#patricia seed

[fabiansteinhauer]

Regung

1.

Aby Warburgs Rechtswissenschaft ist keine allgemeine Rechtswissenschaft, das ist eine besondere Rechtswissenschaft. Aby Warburg weiß etwas von einem Recht, das man Regime, Regie, Regierung, Regel, Regulierung oder aber auch nur Regung oder Regen nennen kann und dessen Aufgabe darin liegt, die Regung (das ist Bewegung/ Animation und 'Verursachung`im Sinne einer Annahme von Gründen und damit Haftung') zu operationalisieren, die operationalisiert werden soll, weil sie unbeständig und meteorologisch (schwebend, vergehend und vorübergehend situiert) ist und weil durch diese Regung weiter, auch außerhalb der Regung Unbeständigkeit und Meteorologie erscheint.

Das mag ein bisschen kompliziert sein, aber nicht total kompliziert.

2.

Diese unbeständige Regung regt auch Unbeständigkeit an, die meteorologische Regung regt Meteorologie (schwebende Situationen) an. Sie ist ansteckend, anstossend, anstössig, affizierend, sie passiert - und lässt sich passioniert erfahren oder auch erleiden, sie ist für Warburg ein Problem.

Diese Regung soll nach Warburg operationalisiert werden, das heißt: ein Umgang mit ihr soll möglich werden, sie soll händelbar oder bestreitbar, handhabbar, sie soll tragbar, wahrnehmbar und ausübbar werden, es sollen Routinen, Protokolle, Akte, Formeln, Formulare oder Formate entwickelt werden, die institutierend sein sollen: man soll mit allem dem die Regung durchhalten und ihr auch etwas entgegenhalten können.

Dasjenige an der Regung, das nach Operationalisierung ruft oder drängt, also die Unbeständigkeit und Meteorologie der Bewegung soll nicht getilgt oder abgestellt werden, die Bewegung oder Regung soll nicht stillgestellt werden, das soll alles wie gesagt operationalisiert werden, händelbar und bestreitbar gemacht werden. Was an der Unbeständigkeit und der Meteorologie ungewiss, unsicher, unkontrollierbar, ungreifbar, unsichtbar oder unerhört ist, auch das soll nicht nicht vernichtet werden. Routinen und Protokolle sollen einen Umgang - und eine Kooperation ermöglichen, die Warburg im Begriff des Distanzschaffens fasst und als Kulturtechnik begreift.

Man soll, man muss Warburgs Geschichte und Theorie des Distanzschaffens als Beitrag zu einer Wissenschaft von symbolischen, normativen, juridischen und juristischen Kulturtechniken begreifen, als Beitrag zu dem, was Ihering Scheidekunst nennt, was Luhmann als eine Zug der Distinktion begreift, was Vismann als Linienzug und Referenzstruktur begreift und was ich als Scheiden, Schichten und Mustern begreife.

3.

Die Kooperation ist ein Mitmachen, das ist unter anderem auch Pathos, Passion, Passivität (Erleiden/ Leidenschaft) - aber keine Unterwerfung, keine Fatalität, keine Ergebenheit ins Schicksal. In der Operationalisierung durch ein Distanzschaffen, das für Warburg dazu da ist, der Bewegung oder Regung und in der Bewegung oder Regung Wort und Bild geben zu können, Orientierung und Handlung zu ermöglichen und einen Denkraum zu gestalten, soll eine Leistung liegen, in der man zu der Bewegung oder Regung auch Nein sagen kann, ihr gegenüber widerständig und insistierend bleiben kann und Abstand wahren kann, aber eben auch Ja sagen kann.

Warburgs Rechtwissenschaft nimmt ihren Ausgangspunkt nicht direkt im Eigentum, nicht in Totem und Tabu, nicht im Verbot oder dem Gebot, nicht in den Regeln zur Tötung oder zur Unzucht, zu dem Mord und zu dem Inzest. Er fängt nicht bei den typischen anthropologischen oder psychoanalytischen Elementen an. Noch einmal: Sie nimmt ihren Ausgangspunkt in derjenigen Regung, die unbeständig und meteorologisch ist und insoweit mit auf einer Seite mit Unsicherheit, Ungewissheit, Ohnmacht oder Unkontrollierbarkeit einhergeht. Konkret fängt er mit dem Wechselgeschäft an, der kommt er schließlich her.

4.

Diese Regung nennt Warburg polar, er bescheibt sie unter anderem als Schwingung oder Pendeln, zeigt sie unter anderem als Drehung, Rotierung, Verkehrung, Verschlingen, Schlängeln, Tanzen.

Wo er die Regung polar zeigt, zeigt er sie oft über zwei Gebärden, von denen eine auf ekstatische Weise erregt ist, wähend die andere besonnen ruht. Sowohl die Ekstase als auch die Besonnenheit lassen erkennen, dass Warburg das Polare unter anderem mit den Eigenschaften der Sonne assoziiert und mit dem, was von der Sonne ausgeht, d.i. Energie, die wandelbar und dabei unter anderem als Schub und Hemmung vorkommt

Die Ekstase und die Besonnenheit assoziiert Warburg mit der Melancholie (der 'Bipolarität'), mit der Phobie und konzipiert die Phobie damit als etwas, was der Furcht oder Angst noch vorausliegt und eine Energie der Affekte ist, mit der die Affekte Formen annehmen, die erst in der Annahme der Form zur Furcht/ Angst, zur Liebe oder Wut, Trauer oder Euphorie werden. Jemand hat sich dem Thema gewidmet, dazu ist viel zu sagen. Die Phobie ist vague, sie ist wellenweise wie die leuchtenden und dämmernden Lichtstrahlen, und geht der Form der Affekte voraus. Die Phobie ist nicht die Furcht, die Phobie ist das Vague der Affekte und Affektionen, das in Form zur Furcht, aber auch zur großen Freude werden kann. Die Phobie sind die tragenden trachtenden Wellenlinien, die in Formation kuratiert und darin erst dasjenige annehmen, dem als Affekt Wort und Bild gegeben werden kann, dann etwa Angst oder Liebe heißt.

Warburg entfaltet das implizit, stumm: durch Anordungen von Objekten und Bildern und er entfaltet es auch explizit. Dabei ist er nach 30 Jahren Arbeit erst am Anfang seiner Arbeit. Meine Deutung der Warburgschen Wissenschaft nimmt ihn ernst, nimmt sein Material ernst, nimmt jedes Detail ernst. Ich insistiere zum Beispiel darauf, dass die kleinen Verfälschungen seinen Materials in zukünftigen Editionen dringend korrigiert werden müssen. In der Edition der "grundlegenden Bruchstücke" muss dringend etwas korrigiert werden: er spricht 1896 mit dem Anwalt Melchior über die mancipatio, nicht eine municipatio (die es nicht gibt), er hat das sorgfältig auf seinen Zetteln notiert und dieses Detail ist mehr als wichtig, denn die mancipatio ist ein Regung, mit der eine Unbeständigkeit operationalisiert werden soll, nämlich der Umstand, dass ein Sklave in der römischen Gesellschaft seine Position wechselt, seinen Eigentümer wechselt. Possession erscheint hier unbeständig. Die römische Gesellschaft fusst unter anderem auf dem Herrschaftsverhältnis, das patronal ist, in dem der pater familias der Eigentümer anderen Menschen ist und sie teilweise sogar nicht seine Personen, sondern seine Dinge sind. Das Herrschaftsverhältnis und die Ordnung basieren immer auch darauf, dass nichts verwechselt wird. Und doch wechselt der Sklave seinen Herrn und der Herr seine Sklaven. Wenn plötzlich an dieser Bindung, die wir Eigentum, die Engländer aber besser possession nennen, etwas aufgelöst und an anderer Stelle wieder eingehakt wird, dann setzt nach Gaius das römische Recht eine Pathosformel in Gang, die Institutionen investieren für diesen Vorgang die Pathosformel, die man mancipatio nennt. Ein Sklave wechselt den Eigentümer, die römische Gesellschaft versteht das als venditio, das ist zwar als Verkauf übersetzbar, aber auch als Wirbel, als Gebläse, Wind und Windung. Da wirbelt etwas auf, das soll operationalisiert werden, dafür ist die mancipatio da: die gibt dem Wirbel Form, übersetzt das Vague und die Phobie in Form, macht die Form wahrnehmbar und ausübbar, wenn man so will: in relativ geordneten Bahnen, aber nicht total geordneten Bahnen.

3.

Also: ich nehme Warburgs Material ernst, aber das heißt auch, dass man einen Abstand zu Warburg haben muss. Und insofern ist seine Wissenschaft 1929 immer noch erst am Anfang. Viele Widersprüche, die gar nicht verschwinden sollen, stehen noch auf eine Weise da, die mir hinderlich erscheint, natürlich nicht mir persönlich, sondern dafür, zu sehen, wie weit Warburg in seinen rechtswissenschaftlichen Ansprüchen geht.

Insofern geht meine Deutung über Warburgs Explikationenm teilweise hinaus, aber nicht über seine Implikationen. Man kann Warburg mit Warburg widersprechen, unter anderem seinem launischen Umgang mit der Figur der Fortschrittes. Das ist ein polarer Umgang mit dieser Figur, ein melancholischer oder manisch-depressiver Umgang mit der Idee des Voran - und stünde Warburg vor einem, müsste man es ihm sagen dass er gerade mal wieder arg in eine Richtung ausschlägt, wenn er entweder von der ewigen Wiederkehr der Bestie Mensch spricht oder aber glaubt, die Kirche habe in der Geschichte des Opfers es geschafft, irgendeine Realität des Opfers zu überwinden oder loszuwerden.

4.

Gestern war Antrittsvorlesung von Marietta Auer, und nach einem langen Vorspann, der freundlich didaktisch war (und mir scheint, dass er an ein sehr allgemeines Publikum adressiert war) ging es ab der Halbzeit richtig zur Sache, in dem Fall: zu Harmonie und zu Zahlen, Da wurde der Vortrag in den Passagen zu Bodin gerade zu warburgesk, in Passagen zu Pico della Mirandola und Leon Battista Alberti - und dann zu Details der Geometrie, Arithmetik und Harmonik wurde es richtig feurig: Auer legte Formular und Formate für ein Recht bloß, das in dem Fall die Kunst oder Technik der Vergütung oder Gutmachung, der Veredelung ist und in Zahlen, durch Zahlen operiert (man soll zählen und zahlen, damit etwas gut gemacht wird). Sie hat die Geschichte von Kulturtechniken bloßgelegt, die als Mathematik und Musik (und in ihrem Einsatz in juristischen Texten von Bodin oder della Mirandola) auch Illusionen sind, aber das Illusorische daran eben auch Formular und Format ist, unter dem Reales passiert, passieren kann und passieren soll.

Marietta Auer hat das feierlich und aufwendig gemacht (das Malion Quartett hat sie engagiert und Hörsaal 3 scheint mir akustisch perfekt für Streichquartette zu sein, jede Artikulation und Nuancierung bleibt scharf und nirgends entsteht Echobrei oder verläuft sich etwas, bevor es ins Ohr ging: man sitzt dort wie mit teuren Kopfhörern und doch im Saal mit Saalklang, ein Wunder.

Eine große Anzahl von Leuten ist gekommen, akademische Familienfeier hat Onkel Kadelbach das genannt, war es auch. Es war super und nicht nur sie hat gestrahlt. Die vielen Gespräche danach, die später im sogenannten Niddasack fortgesetzt wurden, bis in die Nacht sich zogen - und damit auch diesen langen, langen Zettel wiederangestoßen haben sind Effekte davon, sind Folgen der Antrittsvorlesung, sind Folgen des Umstandes, dass Marietta Auer das Talent hat, Verhältnisse zu eröfnnen, in denen gedacht, gewußt, überlegt, konzipiert, verworfen, gezweifelt, wahrgenommen und geübt werden kann. Manchmal wird scharf geschossen, manchmal herzlich gelacht, immer geht es ziemlich zack zack. Auer hat auch ein bisschen Münchner Glamour hach Frankfurt gedacht, man dachte kurz, Hubert Burda säße im Publikum, war aber nur ein Doppelgänger oder entfernter Verwandter. Manche im Publikum hatten auch einfach ihre Brille nicht auf, und sie verwechselten dann in leicht beschwingter Euphorie andere im Publikum mit anderen, noch glamouröseren Leuten.

Am Rande hat mich ein Kollege auf Patricia Seed aufmerksam gemacht: Irre, kannte ich gar nicht! Muss ich natürlich kennen, gehört quasi zum Kanon dessen, wozu ich arbeite - und ich hatte nie von gehört! Das ist auch der Sinn von Luxus, der Überfülle ist, um Überfülle händeln zu können: man trifft sich am Buffet an gegrillten Hühnerspießen, kurz hinter den Sektgläsern und stellt dann plötzlich fest, dass man mitten im Kanon eine klaffende Bildungslücke hat.

We are alle possessed, wir gebärden uns, so what?

[dreamerwitches]

Witch, familiar and labyrinth concepts from the first guidebook, You are not alone

The images go: Gertrud’s labyrinth (looks like mostly episode 1 but maybe some 2); Gertrud, Ulla and a bit of Charlotte’s labyrinth; what looks like very early witch ideas featuring early Gertrud, Roberta, Ulla maybe, Charlotte and a more current Walpurgis; early Grief Seeds or Soul Gems; more early witches feat. Walpurgis, Charlotte, maybe an Inu Daruma brother, Gertrud and some more final versions of them plus Daniyyel or Jennifer and Uhrmann; an early version of Roberta’s labyrinth featuring more of the doll head theming; an early version of Patricia’s labyrinth with an airplane and balloons that look like heads; and finally an early version of Elly’s labyrinth with an early version of Elsa Maria’s labyrinth below

I absolutely ADORE early concept art and seeing how it changed from initial to final, so these are wonderful

[carewyncromwell]

"Got no diamond, got no pearl -- Still I think I'm a lucky girl."

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri // Read about how Jacob and Duncan met

x~x~x~x

Duncan Ashe was an incredibly driven, ambitious person. It was part of the reason why he'd climbed the ladder at court so fast and earned the position of Jack of Spades while still only a university student of 21. That same year, he brought Jacob Cromwell on as an advisor and technology expert, and the following year, he brought his best friend Coby McQuaid into the fold as well. This second addition in particular had prompted a lot of waves, and before long, Coby had actually been named the new King of Spades himself.

All in all, Duncan was very pleased with how his life at court was shaping up. This was why he was perturbed to find his "right-hand man," Jacob, looking so tired and gloomy that autumn. And to make him all the more perturbed, when Duncan asked him about it, Jacob forced a painful-looking smile on and lied through his teeth.

"Gloomy?" he said. "Aw, nah, I'm fine, Ashe, just...just a little tired is all. But don't worry! I just have to finish this up, and then I can get right to the next prototype..."

Duncan's eyebrows furrowed. "Jacob, your shift's ending in an hour. If you're tired, then maybe you should go home and rest -- "

"Rest? When I'm on a roll?" laughed Jacob. "Nah, I've got to start experimenting on those soil samples tomorrow...and hey, this wind turbine isn't gonna fix itself..."

"Jacob," said Duncan, but Jacob cut him off with another forced smile.

"It's okay, Ashe," he said as reassuringly as he could. "I don't mind staying late to finish...and well, the overtime pay here's great! So it all works out."

The sentiment was familiar enough to Duncan that, very reluctantly, he gave in and let Jacob be. The Jack would still watch Jacob from afar, noting the dark circles that were slowly forming under his blue eyes and the way all trace of a smile would disappear the moment he thought no one could see him, and he grew more concerned by the day.

That concern was sidetracked completely, though, by the very nasty surprise Duncan got, when he accidentally overheard some other courtiers talking.

" -- he's got a sweetheart!"

"Cromwell? No way!"

Duncan stopped mid-step down the hall. His head shot around and he stilled, trying hard to listen.

"It's true!" said the first female voice. "He's been receiving boxes of white flowers and chocolate every day for a week now!"

"From who?" asked the other.

"That's what's so mysterious! I saw one of the packages arrive in his office the other day -- it had no note, no return address...not even a name! Just 'Jacob Cromwell' and his office number, printed on the light blue paper."

Duncan's ears perked up at once. Light blue paper? Only one store he knew of wrapped their packages in that stuff...

Sure enough, the other courtier made the same connection.

"Light blue paper? Only Pique's General Store wraps their stuff up that way!"

"Right! I talked to the gent in the mail room, and he said that he's found one of those such packages on his desk for Jacob at 5:15 PM every day for the last week!"

"How quaint! Then maybe Cromwell really has got some kind of secret admirer..."

"A lady, undoubtedly -- I saw the handwriting on the package, and that kind of penmanship is most assuredly a woman's..."

As their voices came around the corner, Duncan quickly peeled himself back from the wall. Not wanting them to think he'd been eavesdropping, he quickly strolled past the two gossiping girls without even looking at them. Even so, Duncan couldn't ignore the stifled gasps they gave at the sight of him.

"You don't think the Jack heard you?" one asked the other, as Duncan walked that little bit faster down the hall, sliding his hand into his vest pocket at he went.

x~x~x~x

Now, at first, Duncan wanted to confront Jacob about the rumors. Very quickly, though, he decided against it. After all, however much Jacob saw him as a friend, Duncan was his employer, and truthfully, it wasn't Duncan's place to stick his nose into Jacob's personal life. He was perfectly within his rights to date, if he wanted, so long as it didn't interfere with his work...

But that was kind of the sticking thing.

Jacob was entitled to date. He was allowed to do anything he wanted romantically, really -- even if that idiot had somehow turned out to be some sort of Casanova with women on every block, that ultimately was his business and his alone. And yet the thought of Jacob having some squeeze on the side...it was disquieting to Duncan, way more than it should've been.

You hired Jacob to serve as one of your courtiers, Duncan had to remind himself. He's your subordinate. People already think you favor him as it is -- if they had any reason to think you were romantically involved...

Duncan wasn't a naive person. He knew full well how such a thing could be spun, in the public sphere. And with people like Patricia Rakepick looking for any kind of opening to "one up" him, Duncan couldn't risk that.

And so that next day, in the late afternoon, Duncan paid a visit to the mail room. Sure enough, when he arrived, the older gentleman working there had a light blue package set aside for Jacob, accompanied by a bouquet of white hydrangeas.

"Saw Pique's new little shopgirl drop them off, as I came in," said the mail clerk cheerfully. "Poor lass...asked her if she wanted a spot of tea before she left, but she looked to be in a dreadful hurry..."

Duncan cocked his eyebrows as he picked up the package. "Really?"

"Yeah, well, old Pique's always been stingy about how many people he hires," said the mail clerk. "And she was a tiny little thing -- no older than my granddaughter, I think, 13, maybe? I reckon Pique's probably running that girl all over town, dropping off stuff..."

Well, there goes the idea of that girl being Jacob's "secret admirer," thought Duncan. Sounds like she's barely old enough to even think about romance. Still...

"What did the girl look like?" Duncan asked.

"Ginger hair, red lips -- and small, of course. Very small. Probably only five feet or so."

Near Veruca's height, Duncan mentally filed away the information.

"Thank you."

With this, Duncan took the light blue package, placing it under his arm as he headed out.

x~x~x~x

When he brought the package around to Jacob's office, his subordinate's face lit up at the sight of it. He unwrapped the package, and sure enough, it was a box of artisan chocolate.

When Jacob noticed Duncan looking over his "gifts" so critically, though, his smile faded.

"It's not what it looks like," he said immediately, sounding incredibly defensive.

"Oh?" said Duncan, raising an eyebrow.

"I've needed to harvest the flowers' seeds for my experiments," said Jacob with a weak smile. "It's all about the pH of the soil, see -- the hydrangea is a very unique plant -- "

"And the chocolate?" asked Duncan.

Jacob brought a hand through his dark curls uncomfortably.

"...That's just...to try to cheer me up, that's all."

"Cheer you up about what?" Duncan pressed him.

Jacob avoided Duncan's eye. Duncan swept around, trying to force Jacob to look at him.

"Jacob," he said sharply, "if there's someone -- "

Someone else...

Duncan forced himself not to go there. He couldn't confront Jacob's romantic life straight-on: if he did, he was afraid he'd say too much...

"...If there's something going on, you can tell me. You know I can help -- "

"I can do it by myself!" Jacob said in an oddly harsh tone.

Duncan flinched. Something almost stricken seemed to run over Jacob's face -- it made him lose a lot of the color in his face.

"It's fine, Ashe," Jacob said very firmly, putting on that strained smile again. "I've got it under control. I do."

Duncan's eyebrows came together tightly. "Jacob -- "

Jacob seized Duncan's shoulder and squeezed.

"I've got it," he insisted as reassuringly as he could.

Despite saying this, his hand on Duncan's shoulder was shaking.

Duncan's dark eyes flitted down to Jacob's hand on his shoulder, before looking up. They ran over Jacob's strained, pale face critically, taking in how tired the wrinkles around his eyes were...and then narrowed.

Jacob was lying. He was lying right to his face. What Duncan didn't know is whether Jacob knew it as well as he did.

"Fine," said Duncan, more coldly than he meant to.

Sliding out of Jacob's grip, the Jack of Spades turned on his heel and left, his long coat sweeping behind him as he went.

x~x~x~x

The following day, in the midst of work, Duncan went on an unscheduled outing into the capitol. He'd taken off his usual purple and white sash, preferring to go a little bit more "incognito" for the moment, and even took the trolley rather than a private streetcar with a driver.

His destination -- Pique's General Store.

Duncan had only ever been to this store once or twice. It was a store that sold a little bit of everything, from food to flowers to household trinkets, but was best known for its wearable pieces. Many women bought dresses, shoes, and jewelry from Pique's -- even Duncan's father had stopped in here to buy himself a new pocketwatch once, when Duncan was young.

When Duncan entered the store, he found it incredibly busy. The line was nearly out the door, and several of the shoppers seemed rather impatient. This may have been, however, because there was only one person at the register -- a girl with a black ribbon in her ginger ponytail and an apron tied over her second-hand gray dress.

Duncan's eyes narrowed. So this was the shopgirl who'd dropped off that package from Jacob's "secret admirer."

The mail clerk was right -- she was small. Her young, make-upped face indicated she was a teenager -- fifteen or sixteen, perhaps, a few years older than Veruca? -- but her petite height definitely made her look younger. Despite this, though, she zipped around behind the counter, fetching various goods and ringing up what the customers brought to the register. At several points she had to dart up the ladder leaning against the back shelf to pick out specialty items for a customer, sweeping back down to the floor with the grace of a chubby little robin landing after a flight. And all the while, even as the whole shop rumbled with the mutters of grumpy customers, she kept on a pretty, lady-like expression: not smiling, exactly, but nonplussed and grounded. This affect didn't shift even when one customer started berating her for making her wait fifteen whole minutes for service: instead, the small girl faced her with astounding patience.

"I apologize for the wait, ma'am," she said.

"I'm sure you do," the older woman sneered sarcastically.

The shopgirl didn't rise to the taunt. Instead she rang up the woman's total.

"That'll be a hundred, altogether."

The woman reacted with anger. "A hundred? The sign on the window said 'sale!'"

"The 'sale' items are marked in that far corner, with blue marks on their tags," the shopgirl explained. "I'm afraid only two out of your ten items have those marks."

"That is not what it said on the sign!" the older woman shot back angrily.

"The 'sale' corner has the exact same sign as the window does," said the shopgirl calmly. "If you'd like, I can put what you don't want back where they belong. Or if you want them all, but can't afford them right now, I can always put some of them on layaway for you."

The older woman looked so affronted, she looked close to literally clutching the pearls around her neck.

"How dare -- this is outrageous! I demand to speak to Mr. Pique this instant!"

"I'm afraid Mr. Pique is on a coffee break," said the shopgirl, "but if you wish to speak to him, then you can come back in twenty minutes. He should be back by then."

"I'm not leaving until I see Mr. Pique!" the older woman shouted.

The shopgirl's pale face hardened.

"All right," she said lowly. "Then stand off to the side, while I help these people behind you."

She immediately turned her attention to the man waiting behind the woman in line.

"Bring your things here, sir," the girl said more gently.

The man, with a faintly stunned look at the woman in front of him, hesitantly approached the counter with the bottle of whiskey and bag of candy he'd purchased. The woman in front of him looked outraged.

"Excuse me!" she shrieked. "I am your customer -- "

"And so are they," the shopgirl cut her off.

The girl's voice was very quiet, but it sounded so authoritative that she suddenly sounded much older and stronger than she looked.

"You complained about waiting fifteen minutes for my assistance," the shopgirl said coldly. "I'm not going to have all these people wait longer, simply because you no longer want that assistance. If you want Mr. Pique to speak to you, then he can speak to you after he has had something to eat, as I'm sure you will, once you've finished your shopping for the day. And hopefully you'll treat him with more respect than you have me."

The older woman started to redden as red as a tomato, her whole face puffing up like an angry fish.

"You -- !" she spluttered furiously. "You -- low-class, uppity little tramp -- !"

"And now you're disrespecting my other customers, by making a scene," the shopgirl said in that very soft, but pointed voice. "Either wait for Mr. Pique outside, or have a lovely day elsewhere."

The older woman spluttered some more nastier swears under her breath. Then, whirling around to look at all of the other stunned customers, she pushed right through the crowd and out the door of the shop, leaving all of her things strewn about the counter.

"That's it!" she raged. "I'm done!" She paused in the doorframe just long enough to add, "You may tell Mr. Pique that he has just lost himself a loyal customer -- !"

"Thank you," the shopgirl cut her off with great finality.

This only seemed to make the woman even madder as she stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

"I have never been treated thusly in my entire life -- !" could just barely be heard through the closed door.

Duncan watched her go, his lips spreading into a broad smirk despite himself.

Not bad, he thought as he glanced back at the shopgirl as she addressed the man who'd been behind the difficult customer in line.

"I'm very sorry about that," she said kindly. "And about the wait..."

"Oh, no, it -- was no trouble," said the man. He cleared his throat, clearly still a bit uncomfortable about what he'd just witnessed. "Ahem...I'm just sorry a little thing like you had to deal with that all by yourself..."

"It's no trouble," said the shopgirl, her red lips forcing a smile. "I've got it."

Duncan stilled. His smirk faded from his face as he stared at the shopgirl with a clarity he hadn't had until just that moment.

That strained smile...that pale face, that modest height...those almond-shaped blue eyes...

Those eyes...were Jacob's eyes.

Duncan felt like his heart had leapt up into his throat.

Carewyn. The shopgirl who'd delivered all those anonymous packages was Carewyn Cromwell -- Jacob's little sister.

Since when did Jacob's little sister have a job? She had to be so young still -- right around Veruca's age, Duncan thought. That would be way too young to be working a job like this... Was Jacob's family really that bad off that Carewyn had had to drop out of school too, to support her family?

Duncan suddenly felt like his heart was being squeezed.

Was this why Jacob had been so depressed? Because his little sister had had to give up on her academic future, the way Jacob had his...?

"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

Duncan was startled by the sound of an older, portly gentleman coming in through the door, putting out a cigar on the door frame as he entered.

"Ah...yes," Duncan said after he'd recovered. "You'd be Mr. Pique, I suppose? I thought you were out for a coffee break."

"Oh, I am," said Pique gruffly. "My thirty minutes isn't up quite yet...but I thought I'd just check in on my new little lady -- wasn't sure how she'd do behind the desk all by herself..."

His rough face broke into a fonder smile when he saw Carewyn quickly ringing up one customer's totals while adding another's by hand on a spare piece of paper, so as to cut the line down faster.

"But it seems I needn't have worried," he said, his smile becoming a bit more crooked. "I knew she'd be good help, the moment I met her."

"She is a bit young to be working here, isn't she?" asked Duncan.

"A bit, yes -- lass isn't going to be fifteen until September," said Pique.

"Then she's fourteen?" recurred Duncan.

She really was right around Veruca's age. The thought of Coby's sister working a full-time customer service job with people yelling at her for nothing made Duncan feel nauseous.

"Yes, I usually don't hire until at least sixteen," Pique said with a shrug. "But she fought hard to get this job, even just part-time. Said she'd need to save up some money, if she was going to be able to attend university..."

Duncan's heart leapt. "University?"

Then Carewyn hadn't dropped out?

"Yeah!" said Pique with a barking laugh. "I gather her family's financial state isn't so great. Her brother works for the Jack of Spades, so I hear, so he earns good money...but I reckon my little lady doesn't want him spending his pay on her future, when he's had to work so hard as it is. And well, I'm sure that boy would want to move into his own place and settle down with someone nice, at some point, not just stay at home with his folks forever..."

Duncan found himself tuning out as Pique rambled on a bit longer, only because his brain and heart were both turning with this new information.

The Cromwells weren't in financial trouble. Carewyn hadn't had to get a job to save her family, like Jacob did. She'd done it to pay for her education, so that Jacob wouldn't have to. She'd decided to work part-time, while still going to school...

...Kind of like Duncan had...working under the previous Jack while he was at university...

Duncan looked back up at Carewyn behind the counter. Her line of customers was almost completely gone now, leaving only a young man with a very dorky bow tie fumbling through his wallet for exact change.

"I can count it out for you, if you'd like," Carewyn offered.

"Th-thank you," the young man said with an uncomfortable smile. "I-I guess I'm just a little frazzled..."

Carewyn very quickly counted out exact change on the counter. Then, after scooping up the rest of the coins and returning it to the man's wallet, she handed a rather pretty light blue-wrapped box with a white ribbon to him.

"Here," Carewyn said with an encouraging smile. "I hope she likes it."

The young man's face burst into a blush, but he nonetheless smiled, encouraged. "Thank you!"

With a little wave, the young man left the shop. Carewyn likewise waved as he left, before sighing heavily, clearly relieved that the long line was gone.

"Well done, Carewyn!" said Pique jovially as he strode up to the counter, clapping her hard enough on the back that the much smaller girl winced. "Quite well done, indeed! I knew I was right to take you on..."

Carewyn put on her best smile. "Thank you..."

Then she immediately frowned as she gathered up the hats and dresses the difficult customer had left strewn on the counter.

"...But sir, your break isn't over until 4:30 -- "

"I'm still on break, I'm just not 'breaking,'" Pique said brusquely.

"Put on the brakes now, or you might break down later," Carewyn warned the man concernedly as she put the hats back on the proper mannequins.

But Pique waved this off. "I'll brew up some coffee and drink a cup before ringing anyone else up. Why don't you go take your lunch break a little early? You've worked hard enough."

Carewyn hesitated. "Are you sure? I can work until your break is over -- "

"Nonsense!" said Pique. "I passed around some fliers advertising the sale during my walk, so we'll undoubtedly have another rush of shoppers this evening, after people get off work. You go on ahead for now and get something to eat -- I'll have plenty of work for you to do when you get back."

Not looking entirely convinced, Carewyn nonetheless did as her employer said, putting the rest of the dresses away before heading back to the counter. She took off her apron, hanging it up on a nail on the side, and then headed to the backroom. Duncan lingered in the store, watching, as a minute later, Carewyn came bustling back out, a light-blue package under her arm.

Duncan's eyes widened in realization. Then the packages weren't being delivered on behalf of some secret admirer -- they'd all been from Carewyn herself!

"I'll be right back!" Carewyn said, as she darted across the store to the door.

"Be back in thirty minutes on the dot!" Pique called after her.

Just as the door would've closed, though, Duncan grabbed it and left the shop after Carewyn.

x~x~x~x

The Jack followed Carewyn out of the general store and then to the trolley stop. He climbed onto it right after her, and upon catching sight of her moving toward the very back left corner of the car, he moved after her, taking a seat right beside her.

Duncan sneaked a covert glance at the girl out the side of his eye.

She really didn't resemble Jacob at all...did Carewyn take more after her mother, while Jacob took after their father, or vice-versa? If it weren't for their identical eyes, Duncan would've been tempted to think they didn't share blood.

"Why did you follow me?"

Duncan blinked. Carewyn hadn't even looked up, when she asked this. Instead she looked out the window on the other side of her.

"I saw you standing at the back of the general store," she said lowly. "You didn't browse through any of the inventory or even get in line. All you did was watch me work and then talk to Mr. Pique when he came in."

Her blue eyes narrowed upon Duncan's reflection.

"...What do you want?"

Her eyes may have been colored and shaped like Jacob's...but in that moment, so sharp and piercing and full of distrust, Duncan was almost reminded more of Patricia Rakepick's.

Duncan's surprise melted away into something more serious.

"I came to talk to you, actually," he said.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows.

"Recently my subordinate has been getting a lot of...mysterious packages, delivered by a shopgirl with ginger hair," said Duncan. His eyes flitted down to the light blue package in Carewyn's lap. "No name, no note -- no return address...but all in Pique's distinct light blue paper."

Carewyn's eyes grew a little bit smaller.

"...And this 'subordinate' of yours...?"

"Jacob Cromwell is his name," said Duncan. His lips curled up in a small smirk. "Your brother, if I'm not mistaken."

Carewyn turned around to look at Duncan properly, her eyes very wide. Then something in the back of them brightened.

"...Ashe," she breathed through a smile. "You're Duncan Ashe!"

Duncan's smirk broadened. "You've heard of me?"

"Of course!" said Carewyn. "Jacob's told Mum and me all about you."

Duncan's heart fluttered. Jacob had told his family about him...?

"...Has he?" he asked softly.

"Well, he talks about you a lot," said Carewyn, and she had to stifle a giggle behind her hand. "If either Mum or I ask after you, he'll ramble on and on until he's completely run out of breath."

Duncan gave a cynical laugh. "Well, give Jacob just about any subject, and I daresay he'll do the same thing..."

Despite saying this, though, Duncan couldn't mask the light, happy flush painting his face, nor could he deny how warm he felt, thinking of Jacob rambling on about him to someone. Did he talk about his intellect, his cleverness -- his ambition -- his looks, how well he dressed? Surely not -- Jacob was an absolute idiot when it came to picking clothes for himself, Duncan had had to pick out something proper for him to wear to court...but maybe Jacob appreciated how Duncan dressed, despite this? Duncan wished his mind wasn't dancing so giddily with such fancies.

Carewyn's eyes softened.

"Really, though," she said more gently, "Jacob is so grateful for everything you've done for him. And I am too."

Duncan avoided Carewyn's eye. "Well, it's...nothing Jacob didn't earn, really. He's got a brilliant mind -- someone else would've seen it, even if I hadn't..."

Rakepick would've snatched Jacob up in a second, if she could've, Duncan thought, a surge of dislike pulsing through him at the thought of the Ace keenly parsing over one of Jacob's blueprints.

Carewyn shook her head. "But that's just it. My brother is brilliant -- he's always been brilliant -- but so many people have never seen it."

Her gaze drifted back out the window.

"...I was too little to remember all of this, but...when Jacob was young, he was bullied, for being interested in things. Even sometimes for not being interested in other things, like sports, or clubs, or parties. He was beaten down and ignored...and whenever he'd lose his temper or try to fight back, he'd get in trouble for it. Soon the only thing anyone ever saw of Jacob was his misbehavior -- our dad, included."

Duncan stared at Carewyn's reflection in the glass. Her face looked almost heartbroken, thinking this -- as if just recounting what her brother went through physically injured her.

"Jacob tried really hard to be better after I came along, and especially after Dad left us," she said softly. "He had to help Mum look after me...so he worked really hard, for a really long time. He dropped out of school, gave up a lot of dreams...all to try to make sure we had a roof over our heads. And eventually...all anyone ever saw of Jacob was that he was useful. That he could do things they could use for their business -- that he could fix things, or cook things, or file things, and do it all perfectly. They weren't looking for him to talk, or explain, or share, or teach, or think -- they just wanted him to do."

Duncan found his own eyes drifting through the window now, barely seeing either Carewyn's or his reflections now. In his mind's eye, he could see Jacob fixing the trolley door through another window, on another trolley -- see the muscles in his arm flexing -- seeing him smile so brightly --

"Your brother likes being useful," Duncan said softly.

"Of course he does," said Carewyn. "He always has. But that doesn't mean that's all he is."

She turned to smile at Duncan. "That's why I'm grateful you brought him to court. I know Jacob feels useful to you, but not just because of what he can do. You value his ideas -- his hopes and dreams. His drive to challenge the status quo...to shake things up and do real good for people. His passion and his aspirations for a better future. His brain and his heart."

Her blue eyes sparkled as her smile softened.

"Jacob's happy there, with you," she murmured. "Happier than he ever was at those other jobs. He wasn't unhappy, exactly -- those bosses did appreciate what he gave them, and those jobs did help him support us...but, well..."

Her eyes fell down to her hands in her lap.

"...They only wanted one small piece of Jacob. You...want all of him."

Duncan felt his face darkening with a redder flush. He quickly looked away, trying to hide it by covering his mouth, cheek, and chin with his whole hand.

"Well...um..."

Duncan felt very flustered, and he really didn't like it. He shot a look at Carewyn -- fortunately she too still had her eyes averted to her hands in her lap.

He swallowed, trying to recollect himself. When he finally did, his voice came out a bit strained.

"...I...I do want Jacob here," he said lowly. "He's...very special."

To me.

Refusing to let those words leak out, Duncan forced himself to get back to business.

"...He...said that you sent those packages to cheer him up."

Carewyn smiled a bit uncomfortably, her eyes drifting back out the window.

"...Yeah...Jacob's been pretty upset that I took a job too, around my schooling. He said he didn't want me to have to work -- that he'd work twice as hard, so I wouldn't have to...but I can't do that to him. Jacob and Mum have provided for me my whole life...it's my turn to help them, now."

Duncan's eyes betrayed concern. "Is it still so difficult for you? I thought with Jacob's higher salary -- "

"We're not struggling," Carewyn said earnestly. "But well, Jacob and I have still had to share a room my entire life. Jacob needs space. We both do. He needs an office -- a place where he can work on projects outside of work. I need a real closet where I can organize my clothes properly, so I don't have Jacob pairing my socks with his by accident."

She actually pursed her lips a bit, giving off something of a haughty expression. It made Duncan bite back a snort of laughter.

"Jacob's good at earning money and doing without on things, but not budgeting."

"And there is a big difference," said Duncan.

Carewyn nodded. "So Mum and I have been looking at the long-term...and what's holding us back from buying a bigger place is saving up enough for me to afford books and tuition. Jacob wants to just stay where we are and pay for me to go to university...but I don't want that for him. I don't want him to have to do without anymore, when I can help him now. And I wish he wouldn't work so much overtime to try to persuade me otherwise!"

This came out a bit frustrated, despite Carewyn's seemingly best efforts. She looked almost guilty, expressing such emotion in front of Duncan.

"...I'm sorry," she said lowly. "I...know you're Jacob's friend, so I thought I should explain."

"You don't need to apologize," Duncan said at once.

Carewyn still looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Please don't tell Jacob I told you all this," she said quietly. "I know Jacob esteems you...he wouldn't want you to see him as unable to do something."

Something stirred in Duncan's memory.

"I can do it by myself!"

"It's fine, Ashe. I've got it under control. I do."

Then that was it. Jacob hadn't just been lying to Duncan -- he'd been too proud to even accept things as they were himself...too proud to acknowledge he couldn't carry the world all by himself...

Duncan's brows and lips both knit together tightly.

"What I see him as is a complete idiot," he said dryly.

The Jack pulled down on the trolley string to make it stop outside the Palace of Spades. As he got up, Duncan extended a hand to Carewyn as if to help her up.

"Now, then -- Jacob's lab is on the far end, so we'll have to walk briskly, if we're going to deliver your care package to him. I'll need to drive you back in my personal car afterward, if you're going to have any decent time to eat before returning to work..."

Carewyn flushed. "That's all right -- I don't need anyth -- "

"Let me guess -- you've been skipping out on meals, just to bring these packages to your brother on your breaks," Duncan cut her off.

Carewyn shot him a glare through her blush. "There's always something to eat quickly at home -- I can more than manage until then..."

Duncan brought a hand up to his face and shook his head.

"Well, now I see sacrificing for your loved ones is something of a family trait, for you Cromwells. Ugh -- come on, then -- we're picking up your brother, dropping off his chocolates in the lab, and then driving somewhere for a proper meal. Shut your mouth right now and don't bother taking out any money, I won't hear any arguments from you or your brother about it."

x~x~x~x

Despite the sourness he'd spoken with, Duncan still kept his eye trained behind him to make sure Carewyn was keeping up with his longer strides, as he strolled quickly down the hall. And when Jacob looked up to find Carewyn in his lab and practically leapt out of his seat, throwing his arms around her and squeezing her tight as he beamed so happily over her shoulder at Duncan, the Jack of Spades couldn't have possibly obscured the soft, contented rosiness of his face as he watched them.

Jacob did in fact try to argue with Duncan about paying for their supper in full -- and Duncan scolded him just as much as he had Carewyn.

"Don't argue with me, I'm your boss. And no more of these little package deliveries, to cheer you up -- the next time Carewyn wants to bring you something, I intend for her to bring it to you when she's off from work and school, on formal visits..."

Jacob's eyes widened.

"Formal visits?" he repeated, disbelieving. "You mean...Wyn can come see me here, at the Palace?"

Carewyn looked just as stunned herself. "Duncan, you -- you don't have to do that -- "

"I know I don't," Duncan said, averting his eyes uncomfortably, "but I'm doing it. I give my permission -- Carewyn can come whenever she wants."

Jacob and Carewyn both stared. It made Duncan's flush creep up his neck all the more.

"Just as long as you don't get distracted, Jacob," Duncan added, his voice becoming a bit more strained in its defensiveness. "After all, you'll still be at work and earning pay -- it's just easier than making Carewyn use up her break times. And Carewyn seems responsible enough that she won't keep you from your work. Plus it'll quiet a lot of the unnecessary gossip around court about you having a sweetheart sending you packages..."

Jacob's mouth fell open. "What? Oh, come on, Ashe, I told you it wasn't like that -- !"

But Carewyn disregarded this completely. Instead she got up and, opening her arms, gave Duncan a hug.

The gesture made Duncan stiffen, taken aback, and she immediately withdrew, looking a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, even though she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "It's just...thank you, Duncan. I've never been inside the Palace before, aside from the mail room, and seeing where Jacob's working..."

Her eyes sparkled like gems.

"... Your invitation...it's very generous," she whispered. "Thank you."

Duncan hadn't thought he could go any redder, but somehow he was. Coby would probably be comparing him to a tomato by now.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away. "...You're welcome."

He glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye, to see her smiling sympathetically. Maybe she sensed his discomfort -- or maybe, being far more insightful about people than Jacob, she sensed what really fueled it: that stifled, hidden desire to make her brother happy.

Either way, Duncan found himself smiling a bit too, as he looked back at her.

Maybe Carewyn wasn't Jacob's sweetheart...but she did have a very sweet heart, all the same.

[roesolo]

Saving Delicia: A Story About Small Seeds and Big Dreams

Saving Delicia: A Story About Small Seeds and Big Dreams, by Laura Gehl/Illustrated by Patricia Metola, (Apr. 2024, Flyaway Books), $19.00, ISBN: 9781947888449 Ages 3-7 Kari and her dog Cookie sit in the shade of a delicia tree, listening to Old Otis tell stories about his youth, when delicia trees grew in abundance and he would eat fruit after fruit, the juice running down his chin. Blight has…

[allsassnoclass]

🧠🧠

hello dear anon! i'm a little late getting to this, but ask and ye shall recieve!

send me a 🧠 for a long ramble about something i’m obsessed with lately

i am going to be honest with you! part of why this is so late is because i have no clue what i'm obsessed with lately! i've been pretty busy with my additional job at the haunted house, but i already rambled about my character there here. i guess i'm obsessed with the overall lore of the house, but i'm mostly obsessed with the way that no one knows it???? like. they never gave us a written out version despite multiple people asking and we have a lot of actors who joined late and never got a proper tour, so most of the cast doesn't know the full lore! which is not great honestly! so i'm typing it up and going to throw a link to the google doc in the work discord. also though i'm obsessed with the way that the character actors have been adding to and expanding on the lore. for example, i learned that my character has a girlfriend, because the actor who has been playing the friend searching for me has been telling patrons that they're girlfriends lol. canon gays at the haunted house!

send me a 🧠 for a long ramble about something i’m obsessed with lately

ahhhh i'm obsessed with very devoted character dynamics where one character is willing to do absolutely terrible things so that the other one doesn't have to! i just think it's very spicy. devotion to the point where you are willing to corrupt yourself so that the other person doesn't have to! i have some original stories that are in the very very early works and i'm considering switching one character dynamic slightly so that i could pull of something like that, but i think for plot reasons i would need to add a different character instead. idk man, i haven't had time to think about any of my own stories in a long long long time, but that's a type of dynamic that is very fascinating to me lately.

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[honeytonedhottie]

HONEYS IT GIRL MAGAZINE june edition⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

welcome back to honeys it girl magazine, this is the june catalog. get ready for the inside scoop on data that i've collected, things i've learned/started doing, and just general info like that organized in kind of a teen-magazine inspired fashion. a magazine for it girls ✨ and now please enjoy, the it girl magazine.

LIFE UPDATE ;

as you may or may not have noticed, i've been hiatus for most of the month now. and i disappeared because of personal reasons, and one of those reasons being that i felt i needed to reflect. here are some things that i've learned and realized during my reflection time.

in that post i go into things that i went thru during the month of june and the reason behind my absence. something that i mentioned but failed to elaborate on in that post was what i plan to manifest next and i'll talk about it later on in the post.

FOR THE WELLNESS GIRLIES ;

this summer is a hot one, and one way that i've been getting my vegetable and fruit intake is through smoothies. smoothies and juices are perfect for the summer because they're SO refreshing so im going to talk about some smoothie recipes.

adriana limas smoothie recipe ; (1 cup cold water + 1/2 avocado + honey). candice swanepoels smoothie recipe ; (1 frozen banana + 1 cup blueberries + 1 tsp protein powder + 1 scoop collagen powder + 1 tbsp chia seeds + 2 tbsp almond butter + 1 tbsp spirulina + 1 1/2 cup coconut water)

smoothies make amazing breakfasts or just amazing drinks to have when ur craving a sweet drink. for me, i like to keep my smoothies simple and use ingredients like strawberry and banana, but lately i've been loving mango in my smoothies.

LETS TALK MANIFESTATION ;

because of my period of reflection i had time to focus on what i wanted to manifest next and i wanna manifest a trip to italy for the summer + other mini things within that trip.

i've already created a script for it, and im gonna start affirming for it on the first of july. im so so excited to go and share this with you guys...💬🎀 furthermore i wanted to share some manifestation reminders and posts that have been helping me so far.

ABOUT WAVERING

YOUR NOT A VICTIM, YOU NEVER WERE

HOW TO IGNORE THE 3D AND BE UNBOTHERED

PATRICIA NAVIDAD STYLE DISSECTION ;

patricia navidad in “la fea más bella” is an over the top, feminine queen who i absolutely adore. she was easily one of my favorite characters so ofc i wanted to make this editions style dissection about her.

she has beautiful blondish hair that is similar to and complements her skintone, making her look super put together and gorgeous. she wears jewelry that she coordinates together. but my favorite outfit of hers HAS to be the one shown above on the left.

if theres one thing patricia knows how to do is to make her outfits work for HER which is why i thought she'd be the perfect candidate for this months style dissection...💬🎀

in this outfit shes wearing a matching pink set, the shade of pink is very soft and matches beautifully with the white (what looks like a corset-ish top) underneath. the color coordination is superb and she makes the shirt pop more by only using one button beneath her bust which draws attention to her figure and the top underneath.

THE CRINGE STIGMA ;

to be a victim to the cringe stigma is to be caged in ur own mind bcuz ur so scared of what others may or may not think of you. lets talk about it. the way others perceive u isnt ur business. lets think about how many times that you've stopped urself from doing something that u rly wanted to do, or something that you've really loved because u were scared of what others might say? imagine all that wasted time and energy worrying?

its not ur responsibility to keep urself small or digestible for someone. u can't grow where ur comfortable so to grow u have to get uncomfortable even if that means being called cringe by others. bcuz when others call u cringe thats their own projection onto you and it rly doesnt matter. dont take someone else's judgement too personally and just enjoy yourself no matter what...💬🎀

[fannish-karmiya]

I know I said no meta, never again, I know, but...

Something I've been thinking about lately is how we really all underestimate what a message Jiang Yanli is sending every day through her domestic actions. It's easy to dismiss traditionally feminine roles such as cooking and sewing as just 'part of patriarchal expectations for women', but consider this:

Wei Wuxian isn't, to anyone else in that household, a member of the family. He's a servant, one allowed to live with the main family but still essentially a loyal retainer given certain 'privileges'. And yet Jiang Yanli mends his shoes on his first week at Lotus Pier, shells lotus seeds for him at the table, and cooks and serves him his favourite dish that she makes.

Traditionally in China, even an upper class daughter was viewed as very filial for doing tasks like cooking and embroidery and sewing for her family, first her father's family and then the family she marries into. In particular, doing these things could be a tactic employed by a new bride in order to earn the favour of her new in-laws and show that she's a filial daughter-in-law (along with things like sharing items from her dowry with the family, rather than keeping them to herself as might be more practical in case the family ever turns her out).

(While it's specifically about the Song dynasty, a good source for social expectations for women and what their lives were like in ancient China is The Inner Quarters by Patricia Buckley Ebrey. I highly recommend it if you're interested in learning more about the subject.)

Every day, when Jiang Yanli mends something for Wei Wuxian, or shells lotus seeds for him, or cooks him his favourite dish, she's saying silently but very loudly: he is a member of this family. He's my brother, so I do these things for him.

Why do you think Yu Ziyuan scolded her for it so often? Why did Jiang Cheng scold Wei Wuxian for being the recipient of such gestures ("whose servant is like you, having their master make soup for them")? Because as far as they were concerned, Wei Wuxian was a servant and should not be the recipient of such gestures. And Jiang Yanli just kept doing them, over and over until the day they both left that household.

It wasn't only at Phoenix Mountain that Jiang Yanli stood up publicly and claimed Wei Wuxian as her didi: it was every single day, through those domestic gestures.

[se7enpixels]

The ten best films I saw at Cannes 2024!

The Seed of the Sacred Fig (dir. Mohammed Rasoulof)

Anora (dir. Sean Baker)

Bird (dir. Andrea Arnold)

All We Imagine As Light (dir. Payal Kapadia)

The Substance (dir. Coraline Fargeat)

Visiting Hours (dir. Patricia Mazuy)

The Apprentice (dir. Ali Abbasi)

Emilia Pérez (dir. Jacques Audiard)

Mongrel (dir. Chiang Wei Liang)

Grand Tour (dir. Miguel Gomes)

[hitlikehammers]

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

[fabiansteinhauer]

Patricia Seed

1.

Die Seed beschreibt eine normative Praxis, deren Element ein graphischer oder choreographischer Zug (Train(ing), Trakt, Tracht, Träger) ist, um mit dem umzugehen, was man possession nennt. Possesion muss man nicht mit Besitz oder Eigentum übersetzen, man kann es mit einer Besessenheit und als Besessenheit (rauschende Situation) übersetzen. Man kann das als ein Ergreifen und das Ergreifen als Pathos, sogar als Pathologie begreifen.

Patricia Seed setzt da an, wo Aby Warburgs Bild- und Rechtswissenschaft 1896 auf einem Schiff und bei einem Gespräch mit Sally George Melchior, dem Juristen und späteren Rechtsvergleicher, ansetzt: Am Zug des Ergreifens, der nicht für Bestand sorgt, sondern für Wechsel. Der Zug der mancipatio sorgt mit dem, was er an Form und Formlosigkeit einrichtet dafür, mit Unbeständigkeit umzugehen. Jemand ergreift Dein Eigentum, Deinen Sklaven, Deine Tochter und behauptet plötzlich, es, er oder sie sei sein, sei ab jetzt nicht mehr Dir, sondern ihm eigen .

Die mancipatio lehrt Dir, dazu einfach zu schweigen und nicht zu widersprechen. Darum nennt Gaius sie auch dann einen Verkauf, wenn er nur die Aktion des Erwerbers beschreibt und den Verkäufer in seiner Passivität nicht einmal mit einem Wort beschreibt. Er lässt in der Beschreibung des Verkaufes den Verkäufer aus, so dass der Verkäufer in der Passage ein Letter ist, ein minores, nämlich minderes Objekt (nicht begriffen, nicht beschrieben, ausgelassen von der Schrift und von dem Bild) und lassend.

2.

Vielen Dank an Christian Pogies, der mich auf Patricia Seed aufmerksam gemacht hat.

[wordsinhaled]

and i have to tell you something, i’m still afraid of the dark / but you take my hand in your hand; from you the flowers grow / and do you understand, with every seed you sow you make this cold world beautiful? / and, ah, are you afraid? ‘cause i’m terrified / but you remind me that it’s such a wonderful thing to love / it’s such a wonderful thing to love / it’s such a wonderful thing to love —florence + the machine // patricia

[turtletaubwrites]

I Carry A Darkness ~ Part 21

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader, Robin x Fem!Reader, Sanji X Robin

This is part 21 of the Series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

Word Count: 4255

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link (Ch. 11 of We've All Got Needs cont.)

Summary: Your crew leaves their home behind, and you hunt for your missing lover. Can your family come together as chaos wracks the city?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Cigarettes, They're Gross, Don't Smoke, Smut, ANGST, Relationship Drama, Emotional Hurt/No Comfort, Mild Violence, Polyamory, Pet Names, Vaginal Fingering, Porn with Feelings

A/N: !!SPOILER WARNING!! Spoilers for the anime for the Water 7 arc. Heeeyy, I hope you like DRAMA. And possibly crying. But you can have a tiny bit of sweetness, and a lil smut at the end, as a treat 💜

Extra A/N: We will get to see more of reader's weapons in this chapter, so just below the cut I've included a description, and reference photos and videos. Feel free to skip if you're not interested, I just love these weapons so much. I've also added this description to the We've All Got Needs Masterlist in case you want to check it out later.

Modified Tonfa ~ Reader's Weapons

Usopp designed these weapons based of off the reader's description of her favorite weapon to watch students practice with when she would pass a martial art's studio on her way to and from school. Luckily Zoro was forced to practice with weapons besides swords, and his stubbornness to be the best meant that he is skilled enough to train the Reader with this technique (at least up to a point).

Typically tonfa are made of wood, but her weapons are made of metal, and they are modified so that poison darts can be released from a distance, as well as poisoned metal spikes like thorns can be used in defensive positions.

The Reader utilizes her knowledge as a botanist to locate and use poisonous plants for these weapons.

One is dark purple and is called Blackout Tonfa, whose poison causes enemies to fall unconscious. The other is bright green and is called Daydream Tonfa. Its poison causes foes to hallucinate.

I Really Like This Short Competition Demo

Super Short But Awesome Tonfa Technique Demo

Patricia Ja Lee Tonfa Fight

I Carry A Darkness ~ Part 21

There was no way to pack up everything. You had to choose which supplies would be the most difficult to replace. Your plants, seeds, herbs, and tinctures, you wrapped everything you could fit as carefully as you could, using your clothes to wrap the glass items so you could fit more. 

Everyone was frantic, bouts of crying kept bubbling up while the crew prepared to leave their home behind. 

You gripped your practice tonfa, strapping them to the belt Usopp had made for you. 

Usopp…

His bloody, rage filled face, and his stinging words haunted you. 

‘You don’t want weak people on your crew do you?’

Clenching your jaw, you were determined to find Robin before you let yourself fall to pieces.

I need to be stronger. 

You crept through the hallway, the crew all lost in their own packing to notice. 

Holding your breath, you snuck into Usopp's quarters, guilt riding you. 

Luckily he hadn’t hidden the box. Zoro had made him promise not to let you have the modified tonfa outside of practice.

It’s not his decision.

You grabbed the two tonfa, one dark purple and the other bright green, tears welling in your eyes. Memories of all the time spent with Usopp, how hard he’d worked to make the incredible weapons, how excited he always was when you’d improve your skills. 

Biting your lip, you left a piece of paper in the box.

‘Thank you.’

~

You had hidden Usopp’s gifts in your luggage, struggling to make them fit. Chopper was kind enough to use his human form to carry your luggage along with his medical supplies and books. 

Finding an inn was easy, but you felt blank as you followed along. Zoro led you into a room, closing the door, and you realized he’d set you up with a room alone together. You hadn’t noticed while they were paying, your eyes stuck on the floor. 

He helped you set down the small bags you’d been carrying, and tried to pull you toward the bed. 

You wouldn’t budge. 

“We need to find Robin.” 

Zoro looked at the ground, taking a breath before gripping your shoulders. 

“She’s strong, Needy, she’ll be okay. We’ll look for her in the morning.” 

“She wasn’t okay when the admiral came. We couldn’t protect her.”

“Needy, we can’t help her if we don’t take care of ourselves.”

His tone was driving you fucking crazy. How calm he’d been through all the pain today, as if it didn’t affect him at all. His words felt condescending, as if you were a child, someone useless who couldn’t help.

“How would you feel if it was me out there? What if I was missing?”

You pulled back from his grasp, hands starting to gesture with your words as heat bubbled in you. 

“That’s different.”

“How, Zoro? She’s part of this crew too.”

He stepped toward you, his mouth opening, then closing without a word.

“Why is it different, Zoro? Is it because you’re fucking me, or because I’m weak?”

“Whoa, Needy,” he breathed, eyes going wide as he reached for you again. 

But you walked away, turning back to look at him while your arms shook, and your voice pitched higher.

“No, Zoro. You don’t understand how I feel right now. I can’t fucking shut down my feelings like you can.”

Zoro’s face went from concern to confusion, his brows furrowing as he crossed his arms.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Do you even care about Robin and Usopp,” you questioned, voice raising, shaking with anger. You felt out of control, unable to stop the poison flinging from you. 

“Do you even care about me? Or are fucking and fighting the only things you know how to do?”

You watched Zoro’s jaw clench, his breathing shift, and you recognized his anger. He hadn’t shown it in a while, but you remembered how he looked when he was pushed over the edge.

You’d just never pushed him like this.

“Isn’t that why you’re with me, Needy? So I can make you strong, and fuck you into the ground? Isn’t that all you want from me?”

His voice was low and dangerous, and you wanted to scream at him. You almost did. Your voice was still raised though, your arms pointing at him, pleading and accusing.

“I want you, Zoro! I want the real you, who’s funny, who’s caring, who’s fucking loyal-”

“Ha, you’re one to talk.”

The bitter edge in his voice shot you through with nausea.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck, I don’t like this, Needy,” he panted shaking his arms at his sides as he started to pace back and forth.

“I don’t fucking like it either, Zoro. Would you give up on me so easily?” 

He spun, coming to face you. Not too close, but his eyes were heavy as they bore into yours.

“I would never give up on you.”

You swallowed down the heat in your throat, fighting tears as you crossed your arms.

“I’m going to look for her.”

With a sigh, he shook his head slightly before nodding.

“Okay, Needy. I’m sorry,” he rushed, holding his hands out like he was calming a stray animal. “Let’s uh. Let’s go look for an hour, alright? But then we need to sleep so we can look more tomorrow.”

You crumpled then, hands covering your face as your knees went weak. Zoro was right there, holding you against his chest. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, Needy. I’m sorry.”

~ 

Zoro had practically carried you back after your futile hour of searching. You crashed hard, not even changing clothes, not even waiting for Zoro to lay beside you before you were out. 

There was a brief moment of peace as you woke, before the previous day came crashing onto you, heavy and sick. Zoro wasn’t in the room

He’d left a note on the bed. 

‘On the roof. Couldn’t sleep.’

You crushed it in your hand, and hated yourself for your thoughts. 

He can fall asleep anywhere. I guess yesterday got to him after all.

A soft knock made you gasp, and sudden fear shot through you.

“It’s me, Angel. Are you awake?”

Sanji’s voice was so hushed, but you climbed out of bed to run to it. 

When he closed the door behind him he wrapped his arms around you, holding the back of your head while he buried his face in your hair. 

“Are you alright, my love?”

“No, Sanji.”

He sighed, nodding his head against you. 

“Of course you aren’t.”

You pulled away, rushing to grab a change of clothes. 

“Can we go look for Robin now?”

He looked up at the ceiling, his face drawn when he met your gaze again. 

“I stood lookout all night near the shore. In case she came back to the Merry.”

He shook his head at your widened eyes, then pulled out a cigarette. 

“She never said anything about leaving.”

You started scrambling into clean clothes, noticing that he looked away instead of watching you. 

“She wouldn’t just leave, Sanji. Something happened to her. She wouldn’t leave.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, voice heavy. “Let’s go find the others.”

~

You found Chopper with Zoro on the roof, Luffy perched on the edge of the neighboring building, looking away from his crew. 

“-injured. He could barely even stand up. And now he probably has a fever!”

“Chopper, that’s enough, okay. Don’t talk about him anymore.”

Your jaw fell open at Zoro’s words, and you knelt by Chopper, taking his hoof into your hand. 

Sanji stepped between you as you shot a heated look at your swordsman.

“We’re going to look in town for Robin today. If anything happens, we should use this inn as the meetup point.”

Chopper followed Sanji's voice, trembling. 

“I’ll come with you! Do you… do you think we’re gonna find her?”

“We don’t have any clues where to look. But I just have this feeling that she’s still here, somewhere.”

Sanji’s words made you feel a bit of relief. Knowing that someone else cared about finding her as much as you did. 

You went to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Laying your face against his shoulder, you breathed him in, the stale smoke and dirty clothes not hindering the comfort his scent gave you. 

Nami’s voice broke your calm, yelling to Luffy about someone named ‘Iceberg.’

The mayor and shipwright had been shot in his home, and the city was on high alert. Luffy and Nami shared that they had met Iceberg the day before, and you gasped as Luffy launched himself off the roof to go check on him, with Nami racing to follow.

“On that note, let’s go find Robin,” Sanji said, before turning back to Zoro as he sat against the wall. “What about you?”

“I think I’ll just wait a while. See how things turn out.”

You stared at Zoro as he put his hands behind his head, getting comfortable. 

He doesn’t give a fuck about Robin. Does he care about anything?

You hit the elevator button for your floor instead of the ground level.

“Wha-”

“I need to grab something.”

~

You left the room, heading back to meet them at the elevator before Sanji stepped in front of you. 

“What are you doing, Angel? Are those armed?”

“Sanji, I need to be able to protect myself. I’m ready. And it’s not your decision.”

Sanji clenched his jaw as he looked at your tonfa, the purple and green giving the modified versions away. He kept staring, breathing heavily before shaking his head. 

Sanji pulled at your wrist, and you followed him and Chopper out of the inn, and down into the streets. 

You could have sworn you heard Sanji breathe, ‘fuck,’ as he lead you outside.

~

Desperation made you frantic, asking every person you saw if they’d seen a beautiful woman, describing her features, and pleading with them to help you. 

“Angel, please don’t stray too far. I couldn’t stand to lose you too.”

But you couldn’t focus on Sanji’s words, his gentle touch on your shoulder. All you were was wide searching eyes, and a heart beating so fast it might leave your body. 

Until clanging alarms blasted from every corner, blaring a warning that had every citizen rushing away.

“Attention please. This is the Water 7 Forecasting Center. An Aqua Laguna warning has been issued. Estimated arrival for midnight tonight.”

You spun, panting as you watched the area clear out. People were yelling to share the news, and you found your way back to Sanji as he asked someone for details. 

“Aw, you’ve come sightseeing at a really bad time. It’s an annual storm, you all need to get to high ground before the city floods.”

Robin.

Luckily Sanji and Chopper echoed your rising concern, and you raced through the city. 

Until you had to break, to breathe, hating your weak body. Sanji brushed the hair out of your face, sticky from sweat. 

“What does she like, where would she go?”

You lip quivered as you tried to answer Chopper’s question. 

“I guess I still don’t know her well enough, I have no idea where to look.” 

Sanji kissed your clammy hands, rubbing them against the rising winds. 

“Hey, uh..’

Chopper’s strained voice brought you to the moment.

“So this storm’s supposed to be really bad? What if… What if there was a tourist who didn’t know about it? Maybe they had a boat they wanted to take care of? It would be pretty bad, right?”

Usopp.

“That reminds me,” Sanji said with a cough. “Didn’t you say you forgot something on the Merry? A medical bag, right Chopper?”

With a breath, you followed them back to your old home. 

~

The sight of the Merry brought heat up your throat, and you ached to climb onto the deck. 

You’d run out of energy now, and fell into blankness as you watched Sanji and Chopper yell about the storm, pretending to be yelling at each other instead of Usopp. 

“This is ridiculous, why can’t we ju-”

You heard steps moving through the ship, and the door started to swing open. 

You tried to cry out his name, but Sanji picked you up, racing away with Chopper so you wouldn’t be seen by your one time crewmate. 

You felt empty in his arms as slow tears stained your face. 

~

The city looked barren when you made it back, most citizens gone for the shelter already. That made it easier for you to pick up on the few conversations still going on around you.

“I bet if we find one of the pirates with bounties, we can make them tell us who the other crewmates are.”

“Yeah, those straw hat pirates are gonna pay for what they did to Iceberg.”

You froze in your tracks, Chopper moving to stand beside you, still in his reindeer form as he searched for Robin’s scent.

Sanji interrupted that conversation, but your ears were ringing too much to follow. 

“They’re saying Robin’s the assassin that tried to kill the mayor. They’re after all of us now.”

“N-No, she w-”

“Shh, angel,” Sanji whispered as he pulled you into a hug to quiet your outburst. “I know she didn’t. But we need to be careful, we’re all in danger now.”

“What about the others? Do you think they're okay?”

You turned to Chopper, heart heavy with the weight of all your loved ones safety.

“Let’s go find them.”

Chopper’s weak smile was cut short as he lifted his nose into the air. Hope ripped through you, almost painful after all the loss of the last two days.

Chopper tore through the streets, leaving you and Sanji scrambling to chase after him. Nearly falling down the stone stairs, you caught up to Chopper, Sanji’s hand reaching out to steady you.

“Chopper, wha-”

Chopper was at the edge of the canal, staring across to another street. 

Staring at Robin.

She was standing right there, so close. You cried out her name, Sanji and Chopper echoing you. 

Robin stood there, almost as still as when you watched her frozen form glinting in the sunlight.

Hope and relief had slammed into you, almost making your knees weak, but something in her eyes stopped your breath. 

“Robin, I’m so glad you’re okay, we need to get out of here!”

Sanji looked around at your words, shouting over to her.

“Hold on, I’m going to look for a way around this canal, we’ll be right over there.”

“Don’t bother. Stay where you are.”

Robin’s voice was cool, the wind blowing her long black hair around her face, almost hypnotizing you. 

“I won’t be returning to you or your crew. We’re parting ways here, in this city”

Your mind couldn’t make sense of it, your mouth hanging open while you reached out, useless hands shaking in the air between you. 

Sanji was able to speak, and you just stared into her eyes while he pleaded with her.

“What are you talking about, Robin? Is this about the newspaper? None of us believe you did that, Robin, don’t worry!”

You felt your fists clenching, the pain of your nails starting to wake you to the moment as Robin went on.

“About that, I’m sorry for pinning such an unreasonable crime on all of you. But as far as my involvement, everything the newspapers say is true. Last night, I broke into the mayor’s place of residence and shot him.”

Sanji cigarette fell from his fingers, and you felt your head shaking back and forth, your mouth too dry to speak,  Not that you could have found words anyway. 

“No way,” Chopper breathed, his legs quivering beneath him.

She held the three of you in a trance as she kept sending out words like knives.

“Inside me, I carry a darkness that none of you know about. One day, that darkness will be the end of all of you.”

Memories of Robin’s pain filled eyes, the look she rarely let you see, flooded your mind. You’d always known Robin had secrets, but you couldn’t think of anything dark enough that you wouldn’t want her to stay with you. 

“I’m afraid you’ll be taking the fall for last night’s attack while I escape. And let me warn you, the situation will only get worse.”

“What do you mean? Why are you-” Sanji broke in, his desperate yell bringing heat to your throat. 

Both Sanji and Chopper started pleading with her now, but all you could do was whisper her name, begging her with your eyes as you swayed on your feet. 

“From this day forward, we will never see each other again. Thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. I’ll never forget it. Goodbye.”

Robin turned, and the three of you were frozen as you heard her heels echoing on the stone as she walked away from you. 

Finally, your body woke enough to let you say the words you’d been holding in for some time. They came out of you in a desperate yell, seeming to tear you apart as they left your throat. 

“I love you, Robin! Please, don’t leave me!”

Robin’s steps didn’t even slow and you sank to your knees, hardly noticing the pain as you fell. 

Part of you could hear Chopper and Sanji screaming beside you, and then you gasped as Sanji dove into the canal.

The water was choppy with the storm coming, and fear for him shook you out of your dissociation. You stood, determination filling your veins now as you pulled out your purple tonfa.

“Blackout Dart,” you shouted, putting your lips to the short end of the weapon, aiming your first poison dart at the woman you loved. 

You had seconds to see that your aim was true. It was going to hit her back, and she’d be knocked unconscious. 

You had less than a second to feel hope before an arm appeared on her shoulder to bat the dart away. 

She didn’t even turn to look at you. 

Then she was gone. 

~

Twisting and squeezing the fabric to get out as much water as you could, you handed Sanji his shirt as he did what he would with his jacket. The wind and water was getting more intense, but you could barely feel a thing, your body and mind still numb. 

“Chopper, Angel, go meet up with Luffy and the others. Tell them everything that happened between us and Robin. Don’t leave out a single word. As for me, I have a plan. I’ll be careful. We’ll meet up later.”

He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips, but you pulled it away. 

“No. Chopper, you go. I’m staying.”

“No, Angel-”

“Sanji, we keep losing people. I’m not letting you go without me.”

Chopper looked back and forth between you, then nodded.

“Be careful,” he demanded, before charging away without you. 

Sanji leaned his head back, taking a long drag off his cigarette. 

“Robin said she’s escaping while we take the fall. There’s only one way off this island tonight. We’re going to get her back.” 

~

You wished you smoked just so you’d have something to calm your nerves. The two of you were hiding in the shadows between buildings as you watched the government officials talk to Robin at the train station. 

She was wearing a huge green shawl and hood, but you saw her face lit under the lanterns, and you’d recognize her graceful steps anywhere. 

After she was led inside, you saw a group the marines called ‘CP9.’ You felt a sickly chill crawl up your skin at the sight of the four of them. 

There was an attractive blonde woman, a man with long black hair and a top hat, a man in a baseball cap with a noticeably large nose even from a distance, and another man that was huge, towering over them. 

That man had two squirming figures tied up over his shoulders. They were both yelling to be released, one large with blue hair, and the other was Usopp.

Usopp!

You grabbed onto Sanji’s arm, and he gave a small nod as he kept his eyes trained on the sniper. 

“Come on.”

~

“What if someone else finds it?”

“They won’t be able to track us, but if there’s a chance Nami or the other finds this, it’s worth it.”

Sanji tucked his note under the transponder snail on the ground at the station. 

You had made your way closer to the back of the train, away from where the military were filing in. Now all you had to do was wait.

Waiting was the worst fucking thing you could be doing right now.

Gripping Sanji’s knee as you sat on a bench in the darkest corner you could find, you started to fall apart. 

“Shh, Angel, we know where she is, and we’re going to get her back. I promise you.”

He was running his palm in circles on your back, and you heard the note of fear in his voice.

“S-Sanji, she…”

Your sobs were quiet, but overwhelming you, almost hiccuping as you fought to breathe through it. He pulled you in against his chest rocking you as he whispered in your ear. 

“Please, my love, I can’t stand to see you hurting. I promise, we will do everything we can for Robin. And for Usopp. You have my word.”

His words didn’t break through, and you felt yourself starting to have hysterics. Your mind was screaming at you to fucking stop, knowing that at any moment you would need to be ready.

Sanji pulled back, cupping your cheeks as he searched your face. 

“Darling, please trust me. Your tears are… Please, we have time. Let me touch you, let me make you feel better. So you can breathe with me?”

You realized at the crack in his voice that Sanji needed comfort too. That his making you feel good would help him right now. His eyes were pleading as his fingers stroked your hair. You swallowed the hot tears that were starting to form.

Nodding, you felt his lips against yours, and you combed your fingers through his hair, sobbing at the relief of his comforting heat.

“Please darling, can you be quiet for me? Can you let me touch you, I’ll take good care of you angel, I’m here for you.”

His voice held a hint of panic, anxiety bubbling as his hands rubbed along the sides of your body.

“Yes, Sanji. I know you’re here. I love you, I know you’ll always take care of me.”

“I love you, Y/N, my angel.”

Sanji pulled you onto his lap until your back was against his chest.

The wind sent a spray of seawater to mist along your skin as Sanji’s lips found your neck. 

Your mind tried to hold all the pain and worry of your time on this cursed island, but you gave into Sanji’s touch, letting him bring you back to the moment, back to your body.  

He kept his lips and tongue along your neck and shoulder as his hands trailed over your clothed body. 

“My perfect angel, I’ve got you. Breathe with me sweetheart.”

Focusing on his breath, feeling his chest rise and fall against your back, you started to follow him.

“Sanji…”

“I’m here, mon coeur. I’ll always be here.”

Waves started lapping against the stone, the storm coming to caress your body as Sanji’s nimble fingers dipped into your pants. Your lover found your clit in the dark effortlessly, his touch had traveled your skin endless times when all was well in your world.

Now you clung to each other, fear riding you both as you tried to grasp onto some of the peace your lives still held.

Peace in each other when everything else felt lost.

“I love you, my heart, my treasure, my angel. I’ll protect you, I’ll take care of you. Are you feeling better?”

The concern in his question felt out of place for the way his fingers were making you dance in his lap.

“Yes, Sanji. You make me feel so good,” you moaned as Sanji’s tongue traced up your neck, his nose dragging along your skin as if he wanted to drown in your scent. 

The tingling pressure built in you, his fingers manipulating you so easily, even in the chaos around you. 

The hard length of him under your ass had you gasping, desperate to feel him inside of you, to lose yourself in him.

We don’t have time for that.

That thought almost killed your momentum, but Sanji rasped more praise against your skin before gently biting the lobe of your ear, and you were over the edge.

“You're doing so well for me, Angel. So perfect for me.”

Chewing on your lip to hold in your moans, you lifted your hand over your head to reach back, and hold onto his hair as you twitched in his lap.

The sound of the train starting up jolted you off his lap, before you’d come down from your high. 

Sanji wiped your pleasure from his hand, staining his still damp jacket before reaching for you.

Voices of the train station employees called after you as you ran full speed toward the still slow train, but you left them in the dust. 

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you yelled, focusing on the railing as your target sped up. 

Without a thought, you leapt over the crashing waves, reaching for the train.

Reaching for Robin. 

Thank You for Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Part 22

Tag List: @astheni-a | @ferns-fics | @heilee | @iamn1ya | @ghostfacefricker6969 | @onlybassoon01 | @apothicgloom | @slyhersophia | @cyberaestheticals | @nothing-but-brass

A/N: Welp, I hope you enjoyed the pain! I'm having so much fun, this is my favorite arc and I love adding MORE drama to it, lol

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

[raintherainywriter]

Looking for penpals!

Hey there!

So, once again I'm trying this because last time I didn't get too lucky :( I'm looking for penpals! But not the usual kind, I want someone I can exchange pressed flowers with, maybe send teas to, or, who knows? Even seeds! You know, something very cottagecore-ish!

This also includes poems, writings, pictures or doodles, of course. I just want to prioritize the appreciation of nature and handmade stuff than buying it all on AliExpress 😅

But now some introductions! I'm Patricia, 20 years old (in August 21), from Madrid (Spain). I love reading fantasy and I'm actually writing! I'd love to find more people who share my interests!

[remembertheplunge]

Portland 1999

10/10/1999  10;08am Coffee People Portland, Oregon

JW sits now where I sat 5 years back—in a different world. The seeds then were sewn for its ending. It needed to end. Harsh. Violent. Why?

We wait for “neat” stores to open at 11. Kitchen stores. Furniture stores.

The new world of HB and SB is a “we share” world.

Oldies play. We had bloody Marys and Eggs Benedict for breakfast this am here on 23rd street. I’m in heaven. We walked down to the gay bars last night. We peeked into a bath house and a porn shop and a couple of gay bars.

We decide to save the rose garden for another visit. We like Portland.

We saw four gay guys, Front Runner style, running down 23rd Street this morning. And, a gay rainbow stripe on a car.

So, to recount a bit, we stated off on time two days ago. We arrived at the airport in Oakland, California early.  But, hours after the original take off time, we were told that  the plane had engine problems and the flight was being canceled. There was much weeping and wailing at the ticket counter. We handed a note to the ticket counter employee saying that they were handling the situation well. The employee smiled.

The airline put us p at the Hilton Hotel  in Oakland for the night where a Pet Bird owner’s convention was under way!

Next morning, up early, HB sweetly started the  coffee perking. As it gurgled out it’s last laugh “I’m ready…”B popped up and sloshed through (did Lew pee on the floor?)..the coffee pot, located in the bathroom on a shelf by the toilet, was empty. He managed to save a half cup each from the lid…mud…my favorite

Soon, Mother Nature called. Jim was sitting on the toilet, reached for some toilet paper located just below the empty coffee pot…soggy. Soaked  bloated. And the secondd roll? The same, down to about its middle! How much coffee can your toilet paper absorb?

Finally it was time to board the shuttle back to the air port. The whiny family who had been howling at the ticket counter the day before "I just wanna see Barry" (presumably some Portland acquaintance), now, boarding the shuttle were saying "My shoes are too tight! I'm having a heart attack!" Jim and I sat in the back of the bus and laughed!

End of entry

Notes: 8/19/2024

The above entry is from my 1999 journal. That trip to Portland was the only trip by air that Jim and I took in our 12 years together! And, we laughed about it for the rest of our relationship!

HB, B and SB were our nick names for each other. They stood for Honey Bunny and Snuggle Bunny!

I had visited Portland once before on my own before I knew Jim. That was in 1994 when I was experiencing a lot of gay related political trouble at the Public Defender’s office in Modesto, California. I met Jim and was fired from that job in 1997. So, by 1999, Jim was my world.

JW were Jim’s initials. His last name was Wentzel

"Front Runner" was a land mark gay romance novel published in 1974. Written by Patricia Neil Warren, Wikipedia said about it “A love story between a running coach and his star athlete, the Front Runner  is noted for being the first contemporary gay novel to achieve mainstream commercial and critical success."

We had taken the trip to Portland for a law related class that I was taking there.