#the bow of anarchy

[jonathanpongratz]

Book Review: The Bow of Anarchy (Starfell #3)

Book Review: The Bow of Anarchy (Starfell #3)

Continuing with my marathon read of the Starfell series by Jessica Renwick, today I’m reviewing the third book, The Bow of Anarchy. Having loved the first (my review here) and second book (my review here), I knew I was in for a fun, magical adventure so I dove right in. On to the review!   Blurb After a quiet winter, the Lichwood is waking. Soft murmurs of activity at Endora’s mansion reach Tulip…

[sammydem0n64]

Various oc doodles through using a random number generator on Toyhouse again lolz

[scattered-winter]

ough.........in the titans variant of the motorcycle club, the walls of their dorm are covered with donna's photos of the team

[slicksquid]

maybe my slosher is cracked

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

man... he's so annoying. and yet, so fucking dreamy.

summary: you were lauded as the only serious junior in the entire spider society. you did your work and loved doing it, you made no exceptions for any rules, not even for yourself. you loved order and civility, you fought hard in your universe to earn it, and you believed you deserved it here in the spider society and tried your hardest to uphold it. but when he showed up... you were gonna have a problem.

word count: 1,222 (crazy)

a/n: might be part 1 of something, or a oneshot, who knows !

you loved being a spider person, though of course, you'd never show it. you were looked up to by anyone who was anyone, everyone wanted to be like you. you upholded the law and ideals of society as a spider person, who'd've thought for your city to be civilized, all they needed was a spider-themed hero and they'd all bow down and listen?

it was because of your amazing abilities, tireless determination to serve and protect the people of your hometown that you were sought out by the spider society and became one of theirs. and you were the damn best at it. you found a new pleasure and hobby in beating up bad guys, being spotted over roofs of abandoned buildings, being pointed and gasped at by onlooker civilians, and saving the day as a friendly neighborhood spider person.

life was great like this, it followed one, linear path that everyone else did. it was the perfect pastime, the perfect job for you. you made a few friends and got along real well with jess and peter b, you had dibs on being jess' kid's mentor when it'd be born, and mayday absolutely loved you. you were peter b's go-to for a babysitter if he had to leave for a mission or go on a date night with mj. you were a trusted kid at the spider society, the adults had never met a kid as serious, responsible, and hard-working as you.

it was pure bliss, being part of the spider society.

until he showed up.

the moment he came in, you swore you heard a loud electric guitar strum reverberate throughout the halls. you felt the vibrations of it in every bone and muscle of your body, this guy couldn't have bothered you any worse. you groaned at the noise, asking others around you who that was. they shrugged, must've been some newbie, not that you cared, you just hoped they'd keep it down.

you cared for order and civility, and you found that in the spider society. despite there being some rogue ones and rebellious folks, you found yourself getting along with most of them. but you had a feeling that this newbie who made himself known through his flashy one note show might get on your nerves a little if he keeps that behavior consistent, but you digressed.

as you went over to the lobby to see what all the fuss was about, you soon heard another ear-piercing noise. it wasn't just one note that was playing now, it was a whole metal song. to make matters worse, some drummer girl joined him in, contributing to the noise.

"who the hell?" you asked yourself as you spotted a spiked spider man masked person with a black leather vest, buttons and pins adorning the lapels of it, with dark spider-doodled pants and long black boots with mismatched laces, yellow on the right and blue on the left. his mask had what appeared to be a runny look to it, the lenses of their mask ran down a little by the ends. their entire apparel screamed anarchy and chaos. and you loathed it.

"who's ready to overthrow an oppressive regime with me? an oppresive regime of boredom in this whole building!" the newbie's voice exclaimed. it was deep, yet smooth; it had a fluidity to it, almost as if he could say anything, and one would immediately listen, no questions asked. soon, everyone around you who was watching was buzzing as the guy played a loud metal song for all to hear. many were cheering for him and encouraging him to keep playing, but you soon noticed many of these people were on patrol duty. and many of them looked like they were more invested in this nutcase's impromptu performance over work, work that saves the multiverse, you thought as you reminded yourself.

"okay, people, this is cool and all, but we have work to do." you said as you tried to get the onlookers near you to listen to you, but it was for naught. none of them heard you over the incessant cheering, howling, and music in the air. you huffed as you shook your head, put your mask on, and swung over to the makeshift stage they had that was made of wooden crates and cardboard boxes laying around.

as the guy was strumming away on his electric guitar, showing no signs of giving out, you took the mic away. "okay, this was a good show and all, but we have work to do." you announced yet again, which earned the groaning and disappointment of a lot of people.

"yeah, yeah, groan as much as you want, that won't stop mr. o'hara from freaking out at us the minute he comes back and sees this whole... gathering." you say, trying to quell the audience's thirst for more excitement.

"well, aren't you a prissy one?" asked the newbie with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. you rolled your eyes. "what you did just hindered a whole lot of people from their responsibilities here, newbie." you told him in a stern voice as you frowned at him, expecting him to be mature about this if he was recruited as a spider man.

he laughed as he thanked the drummer girl for her performance as she was packing up to leave, and turned to look back at you with a smirk from underneath his mask. "you're real cute for that, upholding orders from higher-ups you so badly want to please. that's not being a spider person, though. more like being... an obedient little dog." he teased as he bent over a little to look you in the eye.

up close, he was much, much taller than you, much bigger in nearly ever aspect. you gulped a little, but your frown and angry expression remained. "say what you want, my judgement stands. i'm also more experienced than you here, so if you want to survive, you listen to me." you whispered as he leaned in closer to you, smirk widening.

he took off the mask, and you were surprised to see just how many piercings he had, you didn't even have any piercings for earrings at the bottom of your ears, yet he had... so many. he grinned at you as he ran a hand through his thick hair in wicks. "i think i can manage on my own, little doggy." he teased as he ruffled your hair and chuckled a low chuckle.

"i mean it though, it's cute. if you wanna be more than just a little dog for the higher-ups, though... you'll know where to find me." he said with a wink as he put the mask back on and swung away.

you were left alone now, thinking about who you just met. he was, of course, rebellious and disorderly, everything you weren't aspired never to become. you knew nothing good came out of a discordant lifestyle like his, no matter how little you knew of him, you knew one thing.

"man, he's so annoying..." you complained aloud as you took the mic and hopped off the makeshift stage, ready to clean it up before the adults got back. 'and yet, so... dreamy.'

oh dear, looks like he's gonna be quite the pain in the ass for you.

lmk if i should keep this going babes, i loved this idea sm, thank you to my friend on the dc server for the idea :DD

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @pixqlsin @k4tsu3 @nokkihy @fictarian @bivivivii

[ultra-raging-ghost]

All my egg designs!!

Click for better quality!!!

Design gushing under the cut vv

SO my height hc's for the eggs may be a lil controversial but i have several reasons lol

-Dapper, tallest, obviously in cannon bbh is a tall mf and dapper's the oldest demon it would make sense to me for her to be the tallest. A lot of ppl draw them in full suit but i prefer the sweater + button up look? I still gave him the bow that i enjoy drawing him with - sometimes i put it on his hat sometimes i put it on his neck lol also!!! i gave him blue accents and freckles for skeppy!!!

-Tallulah, second tallest, have you fucking seen wilbur soot?? wilbur soot is possibly the second tallest man ive seen in my entire life only preceeded by a 7 ft tall blonde man i met at the hospital, his daughter's gonna be tall. If dapper wasnt there she would be the tallest egg nobody can convince me otherwise. Obviously i gave her the classic wilbur sweater and beanie but i wanted her clothes to be pretty intentional - in my heart the death family all wear the cancer bows, so her and chayanne both have one and for Tallulah it's the only cool color in her palate aside from her matching shawl. Also it pained me to give her short hair but unfortunately its cannon :') oh also!! her hearing aid :D I also gave her little underdeveloped wings - theyre still growing in!! Alongside that theyre very downy, still got a bunch of pinfeathers and fluff <3

-Ramon, third tallest, in my mind ramon in a fucking unit. I gave him thick clothing and leather accents, good materials for hands on work and such, itll last a long time it makes sense Fit MC of 2b2t would dress ramon for function rather than fashion (although he still looks adorable). I normally see people drawing him with this wind breaker hat and goggles i dont really understand, ive always envisioned him with a welding mask (is that what theyre called??)!! I gave him pac's big doe eyes and a pair of soundproof pacman over-the-head headphones!!

-Chayanne, i dont know a ton about him but i do know hes a protector and i have seen what people draw of him!! Obviously i gave him the cancer pinned to his jacket, and as for his jacket its just a simple hoodie with a duck print on the front pocket. I wanted his palate to be yellow and purple - yellow for phil, purple for missa, wow revolutionary/s. His pants are tore up a lil and have stitching and patches in them (see the anarchy patch). His wings are more developed than his sister's and are pretty full with a dark, organized feathers. I gave him a shield, it has two wings on it (one light for missa, one dark for phil) i just feel like he'd carry one.

-Leo, i may have projected on her a lil <3 She's a softball girl in my heart!! Shes average height and kind of stocky cause in my mind shes very athletic. She mostly resembles Foolish, appearing mostly as a Totem, but she has purple accents such as in her clothing and eyes that are reminiscent of Vegeeta!

-Empanada, very short but still the tallest of the newest batch of eggs. She's the string bean of the bunch but i imagine under all the fluffy clothing shes a little muscular, gets it from her mamae bagi!!! I dressed her in mostly neutral and pink tones to match her sign and hat color - and as for her hat i imagine it as a VERY stylized beret, similar to pommes but it designed to look like a stack of pancakes with syrup pooling beneath them and the button on top is supposed to appear like a little square of butter!! Her horns, wings, and tail are white like mouse and tina's and she wears them proudly, even if she only has one horn <3 Her hair's split in two, black and pink.

-Pomme is very short, and she's dressed very fancily!! I like to imagine theres a stark contrast between the lolita/semiformal fashion of pomme and dapper to the informal wear of the rest of their siblings. The pattern on her dress is big apples trailing along the bottom of her skirt, and she's got star pattern tights to represent Etoiles <3 She's kind of a lil cryptid child, with a mouth at the back of her head just above her neck grinning away and two twin braids that float alongside her head.

-Richas!!! The shortest of the older eggs, his designs very simple mostly because he already wears a shirt which is the main focal point of his design for me. He's always been a cargo shorts egg to me, i dont know why!! But he lives in cargo shorts!! Richas chooses to be barefoot, its how he came into this world its how he'll leave. I actually looked up a prosthetic leg for reference for him and the top portion of prosthetic legs are usually patterned for the person wearing them, and i cant help but imagine that richas would choose for his leg to be the most atrocious yellow to ever exist and have all his family sign it. This is unseen, but under his hair he's wearing a bandanna with the brazilian flag on it! When viewed from behind you can see the knot tied around the back of his head, and when his hair's out of his eyes you could see it plastered to his forehead. I gave him lil horns because in my heart of hearts he's a demon, that lil egg is bad's egg too in my heart nobody can tell me otherwise.

-Sunny, one of the first eggs i designed - shes dressed just as i was as a child and by that i mean shes 100% a trailer park princess. They sport a "2 COOL 4 SCHOOL" shirt, with a plastic silver crown with jewels in it, and a pair of light up sketchers!! She has bear ears and paws and a bear-like nose and tail, they view Fred as their step-pa and he was the second parent they ever knew, it makes sense she'd wanna look like him!!

-Codeflippa looks almost identical to Juanaflippa, except she floats and is slightly greener... and is glitching..... and the shirt heart's on the other side than charlie remembers, but who's counting aye?? after your third death and revival maybe things get messy - hes not judging!!! I have this HC that the fed's aren't the only ones who can revive the eggs - theyre just the ones who've perfected it. I like to imagine codeflippa is the code/the rebellion's attempt at egg revival.

-Pepito, the smallest egg alive!! smallest ever so itty bitty so tiny!! only two months old!! Pepitos the smallest egg obviously, Pepito's wearing a cute little jumper with matching socks that dont really fit properly but are still just the cutest little thing to me <3 Pepito has devil horns and a tail because bad was the only person to really care for pepito properly before Q came along. Pepito mostly looks like a mix of roier and quackity, sporting a matching yellow pair of duck wings <3 I was tempted to put pepito in pepito's xmas bows because they were just the CUTEST but i restrained myself

-The dead eggs, the smallest.... Most of these babies were less than a month old when they passed for one reason or another so theyre all very tiny :') Flippa mostly looks like charlie, but she's got layered shirt and layered her skirt on top of her pants because he nor marianna know how to dress a baby </3 Tilin is a carbon copy of Q, she's a very shy young lad, shoeless and wearing one of Q's jackets which are absolutely huge on her. Not seen is his yellow pair of duck wings - theyre still baby wings so theyre very small and hidden behind him, full of downy feathers <3 Trumpet we didnt know for very long, but they were very fun to design!! Maxo definitely loved him, so i modeled his clothing after him mostly. I was trying to go for something like Blacklight aesthetic?? black paired with bright, contrasting patterns that would look good under a blacklight. Bobby is dressed the most ummm domestically id say. Very simply, like he was living on a farm and spent his days in the soft grass. I imagine he was shoeless by choice, because it was fun!! It was very obvious jaiden and roier loved him, so i tried to give him a kind expression and well taken care of wings. His feathers are still kind of downy and muted, but theyre more developed than Tilin's and are very well taken care of! I wanted his bandana and overalls to be the centerpiece of his design so aside from those he's got a plain white baggy shirt. I imagine its made of linen or something, bobby would smell like fresh laundry all the time..

-Gegg.

[floristkills]

Pov: The human in your coven forgot to ask how to greet vampires before committing to a bow...

🦇 Fanart of chapter 11 of Tasting Your Blood by @anarchy-and-piglins 🦇

(click for better quality)

[charmingsoa]

✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Prequel ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

When I look back on my life – I often wonder if I made the right choices when I was younger. I obviously got to my place in life because of what happened all those years ago in California. Hell, there were times when I didn’t even think I would make it out alive. Growing up, my parents were very strict – almost authoritarian. My father had fought for his country in WWII and my mother was your typical housewife. The picture-perfect look was what they strived for – putting my brothers and I in whatever activities they could. There were structured rules that were drilled into our heads from day one.

No elbows on the table Respect your parents and your elders Girls and woman are to bow down to menfolk and do what they’re told. Women are forbidden to wear pants or short skirts. Girls can attend secondary school but will not be allowed to attend college. Marriage, motherhood, and the act of obeying your husband is the most important role in a woman’s life.

I distinctly remember my father telling me that if I wanted to dress like a whore, I can plant myself on the side of the highway and start making a living for myself. I spent most of my childhood bowing down to everything my father said. He instilled that fear in me as a young girl – always being on the back end of his belt or switch if I was “bad” enough. I was the only daughter – I needed to be picture perfect and like a doll. My mother would stand idly by as he inflicted his abuse on me – only doing so because he loved and cared about me.

Total bullshit if you ask me.

I guess you can say with all the structure and ruling that fell at the hand of my father – you wouldn’t be surprised to hear that I rebelled. Starting at the early age of 13, I snuck out of the house to meet the boys from the wrong sides of the tracks. We would listen to the devil’s music as my father called it – getting high as kites.  My flower-patterned dress would be hiked up above my waist – my legs wrapped tightly around the guy’s hips – as they pounded into me. My mother always preached that a girl should stay pure until the night of their wedding -giving the gift of virginity to their awaiting husband.

 I lost that gift behind the First Methodist Church to a kid three grades ahead of me. It was meaningless and hurt like hell, but after that I couldn’t get enough.

By the time I hit 16, I had fucked half the senior class. I gained a reputation as the 10th grade slut – willing to do anything and anyone. Now, was this true – partially. I didn’t care if you were the ugliest guy in class – if you had a dick then I was ready and willing. I was never one to seek the guys out first. They would come to me and a couple minutes later they would be making me cum. There were rumors that I was a child prostitute – my parents were less than thrilled to hear that be brought up during a meeting with the principal.

At that point, I was pulled out of the school and sent to an all-girls catholic school about 45 minutes from home. My father made sure to drive me every day and would stay on the premises until school was over. Even if I wanted to ditch class and run away, Roy Landry was watching like a fucking hawk. I managed to mellow out a little once I graduated high school – I guess being locked up like Rapunzel will do that to people. I wasn’t allowed to go to prom – parties thrown by the other girls - I was isolated in my room. While my brothers were living their lives, I was stuck watching Walter Cronkite on the CBS Evening News with Brenda and Roy ever night.

I’m sure you’re trying to figure out where I’m going with all this information – I swear it’s important given the truth you’re about to hear.

A girl who hitchhiked all the way to California- fell in love with two brothers who despised each other – watching as they both fell into the pits of hell by creating the most dangerous motorcycle gang in Northern Cali – my story has to start somewhere, right?

[artofkhaos404]

I'm tired of rebellion only being acceptable if you rebel in a politically correct fashion.

I'm tired of hate speech being acceptable as long as it's directed at the "correct group."

I'm tired of watching the church bow down to deranged elitists and corrupt government.

I'm tired of truth being manipulated.

I'm tired of cancel culture being normalized.

I'm tired of intolerance being tolerated.

I'm tired of skin color being a factor in judging and loving others.

I'm tired of equality turning into revenge.

I'm tired of gender defining identity, expectations and capability.

I'm tired of the "kill all men" twisted doctrine.

I'm tired of misogyny and chauvinism.

I'm tired of the boxes and the stereotypes...

With no space allowed to exist in between.

Let's start a proper revolution.

A revolution of love.

A revolution of proud existence, proud resistance and total disregard to what is considered "acceptable."

A revolution they can't dictate. They can't profit from. They can't control.

A revolution they can't stick in boxes of left or right or central or up or down or sideways.

Anarchy in its purest form.

Reblog if you see through the political mind manipulation games of the modern world.

[wing-ed-thing]

Show and Tell (Shino x Reader)

Synopsis: Just another day for Iruka teaching ninja kids.

Word Count: 0.7k

Tags/Warnings: Kid!Shino, Kid!Reader, Bugs/Bugs on you, Entomophobia, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns

Notes: I made this gif only to realize I already had an identical one saved. I like this one better though. You know why? BECAUSE I MADE IT

“That one’s ​​Kononoka.”

“What about this one?”

“That one’s Komiruwa.”

The entire class was in an uproar, not that you or Shino really cared or noticed. Naruto started shouting in a mix of awe and horror, climbing onto the desks to narrate to the rest of the class. When no one seemed to be paying attention, he shouted louder. Ino had about broken down in the corner of the classroom, inconsolable as she wailed. Kiba stood about where you and Shino sat, raving about one thing or another, and that chaos didn’t stop for Iruka. 

He walked through the door, tense, with eyes already wide at the sheer anarchy that was his classroom. Iruka shouted for order with a disappointed frown, but his students were whipped up in too great of a frenzy to listen. Iruka groaned, wiping a hand down his face as he set his lesson plan for the day on his desk. 

“Alright, everyone, let’s get some butts in seats!” he clapped, making his way up the stairs. “Naruto! Down! This is a classroom, not a jungle gym!” A few students sat, staring over their shoulders at the chaos at the back of the room. A few disappointed grumbles scattered throughout the room. 

Iruka approached the screaming children surrounding you and Shino at the back of the class with urgency and hesitation. Surely, if someone were bleeding out, he’d know, right?

He peered over a dozen tiny heads; the sight in front of him just about made him stop right there. Iruka took a breath, placing his hands on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling—a tiny tug pulled at the leg of his pants.

“What are you looking at, Iruka-Sensei?” Naruto craned as he studied where Iruka had just cast his eyes. Iruka frowned.

“Didn’t I just tell you to sit down?” Naruto shrugged, not paying attention. Iruka clapped his hands again as he continued to make his way toward you. “It is not recess! Everyone to your seats.”

He crouched next to you once the crowd cleared. You were covered head to toe in beetles, unbothered, as hundreds of Shino’s insects marched across your body. Any more of them, and Iruka might not have been able to see a kid underneath. Shino sat with his legs pulled close to his chest, pointing at various members of the swarm.

“That one’s Konomo. And that’s Kogure.” 

Iruka snorted, raising a brow at the sight before him.

“Shino,” he said gently. “Class is about to start. Will you call your insects back?”

“But we haven’t gotten to everyone’s names, Iruka-Sensei,” you pouted. 

“You’ll have time to hear everyone’s names after school.” He nodded. The beetles had begun to descend, marching from you back to Shino. Your brow crinkled in distress as you bid each one farewell.

“Goodbye, ​​Kononoka. Goodbye, Kokoko. Bye-bye, Koeoku.” Iruka wondered if you actually remembered their names and, if you did, if you could remember his lessons that well too. 

Kiba stood up in his chair, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Bugs are icky, and so are you!” he stuck his tongue out.

“Oh yeah?” you shot back before Iruka could intervene. You shook your tiny fists in the air. “Say that again, and I’ll punch your lights out, Dog Breath—!” Iruka gaped in shock before his lips turned into a deep frown. 

— “Hey! Knock it off, the two of you. We do not talk like that to each other.” He wondered what had gotten into his class as he gestured for Kiba to sit. “Apologize. That was not a nice thing to say.” Kiba bowed his head, not looking at you as he grumbled,

“Sorry.” Iruka glanced toward you.

“And we do not call names and threaten to hit each other. Say you’re sorry.”

You took Shino by the hand, ushering him to your seats next to each other. You didn’t spare a glance at Kiba.

“Sorry.”

Iruka sighed, looking back up toward the ceiling before returning to the front of the classroom. Perhaps someone was giving out free ice cream before class. Or maybe their previous instructor riled them up during training. He should check what phase the moon was in.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I WAS WRITING THIS AND MY CHARGER SLIPPED OFF THE BED AND LET ME TELL YOU THE SHEER PANIC I FELT WHEN I THOUGHT IT WAS A HUGE INSECT JEEZ

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 3 - A Helping Hand

Summary: Settling in Jackson has proved far more difficult than you originally imagined.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, slow burn, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, eventual smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“ “You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

Chapter 2 || Series Masterlist

What exactly did it mean to acclimate? Was it an actual change that slowly rippled through your body and psyche alike rewriting scripts and forging new paths to lead you to new emotions, new experiences, a new life? Or was it simply taking the old and shoving it behind a door, your new reality boarding it up with whatever small blockades it could find to keep the past at bay? Every slam of it against the feeble barrier threatening to send you rappelling into ruin. That’s what it felt like. 

Tommy and Maria had agreed to let you out on patrol with one catch, you spend half your required working time training up the patrolmen on what Tommy had referred to as a “dying art.” Three days a week you rode through the paths of the mountains that still felt more like home than the four walls that housed you, the other two or three dragging along as you tried to harness what little patience your frame contained to help the hopeless with the collection of bows and quivers that went unused in the armory. 

“No,” you sighed, stomping over to a kid that couldn’t be more than 17 and lifting his elbow, “you’ll go straight into the ground.”

“Sorry…” he mumbled, guilt joining your agitation, the dark clouds rolling in representing your souring mood just as much as the storm you’d been warned about this morning. 

“Pack it up!” Maria called, relief flooding you as she stopped beside you, “Not you.”

As much as Maria Miller was trying to become a friend, she was also the leader of Jackson, although she hated the title. Maria made decisions when she had to and never more, leaving the residents of the town to figure out as much on their own without risking anarchy, the rules established long ago and abided by without much resistance. On most days, she felt like an equal, but when it was time for business it was made very clear. Her face hardened, spine straightened, and her intonation sharpened, it made your stomach drop to the dirt.

“When’s the last time you went to the market?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest, “Joel says you haven’t been by. And Indy told Tommy you gave her your voucher last week.”

“Tommy gave me a bunch—“ you began, but Maria’s hand shooting into the air snapped your lips shut. 

“We gave you enough for a week, maybe two. It’s been almost a month.”

And you still had more than half of it left. Although your fresh produce was eaten quickly so as not to waste it, the meat had gone untouched and the dried goods were used sparingly, meticulously rationed and stored for longevity. As Maria awaited a response you wouldn’t give her, the words you knew she’d respond with echoed in your ears. You’re not out there anymore. 

“Go see Joel,” she finally conceded in your silence, “He wants his freezer back.”

If Joel wasn’t at the Tipsy Bison, he’d wait another day. Your stomach had yet to adjust to the food that was served, but scotch was something that had always gone down easy. The fire at the back of your throat was a comforting heat, that warmth radiating out from your belly to your fingers and loosening tension you always seemed to forget was there. 

“When are you gonna pay this tab, Deacon?” Seth growled as he slid a second your way, the almost empty bar quiet enough to almost welcome his attempts at debt collection.

“Here ya go,” the sound of a plan backfiring drawled from your left, “Should cover it.”

The stool creaked beneath his weight as he took a seat, the glass perched between your fingers no longer feeling like a chalice of relief as Seth hummed in approval at Joel’s currency of choice. 

“Fan of venison, Seth?” you taunted before draining your glass, sucking air through your teeth as you passed it back to him, “Trade ya.”

“He’s got more than enough to cover it,” Joel growled, Seth’s gaze sliding over menacingly to find an unwavering hazel stare only a fool would argue with, “You drink too much.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause I just paid your debt.”

“Technically I paid…”

“Technically.”

The silence, it was always so easy. Maybe it was because you both enjoyed it, that had already been established. The confidence of familiarity was a balm. This mutual respect born from the instinct to survive had morphed into whatever sat heavy in the inches separating your body from his, a constant weight that was both comforting and tangible. 

“You got a haircut,” you finally chimed, enjoying the way the lines around his eyes deepened as he furrowed his brow. 

“Yeah,” his voice practically vibrated in your chest, “Better than doin’ it myself.”

“I like it when it’s longer.” 

He paused, your statement catching him off guard and derailing his intentions. You were looking just as thin as you were a month ago while both he and Ellie had packed on a few healthy pounds. The purple beneath your eyes was still dark and your skin sallow, and he hadn’t been the only one to notice. 

“Ellie says there ain’t shit to eat at your place.”

Was everyone watching you? 

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not hosting a dinner party anytime soon,” you replied, eyes focused forward though you could feel his own fixated on your face. 

“Funny you mention that. Ellie insists you come by tonight, she found herself a cookbook. Tommy and Maria’ll be there too.”

“My ceiling leaks. So, might have to accept.”

“It what?”

The change in his face wasn’t subtle. His body went rigid as his attention snapped entirely to you, the speed at which he moved causing you to flinch and your eyes turn to find the source of his alertness. Then, you realized it was you. 

“My ceiling leaks. It’s not a huge deal,” you brushed off, remembering the first summer rain that had woken you from a rare deep sleep a few days after moving in, “it’s just upstairs. I sleep on the cou—“

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “Why the hell are you livin’ in a house with a leaking roof?”

Because it had been more than anything you’d been given before. Misery hadn’t turned you around on the map to gratitude as you’d begun navigating this new, disorienting life. The same four walls welcomed you home every night, gates and guards protecting a space you didn’t fear the people walking between like the ones before it. You’d smiled here, laughed, and despite your instance that you didn’t belong, the residents of Jackson had done nothing but prove you wrong at every turn. If the roof leaked, then so be it. 

“I didn’t know who to ask,” you answered after a pause, just needing something to say, and you immediately regretted it the moment his nostrils flared. 

“Me!” He sounded almost offended that it needed to be stated, “You ain’t eatin’, I’d bet my last dollar you ain’t sleepin’—“

“Yeah well, you don’t have a dollar so…”

Every muscle fiber in his body twitched with the urge to walk the hell away from you until the forests captured in the color of your eyes welcomed him home again. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered, getting a drink of his own from Seth who still lingered close by, “Put this on her new tab.”

The amber liquid burned on the way down, igniting the fire kindling in his belly further. Muscle defined the freckle-dusted stretch of your arms, the tank top you wore snug across your torso, and your hair hung down from the half-braided updo you sported like a curtain cascading down your shoulders. You looked tense enough to snap, did he piss you off that bad? 

“Hey Joel,” a voice too sweet called out from the door, his attention snapping instantly over to a woman you had yet to be introduced to, “Tommy needs you. Horde.”

“God damnit.”

“Maria is going to see Ellie.”

“Alright then.”

He felt you leave before he saw it, the rush of air your quick departure blew against his back had his attention snapping from Francine in front of him to you storming out of the door. The way your fiery locks stood in stark contrast to the darkened skies like an eternal flame, not even the rain pouring from the skies enough to snuff you out. 

“Ready?” Francine asked after an awkward pause, her voice wary and confused.

“Yeah,” he grunted, pouring a second glass Seth had clearly sensed was necessary back in a single toss before venturing into the downpour.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Finally, those kitchen pots had a purpose. Enshrouded in the dark that had settled over the town, you sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes following each droplet of water as it plunked down against the metal, each pop immersing you back to a more familiar world. The putrid smell of the damp underground tunnels you’d found yourself crawling through more often than you’d liked transported you back, a shiver shooting up your spine as the reminder of the bone-chilling cold and decaying remnants of a world long-dead burrowed in your chest. 

It was like a siren song the way that curved bow of wood sang out from the night. It sat right beside your back door, your hands aching to feel its taut string and tattered quiver. If the rain soaked you to the bone, at least you had a healthy supply of dry clothes to put on upon your return home. And a hot shower. 

Your boots squeaked along with the old stairs as you stampeded down, a clap of thundering masking the slam of your door against the siding as you ran out into the rain, the drops cooling your sweat-slicked skin. The air was heavy and humid, the petrichor filling your nostrils so comforting you contemplated bottling it up and saving it for the next episode of melancholy that overtook you. 

Upon moving in, Joel had somehow ensured a few bales of hay made it to your backyard. With the first fire of your bolt into the dense, compacted grass, you were reminded you had yet to thank him for that. It was too late for it now. 

Within minutes you were soaked to the skin, your clothes clinging to your body in ways that felt too familiar and too pleasant. This shouldn’t be satisfying, but the flashes of lightning across the sky illuminating the mountainscape before your eyes welcomed you into its treacherous embrace. 

Even through the pouring rain and booming thunder, you heard the crunch of a rock beneath a boot, your own feet too solidly planted to be the culprit. Your hand shot to your belt as you whirled, the blade of your knife mere centimeters away from a figure kept hidden by the darkness. When a white-hot blaze seared across the landscape again, the hazel eyes you’d seen haunting your dreams boring down on you flared, his expression nothing short of perturbed by his current predicament. 

“Why do you have that?” he asked with an air of annoyance, his rough, calloused fingers plucking the weapon free from your iron grip.

“Never know,” you snapped, turning your attention back to the collection of arrows accumulating in your target, “Why are you here?”

“Walkin’ home.”

“Your house is closer to the stables than mine.”

“I took the long way.”

The arrow’s song as it soared through the air broke the silence that had reclaimed the space, and despite his intrusion, it wasn’t lost on you that your grip was slightly more relaxed, your jaw less tense. 

“Lemme look at the ceiling,” he sighed, your fingers freezing as they ran along the feathers perched between them. 

“It’s fine,” you lied, knowing the pot you’d used to catch the droplets was probably near full, “I’m already soaked.”

“Your god damn roof leaks—“

“I don’t care!”

He’d begun to close distance, the way his sodden T-shirt stuck to his body not lost on you as you dared a peek through the corners of your eyes. When he pulled the bow from your hand, you didn’t protest, instead widening the crevice left between you into a canyon as you approached the edge of your yard and plucked each arrow free carefully. The heads were still dry, the innermost layers of the bricks of hay still dry, unaffected by what was happening at the surface. 

“Why don’t you go inside and dry off?” he suggested, this time you hadn’t heard him approach.

“I prefer it out here,” you replied.

“I’m startin’ to pick up on that.”

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

That quip had his face hardening. His nostrils flared before his palm swallowed his chin and mouth, his attempts to regulate his irritation failing. It had been weeks since you’d spoken to him, hell you’d barely held a conversation with him since you got here, and he hated how much that bothered him. He’d kept up with you through Ellie, and even she’d grown worried. When the initial shock of settling here had worn off, it had been replaced with something far more sinister. Something everyone had come to find concern in.

“Go eat somethin’” he sighed, “I brought you food—”

“For fucks sake,” you muttered beneath your breath, “Just give it up already.”

“Give what up?” His voice thundered along with the skies. “We ain’t out there anymore! Stop acting like it!”

“I’m not your responsibility anymore!”

“I just wanna help—“

“I never asked for your help, Joel!”

From the moment you’d fired that arrow off to land between his feet as he approached the building you’d been hidden in, you’d never asked him for help. It was Ellie that had insisted you tag along, and who were you to give a kid the weight of guilt to carry? You were burdened enough by it, saving her from that had been worth any cost. So every time he’d offered to keep you going, to find you a better place to settle, you’d accepted. And that landed you here, in a house you knew nothing about leading a life you were ill-suited for. 

There was an undeniable tug you felt towards the man standing three feet away, staring at you with confusion and apprehension. It terrified you. The way your eyes shot around your empty bedroom searching for him when you woke with a scream and how your fingers brushed over his neat handwriting in the patrol logs; it made you want to run. You just couldn’t be sure in which direction. 

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“

“You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

“Am I your penance then? The balm to your scathed conscience? Fix me and you’re absolved of your sins?”

“It ain’t like that…”

“It is exactly like that. You should have left me where you found me.”

It was like a knife to his chest. Your face was unreadable, hardened like stone, the night too dark to see if that flicker of vulnerability was sparkling in your eye. He’d seen it before. But even that might not have been enough to convince him that your words had been a lie. 

“No,” was all he gave, it was all he needed to say, and when your mouth opened to retort he was already prepping to stop you in your tracks. 

“What are you two knuckleheads doin’ out in the rain?” Tommy’s lighthearted voice sliced through the tension, both of your shoulders relaxing as he came into view, “You know there’s a whole house behind ya?”

“I was just going in,” you answered, eyes still locked on Joel, his not willing to lose whatever battle of wills you’d entered. 

“Well, before you do, be ready at 0700 tomorrow. Both of you. We’re cleanin’ up.”

“Cleaning up what?”

“Oh, you didn’t tell her?”

No. Joel had somehow forgotten about the horde of 60 he and Tommy had stumbled upon. Not that informing you of that was why he’d come here in the first place. He listened as Tommy filled you in, begging your face to change, the corners of your lips to lift even slightly, any hint that the rage you’d been hurling at him had subsided. But you gave him nothing, simply nodding at Tommy’s instructions to be at the stables and leaving him to dwell on this exchange overnight. 

“What’s the deal with you and her anyway?” Tommy inquired with a mischievous lilt as the light of your bedroom began to glow.

“How do you mean?” Maybe playing dumb would work. 

“I ain’t ever seen you so smitten before.”

The reaction was too over the top, Joel knew it and Tommy certainly did. A theatrical wave of the hand and too loud a scoff was telling, Tommy’s smirk signaling the failure of his ability to keep the lid on whatever was brewing and ready to burst. 

“The hell are you on about?” Joel snapped, just because he had given himself away didn’t mean he had to admit it. 

“Oh c’mon Joel, I’ve known you most of your life. You think I can’t pick up on a thing or two?” 

“Boy, you forget I’ve done all this already?”

“Please. We both know Rebecca wasn’t real. That was obligation. This is somethin’ different.”

Ire blossomed across his cheeks, that wasn’t a name he ever wanted to hear again. It didn’t matter that the wounds she’d left behind were over three decades old, they’d never quite scabbed over, the slightest scrape enough to reopen them entirely and send blood oozing over every clean surface he’d been able to wipe the evidence free from. 

“Don’t…” Joel cautioned, malice thick in his gruff timbre.

“You brought her all the way here,” Tommy pressed, “Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Because you feel somethin’. That’s why.”

Your silhouette caught the corner of his eye, the curtains maintaining your privacy as he watched you pace past the window. He could practically feel your anxiety, the urge to storm in and quiet these demons that ran rampant in your head quelled by your final words to him. 

You should have left me where you found me.

“Tell me the ground doesn’t feel more solid beneath those boots when she’s around.” Tommy’s insistence was only making this worse, harder to ignore. 

“I ain’t listenin’ to this,” he sneered, it was his turn to run now, “You got your happy white picket life. Don’t shove it on me.”

“Shove what? God forbid you be content for a god damn moment of your life, right? Can’t be Joel anymore if you crack a fuckin’ smile.”

“That’s enough.”

Tommy’s hands went up in surrender, but Joel was well aware the war was far from over. In the years after Rebecca, he’d done the same thing, attempts at hooking Joel up with the women that threw themselves at him, each date ending in disaster until he’d finally put a stop to it. He hated that Tommy might finally be right this time, the ground did feel more solid when he found himself wandering through your gaze, the weight of you clinging to his torso a comfort he’d come to miss. 

“Her ceiling leaks,” Joel parted with as he turned, his bed calling him in from the rain, “Fix it.”

Chapter 4

[sashayed]

Vivas To Those Who Have Failed: The Paterson Silk Strike, 1913

Vivas to those who have fail'd! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! —Walt Whitman

I. The Red Flag

The newspapers said the strikers would hoist the red flag of anarchy over the silk mills of Paterson. At the strike meeting, a dyers' helper from Naples rose as if from the steam of his labor, lifted up  his hand and said here is the red flag: brightly stained with dye for the silk of bow ties and scarves, the skin and fingernails boiled away for six dollars a week in the dye house.

He sat down without another word, sank back into the fumes, name and face rubbed off by oblivion's thumb like a Roman coin from the earth of his birthplace dug up after a thousand years, as the strikers shouted the only praise he would ever hear. 

II. The River Floods the Avenue

He was the other Valentino, not the romantic sheik and bullfighter of silent movie palaces who died too young, but the Valentino standing on his stoop to watch detectives hired by the company bully strikebreakers onto a trolley and a chorus of strikers bellowing the banned word scab. He was not a striker or a scab, but the bullet fired to scatter the crowd pulled the cork in the wine barrel of Valentino's back. His body, pale as the wings of a moth, lay beside his big-bellied wife.

Two white-veiled horses pulled the carriage to the cemetery. Twenty thousand strikers walked behind the hearse, flooding the avenue like the river that lit up the mills, surging around the tombstones. Blood for blood, cried Tresca: at this signal, thousands of hands dropped red carnations and ribbons into the grave, till the coffin evaporated in a red sea.

III. The Insects in the Soup

Reed was a Harvard man. He wrote for the New York magazines. Big Bill, the organizer, fixed his good eye on Reed and told him of the strike. He stood on a tenement porch across from the mill to escape the rain and listen to the weavers. The bluecoats told him to move on. The Harvard man asked for a name to go with the number on the badge, and the cops tried to unscrew his arms from their sockets. When the judge asked his business, Reed said: Poet. The judge said: Twenty days in the county jail.

Reed was a Harvard man. He taught the strikers Harvard songs, the tunes to sing with rebel words at the gates of the mill. The strikers taught him how to spot the insects in the soup, speaking in tongues the gospel of One Big Union and the eight-hour day, cramming the jail till the weary jailers had to unlock the doors. Reed would write: There's war in Paterson. After it was over, he rode with Pancho Villa.

IV. The Little Agitator

The cops on horseback charged into the picket line. The weavers raised their hands across their faces, hands that knew the loom as their fathers' hands knew the loom, and the billy clubs broke their fingers. Hannah was seventeen, the captain of the picket line, the Joan of Arc of the Silk Strike. The prosecutor called her a little agitator. Shame, said the judge; if she picketed again, he would ship her to the State Home for Girls in Trenton.

Hannah left the courthouse to picket the mill. She chased a strikebreaker down the street, yelling in Yidish the word for shame. Back in court, she hissed at the judge's sentence of another striker. Hannah got twenty days in jail for hissing. She sang all the way to jail. After the strike came the blacklist, the counter at her husband's candy store, the words for shame.

V. Vivas to Those Who Have Failed

Strikers without shoes lose strikes. Twenty years after the weavers and dyers' helpers returned hollow-eyed to the loom and the steam, Mazziotti led the other silk mill workers marching down the avenue in Paterson, singing the old union songs for five cents more an hour. Once again the nightsticks cracked cheekbones like teacups. Mazziotti pressed both hands to his head, squeezing red ribbons from his scalp. There would be no buffalo nickel for an hour's work at the mill, for the silk of bow ties and scarves. Skull remembered wood.

The brain thrown against the wall of the skull remembered too: the Sons of Italy, the Workmen's Circle, Local 152, Industrial Workers of the World, one-eyed Big Bill and Flynn the Rebel Girl speaking in tongues to thousands the prophecy of an eight-hour day. Mazziotti's son would become a doctor, his daughter a poet. Vivas to those who have failed: for they become the river.

Martín Espada from Vivas to Those Who Have Failed, 2015

[abigailmoment]

Rating: Gen / Words: 533

Every single piece of footwear that Gale owned had been taken and hidden in places where footwear should not be.

Wyll's scrollwork had been reorganized and refiled on the floor of his tent.

Barcus Wroot had been trapped inside the travelers' chest three times now. He had elected, at this point, to just stay there until all of this was over.

The sausages and salami had been stolen from the camp supplies. A picnic had been assembled for Scratch and the owlbear cub--complete with a fiddle that no one could play and a pepper grinder neither of them could use.

All sandwiches had vanished entirely.

-

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

-

Some personal grievance was taken up with the clasps used to fasten the bedrolls. They were chronically undone and when re-latched they would not stay that way for above three minutes.

Shadowheart's incense had been replaced with Karlach's cigars. And vice versa.

All blood spattered camp clothing had been deposited in the wash basin with a bar of the new soap. That was at least marginally helpful, if wasteful.

Vases of many different shapes had been stolen from everywhere, arranged by size, and used as a cacophonous xylophone.

Having access to cutlery was a distant dream from a time that no longer existed.

Alfira and Lakrissa had briefly visited and encouraged the damn thing. Given it a flower.

Tent doors and overhangs had to be checked, because traps were being set. Karlach was initially surprised, but in the end mostly amused once they'd gotten the bucket unstuck from her horn and off of her head.

A throne had been built entirely out of pillows and blankets. Clive had been placed on top of it.

Every non-finesse weapon, excepting those belonging to Lae'zel, had been dumped in a nearby river at least once.

Lae'zel's camp had, in fact, been left mostly unmolested. However, the mindflayer training dummy was now wearing a straw hat with a bright blue ribbon.

Withers was also wearing a hat. A floppy, wizardly one. He did not seem to mind. Or possibly notice.

They had recently located the nexus of chaos. And now Gale was sitting cross-legged and barefoot in the grass, watching it take a short rest on top of a pile of books it had collected. Gale knew by now that monitoring would not prevent further anarchy, but it made him feel somewhat better to know where it was, even briefly.

It had, from somewhere, acquired a bright red bow.

Gale heard someone else approaching. With a tired sigh Wyll dropped to the ground beside him. The man was damp. Probably he'd had to fish something else important out of the river.

"How long does it take for polymorph to wear off?" Wyll asked him wearily.

"An hour," Gale said, from behind clasped hands.

Wyll almost started in surprise at the answer. "It has been far longer than..."

"There have been recorded phenomenon where it lasts longer," Gale continued. "It has to do with the transformed state being a particularly suitable shape for the soul."

They both regarded the creature in front of them.

"Honk," said Astarion.

***

This is the start of a series. The rest of the story is on AO3.

***

[thecutestgrotto]

Header + Divider Sets:

Pink Blossoms

Wooden Planks

Night Forest

Yellow Flowers

Earth / Earth Day

Galaxy

Watercolor Flowers

Red Pandas and Bamboo

Taylor Swift: Tortured Poets Department

Jellyfish

Sons of Anarchy

Sunflowers

Support + MDNI Sets:

Adult Content/MDNI Warnings

Support Your Creators

Glowing Neon MDNI

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

Hot pink MDNI and Support

Divider Sets:

Blue Doodles -> Magenta Version

Geodes

Easter

Black Lined Hearts -> Purple Version

Cats -> More Cats

Dogs

Golden Foil Flowers

Origami Animals

Stars

Cute Coquette

Books -> Pink and Purple Books

Legos

Blurry Rainbow Hearts

Art Supplies

Firefighters

Pink Royalty -> Elegant Royalty

Heart Garlands

Trees

Swords and Cherry Blossoms

Bubbles

Dinosaurs / Dino Nuggets

Glitter

Cute Bows

Red Decorative Lines

Rainbow Clouds

Avocados

Teddy Bears

Fairytales

Purple and Blue Butterflies

Ducks

Pirates

Celestial Sun and Moons

Pixel Arcade

Black Lace

Oranges and Orange Blossoms

Coffee

Pots and Pans

Music and Radios

Red Lace Hearts

Pink Spring Flowers

Jewel Toned Lines

Ravens

Lesbian Visibility Week

Cookies

Black and Purple Witchy Aesthetic

Cactus Plants

Hearts and Sparkles

Baby Otters and Crabs

Blurry Rainbow Flowers

Apples and Roses

Bumblebees

Steampunk

Mother’s Day

Black Bold Lines -> Blue Version

Fish

Rose Gold

Mermaids and Sirens

Cigars and Cigarettes

Fairies

Green Hearts

Sunflowers

Angels and Demons

Scrolls and Quills

Polka Dots

Orange Flowers

Frogs

Pigs

Baseball

Dark Red Bows and Hearts

Games/Media/Fandoms

Baby Yoda / The Mandalorian

Minecraft

Littlest Pet Shop

Shadowhunters: The Mortal Instruments

[geraskierficrecs]

Anarchy Update!

Enjoy a new chapter here.

Teaser:

Jaskier had never been a religious man.  He had no time for distant deities or shadowed leaders seated upon some gilt throne.  They had no interest in the cruelties of the world nor of writing any wrongs.

But here, here in their bed, he thought he saw the divine in the warm glow of Geralt’s bare skin in the moonlight.  A brightness purer than any stained glass window in the long strands of his hair. There was sacrilege in the bruises left in the shapes of teeth and touch, healing even now for Jaskier to repaint once more. It left Jaskier’s knees aching for the opportunity to bow before the god in human flesh.

Geralt shifted, looking over his shoulder as though he had no idea the effect he had on a mere mortal.  His eyes flashes inhumanly bright, reflecting the firelight in the corner and Jaskier’s heart gave a painful lurch.

He wanted to reach out, to touch, but something kept him pinned in place.  Words tangled in his throat and he fought to free them.

“You’re dreaming,” his Witcher murmured, voice soft and raspy with sleep.

I’m not, Jaskier tried to say, but nothing escaped.  I’m here with you.  I’m—

[loopyhoopywrites]

Find the Word

Thanks @ahordeofwasps for tagging me :D No 'fare' anywhere, but here's the rest!

fun

“Fun,” Llanedd repeated dryly. They were still, quite understandably, completely terrified. Now, however, they were also angrier than they’d been in their entire three-hundred year existence, and it was doing wonders for their vocal cords. “You kidnapped me, forced me to smuggle you out of the city, and now you’re blackmailing me into driving you halfway across the kingdom to rescue some duchess who probably doesn’t even want to be rescued! Do you have any idea how many sick days this is going to cost me?!”

friend

“If anyone knows anything, it’ll be Ink Malarkey,” Llanedd said. “They’ve interviewed almost every member of high society at some point in the last five years, and probably most of their friends and employees too. They may not know for sure where Queen Sandrine and King Hereward disappeared to, but they’ll have collected enough rumours to be able to make an educated guess.” “So how come no one else has thought to ask them?” “They probably have,” Llanedd fiddled with one of their dress’s many, many bows, “but Ink Malarkey doesn’t give up information for free. They’ll want something in return.”

found

“You’re a security guard??” Llanedd found themself blurting out. “But… Trickster’s…?” “Gorgeous?” Trickster provided. “Witty? Charming? A genius?” “A thieving con-artist with dubious morals and a lackadaisical approach to the law?” Anarchy said. “Weirdly, the two aren’t as different as you might think. Trickster breaks into places to steal things–” “–And Anarchy breaks into places to figure out how to stop me stealing things.”

Tagging @writing-is-a-martial-art @athenswrites @aether-wasteland-s if you want, to find Call, Reply, and Ignore.