#web artifact dress....

[sokkadora]

something there — mizu x fem!spider-woman!reader

summary: landing in a new place, and time, leads to new experiences and friends… and a hot samurai?

a/n: mizu having a thing for competence and her s/o’s being capable of handling themselves babygirl i got that you want me!!!

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): injuries, mentions of gunshot wound, passing out from blood loss yippee!!!

ALSO REMINDER THAT MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN SO FEEL FREE TO ASK!! <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

Your eyes shot open, the sudden cold chill of the snow beneath you shocked you into a sitting position. You ripped off your mask and panted, taking in your new surroundings.

You were still in your suit, which explained why you were so cold, but you were also in the middle of a dark forest. The snow seemed to cool the burning from the gunshot wound in your shoulder and the cut across your thigh, but it didn’t distract you from your entirely new surroundings.

The last thing you remember was being in New York, fighting some gang members who had stolen an artifact from the Sanctum Sanctorum… you’d taken a gunshot to the shoulder, which… ow. But anyway, you must’ve been thrown out of New York into… wherever you were now.

Shivering, you shakily got to your feet and steadied yourself against a tree. You needed to find warmer clothes, fast. You pulled the hood from your suit over your head and your mask back on for the sake of preserving body heat.

You attempted to be stealthily while stepping through the forest, not knowing what wild animals or people could in the darkness lingering beyond your eyes grasp.

After about 5 minutes of walking, you figured it would be better to scale up a tree to get some lay of the land. Maybe a city’s lights nearby to give you an idea of how far you hade to go until you reached some sign of civilization.

Placing your hand onto your eye level with the tree, you easily pulled yourself up and began scaling the tree. It took a minute to maneuver through all the branches with your injuries but upon reaching the top, you noticed a small clearing in the trees that was dimly lit, and you let out a sigh of relief.

After getting down, you corrected your course and started trekking towards your new destination. It took longer than expected because your injuries were slowing you down, but you webbed them up and continued over.

These people were sure to help you, you’re a well known super-hero. Spider-Woman, and if you were still around the vicinity of New York you should be alright…

Right?

It took until daybreak to reach your destination, you figured it would, but that didn’t make you pleased with how long you took.

Your hands were shaking profusely from the cold, and you were beginning to wish that you let Peter put the heater into your suit for days like this.

You heard rustling from a few yards ahead and scaled up the tree closest to you, your head spinning from the blood loss. You grunted softly, beginning to leap from branch to branch to get closer to the noise.

Finally, you made it a few trees away from the source, and were surprised to see a man dressed in… what looked like a chef uniform. You squinted behind your mask, watching as he cut off plants with the knife strapped to his wrist, since he didn’t have any hands.

You were about to get down yourself and approach him, but a nap just sounded… so… nice…

Ringo jumped at the sudden loud thud behind him, his humming being interrupted by a sudden gasp as he whipped around. He gulped nervously before rushing behind a tree, and peeking out from it.

He saw a figure laying motionless in the snow, that seemed to be non threatening, but the attire they donned was bizarre. Skin tight, covered their whole body… what were they?

Ringo cautiously held his knife out while stepping out from behind the tree and making his way to the body.

Were they already dead?

He gulped as he kneeled in front of the person, now clearly seeing that they’re a woman, nudging them with the arm not armed with a knife. After waiting a few more moments to confirm they were really passed out, he bit down on the dull side of his knife and placed it into his pack. He noticed the wound on their shoulder and thigh, along with smaller cuts through the clothing along the arms and torso. He carefully picked the limp body up, and began to carry them back to camp.

He knew Mizu wasn’t going to be thrilled with this new person joining, neither would Taigen, but they’d have to deal with it. He wasn’t going to leave a random woman out in the woods to die.

Upon arriving to camp, he noticed Taigen on the other side of the abandoned shrine writing something down on a piece of paper. Ringo slipped into the house from the far side to carry the body to the room Mizu was resting in.

He lowered the woman onto his futon, pulling the blanket up to just below her chin. He pulled off your mask successfully after a few attempts, and was shocked by your appearance. Mizu wasn’t in the room, but just as he was about to go looking, she stepped into the room.

Mizu’s gaze immediately fell to the figure on Ringo’s futon, a prominent frown taking place.

“Master, just listen-“

“Ringo, I can’t have anymore strays tagging along on this,” Mizu scolded, brushing past him to step over to you. Her anger paused quickly as she noticed how different you looked from them. “Who is..”

“I don’t know,” Ringo replied, stepping onto the other side of you and kneeling down, peeling off the blanket to reveal your injuries and strange clothing. Her eyes widened. “I was going to come find you to stitch up her wounds. I don’t want to encroach on her privacy since she’s a girl.”

Mizu sighed, her eyes shutting tightly. She was reluctant to do so at all, seeing as she doesn’t know you, and your attire was setting off alarm bells in her head. But she agreed, and Ringo took off his medical supplies and handed it to her before wandering off to make the medicine for when you woke up.

Your first meeting with Mizu after waking up was… interesting. She certainly didn’t act warm towards you, with her threatening you with a sword to the throat as soon as you sat up.

But after traveling with her since leaving Taigen behind, you’d began to slowly grow closer to her; more attached. She was distant at first, but slowly warmed up to you after finding yourselves in the same position.

Now, you found yourselves sparring in the middle of the woods before you hit another town the next day.

Mizu wanted to test out your spider sense; she had been intrigued by your powers since she’d first found out about them, wanting to test the limits of them, but not wanting to harm you on accident. She didn’t know how skilled you were yet.

She stood behind you and tied the blindfold over your eyes gently, making sure not to get your hair caught in the knot. She resisted the urge to let her hands wander across your taut shoulder muscles, not yet being willing to openly admire your looks.

“Alright, you’re set,” Mizu said, patting the top of your head before moving to stand a few yards in front of you from where you stood in the center of the clearing.

“If I get hurt, I’m gonna punch you,” You warn playfully, biting back a grin as you heard the sharp sound of Mizu’s sword unsheathing. You could practically feel her smirk as you remained still, but alert.

“Good thing I know what I’m doing then,” She rasped, making you swallow thickly.

The was lingering tension in the air as you heard Mizu’s footsteps go to the left, your enhanced sense cluing you in to her minuscule movements as you took a deep breath.

Before you could really tell with your own perception, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Mizu had swung her sword skillfully at you from behind, barely grazing the hair flying from your braid as you ducked into a lunge, sliding away.

She huffed, impressed. And continued to slowly taunt you with her attacks, which you quickly dodged each time. Eventually she had sheathed her sword and began using her arms and legs to kick and swing, until you ended up pinning her against the ground, your thighs on either side of her waist.

You quickly brought your hands to her wrists, pinning them against the ground and smirking as you heard her grunting underneath you. After a moment of struggling, she groaned but you knew she enjoyed the round.

“You win, god,” She chuckled lowly. You released her wrists and tugged the blindfold off, grinning down at her.

“Not so bad, huh?” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at her as she let her hands fall onto your thighs.

“Not at all,” She returned the smile, trying her hardest to hide the warmth growing between her thighs at the thought and demonstration of your capabilities. “Is it… hot out here?”

You pursed your lips before laughing, getting off her waist. “Mizu, it’s snowing outside.” You scoffed playfully, rising to your feet.

She hummed bashfully, taking your hand when you offered to tug her back to her feet. She gazed down at you softly as you brushed off your haori, smiling proudly once it was rid of the frozen mud and snow flecks.

She couldn’t help but feel her gaze soften almost inevitably as she let herself lovingly look at you for a moment while you were distracted.

Reaching down, she softly touched the braid that was slung over your left shoulder, admiring your (h/c) hair gently. You looked down at her hand, eyes wide before you tilted your head up to look at her face.

Her eyes moved back to meet yours, and you forced the fluttering feeling in your stomach away with a smile.

“Round two?”

[trendywaifus]

↳ i have dreams that lives in my nightmares!

everyone described the ruthless freddy krueger to be a vengeful spirit seen as a disfigured man. one night after falling asleep, you were finally able to come face to face with the urban legend.

↳ featuring, dream demon! kafka

—cw, fem! sub! reader, oral sex (fem! reader receiving), fingering (fem receiving), dub–con, mentions of scars, not proofread

after falling victim to slumber, you found yourself what it looks like to be in an empty museum full of fog. “ a. .museum? “ you questioned, anxiety gradually swelling in the pits of your stomach. like the fog, the atmosphere was thick with ominous silence. you walked down the large hallways blindly, catching glimpses of bizarre paintings and artifacts displayed along the walls. there was a particular painting of a spider seemingly stuck in the midst of its own web.

“ whoever made this museum has actual issues. “

breathy laughter echoes through the walls of the empty museum. “ oh really? you wound me, i happen to put this together myself. “ the voice drawls before humming a familiar tune. wait, was that summer and winter? you were unsure of the direction from where the voice is coming from. but as each moment passed, her humming got louder and louder. it felt like she was in your head, luring you in a hypnotic trance. you were starting to get a bit dizzy.

but then, a horrid sound of metal scratches against a harsh surface. “ oh, fuck. i think i should just get on my knees and start praying. “ you muttered as the steady sound of heels clanked across the tile floor ahead of you. a tall silhouette comes into view through the fog. but what made your heart nearly burst out of your chest was the shadows of her stretched arms disproportionately reached further along the walls as if they were wings.

“ actually, never mind! i should start running! “ you quickly turned around to make a run for it but her voice stops you.

“ stay. “

on her command, your body stops itself in its tracks. no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t even take a step forward. immediately after, a delicate hand runs up your back and rests on your shoulder; you shivered. “ good girl. as much as i enjoy the game cat and mouse, i wanna finally see that pretty face of yours up close and personal first. “ she purrs in your ear before walking in front of your frozen body to see your face.

“ holy. .” you were memorized by the tall beauty towering over you. beautiful lilac eyes, long, silky purple tresses stopping below her breasts, red lips curled up in a deceivingly warm smile; she was out of this world (figuratively and literally!). no alleged burn marks etched to her skin, instead it was creamy and flawless. she adorned a white, long sleeve collar shirt, black dress pants, and heels. you were ripped away from your admiring when a long, sharp metal claw gently runs along your jaw, careful not to tear skin.

“ mmh, it’s such a shame a little dove like yourself got caught into my web. “

“ a-and it’s such a shame that i’ve never gotten to meet such a beautiful woman like you until now.“ you blurted out.

a genuine look of surprise flashed on her pale features before she lets out a soft laugh. “ well, i didn’t expect you to be quite the charmer, little dove. i’ve been watching you for quite some time. “

you give her a confused look. “ but why me? “ her smile stretches wider with mischievousness, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “ i will say this, human lust and desire are known to be so strong that the brain translates them into the most interesting fantasies which are called— “

“ w-wet dreams. .“ you stuttered, heat rising into your cheeks. is she implying that the only reason she was watching you was because of your wet dreams? you don’t know if you should be embarrassed or weirded out. the woman laughs out of no where, “ you should be more so embarrassed, darling. you have quite the wildest dreams that even i was taken back from. but to answer your question, hardly. i’m really here for you. “

your brows furrow with confusion.” did you just read my mind? “ she teasingly smile at you, bending down a bit to lean closer to your face. you swallowed thickly. “ yes. anyways, how about this, “ she draws closer to your face until hers lips are nearly touching yours. “ let me have some fun with you and i’ll let you go. you wouldn’t mind that since this is one of your fantasies, no? “

fuck, why did she have to see my dreams? you thought, shyly adverting your gaze down at the floor. amused, she lifts your chin up with a gloved finger; forcing you to return eye contact with her. your knees nearly turned jelly under her roguish eyes. “ and, if. .i don’t, you’ll kill me right? “ you questioned, voice barely under a whisper.

she hums thoughtfully, “ well, I would say yes but since it’s you, i’d rather not. you caught my attention after all, sweetheart. “ she presses her red lips against yours, running her tongue over your bottom lip. her hands which were now strangely bare, roams your body delicately as if you were one of her most prized artifacts. a shiver runs down your spine as her cool hand slips under your shirt and massages the warm skin under it with her thumb. you couldn’t help but feel excitement course through you.

“ now, what will it be? i can practically sense your desire for me. “ she chuckles against your lips. bewitched by her kisses and honeyed–filled voice, you whisper, “ y-yes, as long as you let me go after.” thrilled by your answer, she smiles wider, this time, revealing her fangs which prods your lips. “ atta girl. oh! before we continue, despite what humans call me, i prefer “kafka.” i’m afraid the original freddie had to put down his hat. “

you narrowed your gaze. ‘freddie?’ as in the urban legend freddy krueger? who could of possibly thought she was freddy? or even his replacement? where did he even go? “ and why are you telling me this? “

with a flick of her wrist, the setting changes and you’re now back in your bedroom. you assume it was conjured up by kafka. “ because i don’t want you screaming out the wrong name of course. “

before you can react, you land butt first on the mattress. kafka situates herself on the bed and between your legs. her long slender fingers reaches for the waistband of your pajamas and slides them down your legs and off your feet. she licks her lips at the damp spot staining your panties. “ i haven’t properly touched you yet and you’re already excited.”

too flustered to respond to her lewd comment, you let her pull off your cotton panties; giving her a delicious view of your dripping pussy. she runs a digit along your folds, coating it with your juices. “ so wet.” kafka purrs, delving her face further between your legs. her warm tongue presses flat against your clit before enclosing her lips around it. “ sh-shit. .! “ you gasped, curling your toes in pleasure as she starts sucking on the senstive bud. her index finger teases your entrance before sliding inside.

your cunt squeezes around her as if it was welcoming her. now knuckles—deep inside, she drags her long, slender finger in and out of your hole. all you could do was squirm and buckle your hips, hoping the graceful entity can relieve the aching knot in your abdomen. kafka retracts her mouth away from your bundle of nerves with a soft pop. she smirks, “ i haven’t added in another finger and yet you’re squirming as if i’m using three on you. here then.” you felt two finger enter your core, filling and stretching you out even further.

you let out a loud moan, throwing your head back in ecstasy as her well—manicured nails rubs against the spongy spot of your walls. “ r-right there, kafka! please! “ you babbled, throwing her a desperate look. kafka says nothing and grants your wish, curling her fingers right where you want it while her thumb idly plays with your clit in circular motions; driving you right over the edge. “ fuck, fuck, i’m gonna—“

to your utter disappointment, she pulls back, fingers covered in your slick. kafka laughs at the look of betrayal and confusion on your cute face. “ sorry, darling. i just had to do it. “ you forgot you were messing around with a being who loves to trick and torment people for her own pleasure. still in a daze, you tried your best to glare at her. “ don’t give me that look, pretty thing. lay on your back for me, i promise i won’t do it again. “

hesitant, you laid down on your back. kafka gently spreads your legs open for more space before going back in. she places her hands on your inner thighs, holding them apart. kafka observes how your slick pools from your pussy. delighted by the sight, she drawls, “ i’m just itching to get a taste darling. “

you stifle back a moanful groan as her tongue licks down along your folds in broad strokes. kafka emits a satisfied hum from tasting your essence on her tongue. she enters straight in, brushing her wet muscle down your gummy walls. “ god, kafka. .!” you moaned, feeling her tongue skillfully pump into your aching cunt. she pushes her face closer, nudging the bundle of nerves with her nose.

arching your back in pleasure, the familiar tension in your stomach returns as she continues to fuck you with her tongue. “ sh-shit, it’s coming back! “ you tried to enclose your thighs around her head but she easily keeps them in place. kafka firmly squeezes at the supple flesh, silently urging you to cum. “ c-cumming, kafka! “ you nearly screamed, your walls pulsates around her tongue and not a moment after, moderate amounts of cum dribbles out of your hole and in her mouth.

“ you taste wonderful, pretty thing. better than any wine i’ve once tasted. “ kafka greedily licks your slick and cum from her slightly–smudged red lips. you panted heavily, legs jelly from your climax. she sits upright to unbutton her collar shirt, your eyes widens in astonishment as she does; the skin that was previously covered was littered with scars and horrific markings. it was as if she has gone through extreme torture at some point in time. an unreadable expression settles on her face as she gauges your reaction.

smiling blankly, kafka expected you to scream or attempt to scramble away in terror but you didn’t. perhaps you were too fatigued to even move. but, searching in your tired eyes, she sees a sliver of pity in them. it was something she hadn’t seen in a very long time because all she was use to was fear, anger, and many other negative emotions she strikes into her victims. “ d-don’t give me that look, you know i can’t run away even if i tried, kafka. b-besides, ” you continued, averting your gaze away from her eyes awkwardly, “ e-even someone like you was once caught in someone else’s web so i can’t say i’m horrified of that. “

kafka smiles once more but this time, laced with amusement. she tosses her unbuttoned shirt to the side and dips down to whisper in your ear. her hot breath fans against your skin. “ keep being this interesting and cute, darling and i’ll appear in every dream of yours until you wish you no longer have the ability to sleep. “

[heartschoicegames]

New game! Vampire's Kiss, by Dash Casey

New game! "Vampire's Kiss" by Dash Casey is now available on Steam, iOS and Android. It's 33% off until Oct 26 Please reshare this with friends!

Unleash your lust and your thirst in a battle for the soul of London! Will passion lead you back to humanity, or will you embrace the night as a vampire?

Vampire’s Kiss is a 170,000-word interactive erotic vampire novel by Dash Casey. It’s entirely text-based, without graphics or sound effects, and fuelled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

In life, you were the guardian of a priceless artifact, the Cross of Aguirre. Now you have been murdered and made a vampire; the artifact has been stolen, and you are at the center of a web of bloody conspiracies. 

Navigate a perilous web of secrets as you discover the hidden world of London after dark, staging daring heists and bloody battles across the city’s iconic landscape. As a plot centuries in the making unfolds, choose sides in the battle for control of London’s vampires, and embrace the night that has been thrust upon you…or, chase rumors of a way to restore true life to the undead, and hold out hope that you might see the sun once more. 

Your heart no longer beats, but your passion still burns. Will you share a slow dance with Marky, the rogueish vampire with dozens of piercings and a poorly hidden heart of gold? Hold each other tenderly, or fall into bed and discover all of the tricks that Marky has learned in more than a century of unlife.

Will you stalk the night alongside Kurt, a stoic vampire hunter, all muscles and chiseled face, who holds the secrets to ancient lore? He's as dominant in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield: choose your own safeword and submit to his powerful strength; or explore his gentler side.

Does the lure of London's mortal aristocracy draw you towards Alex? This fabulously-dressed and surprisingly courageous socialite is thirsty to learn what sex with a vampire is like - bring all of your powers of telepathy and shapeshifting to heighten your pleasure.

Or will you be dominated by the vampire queen Saffron, with her glorious red hair and brilliantly devious schemes? She's ready for anything, from the kinkiest night of whips and fangs to the vulnerability of using no vampiric powers at all in bed.

• Play as male, female, or nonbinary; gay, straight, or bi; or asexual.

• Seduce a passionate socialite; the scheming vampire queen; a cheeky vampire rogue; or a stoic hunter.

• Opt in or out of scenes involving graphic violence and blood.

• Embrace your vampiric destiny, or dream of the sunrise in a quest to transform yourself back to humanity - and bring your lover along with you.

• Solve your own murder, and take vengeance on your killer.

• Delve into your vampiric powers: transform yourself into a vicious monster, cast shapeshifting illusions as a creature of shadow, or unlock the hypnotic mysteries of the mind.

• Keep your secrets and preserve the illusion that you have died, or shock the world by revealing the existence of vampires.

In this endless night, how will you quench your thirst?

[michael-svetbird]

ARTEMIS Type Naples: "The Goddess of the hunt is shown advancing rapidly, her quiver slung around her body. With her left hand she lifted an edge of her dress, whilst in her right she held a bow and arrows. Statue in the archaizing style of the early Imperial period, also known from other examples. Augustan Period [early 1st cent. AD]." [txt ©MNR Palazzo Massimo]

White fine-grained greek marble with traces of red paint on the robe, inserted eyeballs were made of different material. Probable provenance - residential building [Caserta, Campania ?], was stolen [1994] from the area of Caserta, recovered [2001] in Switzerland. 1 AD.

Palazzo Massimo, Museo Nazionale Romano | MNR PM [2nd Floor, Sala VIII.] • Web : https://museonazionaleromano.beniculturali.it/en/palazzo-massimo • FB : https://www.facebook.com/MNRomano • IG : @museonazionaleromano • TW : @MNR_museo

MNR PM | Michael Svetbird phs©msp | 06|23 6000X4100 600 [Set of 3] The photographed object is the collection item of MNR PM and subject to copyrights. [non commercial use | sorry for the watermarks]

📸 Part of the "Small Format Sculpture and Miniature Artefacts" MSP Online Photo-gallery:

👉 D-ART: https://www.deviantart.com/svetbird1234/gallery/69450077/small-format-sculpture-and-miniature-artifacts

👉 FB Album: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.859777984390780&type=3

.

[zapreportsblog]

In Love With The Same Cat

➥ summary : There’s no Spider-Man without the Black Cat just like there’s no Black Cat without Spider-Man. But what if we had a multiverse dimensional traveling jewelry stealing burglar Black Cat (try saying that seven times fast aye) that traveled across dimensions not only stealing the worlds finest jewels but also the hearts of four unlucky, or lucky depending on how you see it Spider-Man’s and Spider-Women’s hearts.

➥ chapter 6: The Dance of Shadows I

In the heart of Manhattan, a city teeming with life, (y/n) had established herself as the infamous burglar known as Black Cat. Clad in her sleek and alluring costume, she prowled the night, stealing precious artifacts and leaving a trail of mystery and intrigue in her wake. It was during one of her daring heists at the Jewish Museum that she encountered a fellow teenager who would forever change the course of their destinies—Spider-Man.

As (y/n) expertly maneuvered through the museum's labyrinthine halls, her nimble fingers delicately lifted priceless ancient artifacts from their secure display cases. Her senses were heightened, her every move calculated, as she reveled in the thrill of the illicit. Unbeknownst to her, Spider-Man, the city's masked vigilante, had caught wind of her activities and swung into action.

With acrobatic grace, Spider-Man descended upon the scene, his eyes focused on the figure dressed in sleek black. The two engaged in a dance of cat and mouse, their movements fluid and agile. Spider-Man, with his web-slinging abilities and uncanny reflexes, sought to capture Black Cat and bring her to justice. Meanwhile, Black Cat utilized her skills in stealth and seduction to outwit her pursuer.

The tension between them crackled in the air, a palpable energy that fueled their dance. Spider-Man, driven by a sense of responsibility and justice, was determined to apprehend Black Cat and put an end to her criminal activities. Yet, there was an undeniable allure in her presence, a magnetic pull that intrigued him despite his better judgment.

As the pursuit continued, Black Cat couldn't help but feel a mischievous delight in teasing her masked pursuer. With a playful smirk on her lips, she expertly maneuvered through the museum, leaving Spider-Man just a step behind. She reveled in the thrill of their cat-and-mouse game, the exhilaration of outsmarting him at every turn.

In a daring move, Black Cat leaped onto a high beam, her lithe figure poised above Spider-Man. She taunted him with a sultry voice, a hint of seduction laced in her words. "Spider-Man, my dear, you're quite the determined hero. But perhaps, just perhaps, I'll let you catch me next time. I do enjoy the feel of your muscles against mine."

Spider-Man's masked face betrayed a mix of confusion and amusement, his senses tingling with the magnetic allure of Black Cat's presence. He was torn between his duty to bring her to justice and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. Yet, he remained steadfast in his pursuit, knowing that the line between right and wrong must not be blurred.

Their dance came to a climactic moment as Black Cat executed a daring escape, leaving Spider-Man momentarily stunned. She disappeared into the shadows, her laughter echoing in the empty museum halls. Spider-Man, filled with a mix of frustration and fascination, watched as she slipped away, her silhouette merging with the darkness.

In the aftermath of their encounter, both Black Cat and Spider-Man were left with a lingering sense of intrigue. Their paths had crossed, and a connection had formed—one that defied the boundaries of their respective roles as thief and hero. It was a connection forged in the dance of shadows, where boundaries blurred and temptation beckoned.

As the city continued to pulsate with life, Black Cat and Spider-Man knew that their paths would inevitably cross again. They were destined to continue their dance, each driven by their own motivations and ideals. Yet, in the midst of their ongoing game of pursuit and evasion, the seeds of something deeper had been sown—a connection that had the potential to challenge their beliefs and redefine their roles.

In the shadows of Manhattan, (y/n) embraced her dual identity as Black Cat, the infamous burglar. And in the ever-present night, Spider-Man continued to patrol the city, his sense of responsibility unwavering. Their encounter had left an indelible mark on both their hearts, and as they embarked on their separate paths, they couldn't help but wonder what the future held—for them, and for the undeniable chemistry that simmered beneath the surface.

The dance of shadows had only just begun, and as Black Cat and Spider-Man continued to navigate the intricate tapestry of their lives, the lines between right and wrong, hero and villain, would blur with every step they took. The allure of the forbidden and the intoxicating pull of destiny intertwined, leaving them both to ponder the boundaries of their choices and the undeniable connection that had formed between them.

[laughableillusions]

this is your opportunity to tell me about akira and the entity (if u want). . . they sound cool as hell

OOUOIUOGIGUGH I DO WANT TO ANON!!!

Some drawings and a little mood/aesthetic board I made for him

(This gets pretty long I apologize I went overboard😭😭)

Akira Kutsuki is my primary Dead By Daylight Survivor OC! He’s shipped with my favorite killer The Oni (Kazan Yamaoka), I mostly use him in online roleplay with my friend bc they play a very good Oni. But I think he’s so developed at this point that he could easily slot into the game itself.

Physical description: a thin, 35 year old, 5’7 Japanese man with shaggy overgrown hair, stubble. Usually wearing a rumbled white dress shirt and tie with a sweater vest and slacks. He wears glasses with rectangle frames, he has scars on his wrists from an attempted suicide attempted (more on that later.)

Personality: he’s an ADHD Autism mess, but somehow does exceedingly well under pressure. Very passionate about things and is incredibly talkative. Has no rizz, negative rizz, no bitches. Makes the best of his situation to try and learn everything he can about the fog. Workaholic. He has cool English teacher vibes

Lore: he is the descendant of the landlord that The Oni held a grunge with, his family always went into politics or some kind of leadership positions but he broke the mold and went into archeology. After he graduated college he decided to do some genealogy on his family, and found the story of Kazan Yamaoka (as well as poetry about him and his story.)

Most of the landlords back in those days were corrupt, and Samauri were basically like cops, and they were crooked and did awful things (basically Kazan’s purge had some merit to it, not that he was in the right in any way.) Akira learns that his so called “grand ancestor” wasn’t actually so grand. He also uncovers all the shady things that his family has done over the years, he confronts them about it and they tell him to keep his mouth shut about it. Enraged that history will simply repeat himself, and that his family hasn’t answered for crimes committed even back in the days of “The Oni.” He desecrates the family temple, graffitiing the walls and destroying everything he can.

He gets arrested, and his family disowns him. Disgraced, and with nothing left for him- he goes to America.

There he goes back to school and becomes a professor. Though he keeps his interest in the Yamaoka line, in the village where Kazan was “killed” he can find no body or no artifacts. The people there say that he became an ogre since the body seemed to vanish. The lack of a body drives Akira up the wall, the only thing he finds is a section of rope that has traces of some sort of…ash that is impossible to place.

Akira then looks into other historical disappearances, finding that when archeologists dug up the scene- they too found traces of this strange ash-like mineral scattered around. He becomes interested in this, all these disappearances around the world- seemingly random…all of them having this same trace material. All of these scenes having to do with great pain or violence.

He begins to connect them, learning the names and history of these “killers.” He finds newspaper reports that talk about this strange “black fog” or “ash” that surrounded the area of the missing body or scene. A colleague of his finds the notes of a Scotsman by the name of Talbot Grimes.

Then, Rin Yamaoka is murdered. Akira hears about it from a friend in Japan, and he mentions that there was a cloud of ash surrounding the apartment. Akira books the first flight to Japan and actually breaks into the crime scene to get a sample. While he’s there he realizes that these people aren’t just vanishing…they’ve all been taken somewhere.

Things begin to spiral out of control when he gets back, he begins having nightmares about being caught in a giant spider web. He reads more of Grime’s notes, confirming his theory. Akira then realizes that Grimes himself had gone insane, and fell off the face of the earth. Akira realizes that he was taken as well.

The nightmares get worse, so he stops sleeping. He begins to hallucinate spindly arms reaching down to grab him. He hears voice telling him that he knows too much. He locks himself into his apartment and doesn’t open the windows. He destroys all his notes and research in the hope that it will stop whatever is happening to him.

The entity comes for him anyway, and he locks himself into the bathroom and slits his wrists in the bathtub, hoping that death will claim him before the entity does. It doesn’t of course, and he wakes up in the fog.

Wow that was incredibly long sndjsixjsncjsj whoops. Anyway that’s Akira. He meets the Oni and is both terrified but also nerding the fuck out the whole time. Kazan finds him adorable and kind of pathetic and they hook up sncjsixjbsbc

[ghostflowerdreams]

Books Similar to Stranger Things

The most obvious starting point is to check out the officially authorized novels that further expand the canonical Stranger Things world, such as Suspicious Minds by Gwenda Bond. It's a prequel novel that follows Eleven's mother and her time as a test subject in the MKUltra program. Then there's Darkness on the Edge of Town by Adam Christopher, which is about Chief Jim Hopper's old life as a police detective in New York City.

There's more novels that delve into the past of a few of the show’s characters like Runaway Max by Brenna Yovanoff, which explores Max's past--the good and the bad--as well as how she came to find her newfound sense of home in Hawkins, Indiana.

However, if that still isn't enough the next best thing is to find books that are similar to Stranger Things or give off the same feels via plot, the friendship, theme and aspects of it. I know I'm not the only one on the search and so while scouring the web I've compiled a list of the most common book recommendations I've seen people suggest.

I like making lists like these as this is how I also usually form my 'To Be Read' list. Oh, and this isn't any particular order either.

Paper Girls Vol. #1 by Brian K. Vaughan (Writer), Cliff Chiang (Artist) & Matt Wilson (Colorist) — is a graphic novel that follows a group of 12-year-old newspaper delivery girls in the early hours after Halloween of 1988, who uncover the most important story of all time. [1]

My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix — The year is 1988. High school sophomores Abby and Gretchen have been best friends since fourth grade. After an evening of skinny-dipping Gretchen disappears in the woods but returns a few hours later, naked and…different. She’s moody. She’s irritable. And bizarre incidents keep happening whenever she’s nearby.

Abby’s investigation leads her to some startling discoveries—and by the time their story reaches its terrifying conclusion, the fate of Abby and Gretchen will be determined by a single question: Is their friendship powerful enough to beat the devil?

Ghoul by Brian Keene — There is something in the local cemetery that comes out at night. Something that is unearthing corpses and killing people. It’s the summer of 1984 and Timmy and his friends are looking forward to no school, comic books, and adventure. But instead they will be fighting for their lives. 

The ghoul has smelled their blood and it is after them. But that’s not the only monster they will face this summer...

The Saturday Night Ghost Club by Craig Davidson — Growing up in 1980s Niagara Falls--a seedy but magical, slightly haunted place--Jake Baker spends most of his time with his uncle Calvin, a kind but eccentric enthusiast of occult artifacts and conspiracy theories.

The summer Jake turns twelve, he befriends a pair of siblings new to town, and so Calvin decides to initiate them all into the "Saturday Night Ghost Club." But as the summer goes on, what begins as a seemingly lighthearted project may ultimately uncover more than any of its members had imagined.

Summer of Night (Seasons of Horror #1) by Dan Simmons — It's the summer of 1960 in Elm Haven, Illinois, and five 12-year old boys are forming the bonds that a lifetime of changes will never erase. But then a dark cloud threatens the bright promise of summer vacation: on the last day of school, their classmate Tubby Cooke vanishes.

Soon, the group discovers stories of other children who once disappeared from Elm Haven. And there are other strange things happening in town: unexplained holes in the ground, a stranger dressed as a World War I soldier, and a rendering-plant truck that seems to be following the five boys. The friends realize that there is a terrible evil lurking in Elm Haven...and they must be the ones to stop it.

Haven by Tom Deady — In 1961, the small town of Haven thought they'd gotten rid of their monster.

After a series of child killings, Paul Greymore was caught carrying a wounded girl. His face, disfigured from a childhood accident, seemed to confirm he was the monster the community hoped to banish. With Paul in prison, the killings stopped.

For seventeen years, Haven was peaceful again. But Paul served his time and has now returned to Haven--the town where he grew up, and the scene of his alleged crimes. Paul insists he didn't commit those crimes, and several townspeople believe him including the local priest, a young boy named Denny, and his best friend Billy.

Trouble is, now that Paul is back home, the bizarre killings have started again--and the patterns match the deaths from Haven's past. If Paul isn't the killer, who is?

Or WHAT is? An unlikely band of adventurers attempts to uncover the truth, delving into long-hidden tunnels that might actually be inhabited by a strange, predatory creature.

One Word Kill (Impossible Times #1) by Mark Lawrence — In January 1986, fifteen-year-old boy-genius Nick Hayes discovers he’s dying. And it isn’t even the strangest thing to happen to him that week.

Nick and his Dungeons & Dragons-playing friends are used to living in their imaginations. But when a new girl, Mia, joins the group and reality becomes weirder than the fantasy world they visit in their weekly games, none of them are prepared for what comes next. A strange—yet curiously familiar—man is following Nick, with abilities that just shouldn’t exist. And this man bears a cryptic message: Mia’s in grave danger, though she doesn’t know it yet. She needs Nick’s help—now.

He finds himself in a race against time to unravel an impossible mystery and save the girl. And all that stands in his way is a probably terminal disease, a knife-wielding maniac and the laws of physics.

Starr Creek by Nathan Carson — Set in 1986 rural Oregon, Starr Creek features Heavy Metal teens, Christian biker gangs, and hopped up kids on 3-wheeled ATVs. They all collide when strange occurrences unveil an alien world inhabiting the Oregon woods.

Inside by D. M. Siciliano — Set in 1987. Reid is a bully, but he’s still Alex’s best friend. When Reid pushes Alex and their friends into invading a historically haunted Massachusetts house, Alex knows it’s a terrible idea, but indulges his friend. What could go wrong?

Inside, a mysterious Shadow looms in the darkness. The door to the house vanishes, leaving them trapped. The group flees through the tiny, one-roomed house that defies logic, constantly shifting, presenting them with new doors, hallways, and rooms that seem to be plucked from their memories and fears. One by one, the Shadow hunts them, intent on burning them all from within.

Is there any way to escape? Or will they be burned from the inside out?

The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek by Link Neal & Rhett James McLaughlin — It’s 1992 in Bleak Creek, North Carolina—a sleepy little place with all the trappings of an ordinary Southern town: two Baptist churches, friendly smiles coupled with silent judgments, and an unquenchable appetite for pork products. Beneath the town’s cheerful façade, however, Bleak Creek teens live in constant fear of being sent to the Whitewood School, a local reformatory with a history of putting unruly youths back on the straight and narrow—a record so impeccable that almost everyone is willing to ignore the suspicious deaths that have occurred there over the past decade.

At first, high school freshmen Rex McClendon and Leif Nelson believe what they’ve been told: that the students’ strange demises were all just tragic accidents, the unfortunate consequence of succumbing to vices like Marlboro Lights and Nirvana. But when the shoot for their low-budget horror masterpiece, PolterDog, goes horribly awry—and their best friend, Alicia Boykins, is sent to Whitewood as punishment—Rex and Leif are forced to question everything they know about their unassuming hometown and its cherished school for delinquents.

Eager to rescue their friend, Rex and Leif pair up with recent NYU film school graduate Janine Blitstein to begin piecing together the unsettling truth of the school and its mysterious founder, Wayne Whitewood. What they find will leave them battling an evil beyond their wildest imaginations—one that will shake Bleak Creek to its core.

Dead Flip by Sara Farizan — Growing up, Cori, Maz, and Sam were inseparable best friends, sharing their love for Halloween, arcade games, and one another. Now it’s 1992, Sam has been missing for five years, and Cori and Maz aren’t speaking anymore. How could they be, when Cori is sure Sam is dead and Maz thinks he may have been kidnapped by a supernatural pinball machine?   These days, all Maz wants to do is party, buy CDs at Sam Goody, and run away from his past. Meanwhile, Cori is a homecoming queen, hiding her abiding love of horror movies and her queer self under the bubblegum veneer of a high school queen bee. But when Sam returns—still twelve years old while his best friends are now seventeen—Maz and Cori are thrown back together to solve the mystery of what really happened to Sam the night he went missing. Beneath the surface of that mystery lurk secrets the friends never told one another, then and now. And Sam’s is the darkest of all...

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman — Sussex, England. A middle-aged man returns to his childhood home to attend a funeral. Although the house he lived in is long gone, he is drawn to the farm at the end of the road, where, when he was seven, he encountered a most remarkable girl, Lettie Hempstock, and her mother and grandmother. He hasn't thought of Lettie in decades, and yet as he sits by the pond (a pond that she'd claimed was an ocean) behind the ramshackle old farmhouse, the unremembered past comes flooding back. And it is a past too strange, too frightening, too dangerous to have happened to anyone, let alone a small boy.

Forty years earlier, a man committed suicide in a stolen car at this farm at the end of the road. Like a fuse on a firework, his death lit a touchpaper and resonated in unimaginable ways. The darkness was unleashed, something scary and thoroughly incomprehensible to a little boy. And Lettie—magical, comforting, wise beyond her years—promised to protect him, no matter what.

Whispering Pines (Whispering Pines #1) by Heidi Lang & Kati Bartkowski — Rae’s father vanished without a trace—and Rae knows what happened to him. But no one believes her when she says that her father didn’t run off, that he was actually taken. Now, a year of therapy later, Rae’s mother decides they need a fresh start, and so they move to a new town in the hope that life can return to normal.

The problem is, there is nothing normal about the town of Whispering Pines.

No one knows this better than Caden. He’s lived in Whispering Pines his entire life, and he’s seen more than his fair share of weird—starting with his own family, as the town is the perfect home base for his mother’s ghost hunting business.

When several kids go missing and then show up like zombies with their eyes removed, many locals brush it off. Just another day in Whispering Pines. But Caden has a dark secret, one that may explain why someone is stealing eyes. And Rae, who knows how it feels to not be believed, may be just the person Caden needs to help him put things right.

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand — On the island of Sawkill Rock, where gleaming horses graze in rolling pastures and cold waves crash against black cliffs. Where kids whisper the legend of an insidious monster at parties and around campfires.

Where girls have been disappearing for decades, stolen away by a ravenous evil no one has dared to fight… until now.

Three teenage girls who come together to face an ancient evil.

Marion: the new girl. Awkward and plain, steady and dependable. Weighed down by tragedy and hungry for love she’s sure she’ll never find.

Zoey: the pariah. Luckless and lonely, hurting but hiding it. Aching with grief and dreaming of vanished girls. Maybe she’s broken—or maybe everyone else is.

Val: the queen bee. Gorgeous and privileged, ruthless and regal. Words like silk and eyes like knives, a heart made of secrets and a mouth full of lies.

The Devouring Gray (The Devouring Gray #1) by C.L. Herman — On the edge of town a beast haunts the woods, trapped in the Gray, its bonds loosening…

Uprooted from the city, Violet Saunders doesn’t have much hope of fitting in at her new school in Four Paths, a town almost buried in the woodlands of rural New York. The fact that she’s descended from one of the town’s founders doesn’t help much, either—her new neighbours treat her with distant respect, and something very like fear. When she meets Justin, May, Isaac, and Harper, all children of founder families, and sees the otherworldly destruction they can wreak, she starts to wonder if the townsfolk are right to be afraid.

When bodies start to appear in the woods, the locals become downright hostile. Can the teenagers solve the mystery of Four Paths, and their own part in it, before another calamity strikes?

House of Hollow by Krystal Sutherland — Seventeen-year-old Iris Hollow has always been strange. Something happened to her and her two older sisters when they were children, something they can’t quite remember but that left each of them with an identical half-moon scar at the base of their throats.

Iris has spent most of her teenage years trying to avoid the weirdness that sticks to her like tar. But when her eldest sister, Grey, goes missing under suspicious circumstances, Iris learns just how weird her life can get: horned men start shadowing her, a corpse falls out of her sister’s ceiling, and ugly, impossible memories start to twist their way to the forefront of her mind.

As Iris retraces Grey’s last known footsteps and follows the increasingly bizarre trail of breadcrumbs she left behind, it becomes apparent that the only way to save her sister is to decipher the mystery of what happened to them as children.

The closer Iris gets to the truth, the closer she comes to understanding that the answer is dark and dangerous – and that Grey has been keeping a terrible secret from her for years.

It by Stephen King — is about seven adults who return to their hometown to confront a nightmare they had first stumbled on as teenagers…an evil without a name: It.

Welcome to Derry, Main. It’s a small city, a place as hauntingly familiar as your own hometown. Only in Derry the haunting is real...

They were seven teenagers when they first stumbled upon the horror. Now they are grown-up men and women who have gone out into the big world to gain success and happiness. But the promise they made twenty-eight years ago calls them reunite in the same place where, as teenagers, they battled an evil creature that preyed on the city’s children.

Now, children are being murdered again and their repressed memories of that terrifying summer return as they prepare to once again battle the monster lurking in Derry’s sewers. [2]

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero — It takes place in a small mining town in Oregon, first in 1977 where a group of kids who call themselves the Blyton Summer Detective Club have uncovered the truth behind a creature called the Sleepy Lake monster and a supposedly haunted mansion.

Years later, in 1990, the meddling kids are all grown up but are called back to that small town when the mystery resurfaces, apparently not as resolved as they had once all thought.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury — is a dark fantasy about two 13-year-old best friends, Jim Nightshade and William Halloway, and their nightmarish experience with a traveling carnival called 'Cooger & Dark’s Pandemonium Show' that comes to their Midwestern home, Green Town, Illinois, on October 24th.

Whisper (Whispers 1) by Lynette Noni — “Lengard is a secret government facility for extraordinary people,” they told me. I believed them. That was my mistake. There isn’t anyone else in the world like me. I’m different. I’m an anomaly. I’m a monster.

For two years, six months, fourteen days, eleven hours and sixteen minutes, Subject Six-Eight-Four — ‘Jane Doe’ — has been locked away and experimented on, without uttering a single word.

As Jane’s resolve begins to crack under the influence of her new — and unexpectedly kind — evaluator, she uncovers the truth about Lengard’s mysterious ‘program’, discovering that her own secret is at the heart of a sinister plot … and one wrong move, one wrong word, could change the world.

The Lightning Tree (The NI Revolution Trilogy #1) by Lene Fogelberg — Nature finally rises against humanity.

Flora Reed discovers a lifeless body in her front yard the morning after the last day of her junior year of high school. Matters get worse when more people from her small town are found dead under mysterious circumstances and police take an interest in the boy next door, Carl.

Flora is convinced that Carl is innocent, suspecting that the deaths are somehow connected to her younger sister Fauna's tragic accident a year earlier. What she learns changes everything, and she has to race against time to prevent the killings from spreading. Flora and a small group of friends soon find themselves at the onset of an apocalyptic battle between man and nature, with no one believing their story.

The Call by Peadar Ó Guilín — is set in a unique future of Ireland—or what once was Ireland. Everyday children from as young as 10, fear the day they will get “The Call” – a point in which they are sent the Grey Lands, where they must survive being hunted by the Sidhe for twenty-four hours. Some come back alive, some dead, and some come back…different.

The story focuses mainly on Nessa, a fourteen-year-old girl with twisted legs thanks to polio. While not immune to the taunts and whispers she receives about her disability, she trains hard and is determined to prove to everyone that she can not only survive The Call, but that she deserves to be there.

All Our Hidden Gifts (The Gifts #1) by Caroline O’Donoghue — is set in an Irish town where the church’s tight hold has loosened and new freedoms are trying to take root.

It follows sixteen-year-old Maeve after she finds a deck of tarot cards while cleaning out an old closet in her Catholic school. She quickly becomes the most sought-after diviner at school.

But when Maeve’s ex–best friend, Lily, draws an unsettling card called The Housekeeper that Maeve has never seen before, the session devolves into a heated argument that ends with Maeve wishing aloud that Lily would disappear. When Lily isn’t at school the next Monday, Maeve learns her ex-friend has vanished without a trace.

The Door to December by Dean Koontz — Little Melanie had been kidnapped when she was only three. She was nine when she was found wandering the L.A. streets, with blank eyes. What had become of her in all those years of darkness... and what was the terrible secret, clutching at her soul, that she dared not even whisper?

Her loving mother and the police desperately hunted for the answer. They needed Melanie to help get to the bottom of the most savage scene of carnage the city had ever seen. And they would do anything to save her from whatever dreadful force or thing had invaded her young life. But first, they would have to save themselves from a rising tide of terror... and from an icy evil howling through The Door to December.

Infinity's Doorway by David Wind — Arren Blaine is a cop, he doesn't believe in the paranormal. He knows there is no such things as Werewolves or Shifters, until...

"Find me..." The words uttered by the mysterious woman he'd swerved off the road to miss, echo continually in Dallas policeman Arren Blaine's head as he fights to get back into the world of the living, after the almost fatal car crash.

"Find me..." So begins an odyssey of discovery that takes him far from the Dallas P.D. forensic labs and into the frightening world of the supernatural in his search for the woman who had saved his life. A woman he is destined to share eternity with, if he can find her... If he can save her...if she is even human...

Notes:

[1] — There's actually a live-action adaptation of Paper Girls on Amazon Prime. So, if you really like it you can also check it out. This is recommended a lot because there's plenty of striking similarities between Paper Girls and Stranger Things. Both feature a group of young heroes; ordinary kids who grew up in the '80s and are plunged into a series of adventures. 

However, Paper Girls is it's own thing and is not an Stranger Things imitation as some people going into it expected it to be. It actually has a different tone, message and concept.

[2] — Stranger Things has many tropes inspired by Stephen King's works such as Carrie, Firestarter, It, The Mist and The Talisman (with a bit of The Body thrown in). This is why whenever someone asks for recommendations his books are always suggested.

[scholarlypidgeot]

At the Crimson Dragon

“The High Prince will see you now.”

Pat tore her eyes from the watching Unseelie as the Guardian reappeared in the doorway. It took a moment for her to register what she’d heard, and she frowned at Ginnevye.

“I'm sorry. There must be a misunderstanding. I'm not here to see the High Prince, I'm here to see Prince—”

“The High Prince,” Guardian Ginnevye interrupted with the stern force of a schoolteacher, "will see you now. Follow me."

Before Pat could object, Ginnevye had already turned down back into the room. Her stomach tangled into knots. She had no desire to see the High Prince of the Golden Crown -- in fact, she hadn't even considered that he might be here. Which was stupid, given that the club was his establishment. All of the old stories flashed through her mind in succession: Erik the Third Death, Death the Cunning, Death the Clever Liar and the Gleeful Deceiver; Wrenfeld Blake's descriptions of Erik the Tyrant. Vlad was a beast. Erik was a monster, an iron fist and a ruthless killer who could bend the mind to his will if not by bribery then by insult.

“Keeper,” Ginnevye's voice was still clipped and sharp, and tore through the web of thoughts that had caught Pat, “now. He will not be kept waiting.”

No, he wouldn't.

Pat took a deep breath, adjusted her stiff leather mask and antler crown, and smoothed her skirts. She was hardly in the attire she'd choose for a presentation before a king, but there was little that could be done for that now. Her deerskin mask and the black glove embroidered with her red scars would have to do in terms of costume. For the simpler dress she'd have to beg pardon, if the Prince even noticed.

Pat paused one last time in the doorway to the back, well aware of the predatory eyes still following her from the High Prince's clientele. Her mouth was dry. The scars on her hand itched. She closed her own eyes as she breathed.  Her lungs didn't want to take full breaths, but she forced them to anyway. She would need composure for this, she already knew that.

When she opened her eyes again, Ginnevye was looking at her, expectant. Pat drew her posture into a rigid confidence she did not actually feel and stepped into the back room. It was much larger than she'd expected, and even more surprising was that it seemed to be a library. The walls were lined with shelves, in turn lined with books and artifacts. Everything was set against that deep red backdrop, outlined at the edges with gold — except for the Prince himself.

The stories could not have prepared Pat for the Prince's appearance. The stories had impressed her with an idea of a tall, lean creature, sharp as his brother, severe even. A regal figure in dark colors with a golden crown set low over his brow, a sharp glow in his red eyes.

What met her gaze was a man sat lounging in a leather armchair before an unlit hearth, an open book in his hand. He had the same thick, dark hair as his brother, the same olive skin and aquiline nose, but that was where their similarities ended. Under a thick, groomed beard, High Prince Erik possessed a face that was round, almost even soft, and hooded eyes that peered up at Pat behind small, round reading glasses. He was in his shirtsleeves, the shirt itself a stainless white and pushed up to the elbow to bare his upper arms. The upper buttons of that shirt had been loosened and the laces of his leather boots were untied. He looked like a professor interrupted in a moment of quiet study. His hooded eyes were dark, but betrayed no malice as they studied her in return.

Patrisia was taken so off guard by the man before her that she nearly jumped when Ginnevye said, “Keeper Patrisia Suanders, as requested, Sir Prince.”

Pat bowed. She wasn't sure what else to do, so with the confirmation that this was indeed Prince Erik she reverted to the common manner of respect. She heard a shuffle from the armchair, the thump of a book being closed and then the loose scratching of boots being tied. Then boot-tread, unhurried in its passage. She felt the pressure of a hand on the back of her head, but before she could rise to acknowledge it, she felt a gentle tug at the back of her mask. She hardly had time to catch it in her hand before it fell from her face, and then the pressure went away. Hesitantly, she stood up again. Her face felt hot as she looked up at his. He'd removed his glasses, and his brow had creased with consideration. He then took a deep breath, and snapped his fingers at Ginnevye.

“Let's get this over with. I don't want to waste time here.”

His voice was very soft. From the corner of her eye, Pat saw the Guardian bow slightly before moving behind her back to the door and out it. It closed slowly with a creak and thud behind her, and Patrisia was alone with the man she'd been told was Erik of the Golden Crown.

Erik stood over her and seemed to trace the lines of her face, count the freckles, look through her eyes into the mind behind. He did not blink, and he did not breathe. The only movement of his face was his eyes.

“Ginnevye tells me that you came to see Prince Vlad.”

It took her a moment to realize the pause was meant for an answer. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.

“Yes, Sir Prince.”

He turned and paced a few steps away. “He did not tell me he was expecting a guest.”

Pat didn't have any idea how to respond to that. All the words she'd learned seemed to fall away immediately. She was glad he was speaking the Capitol common language at least -- if this conversation was in Aurbean she wouldn't even have gotten this far.

Finally she found her voice.

“Perhaps you could ask him...”

Erik held up a hand, and she was silent.

“How do you know my brother?”

Once again, she didn't have an immediate answer. She gently flexed her right hand. She could just tell the truth, tell the tale from its beginning. She should have been prepared for this kind of interrogation, but she'd at least hoped that Vlad would be here if it did come up. For right now...for right now, she decided, dramatic simplicity was best.

“He gave me a false name and a story, Sir Prince. And...took my hand as payment.”

He raised an eyebrow at this, and glanced down at her folded hands. With a slight tremble, Pat lifted them up, and tugged the embroidered glove free to reveal the deep scars. In two strides he was back in front of her, and she had to keep herself from resisting as he took her arm and turned the wounded limb over. His grip was firm, but it did not hurt, and he released her when he was satisfied.

“This has long since healed.”

“As well as it's going to, yes.”

“It has been months at least.” His face betrayed absolutely nothing. “Why come looking now?”

“Respectfully, Sir Prince, Vlad is not very good at leaving well enough alone.” She bowed slightly to soften what could be perceived as an insult. “As I mentioned to your Guardian, I have come by invitation.”

Erik scoffed. He did not argue, though, which let Pat relax just a little bit.

“You said he gave you a false name.”

“Yes. He called himself Drake.”

“And how did you learn better?”

“I found the truth when he came to me again after.”

“To give more stories?”

She shook her head. “No, Sir Prince. He listened in our later encounters.”

“Hmm. Yes.” He stepped away again, apparently thinking. “As a Keeper, that is your role, isn't it? Storytelling.”

Then he sat down on his armchair, and waved a hand.

“Tell me the story.”

Pat swallowed hard. “Sir?”

“The story that he told you. I want to hear it. Unless you are unprepared, Keeper?”

“Uh...” Pat felt caught off guard again, and her mouth was still dry, but she did not dare to refuse. She lifted her mask back to her face and began to tie it back on. “Of course, Sir Prince.”

She took two steps back and centered herself.

“In the time of Two Kings—”

An idea sparked in her mind, as she drew up to the memories of that night. Her tone shifted somewhat, and she let herself smile below the deer's face.

“— that's usually how these things begin, isn't it? It's an easy enough formula, I suppose.”

Erik's face betrayed a little flinch of surprise. Recognition, even. That bolstered Pat's confidence, and as she spoke, she even found herself pacing with the beats of the story. Swordplay saw flourishes with her hands. She let her body move by improvisation, by instinct, by practice and by learning. Under Erik's gaze, she performed. She performed as her voice rose and fell like the tide, as she imitated the moments when Vlad's voice had shifted into the territory of casual conversation, and then flowed back to the Keeper's intonation. It was the best performance she had ever given, or at least the most confident.

And when it was over, as she breathed and bowed, there was only silence. But she waited nonetheless. She listened for movement, for some form of acknowledgement.

Instead came cold, deliberate words.

“Vlad has never told that story to me. This Drake character lied to you.” The High Prince paused, and then added, “Or, you have lied to me.”

Still flushed from exertion, Pat felt anger rise as she unfolded herself. She'd seen the recognition in his eyes at every turn of phrase, at certain mannerisms she'd copied as flawlessly as her memory would allow. But even she sensed the danger in his steady eyes and in his calm voice. Instead, she bowed. “Sir Prince, I would not lie to you.”

He just shook his head. “Prince Vlad does not speak of Lavinia. Not to me. Not ever.”

That did give Pat pause. She knew Vlad didn't speak well of his brother. Erik always seemed to make him feel caged, and his excursions to see her were moments of respite from the weight of his gaze. She twitched her bad hand again, but kept her voice steady.

“Perhaps he would share secrets, Sir Prince, if he did not expect his audience to survive the night.”

A thin smile passed under the dark beard. “My dear brother is too much an addict to let food go. Even if it isn't his usual fare.”

She couldn't argue with that. Well, she could, and in fact she almost did. She nearly said that he hadn't been given much of a choice. But the look on Erik's face, the calm stillness, made her hesitate. To mention the hunters would beg more questions. And if she was the reason Erik found out about Ren... she wouldn't be able to live with herself. So she ran through the alternative answers, and picked the one with the most evidence.

“He offered my life in exchange for another's.”

He raised his dark brows again, and Pat found herself holding her embroidered her glove in her other hand. She did not lose her confidence, however. She did not let herself slip.

“This was the incentive. But when my decision was made I could leave with my life.”

She'd decided that was the best way to phrase it without revealing other parties involved. There was still suspicion in Erik's eyes, however.

“You expect the detail that there was blood on his tongue to make your lie more believable?”

Anger washed up again, and while Pat bit back her sharp words, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a little. There was a tug of reason at the back of her mind, a reminder that she should not respond with stubbornness. But patience had not worked, either. A prick of despair made itself known as well — perhaps there was nothing she could say or do that would convince the Prince that what she said was true. No. No, that wasn't right. There was nothing that would convince him to acknowledge the truth in what she said.

“You know, Keeper, I do not take kindly to being lied to.” Erik rose from his seat, slowly, as though with great deliberation. His face remained calm, but his eyes were on Pat no matter which way he turned his head now. “And I do not kindly treat those who spread lies about my family.”

“I have told you no lies,” Pat insisted in the intonation of a story. It was the only way she'd keep her voice level. “Your choice not to believe me is your own fault.”

His nostrils flared slightly. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had crossed a line, but she wasn't clear on when that line had been crossed. By law, as a Keeper, she should have some kind of immunity against his wrath. But they were here alone. And Erik hardly had a reputation for abiding by the laws of the Iron and Silver.

“You speak pretty words, Keeper.” He hit the consonants hard, giving his voice a crisp edge. “But you should learn to watch your tongue. Remember who you address.”

“Death the Smiling Liar,” Pat replied, with another bow. She did not speak it with any intention to mock.

He answered by once more taking the threads of her mask and loosing it from her face. She was ready to catch it this time.

When she looked up, Death was smiling. Patrisia's stomach turned to ice. But she rose anyway. Somehow, there was none of the vivid terror in her that she always experienced when Vlad edged toward violence. Death the Cunning did not frighten her the way Death the Warrior could. But he was still Death, and she had crossed him.

“I have told you no lies, Sir Death.”

Death tilted his head. He raised his hand to her shoulder, and she felt it sit heavily there. Finally some small part of her squealed to pull away, but it would be no use.

“Say they are lies,” he said, very quietly, but with the same clear enunciation that showed her the very points of his teeth, “and I will give you my forgiveness.”

His hand moved along her shoulder, grazing the surface, and found its way to her jaw. He rested it there in a caress, gentle but firm. His hand forced her gaze to remain on his. It would be easy to say the words. It would be easy to embrace his little lie, to leave and explain what had happened to Vlad later, when he inevitably found her again with his questions. It would just be another brush with another Death.

“I have told you the truth. All you would need is to call your brother. If I have lied then you will have the pleasure of watching him tear me to pieces.”

His palm tightened against her jaw. She inhaled as she felt his sharp finger press against her cheekbone.

“This is not a request, Keeper. You have lied to me, and you are sorry.”

Her mind flashed back to Ren, to all the little moments when Erik cornered him. The little submissions. She doubted this is what Ren would want her to do in this situation, but human instincts told her that she was past the point of no return anyway.

“Do you ask because you want to let me live, Sir?” She blinked only out of necessity. “Or do you ask because you want the satisfaction of an answer before you kill me anyway?”

The thin veneer of patience was slipping. Erik took a deep, all-too-visible breath. It was slow, and the exhale washed over Pat in a wave that made her skin crawl. She could smell the iron undertones of recent blood.

“I have given you chance after chance, and still you resist me. You have slighted me, Keeper. I believe some form of recompense is due.”

He pushed her head to the side, and although she finally tried to resist, the result was as expected: fruitless. He was far stronger. He leaned in close to her ear, and she felt the whisper as much as she heard it.

“Try not to scream. I don't like to hear food before it dies.”

A thousand words bubbled to the front of Pat's mind as she closed her eyes and clenched her good hand. She didn't want to die. She should be dead already. She should have died when she met the Second Death. She feared the pain. She feared the cold. There were a thousand poems about the True Death that could have escaped her lips and would never have saved her.

Instead, what she heard herself say was: “He said you were a monster.”

The fangs paused. She felt the prick of them against the exposed skin of her throat, and her breath caught. Then she felt the warm mouth pull away, and opened her eyes to find Erik staring at her once more with a crease between his heavy brows.

“Who?”

Still caught in the momentary elation of survival, Pat just blinked. “What?”

“Who said I was a monster?”

His dark eyes bored into Pat as she felt a trill of panic flicker through her. Oh no. His head tilted the other way as for the first time Pat's eyes widened in fear and realization. There was no chance to play it off under that kind of scrutiny. When she spoke now, her voice suddenly felt very small and tight.

“No one.” No, not that. “I mean the—the old stories.”

“I'm sure the Brydlenesse stories are far more eloquent than ‘monster.’”

She swallowed, her mouth once more dry as dirt. “You know...”

“I know what used to be mine.” His grip was tight as a vise now that Pat actually wanted to run. For a moment there was a flash of a more sensible fear, fear that he knew, perhaps had known all along, about Ren. He smiled with more teeth now. “There is a fluent soul under the iron in your blood, child, but your ancestors were mine. Your blood is my birthright, as are your words. Tell me what you know.”

-----------------

Tag list: @that-catholic-shinobi @irishironclad @redheadedbrunette @bespectacled-ghost @distance-does-not-matter @a-beautiful-crow

If you'd like to be added to or removed from this tag list, please let me know!

[romanceyourdemons]

the rules of the game (1939) is, like jean renoir’s other great masterpiece the grand illusion (1937) a film entirely about wwii, made before wwii and with no allusion to the war itself. this relentlessly acerbic social comedy, a film so biting in tone it almost could be directed by luis buñuel, is set among the upper class of interwar paris society. as they weave their complex and ephemeral web of jealousies and affairs, the issues of the contemporary world are highlighted in the things they blithely decline to discuss: the film centers around the marriage between an austrian-born woman and a jewish man, but it is their respective infidelities and indiscretions that concerns their peers; the man’s mistress’s apartment is full of artifacts stolen from vietnam, then colonized by france, and she herself wears an ao dai as a dressing gown; the woman’s lover is a pilot, but not a down-to-earth war pilot played by jean gabin as in the grand illusion (1937), but rather a gentleman pilot who flies to break records and impress women; the woman’s maid’s estranged husband clearly still bears the trauma the great war left on him, but to the elite who employ him this is nothing but a quirk of his personality. quick, witty dialogue and a cinematography that uses deep focus shots and long, mobile takes drives the plot headlong through its frothy romance as though that is the only thing in the world that matters, even as the story proves this claim incorrect. as in the grand illusion (1937), renoir comes to the conclusion that what really matters, more than marriages or affairs or borders or wars, is friendship and propriety. these are both qualities that the indulgent and detached french gentry rarely bother to cultivate, as they reason that everyone lies, from pharmacies to films to governments, so why should they not as well? they should not because, to the audience, their film is so laughably, terribly insignificant, and the rules of the game (1939) is as haunting as it is funny as it is deathly serious

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 20 - Listened to while dying my hair. (From now on, I remember exactly what I did while listening for the first time to each episode. As I said in the last one, I took quite a break before then. I listened to this episode on the 31st of July 2021, and for example MAG 15, 16 and 17 on 28th of February - that I still know because I messaged my sister - I started TMA early September 2020.)

"Gospel of Luke, the words were from Genesis: “Behold"" - Ha!

"I just lay there for hours. There seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm." - This could be a way to prevent being marked by all entities, right? Father Burroughs made this decision a second time and therefore denied the End.

"And he began to list them. Every transgression I had made since I was six years old." - The Eye there.

"In the hallway I ran past two other priests, who looked more worried than ever. One of them was Father Singh." - Uhhh, this could be interpreted as the Stranger? But also just another manifestation of the Spiral, leaving him not able to trust his senses.

"The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me. " - Obviously Eye.

"It was bright, so bright. Candles covered every surface, each glowing so powerfully that I could barely look directly at them" - Desolation?

"Instead it [the stole] was a pale, sickly yellow." - Corruption? I also heard the theory once, that this might have been a Web artifact? Some seem to think it's the thing Breekon talks about in MAG 128 "thrumming silk-wrapped thing of the spider, hiding away in an old steamer trunk." Not so sure about that myself though.

God, I love that ambient bell we hear in the background!

"Each was dressed in black from head to toe, and their skin was fevered, jaundiced yellow." - Corruption? But: "The eyes of every man, woman and child stared blankly forward, and their mouths hung open, wide and smiling, like their jaws had locked in silent rictus." sounds more like the Stranger…

"he raised his head and looked up as though to speak, but all that came from his throat was the single tolling sound of that bell" - Aaah, this is so alienating, it weirds me out and I love it!

"I noticed fewer and fewer of the parishioners seemed to be in the pews. Hope began to rise within me, as it seemed the words would work to banish these jaundiced watchers, and I pressed on. Finally, the pews were empty" - the Lonely?

"It was strange, the rich cloth curtain that covered that ornate metal box seemed stuck, so I pulled and pulled and eventually it came free." - Uhff…

"At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again. I will not commit the further sin of ending my life" - There, that's what I meant earlier, denying the End.

"Was my predecessor reading it at some point?" - Researching the Watcher's Crown perhaps???

"He was wearing a butcher’s apron and sat in front of two students" - Flesh.

"as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel." - Could also mix in the Stranger.

"The face of James Mann was found to have been partially eaten by Father Burroughs." - Flesh.

"at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students. Also, it strikes me that the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency, which is uncharacteristic for these visions the priest describes. Finally, there is the small detail mentioned in the police report that none of the tools used to kill or mutilate the victims were found at the scene. This all leads me to believe that there may have been a second person there that night" - Classic Knife-Hands Distortion!

"there is little appetite for re-opening the case" - Jon and his inappropriate puns^^

"the package was handed to them by a company called Breekon and Hope Deliveries." - Best boys!

So from visiting Hilltop Road to talking to Father Singh to cannibal Mass there was only one day right? He went to bed and missed morning Mass, got up because he wanted to talk to Singh and then ran away to The Oratory… Cause in MAG 19 Jon describes this as "could have led to the incident in 2009". Also! It is said that Bethany O’Connor matriculated in 2008, but MAG 8: Burned Out already happened in 2006?? Well…

All of your insight is making me think that through marking him with so many Fears (with a religious ritual no less) they felt closer to earth than they've ever been before and thus learned what they needed to do in order to pass through

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumpcember #6

Moon Knight - #6 - Separated

*

Really, Marc and Steven weren’t entirely sure how they got themselves into this mess.

An investigation into an ancient Egyptian artifact stolen from a museum in New York City should’ve been simple enough. The appearance of shadow creatures with the heads of jackals was…well, slightly alarming, even more so because Steven would get so fascinated he’d start rattling off facts about Anubis and nearly get torn to pieces before remembering they were not friendly.

Things got a bit twisted when the wizard and the guy dressed like a spider showed up.

Marc had not intended to stab the wizard, he really hadn’t. He’d been trying to hit the shadow jackal behind him. In his defense, wizards did not typically pop up when he was attempting to stab shadow monsters.

Steven had taken over, trying to apologize and explain the confusion, but the spider guy had stuck Steven to a wall with webbing. Marc thought that was a good sign that talking was not going to be effective and took back over the body.

Now he was trying to fight the two off of him. Of course he knew who they were, but this whole situation was so bizarre that his brain refused to piece them together as Avengers. Or…wait, was the wizard an Avenger? What was his name again?

“Marc! Marc, let me-” Marc dodged a shot of webbing, taking him away from the reflective surface Steven had been lingering in. When he popped back up, Steven tried again. “Marc, let me have the body. Let me talk to them. They’re Avengers!”

“Not the time, Steven,” Marc said, ducking again.

“Is he talking to himself?” Spider-Man asked the wizard.

The wizard narrowed his eyes at Marc in a way that he absolutely did not like. Even Steven seemed nervous.

“Oh, no, why is he looking at us like that? Marc, I don’t like that look,” he said. 

And then the wizard flung his hands out.

Marc cried out, dropping to his knees as his whole body burned. He heard Steven screaming in his head as well, and then Khonshu was in the mix, yelling something that Marc couldn’t make out

Marc felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. He screamed in pain, clawing at his own head as it ached horrifically. He was certain it was going to explode any second now, killing him and Steven yet again. 

He swore he heard Spider-Man yelling, but it was too hard to make anything out over the roaring in his head. Steven’s scream mingled with his, and a third that sounded like his voice but in a tone he didn’t recognize. He managed to open his eyes just to see Khonshu rushing at him.

Something slammed into him and he screamed in agony, falling over and twitching on the ground. And then, abruptly, the pain stopped.

“Hey, hey!” Spider-Man said anxiously. “Are you okay? Strange, what did you do to him?”

“Them,” the wizard, Strange, said numbly. “Look.”

Marc slowly lifted his head and blinked away the blurriness of his vision. His eyes widened in shock as Steven stared back at him.

“Steven?” he said in disbelief.

“You know m-” Strange started in confusion.

Steven cut him off. “Marc? How am I…”

They both scrambled to their feet, grasping each other’s arms. They stared at each other in disbelief.

“I, uh, thought he was possessed,” Strange said. 

“Possessed?” Marc said. “No, no, Steven wasn’t possessing me!” 

“I’m part of him,” Steven said. “Or, I was, until the magic man tore me out.”

The pain was starting up again, this time in his chest. Marc staggered and Steven caught him, alarmed.

“Marc?” he said.

“Hurts,” Marc choked out, grasping at his chest. “Not whole.”

“Put me back in his head!” Steven said. “We’re not meant to be separated!” 

No. This could be Steven’s chance at freedom. At a real life.

“Steven,” Marc said weakly.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop it,” Steven said firmly. “Mr. Wizard, sir, if you could put me back in his head where I belong.”

The pain was growing worse. Khonshu had reappeared, looming over them.

“Of course losing the idiot is killing you,” he said in displeasure. “Getting rid of him so easily would be too convenient.” 

“Strange, the separation is killing them!” Spider-Man said. “Please, you have to undo it.”

Strange sighed but knocked his hands together and flung them back out. Marc gasped as it felt like part of his heart was slammed back into his chest, leaving him breathless and lit with pain. 

He collapsed to the ground, Spider-Man leaning over him to check his pulse. Strange stepped up to inspect him as well as his vision began to fade.

“Did you see that?” Strange’s voice was hollow in Marc’s ears.

“See what?”

“When I cast the spell. When that…personality, or entity, or whatever the British guy was, emerged.”

“What about it?”

“There was another one. It was like something slammed it back into his body.”

Marc didn’t have enough time to process that before he faded into the black.

*

It’s me, ya girl, who only ever reads Hawkeye and Moon Knight comics from Marvel and has only seen a handful of the shows/movies. Had to attempt my boy because I saw the idea of Strange separating them floating around and I adored the way the show portrayed them

[michael-svetbird]

AMAZON Statuette: "Sterbende Amazone" Roman, Marble, Mid-2nd AD, [From Virunum, Zollfeld, Austria] H=72cm

"The Amazon was acquired in 1824 from the collection of the Viennese ophthalmologist Joseph Barth, without specifying where it was found. A fragment found during excavations in Virunum [1903], which is certainly related but unfortunately does not match, proves the origin of the Amazon - the provincial capital Noricum [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virunum]. It is a fragment of the left thigh with a wound oozing drops of blood. The Amazon, dressed in a short belted chiton and a small cap, tilts her head to the side of her wound with her eyes half-closed. Archaic stylistic forms, such as the folds of the chiton, which are reminiscent of late archaic Greek kores, or the hairstyle with the wreath of fine forelocks stand in striking contrast to the increased physicality and emotional excitement of the statuette. It is a masterpiece from the mid-2nd century. In the 1st century BC in Virunum there was a school of sculpture ["Masters Before Virunum"], to which a number of larger-than-life statues made of local marble are attributed." [ Text ©KHMV ]

KunstHistorisches Museum, Vienna | KHMV ["Ancient Greece and Rome", Kabinett 7] • Web : https://www.khm.at/en • FB : https://www.facebook.com/KHMWien • IG : @kunsthistorischesmuseumvienna

KHMV | Michael Svetbird phs©msp | 08|23 5900X4100 600 [I.-III.] The photographed object is collection item of KHMV, photos are subject to copyrights. [non commercial use | sorry for the watermarks]

📸 Part of the "Small Format Sculpture and Miniature Artefacts" MSP Online Photo-gallery:

👉 D-ART: https://www.deviantart.com/svetbird1234/gallery/69450077/small-format-sculpture-and-miniature-artifacts

👉 FB Album: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.859777984390780&type=3

.

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter Twelve (????)

"Care for another cup, sweetheart~?"

Before Kaos could answer, a porcelain teacup had already been slid his way by a lacy, gloved hand; two others poured steaming liquid from a matching teapot into the cup. Both looked like they should be in some museum, aged black porcelain adorned with shimmering magenta cobwebs; not being served in the back of an eclectic old caravan. Then again, everything in the small ship gave off the same musky vibe… including their 'host'. Kaos had only met Mesmerelda a few times, being one of (if not the only) friend his mother had. He remembered listening in on their late night conversations from the hallway as a child, watching warped shadows cast from the firelight and peering in through the crack in the door as they laughed over cups of glistening mauve tea. Now, staring at his reflection in Mesmerelda's glassy magenta eyes, the memories came bubbling to the surface. Late night meetings when Father was off on expeditions, whispered talks behind locked doors, the puppets. Kaos shuddered. He has never been the kind to dislike puppets, but the ones Mesmerelda specialized in always made a chill run up his spine. 

So the fact that countless were hanging from the ceiling of the small room, eyes all seemingly locked on him, definitely was not helping his nerves.

Mesmerelda finished pouring her own cup, humming softly to herself as her extra set of hands moved to the tune. Kaos looked down at his own cup, the steam curling up from its surface causing his vision to blur.

"Come now, darling. You've barely touched your tea cakes." Mesmerelda cooed, gaze locked on Glumshanks, who sat in the chair beside Kaos. Unlike Kaos, though, Glumshanks hadn't been tied down in countless layers of spider silk.

"O-Oh, I'm fine ma'am." Despite his best efforts, Glumshanks' voice shook. 

He prodded one of the tea cakes set before him, then watched with wide eyes as a single tiny spider crawled out of the pastry and off of the side of the table. Kaos stuck his tongue out, brow furrowing in disgust. Mesmerelda just blinked, her smile never wavering on her angular face. Kaos took a moment to glance around the caravan, from the lacey curtains pulled over the frosted windows to the doilies and eclectic artifacts that lined every possible surface; devoid of dust but gathering cobwebs he knew Mesmerelda had no intention of cleaning. With her second set of arms, Mesmerelda poured her own cup of amber tea, finally sitting down at the head of the table. Shimmering, purple smoke billowed out around her, gathering on the mauve, carpeted floor. She took a sip, licked her lips, then leaned forward.

"So. What brings you two to this little corner of the islands?" She cooed, locking eyes with Kaos across the table from her.

Kaos shifted slightly in his chair, chuffing. "I could ask you the same thing, arachnid."

"Now, that's no way to talk to someone who's practically family."

Kaos just rolled his eyes, squirming against the shimmering webs wrapped around him. He looked to Glumshanks, the troll's eyes still trained on the plate in front of him. He looked back up just as one of Mesmerelda's spindly hands grasped his face, squishing his cheeks.

"My my, how you've grown. I barely recognized you! I'm so glad I did, though; this is no place for a small boy like you." She chided, tilting his head side to side, examining every inch of it, cloying sweetness dripping from her words like venom. "Especially without your mother around to protect you."

"I don't need protection!" Kaos spat, slamming his knees against the underside of the table.

Mesmerelda pulled her hand away in surprise as Kaos' teacup tipped over, steaming liquid quickly seeping into the maroon tablecloth. Her smile fell for only a second before she stood to her full height. She checked her dress for any stray splashes before clicking her tongue.

"Now now Kaos." Mesmerelda's eye twitched as she spoke. "All I'm trying to do is help. Who knows what would have happened if someone unsavory got their hands on you and your… troll. Now, I'm going to clean this up before it stains. You stay put."

With a flourish of her second set, Mesmerelda pulled the tablecloth off of the table, the silverware set atop it barely shifting; though Kaos' topled cup did roll to its other side. Kaos kept his glare locked with Mesmerelda's as she strode to the only other room in the caravan, slamming the door behind her. The whole room shook from the force, the puppets hanging from the ceiling swaying back and forth on their strings.

"You know, I thought I recognized her." Glumshanks commented.

"Eh?"

"Mesmerelda. I snuck out to watch one of her shows once. Quite the talented singer. Never understood the puppet aspect of it though." At the mention of puppets, Glumshanks looked around the room once more, mentally counting all of the garish marionettes that were displayed. "I never expected to see her this close up though."

"Yeah, yeah. Save your fantrolling for once we're out of here."

Kaos pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his feet against the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, then pushed back. The back of the chair thudded to the floor, taking Kaos with it, his head bouncing against the hard wood. Glumshanks just stared at him, his ears drooped and brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak a few times as Kaos continued to squirm, before finally finding the words.

"...what are you doing."

"Trying to escape, what does it look like!? I have better leverage this way!"

"Do you now."

"Don't sass me, Glumshanks!!"

Glumshanks fell silent. He looked to the door Mesmerelda had gone through.

"...maybe it would be best if you go with her? She knows your mom-"

"Mother." Kaos corrected.

"...she knows your mother, it might be the easiest way to get you home."

Kaos gave a single, short laugh before resuming his squirming. "Absolutely not!! That exorbitant arachnid can't be trusted! I'd rather take my chances with the lugs out there to get me home. At least then I wouldn't have to listen to 'oh Kaos look how much you've grown' 'you're too frail to travel on your own Kaos' 'don't touch that Kaos you'll damage the finish'. Bleck." "It just sounds like she cares about your health." Glumshanks carefully pushed his plate away from him, just in case there were any more spiders tucked away inside.

"Mesmerelda? Caring? Don't make me laugh, Glumshanks. If she wasn't buddy buddy with my mother, we'd most likely be dead. Or worse."

Kaos continued to flop like a fish out of water as Glumshanks stood up from the table. Careful not to make too much noise with his chair (not that it would have been heard over the racket Kaos was making), he pushed it back into place, then knelt down beside the small human. He easily worked through the webs with a silver butter knife that had been resting on the table before helping Kaos to his feet. Kaos brushed the remaining webs from his arms, a few straggling strands sticking to his fingers and clinging to his top. As he did so, his vision wandered to the frosted glass, out to the protest that was still going on. Minus one distinct figure. He shook his head. What he had heard was preposterous. There was absolutely no way he had seen his mother or heard her voice. It must have been coincidence, homesickness infecting his mind from the residual stress from the long travel. She was at home, tending to Meyhem's scuffed knees from skyball practice and exchanging empty kisses on the cheek with his father. She was planning to tell Kaos about the new school, how all his hard work was for nothing, weeks of preparation down the drain. And all for what? What was supposed to be few days of manual labor cleaning the garden as punishment before he was thrown right back into it, disgusted stares from his father like he was some kind of monster, getting lost in the middle of nowhere and out of sheer coincidence coming across the only face that didn't look at him like he was some kind of mistake-

"...Kaos? Is everything alright?"

Kaos blinked the tears from his vision. He hadn't even noticed he had balled his hands into fists, his body trembling. Glumshanks had placed a hand on his shoulder, a look of genuine concern spread across his green face.

"Eh? Of course everything's fine!" Kaos forced a grin, brushing Glumshanks off. "I was just thinking of an ingenious plan to get us out of here, in... mostly one piece."

"Mostly one-"

Kaos cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth. With the other, he pointed to the window. "If we can find a way out of here, we can lose her in the crowd. Then, from there, we should be able to hitch a ride on a balloon and it'll be smooth sailing from there!"

Glumshanks pushed Kaos's hand down. "...I don't even want to start on how many ways that could go wrong-"

"Great! So glad you asked, Glumwad!"

"I didn't-"

“Knowing Mesmerelda, as I do, it should be a simple task to slip out while she’s occupied with spot-cleaning her ‘precious, antique’ tablecloth.”

As he spoke, Kaos dragged Glumshanks to the door, pressing his ear up against it and motioning for the troll to do the same. On the other side, he could hear the muffled humming of Mesmerelda, along with the sound of swishing water. Being sure to stay as quiet as possible, Kaos reached up, testing the tarnished silver knob. He held his breath as it turned, then stuck half way with a dull clunk. Kaos furrowed his brow, then tried again, a little more forcefully this time. Clunk. Not giving up, Kaos tried turning it in the other direction, then tugging on the knob, then jiggling it vigorously; forgetting the fact that they were supposed to be staying quiet. Having had enough, Kaos took a few steps back, attempting to run at the door, only for Glumshanks to stick an arm out and block his path.

“I think it might be locked.” He whispered.

Kaos blinked, then looked to the door. The sound of Mesmerelda’s humming had stopped for a moment, then resumed as if nothing had happened. Kaos breathed a sigh of relief before pushing Glumshanks off of him.

“Of course it is.” Kaos hissed. “I was just trying to see if I could… coax it into obeying. That’s all!”

“It’s a lock, Kaos. You can’t ‘coax’ it to do anything.”

Kaos rolled his eyes, then tried the knob one last time for good measure, as if something would have changed in the brief moment he hadn’t been manhandling it. With a huff, Kaos began pacing, moving his hands to punctuate unspoken sentences that seemed to be going a mile a minute within his mind. His entire plan foiled because of two inches of (probably spider-infested) wood. He trailed his eyes around the eclectic room, cursing wordlessly, until his gaze came to rest on the puppets hanging above the table; their arms raised by silvery strings that looked thin enough to snap with a good enough tug. Kaos stopped to think for a moment, then looked to Glumshanks, an all too familiar grin starting to form on his face. Glumshanks opened his mouth to object to whatever half-cocked scheme Kaos had managed to think up in that split second; but before he could even utter a syllable, Kaos had grabbed the shears that had been hanging off his hip, pulled his hand back, and chucked them as hard as he could muster at the web of puppets that decorated the ceiling. The rusted blades sliced through the air and any strings they happened to come in contact with, puppets clattering to the ground below. One collided with the teapot, the ancient china shattering below the lifeless mass of wood, the tea spilling out onto the table and the carpet below. The sounds from behind the door stopped all at once. Kaos froze, listening, before diving into the corner beside the door at the sound of a small click, dragging Glumshanks with him. The door swung open with enough force to have torn the wood from the hinges, slamming into Glumshanks’ face, though luckily enough the troll caught himself before yelping in pain, clutching his nose. Kaos peered around his friend, watching with bated breath as Mesmerelda stormed into the room. He couldn’t see her expression from this angle, but just from her tensed shoulders and clenched fists, Kaos could tell she was absolutely seething.

Mesmerelda stopped in front of the table, glowing eyes surveying the damage with a stare that could have sent even the most foolhardy adventurer running home to their mommy. She picked up what remained of the teapot in one hand, then the fallen puppet in another. She held it up by the cut strings, inspecting them, before crushing the remnants of the teapot that she still held. Kaos squeaked, then quickly covered his mouth, his blood running cold. As Mesmerelda stiffened, Kaos grabbed a hold of Glumshanks’ hand, a look of determination crossing his once frightened expression.

“Run.”

Kaos ran through the open door as Mesmerelda whirled around, a high pitched hiss escaping her bared fangs. Glumshanks stumbled to keep his footing, but was soon running in pace with Kaos. The two dove out of the caravan, landing on the sandy ground outside, the beating sun a stark contrast to the chill air that seemed to pour out of the open doorway. Kaos coughed out a mouthful of sand as he scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly, having less than a second before Mesmerelda was on top of them. It was Glumshanks this time that took the lead, pulling Kaos towards the crowd until he seemed to get the idea. As the two of them slipped back into the sea of people, Kaos couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder. Mesmerelda had torn out of her abode, quickly locking eyes with the tiny human. With the hand that wasn’t holding Glumshanks’, Kaos held up an L to his forehead and stuck his tongue out. As they joined the crowd, weaving through the sea of bodies to get to the other side, Kaos could hear Mesmerelda’s shriek over the protest’s chatter; a sound that could have come from death itself. Despite everything, Kaos couldn't help but let a smile slip across his face. Glumshanks, on the other hand, didn’t seem so sure their escape was set in stone. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, slowing just a bit to try to get their bearings. 

“Which direction is the dock??”

“I-I’m not sure!” 

Kaos looked back, the sound of a commotion separate from the protest itself reaching his ears. He could see flashes of magenta and lace through the crowd quickly approaching, the indignant cries of people getting thrown aside as the spider cut a path through quickly growing closer.

“Just pick a direction and go! Go!” Kaos pushed Glumshanks forward. 

He could almost feel Mesmerelda’s gaze boring down on him as he ushered Glumshanks forward as quickly as he could. At this point, Kaos wasn’t as much weaving around people as he was forcing his way through, ducking under people’s legs and shouldering his way through cramped spaces, paying no mind to whatever foul language that may have been getting thrown at him. The only thing on his mind was getting away from that raving mad spider. He could hear Mesmerelda behind them, frantically searching, spouting curses and words Kaos couldn’t quite catch. Before he knew it, the two had reached what looked to be the center of the protest, the dried up fountain surrounded by countless shouting figures, signs held high. Kaos contemplated taking this time to get a better look at what was written on them, but decided against it, not wanting to risk wasting a second of precious time. Instead, he set his sights on the top of the fountain.

“Glumshanks, there!” He pointed. “Help me up there, I’ll be able to see what direction the dock is in!”

Glumshanks hesitated, glanced back over his shoulder, then nodded. The two climbed up onto the lip that once would have held back water, then Glumshanks leaned down, locking his fingers together. Kaos stepped onto the troll’s hands, grasping at the carved folds of the statue's robes to steady himself. Glumshanks’ legs wobbled a bit as he hoisted Kaos up, nearly toppling off of the lip. Kaos grabbed onto the statue’s outstretched arm, kicking off of Glumshanks’ hands and swinging his legs up. He managed to get one foothold, the other dangling down. Kaos could feel his grip slipping, a few bits of the old stone crumbling off and falling into the dried up basen below. Kaos gulped, then swung his leg up, managing to get a hold this time. He lifted himself up with what little arm strength he had, straddling the stone arm before inching his way up to the hand. He looked down at Glumshanks, putting on a brave face as he stood up on the outstretched palm and looked out at the crowd. From up there, he could see their little escapade had finally gathered some looks, a few faces having turned to watch the tiny human make his way up what Kaos could only assume was a sacred artifact or landmark of sorts. Was climbing it seen as an act of defilement? Kaos didn’t have time to think about it, almost immediately spotting Mesmerelda amongst the crowd; and judging by how quickly she was moving, she had noticed him too. Kaos hurriedly scanned the area, finally coming to rest on the docks. He pointed towards them, waving his hand hurriedly as he looked down to Glumshanks. His grin quickly fell though, his eyes going wide as Mesmerelda shot out from the crowd, reaching out to strike Glumshanks, who was too focused on Kaos to notice.

“Glummy, look out!!”

Glumshanks looked back, taking a step back in surprise. Forgetting he was standing on the rim of the fountain, his foot touched the ground lower than expected, causing him to fall back, his head hitting the statue with a thunk. Kaos cried out in surprise, leaning down to check on his troll companion. He seemed to have leaned a little too far however, because the next thing Kaos knew, he was falling through the air. Then, a split second later, he slammed into something slightly softer than the ground he had expected. Kaos shook off the daze, pushing himself up, coming face to face with the spider he had been trying so hard to avoid. Kaos squealed, scrambling back to the edge of the crowd. Mesmerelda was quick to right herself, brushing the sand from her striped dress before turning her piercing gaze to Kaos once again. Almost all of the crowd was focused on them now, even the protesters seemed to be occupied with what was happening, though no one moved to try to help.

“Have I ever mentioned how much of a thorn in my side you are, Kaos.”

“Once or twice.” Kaos did his best to choke back the fear that made his voice shake, doing his best to put on a smile.

Mesmerelda reached down, hoisting Kaos up off of the ground by the collar of his shirt, mere inches away from his face. From this close, Kaos could tell the smell of dust and old perfume wasn’t just from her home, but seemed to cling to her like a cloud, masking the stench of something much more… foul.

“Be grateful your mother and I are such good friends.” She hissed. “Or else you’d be in a much worse state right now for damaging my dear puppets.”

Still holding Kaos off of the ground, Mesmerelda turned to look at Glumshanks, who was just starting to come around, rubbing the back of his head where it had collided with the statue. Her glowing eyes narrowed, before a smile crossed her face. A hungry smile. Kaos kicked his legs, struggling like a worm on a hook to squirm his way free of her grip. His breath was catching in his throat, the world seeming to close in around him. All he could do was watch helplessly as Mesmerelda approached the troll, his friend, a malevolent glint to her gaze. She knelt down, holding Kaos arms length away, moving her hand to force him to watch. She couldn’t hurt him, but Kaos was quickly realizing she didn’t have the same concerns for Glumshanks…

With her free hands, Mesmerelda grabbed Glumshanks roughly by the face, lifting the barely conscious troll from where he was slumped. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Kaos couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight, Mesmerelda’s hungry gaze locked on his only friend, fangs glinting in the bright afternoon light, poised and ready to devour. 

Tick tick tick

Before he knew what he was doing, Kaos cried out in defiance, grabbing ahold of the arm that held him aloft. He tightened his grip as much as he could, feeling his hair standing on end, before a shock ran through him and his vision went black. The next thing Kaos knew, he was laying in the sand, head pounding and vision spinning. He could make out Mesmerelda’s form a little ways away from him, curled into herself and motionless. Before Kaos could really process what had happened, he felt familiar hands lifting him to his feet.

“A-Are you okay? What happened??” Glumshanks looked Kaos over for any damage before pulling him into a tight hug.

Kaos stood there, still a little dazed, before putting his arms around Glumshanks in turn. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall the last thing he remembered. With his vision a little clearer, Kaos looked around. The crowd had finally started to disperse, with the little town center back to its usual goings-on. The protesters left their signs stuck in the ground around the old fountain as they left, like a sort of makeshift fence, though the only thing it would really be able to stop was a light breeze.

“How… How long was I out?” Kaos wormed his way from Glumshanks’ grip, taking a step back.

“A few minutes, I-I think…” Glumshanks stood up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You… you saved my life, didn’t you-”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Glumwad.” Kaos sneered, punching Glumshanks in the ribs playfully. “I knew if she got her teeth through you she was gonna move to me next.”

“R-Right.” Glumshanks couldn’t help but chuckle.

The two started the short trek down the street, to the docks. As they passed by Mesmerelda, Kaos couldn’t help but stop. He could see the slow rise and fall of her side, shaking breaths still passing past her lips. Kaos smirked, then gave her a kick to the ribs for good measure, before running to catch up with Glumshanks. As they walked, the two of them exchanged a glance, then looked away again. Though neither of them could hide their smiles.

Kaos couldn’t stop staring at his hands. He sat on the floor of the small balloon he and Glumshanks had managed to hitch a ride on (the pilot had said their previous passenger hadn’t shown up, so they didn’t mind), his back up against the woven side of the basket and knees drawn up to his chest. He wiggled his fingers, watching them move. As thrilling as it had felt in the moment, a sinking feeling had started to flood in where one of accomplishment had once rested. What had really happened? He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to think, to focus. One moment he had grabbed onto Mesmerelda’s arm, and the next they were both on the ground. It didn’t make any sense…

Tick tick tick tick

Kaos clasped his hands over his ears, groaning. He wouldn’t be able to focus on anything with that infernal racket starting up. Kaos tried to think, to focus on that day. That protest, the fountain… that figure. He had almost forgotten about that figure. The one that was so familiar, yet so foreighn. He was sure he had seen them before, but at the same time, he was sure his hunch was far from the truth. There was no way. Kaos pressed his head into his knees, only to shoot his head up at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Glumshanks knelt down beside him, a concerned expression on his features. Kaos brushed him off, getting to his feet. Kaos turned, resting his arms on the top of the basket, though he had to stand on his tiptoes to do it. He stared out into the endless expanse of blue around them, the hues of the late day sun painting the sky and the islands that were scattered about it. Glumshanks did the same, standing beside him (though in contrast, the troll had to hunch his back instead.) 

“...It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” Glumshanks said.

Kaos nodded in response, sighing. He couldn’t help but imagine what adventures could lie on each island around them, what secrets they could be holding, lying in slumber for someone to discover them. Maybe picking one at random and seeing what awaited him would be better than heading home. Certainly, whatever was there wouldn’t be worse than Mother’s wrath. If it really had been her at that protest, would she have seen everything? Kaos hadn’t seen the hooded figure when he climbed the statue, but that didn’t mean it wasn't still there, watching. Would Mother confront him outright when he got home, or would she hide it to use later? To lord over him or back him into a corner of obedience, to strike him down at his lowest?

Kaos shook his head, feeling the ticking right on the edge of his mind, clawing its way out of the abyss. He stared out into the sky, needing to focus on anything but that.

“Where’d you two say you were headed again?” The pilot spoke up, the fwoosh of the burners growing louder as they gave it a little more power. “The isles of whos-a-whatsit?”

“Umbra Isles.” Kaos rolled his eyes.

“Ain’t that the place that borders the Outlands? What would a kid like you wanna do there-”

“None of your beeswax, airhead.”

The pilot put their hands up in defense, turning back to the steering rig they had set up. Kaos huffed, watching the clouds drift past. He couldn’t help but reach down, letting his hand run through the vapor as they passed through. He looked up, noticing Glumshanks’ furrowed brow.

“Don’t worry troll, I’m not gonna fall out.” Kaos snickered, though he did put his hand back in the basket, if only to make Glumshanks more comfortable.

Glumshanks breathed a sigh, letting himself relax.

“Remind me to never go on another adventure with you.”

Kaos paused, then burst into laughter, his nose crinkling as he grinned. Glumshanks couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“You’re a laugh riot, Glummy.” Kaos patted Glumshanks’ back with a little too much force, though he didn’t seem to notice. He wiped his eye, then sighed. “...You’ll write to me, right? Once we get home?”

“Of course, I’ve still got your number.”

“You do?”

Glumshanks rolled up his sleeve. Sure enough, there they were, just as Kaos had written them down the first day they had met. He snickered, a fuzzy feeling flooding his chest. Glumshanks pulled his sleeve back down, taking extra care not to smudge the ink, before looking out into the sky once again. Kaos joined him, albeit standing a little closer than before. He could see the color of the sky starting to shift, the blues fading into purples which would soon shift into familiar, faded reds. These were his last few moments of freedom before probably being locked in the dungeons for life, and Kaos was doing his best to try and cherish them. Kaos closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, the slight breeze in his hair, the crackling of the balloon’s burners mingling with the general sounds of nearby islands. It wasn’t long before Kaos felt the balloon beginning its slow descent, his smile falling with it.

“Sorry kid, this is as far as I’ll go. I trust you know your way from here?”

Kaos opened his eyes as the basket bumped against the side of a rock, before floating down and coming to rest on the patchy grass below. He gave the area a quick once over before sighing, hopping out of the basket.

“Yeah, it should do.” 

Kaos turned, facing away from the balloon. He definitely recognized the area, having spent a day or two climbing the rocks with his siblings and searching for griffin eggs (much to Mother’s absolute dismay), but it was still a good hour or so away from home. Better than nothing, he supposed. After taking a few steps away, he looked back over his shoulder at his troll companion.

“Try not to die without me, kay Glumwad?”

Glumshanks chuckled lightly as the balloonsman closed the basket door. 

“I’ll try my best.”

Kaos looked back ahead of him, the sound of Glumshanks explaining where he needed to be taken quickly fading into the background as he made his way under rocks and over gaps in the earth beneath him. He didn’t bother hurrying, knowing the outcome would be the same if he came home in an hour or by nightfall. And so, Kaos took his sweet time, inspecting the plants that grew from cracks in the stones around him, grabbing samples of anything that happened to catch his eye, and watching various creatures scuttle to safety at the sound of his footsteps as he passed them by. The familiarity of the area didn’t dampen his adventurous spirit, though it did remove a bit of the mystery of what could be lurking around each corner. After a while, Kaos could make out his home only a few islands away, silhouetted against the red sky. Kaos sighed, hopping down from the rock he had been balancing along the edge of, mustering up every last ounce of courage he had to face what lay within. He considered one last time to make a break for it, or possibly even lie down right here and hope something would come along and gobble him up whole; but he pushed those thoughts away once again. He was no coward. Any punishment his parents had for him, he could face. Even if he would have much preferred being a meal for a pack of rabid greebles.

[roscoebarnes3]

Home with Heroes: Military museum seeking items for display

G. Mark LaFrancis, director of Military Museum and Veterans Welcome Center, which is sponsored by the Home with Heroes Foundation Inc.

------------------

By Roscoe Barnes III

Special to The Natchez Democrat

Note: This story appeared on front page of The Natchez Democrat (Sunday, Aug. 27, 2023).

NATCHEZ, Miss. – The director of Natchez’s only Military Museum and Veterans Welcome Center is asking the public for military memorabilia to display in its new home at 107 Jefferson Davis Blvd.

“The Military Museum and Veterans’ Welcome Center fulfill a dream we have had with the Home With Heroes Foundation,” said G. Mark LaFrancis, museum director and president of the foundation. “In a way, it’s a gift to the community, especially the veterans’ community. We will display many, many donated and loaned items, quite a few are from local residents and veterans. Also, we have the ‘Try Me On’ section to allow young visitors to dress up as military individuals.”

LaFrancis said he’s looking for military artifacts and keepsakes that include such things as combat boots, caps, helmets, gloves, military shoes, web belts, canteens, military pictures with frames, art work. He’s also looking for models of military aircraft, ships, and tanks. He would also like to have a globe on display, he said.

Items may be shared with the museum as donations for permanent exhibits or as a loan for temporary display, LaFrancis said.

A grand opening is planned for October.

“We have big plans for when we go forward,” LaFrancis said. “We will have many exciting and important programs for the community. We now have a recognizable home, a place where we can help our veterans and their loved ones.”

LaFrancis said the museum is not just a place to see, but a place where people of all ages can come and learn about veterans and military service.

“Prize possessions include a massive display of original G.I. Joe figures, a patriotic quilt made by the folks of the Natchez Quilting Guild, and the original welder’s mask of Mary Baroni Warren, who welded on ships and planes on the coast during World War II,” LaFrancis said. “I anticipate veterans will be on hand to greet people and to take advantage of their own welcome and information center, a first of its kind in the region.”

One of the exhibits, “The Wall of Remembrance,” features photographs of 75 military personnel from Mississippi who were killed in action in Iraq or Afghanistan.

“We want visitors and veterans to feel at home in our museum and center, and to learn about the tremendous contribution veterans have made to our community and nation,” LaFrancis added.

In addition to dozens of exhibits in the new location, the museum will host authors, speakers, and movies at other locations in Natchez. Two upcoming movies include:

* “The Hello Girls” (2018), which tells the story of the 223 women the U.S. Army Signal Corps sent to France in 1918 as telephone operators to help win the Great War. “Hello Girls” was the informal name for the American women who served as switchboard operators.

* “Six Triple Eight” (2023), which dramatizes the story of the 855 Black women of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion who cleared a three-year backlog of undelivered mail. They helped to deliver more than 17 million pieces of mail near the end of the war. Film is directed by Tyler Perry.

As a Welcome Center, the museum will assist veterans by seeking to answer their questions and provide them with information on veteran benefits and other issues of concern, LaFrancis said. A computer will be available for their use.

In recent years, the museum has sponsored bus trips to the World War II museum in New Orleans. LaFrancis and his team of volunteers also participate in the annual Wreaths Across America and Veterans Day parade.

The museum is a nonprofit with 501-c3 status. It originally opened in 2018 at the VFW Post 9573 building at 318 Sgt. Prentiss Drive near Walmart. The VFW provided a room for the museum on the second floor. LaFrancis noted the new location has more visibility and easier access than the previous site.

For more information call 601-442-0980 or send email to homewithheroes@live.com

[kayla1993-world]

RCMP superfan in Ontario spent 2 weeks in jail following N.S. massacre

Warren Thwing enjoys collecting model trains, Avro Arrow memorabilia, posters, and stamps. The mementos include flying, hockey, Star Trek, and motor racing. But by far his most valuable collection is of RCMP memorabilia. 

Instead, he channeled his admiration for the national police force into its equipment. He claims to have spent thousands of dollars buying hundreds of artifacts, mostly on eBay and at collector shows, including three complete uniforms, crests, shoulder insignia, hats, collar pins, epaulets, and a Stetson hat. On his mantel are RCMP figures and two commemorative Royal Doulton china busts.

He dressed up in the red serge outfit he had purchased and had photographs shot at his home; he put the photos online and framed them for his home wall. His Facebook feed is littered with good wishes and congrats to the Mounties on different anniversaries and achievements. 

Thwing claims he never dreamed his enthusiasm--which police described as an obsession — would lead to his arrest.

Thwing lay in bed, listening to the radio, anticipating the start of his day at 6:30 a.m. on May 7, 2020.

SWAT squad men dressed in commando gear pounced on his side entrance and surged into his residence and bedroom, weapons drawn. Thwing's home security camera captured seven police officers, while he recalls more than a dozen others.

When they told him they were going to execute a search warrant for impersonating a police officer, Thwing stated it made no sense. He claimed he questioned an officer, "Why didn't you ring the doorbell? And he responded, "You had a gun. Yes,' I said. It's safe.'"

Thwing said he received a tarnished and broken antique revolver from his grandfather decades ago. Thwing indicated that he has never shot it and has no ammo.

Thwing was arrested, detained, and escorted to a police station, where he was charged with one count of impersonating a peace officer. Later that day, he appeared in court for the first time.

Under normal conditions, Thwing's collection of RCMP memorabilia would have piqued the interest of authorities. However, on April 18, 2020, another guy disguised in a genuine RCMP uniform massacred 22 people in and around Portapique, N.S., including a Mountie. He eluded police for 13 hours, due in part to the fact that he was driving a decommissioned RCMP patrol car that he had purchased at an auction and rebuilt to seem like the real thing.

In the weeks that followed, Mounties in Nova Scotia combed social media for anyone who had uploaded photographs of RCMP uniform. The force revealed in an email that RCMP officers in Nova Scotia were monitoring social media sites for mentions of RCMP uniform items being worn by non-RCMP workers.

Officers discovered many images of RCMP uniform items online, according to the email. The distinctive red serge uniform, for example, may be purchased on eBay, and the official Mountie web site sells a range of RCMP-branded merchandise.

The only basis for concern was a Facebook account called Warren Thwing.

An RCMP spokeswoman stressed that there was no connection between the Nova Scotia shooter and Thwing.

On May 5, 2020, the Mounties turned over the case to Kingston police. Thwing's Facebook profile was then examined by a Kingston investigator, who discovered the following posts: One is from March 2019, when he was at home wearing his ceremonial red uniform; another is from October 2019, when he was walking around the Queen's University campus wearing pants that matched the RCMP's yellow-striped uniform, an RCMP hoodie he bought online at the official Mountie boutique, and a hat with a store-bought RCMP crest; and a photo of Thwing at home wearing the same hat and a face mask.

The detective sought the next day for a search warrant for Thwing's residence. "I think William Warren Thwing has an interest in the RCMP and has been seen in public wearing what seems to be an RCMP outfit," he stated in his search warrant application. "I feel that if a member of the public saw Thwing wearing his uniform, that person would assume Thwing was a peace officer." 

According to the search warrant application, investigators were worried Thwing's Facebook bio at the time read: "I am the biggest screw-up and honestly wonder why I was even created. I wish I were no longer alive."

Thwing also had a firearms license and was the registered owner of a weapon, according to police.

Leora Shemesh, a criminal defense lawyer who talked with the CBC about Thwing's case but had no involvement in it, said the conditions should have allowed him to be released on a promise to appear in court later.

However, following his initial court appearance, someone — Thwing isn't sure who because he attended by videoconference — demanded that he be evaluated psychologically. He was imprisoned for two weeks owing to COVID-19 isolation requirements in provincial jails at the time, before being released on the condition that he surrender all "police uniform, badges, or other memorabilia" to Kingston Police.

Thwing said it was a difficult period in jail, with COVID-related lockdowns restricting detainees to their cells for up to three days at a stretch. He didn't obtain all of his prescribed medications for his diabetes and heart disease, he said, and he wasn't provided the correct meals at first.

The case against him was dropped in March 2021.

Police in commando gear storming into someone's home uninvited is said to be uncommon in Canada. Officers are usually required to knock and announce their presence and intent when carrying out a search warrant, according to hundreds of years of legal precedent.

Exceptions are permitted under Canada's Charter of Rights and Freedoms where there are legitimate reasons to fear evidence destruction or potential danger to officers or residents of the residence.

CBC News showed her the Kingston Police search warrant application and a police event record from 2018, when Thwing wrote about it being a good time to leap from a pedestrian bridge in neighboring Gananoque, Ont., that was closed for construction. She also saw the home security camera footage of the police raid on Thwing's house.

Shemesh stated that not only did she believe the door-bashing raid was unnecessary, but she also saw no reason for a search warrant. 

Kingston Police did not answer to CBC News's queries last week, claiming that the officers engaged in the operation were on vacation.

An ongoing CBC News investigation into no-knock police raids through several has uncovered a number of questionable operations, including instances where tactical teams smash their way into people's houses based primarily on the evidence of hired, confidential informants, only to discover no narcotics or weapons. Some police departments have admitted under oath that they utilize no-knock raids, sometimes known as "dynamic entry" in police jargon, in practically every narcotics investigation. 

There is no official national count, but the CBC has tallied hundreds of no-knock raids in Canada each year through access-to-information requests, prompting some defense lawyers and criminology scholars to call for more stringent regulation of the tactic.

One issue, legal experts agree, is that no one — not police, nor the provincial ministries that govern them — keeps track of how often a raid on someone's house results in no charges or all charges being dropped, making it impossible to judge the tactic's success.

Shemesh believes that requiring police to obtain prior consent from a court would assist to curb a practice that has grown in popularity in recent years. 

Thwing claims he has had difficulties sleeping since the homeowners insurance premiums climbed after he submitted a $5,000 claim to replace the damaged glass-paneled door. While some of his memorabilia was returned to him, he alleged that police kept more than $1,000 in things deemed to be official RCMP apparel.

And, while his criminal accusation was withdrawn, his legal saga is far from done. Police seek to revoke his firearms license. A provincial weapons officer informed Thwing that "Your collection of RCMP memorabilia has definitely progressed beyond the collector stage and has become an addiction.… Your preoccupation with the RCMP and wearing their uniform regularly worries me." 

Thwing's doctor, according to court documents, also opposes him obtaining a firearms license, but without saying why.

Thwing is challenging it, and a hearing is scheduled at the end of the month.

He was formerly a fervent admirer of the Mounties, but now has mixed feelings about them.