since.

Your top specialty was your excellent aim, always volunteering yourself to take the liberty of helping the squads you were assigned to. If there was a group of snipers, you would take the lead and give orders. If you had to work alone, you gladly did so.

Your actions didn’t go unnoticed, gaining the attention of those who took an interest in your talents. You couldn’t fully admit publicly that you were proud of your skills, believing that karma could come back and bite you in the ass one day, but you definitely felt a swell of pride with every compliment that flooded your earpiece.

You couldn’t exactly remember when you found yourself working alongside the men of Task Force 141, eventually fully assimilating yourself into the team. While being unaware if any of the higher ups had officially approved it, you doubt they were going to say anything against it now.

Price definitely wasn’t complaining, that was all you really cared for.

After a short while during a mission, an interesting game of name picking occurred after completing your objective to eliminate any enemy snipers. While the option of using a suppressed rifle was possible, there were only five camouflaged snipers along the cliffs, allowing you to sneak up on them one by one and jam a knife into their necks, severing vocal cords before they could even scream.

Soap had taken the liberty of giving you the name “She-Ghost,” which caught you off guard as you hid in the dry grass, a few feet away from your recent victim. Why She-Ghost? None of your enemies saw you coming.

You’re pretty sure Ghost had his own name and reasoning trademarked. You were alright with the man, but you never saw anything between the two of you that you shared in common, let alone enough to share a code name. Price shut down any future commentary on the topic before reminding everyone to focus on the mission at hand.

“She-Ghost sounds kind of sexist, by the way.” You couldn’t help but pitch into the silence that followed after.

“It does not.” Soap retorted.

“It does.”

“Enough,” The gruffy voice of Ghost spoke up. “Calling her She-Ghost makes her sound like she’s my sister.”

“You’re right. I just remembered yer’ old enough to be her dad.” Soap retorted, making you bite your lip to suppress a laugh.

“Thanks for making me feel young, Johnny.”

You wish that night ended much easier than it sounded, but it wasn’t.

Somehow, you missed a sniper to kill, who then alerted his comrades of the lone assassin hiding up on the cliffs. The loud struggles and muffles were heard by everyone through your earpiece before connections were cut, your attackers knocking you out with the butt of a rifle to your right temple.

Where you were dragged off to was a mystery. Where you had woken up was also a mystery, but not the enemies who surrounded you when you were woken up via water being poured over your head, bound and gagged to a chair. You were stripped of all your equipment, leaving you in your simple garments. The room smelled dank, the air heavy with expensive, putrid cigar smoke. The only source of light hanging from a bulb over your head, your vision too blurred to fully make out the faces of the men standing in front of you.

Their were four people in the room: one of them you recognized straight away as your crew’s target. He grabbed ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him, speaking to you in a language you didn’t really care to learn all that well just yet. He stepped to the side, directing your head towards a camera stand a few feet away pointing straight towards you. A tiny red light confirmed that whatever was to happen was all being recorded.

Saying you were scared was a ridiculous understatement. You were at mercy to the men inside this room inside a building in the middle of god knows where, who planned to torture and kill you before sending the video off to your team. Hell, it might even be broadcasted live to those who fought for the enemy, setting an example to what happens to enemy soldiers, especially women such as yourself, for fighting against them.

You were tortured inside that small, dimly lit room for hours, maybe even longer. There was no way you could tell the time, your hands kept tightly bound behind the backrest of the wooden chair. You were pretty sure they even took your watch away.

After constant punches to your face and body, the leader began speaking to you again in his common language. When you didn’t answer any of his questions, you were beaten even more until he tried again. This process went on for a good while, not a single word leaving your lips.

Then, he got smart enough to speak to you in broken English, but the only response he got from you was a wheezy laugh. He wasn’t satisfied with the response, extending his hand, being gifted a knife by his comrade. After asking you one more time and receiving nothing in return, he dug the blade down the side of your face. The sharp sting of the knife scraping your right cheekbone down to your bottom lip made you cry out.

What made it worse was their unique creativity, forcing you to talk once more while slicing the tips off Cuban cigars before igniting them. When you didn’t, their leader proceeded to blow smoke in your face before deciding to cauterize your fresh wound with the burning end of the cigar, laughing at your screams when they twisted it deep into your cheek.

“Hurts, no? You talk now?” He questioned you, gripping ahold of your chin.

“Go... to fucking hell!” You gritted out before spitting blood to his face, making him wince and retort. You laughed at his reaction, seeing him wipe it off with visible disgust before grabbing ahold of your neck, squeezing hard and tilting your attention upwards. He held the end of the blade right in front of your right eye before pulling it back, preparing to kill you right then and there.

Seeing you weren’t afraid, or he was just as chickenshit as he looked, He lowered his hand, clicking his tongue before handing the knife back to his partner, who carelessly left it on a table near the door. Gesturing towards the two others, they yanked you off the chair and dragged you out of the room, leading you to god knows where in this building.

You would think that their expensive taste in cigars meant that they could afford better quality tape. The water they had thrown on you prior had weakened the adhesive just enough for you to allow your wrists some wiggle room.

Releasing one of your hands, you yanked yourself from the men's grips, pulling the tape over the closest man’s neck to act as a last-minute choker. You tugged hard, hearing him choke while his partner quickly pulled out his gun. The bullets he fired naturally hit your new man-shield, quickly pushing the slumping body towards his partner before wrestling for the gun, headbutting the man before firing half the mag into his skull.

Faint bursts of bombs echoed from the outside, letting you know that you were close to an exit, and something was definitely happening outside. The exit was reasonably tempting, but with you now being in possession of a gun, you proceeded to stumble back the way you came from.

A man quickly stepped out of the room when he got notified of the commotion, immediately getting shot in the head before he could draw his own weapon.

You fired the last two bullets towards the only remaining man in the room, sending him to the ground in agony as the bullets punctured the back of his knees. Throwing the weapon aside, you reached for the knife from the table, getting down on the ground to turn the man over to his back.

It wasn’t the leader, you quickly realized that. It was just some goddamn man dressed in a similar uniform. The man you were after had gotten away after you were dragged off.

He pulled a gun from his belt, pistol-whipping you to throw you off guard. He fired, the bullet barely grazing the shell of your ear, making a piercing ring rattle your throbbing head.

You jammed the knife into the man’s neck before he could shoot you again, shouting in his face while you pushed his arm away. Refusing to stop there, you pulled out the knife to embed it straight into his chest, puncturing his left lung. You repeated the action over and over, watching his mouth fill with blood as major arteries were struck. The substance stained your hands and blade, splashing onto your face every single time you retracted. You screamed out your rage with every stab, feeling the knife repeatedly scrape against rib bones and puncture his heart.

The camera had fallen over from the chaos, the cracked lenses capturing an angle of your body sitting over his, witnessing the bloodshed that stained the ground.

A sudden rush of footsteps came running down the hallway towards the room you were in. Those who entered first witnessed firsthand when you jammed the blade into the man's right eye, your throat raw from screaming.

You looked up, seeing familiar looking clad soldiers entering the room, led by an all too familiar man scoring a black mask with a white painted skull standing beside another familiar mohawk wearing man.

“What... took you so damn long Lieutenant?” You panted while raising yourself from the corpse, tasting blood on your tongue from the throbbing gash on your bottom lip, bleeding even more after your consistent screaming.

“Been here for a while actually, I was just enjoying the show.” Ghost set aside his rifle, watching you finally release the knife, wiping your stained hands on your ruined shirt before tugging the remnants of tape dangling off your wrist.

“Sorry it ended so soon,” You muttered, bringing a hand over to your chest while catching your breath, feeling it grow difficult as a tight, painful sensation started under your ribs. You stood slowly, stumbling onto your feet as your relief diluted your adrenaline rush, reminding you of the pain your body was experiencing prior.

“Woah, woah... easy.” Soap brought you into his arms after you took a couple steps forward, allowing you to lean on him for support. “Easy there, lass.” Soap gently held onto your sides, feeling your sharp wince and immediately relaxing his grip. You trembled a bit, your breathing growing raspier than a few moments prior.

“I think they broke one of her ribs Lt.”

“If they did, she’d still be screaming. Punctured lung sounds more like it, go easy on her.”

“I didn’t think.. I just didn’t think you guys would come for me.” You admitted with bated breath, feeling Soap hoist your arm over his shoulders to provide additional support while you stood.

Ghost picked up the abandoned camera from the floor, pulling it off of its stand. It had still been recording this entire time, wondering what kind of footage this thing had received: Important discussions between the enemies next hideout location or our torture. Most likely both. The time he saw in the far corner of the screen showed just how long you were left victim to these men, finding it a miracle you were still alive before it could’ve gotten worse.

He wasn’t a fool to how these men treated women, especially female prisoners.

He dreaded having to watch every single minute of the footage later.

“And lose the best sniper we got on my watch? Don't think so little of yourself, (Y/n).” Ghost came closer, black painted eyes staring at the state of your face. Despite the bruises hidden underneath your ruined clothes and along your jaw and left eye, the intense gash across your face looked nasty, darkened with dirt and ashes as it continued to seep thin ripples of blood, trailing down to the bottom of your jaw.

“Let’s get you out of here, kid.”

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

Enjoy the chapter so far? Full (smut) version on my Ao3!

Read here as well on my Wattpad!

[canmom]

a big mercy in the world is that it's actually much harder to hijack someone's behaviour with some kinda visual stimulus than capital would like.

so despite the constant semiotic fusillades of advertisers trying to 'shit in your brain' as the ad hacking slogan goes, you still get better at shutting it out. the advertisers have to resort to more and more desperate means to try to get you to buy product. of course they sell this to their clients as subtle behavioral modifications that manifest without the target even realising. but despite the occasional breakout viral success, it's mostly just a zero sum desperate battle to remind you that they exist at all. most ad exposures are wasted on people who either were never going to buy the thing or were already going to buy the thing. advertisers mostly just copy other advertisers and follow fads but present themselves as the key to success like a court alchemist to a king. overall it's a cancer swallowing up more and more of its host.

this does not make it any less annoying.

anyway, ads are only one part of marketing, and since they kind of suck, the modern method to promote your shit is to try to get 'organic' promotion through word of mouth, positive user reviews on a storefront, etc. so of course many companies cultivate 'influencers', post shill reviews, buy fake metrics, and all that. since all these mechanisms then become immediately less trustworthy, an arms race develops of trying to camouflage the fake marketing speech as 'genuine', 'honest', 'unbiased' etc. the result of this on communication is bad, there's chaff everywhere, but once again the effort of the marketer trying to control you bounces off the wall that people hate it and will not go along with it if they can help it.

a more subtle approach is to just try and cultivate people assigning themselves the role of reviewer. this can create something a bit more symbiotic. the reviewer gets to build an identity out of consuming product and being a discerning connoisseur, and the stuff they like gets free marketing written about it. hence sites like goodreads and letterboxd. not only that but when the thing they like does well, the reviewer gets to feel proud that they acted as a kingmaker.

one weird upshot of all this is that a small company will get really worked up about a negative review on a platform from some rando and go out of their way to placate them. i feel like we're going to see more people exploiting this - ig the gacha mra shit in korea is in part a ripple of that, though those cunts went a lot further than just review bombing.

anyway I've participated in this machine. arguably all the writing about fiction i do on this blog is feeding into it. when i think about it, i think it stinks, but I'm not sure what else to do. there are authors i admire, and who are my friends, i want them to be read by people and have bread on the table.

obviously just because there are powerful actors whose primary concern is moving product doesn't reduce all the discussion of art to elaborate games around moving product. in some sense the 'product review' form is an invading force, best disregarded. but i feel like it would be unwise to ignore the ecological mechanisms underlying what gets made and how and what makes its way to my eyeballs... and how my own behaviours belong to that ecosystem. even if it's depressing to think in those terms.

[kipsels]

Purr

Stelle x Jing Yuan

ft. lion hybrid Jing Yuan

-

When they had first arrived on the Xianzhou Luofu, Stelle had been taken aback by how… colourful the people were. From ears and tails to claws and scales, the inhabitants of The Luofu all sported a myriad of different features.

Not even Mr Yang’s deep dive into the cultural differences of the Xianzhou and their fraught history with the Aeon of Abundance would have prepared Stelle for the reality of what it all meant.

And okay, maybe if she’d listened a little harder to Mr Yang she might been able to avoid mixing up her Foxians from her Xianzhou Natives, but with that many fluffy tails to keep track of it was pretty hard not to get things mixed up sometimes!

But her initial fascination had been quickly buried once they’d found themselves knee deep in all the turmoil aboard the ship, especially when Dan Heng showed off his own set of scales to boot.

Now that things had settled, Stelle couldn’t help but stare.

At everyone.

“Do you think Fu Xuan is embarrassed by her cute, floppy bunny ears?”

Jing Yuan’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, a shock of laughter escaping past his lips. He stared up at her, eyes bright with mirth. “What makes you ask that?”

“They just look so soft and cuddly and pink. It’d be hard to command anyone’s attention if people just want to pat your head all the time.” Stelle shrugged.

“Lady Fu would take the hand of anyone foolish enough to attempt such an act,” He chuckled. “Only the ignorant or stupid would think her ears were a sign that she is meek in nature.”

“But–”

“My dear, I’m sure you’d prefer to keep your hands attached to your body.”

“I guess…”

Feeling dejected, Stelle turned her attention to the pair of ears that belonged to the man whose head was currently occupying her lap.

They weren't cute little bunny ears, but...

At first, Stelle hadn’t even noticed the rounded, fluffy ears on the top of Jing Yuan’s head.

Even now, they were well hidden within his veritable mane of white hair, but the fuzzy cast of the hologram projection had camouflaged them completely during their first few encounters.

But when they’d met, really met, Stelle had been caught off guard by the long tail that lazily swished through the air behind him, and the ears that swivelled and flicked as he listened to every little sound around him.

It was a shame that the curse of immortality had to be so… cute.

As if reading her very thoughts, those sly gold eyes of his stared up at her, silently egging her on. Daring her to reach out.

Well, no one ever said that Stelle was one to back down from a challenge.

Her hand combed through his wild mane, fingers fighting through the tangles of his silken hair to find the base of his right ear. She smiled when she felt fur against her fingertips, and the shell of his ear turned as if to tease her into action.

Needing no further prompting, her thumb and forefinger began to knead at the base of his ear, enjoying the sensation just as much as he was, if the way he leaned into her palm was any indication.

Or the way he quite literally began to purr in her lap.

The sound came from somewhere deep within his chest, a steady rumble that only grew in volume the longer she massaged the shell of his ear. It peaked when she swapped to the other side, his purring so loud that she was certain any of his attendants walking past would surely hear.

“Mm, right there,” He chuffed, a pleasant shiver passing through his whole body.

“You couldn't scratch this itch by yourself?”

“And deprive you of the pleasure? Surely not.”

Stelle rolled her eyes, trying to fight the blush threatening to spread across her cheeks as he turned his face to nuzzle into her belly. Jing Yuan curled his massive body to fit on the bench, his long white tail resting over the top of his thigh.

“You’re just a big old cat.”

“If I am a big, old, cat… Then you are the little sparrow that I have caught between my paws.” His eye cracked open to capture her attention once more.

“A pretty little sparrow that sings so sweetly for me at night, when we are alone in my b-”

“Jing Yuan!”

He chuckled, and Stelle caught a glimpse of the feline fangs hiding behind his lips.

“Keep scratching, love, and I might reward your good deeds with a kiss.”

- Fin -

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Quickwood

CR 8

Neutral Huge Plant

Bestiary 2, pg. 228

These misleadingly-named carnivorous ambush predators stake their territory in forests filled with oak trees, which they resemble when in bloom and at rest. Not only does this offer them camouflage, but their unique Oaksight ability allows them to see and hear through any oak tree within 360ft of themselves so long as they know the tree is there--yes, amusingly enough, Oaksight doesn’t confer any special ability to DETECT oak trees, a Quickwood must find and identify them itself before it can cast its senses to them. Their +11 to Knowledge (Nature) checks makes this a non-issue, and also allows them to identify the presence of any delectable creatures that may be living near their chosen hunting grounds.

Strangely wise and intelligence for Plants, Quickwood utilize their network of spies to keep tabs on their territory, patiently waiting for easy prey. While perfectly able to live off mundane wildlife, Quickwood prize the flesh of humans and elves above all others because they’re a carnivore on Golarion, so of course they do. Such prey requires a careful approach, much more careful than snaring wolves, rabbits, and deer, so the Quickwood become incredibly patient when such a meal approaches, especially since--like I alluded to in the first sentence--they have only a 10ft movespeed, so fleeing prey is difficult to keep up with. Able to speak both Common and Sylvan, the brutish tree may call out for aid to lure in the soft-hearted, but with no ranks in Bluff it’s much more likely to wait until victims come closer on their own, carefully tracking them from tree to tree with its Oaksight. And “closer” to a Quickwood is much, much further than you’d probably ever think.

Amusingly for a Huge creature, a Quickwood only occupies a 5ft space, but its trunk is flexible enough to give it a 15ft reach with its bite (2d6+9 damage). That’s not the ‘far reach’ part, though, the ‘far reach’ is its preposterously lengthy Roots, which have a reach of 60ft. Able to cause three* of its Roots to erupt from the soil anywhere within its reach as part of a Full-Attack, each one deals 1d6+4 damage (though it can augment any of them with Power Attack) but more importantly immediately attempts to Pull any creature they damage 10ft closer to the Quickwood. If all three roots strike the same target that’s 30ft of forced movement right into the Quickwood’s personal space, and if a creature is pulled within range of its bite? It gets to bite them as a FREE ACTION with a +4 to the attack roll! That doesn’t override the bite they get from their normal Full-Attack, either, so a Quickwood that pulls someone into its bite zone gets to chomp onto them twice!

*the Roots ability in the actual book says it can attack with six roots, but the creature’s actual statblock--as well as every online resource--states it can only use three. In addition, each online descriptor of Roots replaces ‘six’ with ‘three.’ Just something interesting to point out! If you wanted to considerably up the challenge, doubling the number of roots it can lash with would certainly do it.

Not only is a Quickwood spooky when on the offense (especially if it’s attacking from an area you can’t see via its Oaksight), but its defenses are startling in more ways than one. While immunity to Electricity is no oddity among Plants, immunity to Fire is certain to catch players hoping to easily clear out this old growth off-guard. Even more than that, it has Spell Resistance 19 and the unique ability to absorb any magic that fails to pierce its SR, holding the magical charge within its body until it needs it. Rather than healing itself or replicating spell effects, though, it can eject the spell energy as a standard action to create an aura of supernatural terror around it. The aura’s radius is 10ft times the level of the spell it absorbed and it lasts for only 1 round, but anyone who starts their turn in the aura must make a DC 20 Will save or be panicked for a whole minute, effectively useless in combat and forced to flee at top speed from the Quickwood, unable to bring themselves to fight back even as it snares them in its roots and pulls them back round after round.

Though it has no remarkable defenses against a madman with an axe willingly diving into its melee to chop it to bits, the potency of its Fear Aura is typically deterrent enough, scattering the party and letting it pick on whatever members made their save. A DM wishing to add some wicked challenge to this fight (I mean, more wicked than it attacking from an unseen location) can have it START the battle with a store of magic from a previous unfortunate meal. This is a powerful opener, especially since its SR lowers to only 14 while it stores its magic and it can only hold onto one charge at a time, prompting it to loose the fear as soon as it feels like it’s in danger. Like when the party’s caster reveals they have Cold or Acid magic, so it needs its SR as high as possible... or, y’know, when the Hasted Barbarian charges in.

You can read more about them here.

[hairpintvrns]

STARTER FOR: @momentspassd LOCATION: terry's residence / forest lake

The peak of the birding season was over. Smack-dab in the middle of summer, there were very few species of interest to Terry, and their birdwatching had been a means to establish routine more than anything. Certainly there were shorebirds, whose migration patterns arrived a bit later than their songbird and land birds, but the Forest Lake trail leading towards the river was a bit farther than they’d like, and they weren’t sure whether the birds would still be there upon their arrival. 

But there had been one bird of interest. Hearing a familiar birdsong—an unhurried crescendo of buzzes and trills, not quite the yellow warbler’s whistle-like melody, or the black-and-white warbler’s sharp, almost squeaking, chattiness—Terry raised their binoculars to confirm their sighting of a cerulean warbler foraging atop a white oak tree. A male one, by the looks of it, with his uniquely blue-and-white crest and dark gray streaks along the wings and plumage. A patch of sky against the forest canopy. This, though, was a chromatic aberration. There was no blue pigment in feathers; holding its feather up to the light produces, instead, a dark-brown color, for the warbler’s bluish scatter was informed by selective absorption and light scattering.

Blue in nature could only be achieved through tricks, transformations, manipulations of the light. And, light? It had brought color, scale, texture. Weight. It was one of the first things they’d been taught. Per Le Corbusier, light was the fundamental basis of architecture. 

The bird had departed as quickly as they’d noticed it, however. Hearing the faint call of another bird, Terry had darted their binoculars quickly towards the source. It had taken them some time to spot its mate. The female cerulean warbler was decidedly not quite as vibrant, with its leaflike back and breasts, as well as brown streaks across its rump and wingbar, allowing it to camouflage into the branch on which she sat, save for her eyes, dark and striking amid the trees.

Their heart sank as the pair flew away, even as they knew that chasing them would prove difficult—and, amid, the sweltering summer, even impossible. Cerulean warblers, after all, had not earned their moniker sky-blue and sky-high without merit. And so Terry had let the warblers disappear, further into the sky and into greater heights, their binoculars hanging heavily on their neck as they turned back. 

Their walk towards the cabin had been listless, eyes fixed on the patch of naked soil that indicated the trail instead of eye-level; exhausted, perhaps, from looking up. Two months into Blue Harbor, and the journey to and from towards their residence had become familiar: from the underbrush flanking the trail path, the wildflowers blooming under the oak trees, the eventual fork in the path separating their log residence from another series of houses a little ways over, and, turning right, their own path, and—

Sev? 

Sev.

Terry halted in their steps. The problem with summer, they thought, was everything was clear as day. Here, there were no tricks of the light, no shadows carving human figures out of the trunks of maturing trees, no vision conjured up from the recesses of their memory. There was no mistaking that this figure was Selina, some hundred miles away from New York, on the stoop leading towards their cabin, settling on the patch of earth that for months now they’d begun to call their own, instead of somewhere higher up, like, like—

They could no longer form the words. “Selina.” In the end, there was only their name. 

Their fingers began twitching involuntarily, a tic that they could not quite control. Swallowing, they placed their grip instead on the next solid thing: of the leather buckles of their messenger bag, smooth to the touch. And so reality pulled itself back, to the last time they’d seen each other, to the way they’d retreated further and further into themselves until all that was left was the dark; if architecture was composed with light, then darkness was its antithesis. The words that had left their tongue were absent of an architect’s careful precision. All there was left was the capacity to hurt.

“You’re here,” they added, sparsely, afraid of saying the wrong thing. They settled with the observable, the tangible. “At my cabin.” They moved forward, still wary of the distance, settling on the cobblestone path a foot away. They rubbed their thumb against the cool leather buckle, cold but grounding. Do they dare ask a question? “Why?” Why are you here? Why did you come back? And, perhaps, are you ready to forgive me?

[operation-priority]

SCP AMTF Nu-7 Cosplay - Containment Breach Response

Depicted here is the potential appearance of a conventionally armed Nu-7 operative who is responding to an SCP Foundation site containment breach. What this constitutes is essentially their usual standard fitment "day-to-day" loadout with the addition of a triple red lines symbol denoting themselves as a responding AMTF unit as described in "Lockdown Procedures" by Blibby_Blobfish from the SCP wiki. This example shows the three red lines symbol on the right arm loop Velcro panel of the black combat shirt. They may also wear a camouflaged combat shirt instead of their in-house solid color shirt to further mask themselves as US military personnel if the threat to the site has the potential to break the veil. This would also come with 'sterilizing' the uniform by removing all identifiers including SCP ID cards, clearance cards, and unit patches. This particular operative has chosen to wear the 'in-house' uniform of Nu-7, that being a black top with MultiCam bottom. It is often the case that when Nu-7 is called to respond to a containment breach, the damage has already reached the level of potential veil breaking scenarios, and Nu-7 units often find themselves fighting their way to the interior of the site from the outside perimeter. In such a case, a camouflage uniform and gear would be very effective for the individual operative when fighting outside the site in a conventional context.

Responding AMTF units must detain everyone who is not in their designated evacuation shelters as they clear the foundation site. To carry out this task the element may carry a variety of restraining devices. This can range from specialized restraining tools like a cobra cuff to cheap and simple zip ties. Zip ties can be stored easily, are extremely compact, and are widely available. They are also quickly disposable with no real monetary damage to allocated AMTF unit funds. This would allow individual operatives to carry several zip ties for restraining all neutral contacts within the site.

The interior of the breached site may contain harmful particulates or have contingencies in place like automatic CS gas emitters to pacify potential threats as the responding AMTF units clear the facility. The operative is also equipped with a gas mask at the ready in a bag worn bandolier style. Should the need arise, responding operatives are able to quickly don their gas masks and continue with their mission unimpeded.

Communication is incredibly important when clearing a breached site, so an active hearing protection headset that is comms capable is a requirement for all responding personnel. The headset worn by this operative is closed circuit which allows for continued communication at the squad level, even when working underground. This particular headset does not require a radio to function as well, thus sparing the weight and freeing the real estate of a radio on their kit. Element leaders would carry a radio in order to talk to their AMTF Commanders to receive orders.

The operative has also equipped themselves with a PVS-14 Night Vision Device. Helmet mounted night vision devices provide sufficient visibility when working in low light conditions within the facility. The SCP Foundation provides all the necessary kit that Armed Mobile Task Force units need to fulfil their objectives. While other units may be issued dual tube NVGs or even the well sought after panoramic NVGs, this operative has chosen to use a private purchase PVS-14. While dual tubes or panoramic tubes are a common sight within AMTF units, a single tube will always be lighter, more compact, and more convenient to store on the kit than any dual or panoramic counterpart. This operative has an NVG recorder mounted to their monocular which allows for evidence recording within low light environments. This complete setup, despite the additional weight of front and rear lens protection and a recording device, is still lighter than many binocular NVGs. This provides the wearer with a more comfortable fit that can be worn indefinitely with no neck strain or fatigue.

Full Resolution Available Here.

[terrence-silver]

What are some scenarios that could lead old man Terry to meeting his future beloved? Like where would that era of Terry most likely meet his beloved?

---

The most obvious answers could be something like; at the Country Club! Some exclusive Gala! A high-end garden party! A Synagogue! An art exhibition! An elite charity event! A corporate meeting! An auction! A Yacht! An invite-only gentleman's joint! An Opera, for all we know. Anywhere from Korea, Tahiti, Japan and back again! Anywhere in the world, globetrotter that he is. Wherever the rich and the famous might mingle --- a crowd where Terry very much belongs and finds himself at home with. But, I think that answer only covers a small percentage of the actual truth.

Why?

Because I think Terry Silver, unbeknownst to most anyone, mingles everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Yes, often times dressed as a common, unassuming bypasser just minding his own business; now you see him and now you don't. Sometimes, he's driving a run-down blue Ford truck posing himself as a hard-done-by Dojo owner downtown and other times, decades later, clearly not having changed all that much from his old ways, he might just be some smartly dressed, not at all shabby looking old man at the local Mini-Mart, intimidating Daniel Larusso between the produce aisles and leaving without buying a single thing. That's just a casual Wednesday for him. Nobody suspecting this is one of the wealthiest men on the West Coast, if not much, much further.

I think Terry Silver likes to scope out ordinary people, just for the sake of it.

He likes to scope out ordinary places too.

I think he enjoys the sport of getting down there with your commonplace Joe-Schmoe, and just observe, like one observes a Safari of animals. He likes to feel the pulse of everyone around him. Seek out opportunity, even if that opportunity rears its head in the form of some kid he bribes at a random club in 1985 to tactically hit on some girl so he can agitate Daniel into violence, right before making his quick escape into a back-alley in the dead of night, having caused a ruckus on the dance-floor. Yes, why not. It is fun, and Terry Silver seeks fun. It is also an investment and he seeks that doubly so. He seeks chance. Out on the street, in unexpected nooks and crannies or at a parking lot at midnight, while the very next day, he might be on the cover of Forbes as the most, ehm, Charitable Man of the Decade, and an incidental pedestrian would be none the wiser. Or they might just see his face on front page and think that that looks awfully familiar to that one guy, borderline thinking they've gone mad and are imagining things. That can't be same person, right? That might amuse Terry, in the most perverse and chaotic sense. Give him a sort of power --- over his environment and everyone around him, even mere strangers he has no intention of seeing ever again, except for what research and amusement they provided in the moment. The gleeful satisfaction that he's so big and so important and yet nobody knows. Not unless he wants them to, being entirely in control of the narrative and his identity --- and how it is perceived. That his ability to camouflage, disguise and hide himself with just a few cleverly chosen fashion choices and a difference in bearing is that great that it can trick people. The world is a sort of playground for him, and day-to-day people tend to be hilariously prone to being bribed, threatened, influenced, swayed, talked into things and used. Their lives are raw and interesting in ways that are hard to describe and it is a special type of voyeurism Terry Silver has undoubtedly indulged in in one form or another all his life.

Didn't Roman Emperors occasionally disguise themselves to mingle with the plebian rabble too? Terry fancies himself similar. In fact, he knows he is.

He also might be something of an adrenaline junkie; where just minding his own business stripped down from the strappings of his wealth might be genuinely engaging and good sport for him because he gets to know exactly how he will be viewed when nobody knows he's a Billionaire. His fascination almost experimental in nature, bearing a mischievous, childlike curiosity, if not an off-shoot of his tendency to pathologically lie and fabricate whole entire personalities, changing himself and his colors like a chameleon. Almost like he's goading people to show him exactly who they are. What they're like. What they're true nature is when faced with just some guy they've nothing to gain from out there.

So, beloved? Beloved might meet their King Cobra anywhere.

Anywhere at all.

A prospect both exciting and in equal measure daunting.

Because one never knows...

---

(I write more about this topic in my fanfic right here x)

[iambic-stan]

The Next Chapter

This is a little story set in the Star Trek universe, though I left out the characters' names.

"What are you reading tonight?" she asks, leaning over in her chair to peek at my padd.  "World Running Down by Al Hess," I tell her.  "A 21st century projection of what our time would be like.  It's not completely wrong, I'll give it that."  She chuckles, then powers down her own padd.  "I think one thing is true for me in any century, though," I say, because I've had my mind on one thing only for the past several hours, and I know her well enough now not to pretend anything different.  "So I'm going to ask you if you have your stethoscope, even though it's literally in the same drawer every time I'm here."  "Instead of just saying that you want me to listen to your heart?" she asks pointedly, her eyes boring into mine, harshly without being unkind somehow.  I chuckle and think to myself that this is the safest place I know out here--with her.  I think about how it has made me feel better time and time again, and yet--she's right--I do hesitate to say what I mean.  I watch in silent anticipation as she turns, pulls the instrument from the drawer, then arranges the earpieces comfortably into her ears.  For a moment, we just gaze at each other, her right hand holding the chestpiece, index finger over the cool bell.  She looks almost picturesque.  When she places the diaphragm on my chest, I feel a surge of emotions, all the most magical kind.  "Hey, you sound crystal clear.  How do you feel?" she asks after a few seconds have passed.  Hearing that question makes me grin from ear to ear.  "I feel so great right now," I tell her.  This little metal circle makes me feel more connected to everything--to her, but to existence as well.  I never have the words to do it justice, but the feeling is divine.

I close my eyes and feel the muscle pulsating--contract and expand, contract and expand, like waves rushing up to shore, out and back again.  It's life and I didn't ask for it but it's beautiful--and she's sharing it with me.  She's listened for a while now; I didn't think she would listen for so long.  My mind wanders further, and I'm young again--no cognizance of the stress of adulthood to come.  It's a warm, buttery Sunday afternoon, and I'm running through a field of tall grass.  Green grasshoppers that camouflage themselves in the blades hop about, and I chase them single-mindedly, only to be able to hold one and admire its alien face until it leaps from my hands.  I circle an oak tree until I find a cluster of tent caterpillars, petting them absent-mindedly.  I have no idea what time it is, and I have no reason to care.  Tomorrow doesn't exist.  "You sound really relaxed," she says, breaking me out of my reverie.  "I'm not used to hearing you fully relaxed.  You're such an anxious person, even when you let go a little...it's usually still there, somewhere."  I shake my head involuntarily.  "Thank you for listening," I say softly.  "Thank you for letting me into your life this way," she says intensely, the expression on her face and her dogged eye contact telling me she really means it, more deeply than when she's said similar things in the past. There was a time when she would always preface or supplement such words with sarcasm.  It's a level of sentimentality that seems unlike her to show, making it all the more precious to witness.  "You probably think you know, but you don't really know what some of my days are like.  I have my constants that I've come to rely on when it's too much.  One of them is you--and knowing that at some point during the week, I get to let it all go for a moment and just listen to the steady beating of your heart," she says in a quiet voice.  I feel so flattered that I'm rendered speechless.  I reach over and hug her tightly, focusing on the feeling of our hearts being so near each other.  "I love you so much!" I exclaim, and it's not until later that I realize I said it so openly and without all the fear and paranoia that lurks in the back of my mind when I use those words.  

I hear the synth and guitar from an old band, Florence + the Machine, and somewhere from the depths of my brain I dredge up the lyrics "I hear the music/I feel the beat/And for a moment/When I'm dancing/I am free," when I position the stethoscope's eartips in my own ears, and watch as she adjusts the neckline of her blouse to accommodate a small but transformative piece of metal.  The difference this little gadget makes defies language, I'm thinking as I gently press it to her skin and all at once, hear about her day, her life, and just her.  I feel so much more connected, instantly and fully, as she smiles. Maybe, I think, it's possible to be dancing while sitting still, as my mind dances in sync with this wondrous muscle. After a few minutes of listening--noticing the rhythm, the variations, a skip or two, and her breath alongside the valve sounds, I hand the stethoscope back to her, saying "thank you" for the hundredth time.  I can't help but say it out loud, even if I'm starting to think it's superfluous.  I'm full and revitalized, ready for the next chapter in my book--or life itself.