#you look at those horses running with every joint animated spot on and tell me this isn't the pinnacle of animation

[aleatoryw]

cannot believe there are people who aren't familiar with the 2002 movie Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. it's not remembered as one of the animated classics of the early 00s because it's so different than other beloved movies - no talking animals, no fantasy settings, limited comedic elements - but my god did it shine in so many other ways. arguably some of the best 2D animation ever created, outstanding soundtrack, an hour and a half of pure anti-imperialism and anti-colonialism in a kid friendly story about horseys.

[wesleyam123]

The traveller merchant

Romania, 16th century As a merchant traveller, my days were walking these lands selling my goods on  villages all around Romania. Pottery, herbs, spices, tapestry, and many Other things. I would travel during the daylight, looking for the next village to spend my night, because pending the nights on the woods is risky, robbers, wild animals, deadly insects, cold, rain...nothing is in favor. When i wasnt able to reach a village i would look for a good and open spot to set up my camp, light a fire and make some tea...despite the risky i loved to set my camp and spend my night in the middle of nowhere, the stars were my companions, my music were the whispering winds and the owls, and i would feed myself of my fear and loneliness. A Merchant life is a mixture of loneliness among crowds...You meet all different kinds of people during your life, you are the celebrity of the village when you arrive. The kids robb you when you turn around, the men intimidates you with their hating lookings, ready to stab your back and rip your head off, the women preys on you, trying to take advantage of our weakness as a man, offering sex as payments or sex for enjoyment with the new man in town... but in the end no one cares about you as a person, They are after the goods or taking advantage of you, in the end you have no one.

I spent my night in the forest and resumed my travel during the morning as usual, and i was thankful that didn’t rain during the night, making my traveling much more easier through these woods. After walking for some hours i spotted a cabin far deep into the woods, making it harder to see it...there were moss and plants all around this cabin, i felt tempted to go there, but i had to continue on the road because i needed to reach the village today before the sunset. I looked back on the cabin and i could see a woman in black by the door, staring to my carriage when i stepped on a branch, lost my balance for a moment, then i looked back the cabin and seen no one in there. This whole situation scared me, but i continued my way to the village.

Almost an hour later i saw i sign on the road, “Geamana”, that is the village’s name. So i turned my way and saw that small and calm place...as soon as i was spotted, people start to tell each other that the merchant was in town, and that news spread fast, the place wasn’t that big. I found a good spot to stop my carriage and set my store while the sun was still up in the sky, wainting to the first customer come, so i could ask where were the hotel that i could spend my night. People start to come as usual, i was the celebrity of the town like always, where they could buy their stuff, hate me, use me, i didnt cared anyways, i was just after their money so i could go to the next place on this infinite looping. There were so many people wanting to buy things that i forgot to ask where were the hotel. I sold pottery for them store their foods, spices for cooking food, oil for their lamps, candles, tapestries, everything you can imagine...i was so tired after selling to that crowd, so this lady came to my carriage looking for herbs. She dressed differently from the villagers, and had a different scent, a woody perfume that invaded my head and went straight to my senses. Her hair was black as the night, and looked like a veil over her head... her lips were red like the warm blood that run into my veins...her dress was a mixture of black and dark maroon, embroided in white next to her breasts. She looked like a piece of art made by a skillful sculptor. She asked for some exotic and unusual herbs, not commom herbs that a regular woman buys, but luckly i had all of those herbs available...after the trade i asked her where was the hotel so i could spend my night. She told me that the hotel wasnt open, because the owners and their families died recently of a sickness, so the villagers burned down the place to the sickness not spread. I vented that i would have to spend my night on a camp again and how i missed a bath, and she offered me a room to spend the night. She said she lived some minutes from the village and offered me a ride on her horse. I couldnt refuse that offering, it was too tempting to refuse having a place to spend the night, and have that beautiful woman as my company, so i told her that i accepted the offer.

The sun was setting down and was starting to get dark, so i put everything back in the carriage and tied with a rope, parking it next to one of the village houses. I asked to the resident to look after for me and the old lady agreed...I thanked and told her that i was going to give her something as a payment when i get back. I looked back and spotted the woman waiting for me, she was already riding her horse and told me to get on the horse behind her. As soon as i got up her scent invaded my head once again, driving me on a tripping...”what is wrong with me?”, “what is wrong with this scent that makes me crazy?”...she was riding fast and i was almost falling from the horse, so she told me to hold on her waist...I didnt think twice and grabbed her by the waist, warm and firm, soft and muscular, a true sculpture.

I was going to a random stranger house, and i didnt even knew her name. The feeling of need, loneliness and turn on was speaking louder than my reason. I asked her name, she told me Cordelia. I could see a cabin and the front garden lit by na oil lamp, and she just told me we arrived. There were many florwers, herbs and plants on her front garden, so i asked why. She told me she was na alchemist and also a healer, helping the villagers with medicines...I spotted the same plants she bought planted on her garden. She just invited me in the cabin.

As soon she opened the door, that scent came to my brain once again, invading all my being and activating so many feeling on my body and mind. She invited me in again, then i “woke up” from my trip and stepped inside. She told me she was going to prepare a tea for us, and that i was probably tired so i could take a bath while she prepares the tea. I couldnt refuse because i was wishing a bath so badly. She told me where was the bathroom and i followed my way there...the bathroom was atached to her room, divided only by a red tapestry, and her room had so many different scents, Every single one atached to a different feeling...floral as the love, woody as the loneliness, Sweet as the passion...i was getting drugged by all those scents. There was an altar in her room before the bathroom, there were many candles, Flowers, herbs, written stuff, and a cerimonial dagger, everything organized on a beautiful way.

I lit up the candles next to the bath, removed all my clothes and closed the curtain of the bathroom...The candle’s perfumes mixed to all those scents made relaxed and trip on that bath, forgeting everything around, i just closed my eyes and relaxed. Suddenly the curtain were opened, and i saw that gorgeous woman in front of me. Her hair was like a waterfall falling over her shoulders, her lips like a perdition, holding our tea and some flower petals on her hand. She dropped the towel she was wearing, revealing her body...it was like a marble sculpture, Every inch carved masterfully, softly and smoth, i was paralyzed in front of her.

She went inside the bath and placed the towel next to her, dropping the flower petals inside. I could feel her body touching my body inside the bath while she stood next to me. She offered me the tea and we both drink, sweetly tasting its flavour while it went down burning my chest. She came and whispered something on my ears...”I own all of you, today and Forever”...she wildly dominated me, kissing me and kissing my neck, while i was in extasy, drugged by the drink, the lust and the scents around. A violent urge came to my body while she was subjugating me, then i wrapped my both arms around her, full of passion and rage...she whispered on my ears again, “I’m not yours, you are mine”, so she touched my private parts and i lost my strenght.

She sat over me, and i felt her hot body becoming as one with me, and i was tripping even more because of everything around...while she rided me, she would scratch me, she would bite me, and it was becoming faster, harder and violent every time. I could feel my skin jointing in her nails, i could feel blood going down every bite she took, but i didnt care, i couldnt feel pain anymore, all i felt was pleasure by being dominated by her. The water was becoming reddish, and the white petals became like red roses, part of me was spilling on that bath...

I couldnt hold myself anymore, reaching an orgasm and ejaculating inside her in a way i never felt before, maybe was the tea, the scents or her that made this to me, i dont know. In a instant  I felt a slit on my throat, and a warm feeling going down my chest, the water becoming a crystaline red, and she gently kissing my neck, tasting every single drop of me...i couldnt feel pain, fear or pleasure anymore...i only feel cold, its getting colder here...and darker........where am ..................

[popculturebuffet]

Star Vs the Forces of Evil Reviews: The Blood Moon Ball (1-15)

Welcome back.. though to most of you probably just joining me, welcome. I’ve been on a sorta hiatus from revewiing due to a combination of procrastination, depression, and being really busy. But I finally decided it was time to put boots to the ground and get back to doing what I love: Going on way too long about children’s television.  As such, with She Ra taking a bow a few weeks back and nailing it I got to thinking about another show that just so happened to end the year before: Star Vs the Forces of Evil. Part of it was very simple: She ra ended on a trriumphant note, making a well set up romance that had been it’s backbone canon, having a wonderful final battle, tons of payoff and a throughly happy ending that satisfied all involved and got tons of well earned coverage for having a deep, meaningful relationship between two lesbians finally coming together being the thing that saves the universe. It was freaking great.  Meanwhile a year prior Star Vs, after having been treated like toilet dinner by disney for no good reason by having it’s final season shoved out over a few sundays after a yearlong hiatus.. ended not with a bang, but with a wah wah trumpet. The series ending was unsatisfying, left more questions than answers, had the title character loose all likeablity and was in general miserable. I hadn’t been this pissed off at a finale since How I Met Your Mother and hadn’t seen a romance botched this badly in animation since “Merry Christmas Mordecai”. It was BADDDDD.  However it did make me want to go back to the series; To revisit the good, the bad and the just plain weird to remember what made me love the series, what made me want to throw my tv into a river before reminding myself “No dude, shit’s expensive. “, and what COULD have been, what SHOULD have been and what WASN’T. So i’ll be reviewing assorted episodes.. and the best place to start for me was with the introduction of one of the series best characters, as well as at the same time the start of a ship that was a good idea at first but would slowly take the series down with it as it started to fall apart. This is Blood Moon Ball. There will be blood, and a dead horse, after the cut. 

Before we get into the episode, one of the series most notable and honestly a damn good one, for those 2 of you not familiar with the series a quick refresher: Star VS is the story of Star Butterfly, a rebelious 14 year old princess from the Kingdom of Mewni. Mewni is your standard medievil fantasy kingdom.. but you know with wifi because they have magic compacts that work as phones and large sale acess to the multiverse. Their also ruled over by a long sucession of queens with great and terrible magic power, which is channeld through an increidbly powerful wand that’s passed down from generation to generation.  On her 14th birthday Star gets her turn with the wand.. and not long after sets everything on fire. Not wanting the kingdom to get blown up while Star figures out thing, her parents send her to Earth, and after bribing the school principal into enroling her, that’s not a joke on my part but an actual joke from the pilot, Star soon becomes an exchange student, boarding with the Diazes and soon becoming best friends with their teenage son Marco, a saftey obessed, shy talented martial artist. The two are frequently forced to beat up the hordes of Ludo, a spoiled monster king who wants the wand for himself. Things would get way darker... like in literally two seconds as the revelation star’s people stole mewni from the monsters and Star’s hatred being revealed to be partly racisim instead of standard hero and villian stuff. But that’s for future reviews. Today we have demons, internet commentors and ship tease to get to. So with the basic premise set up let’s finally get on with it.  We open on the arrival of my boy and yours, hopefully, Tom Lucitor. Tom is the prince of the underworld, basically exactly what it sounds like: fire, brimstone, demons spooky scary skeltons sending shivers up your spine. He’s also Star’s ex boyfriend. How they broke up is.. never really explained. While more details about their relationship, includign the fact Tom bought Star her iconic Devil Horn headband on their frist date, were revealed in the tie-in spellbook, and reveals that star’s arson that got her sent to mewni happened right after her and tom broke up, but never explains WHY.  My guess is since the series clearly frames the breakup as Tom’s fault in this episode and on his anger, they probably didn’t want a scene of him screaming his head off at star, either to keep him sympathetic or , more likely, because a scene of a teenage girl watching her boyfriend having a rage fueld breakdown that leads to htem breaking up would be MASSIVELY uncomfortable to watch and unlike some uncomfortable to watch scenes, wouldn’t tell us anything we didn’t know already. So unlike some later things they never pulled the trigger on this one at least makes sense.  Anywho, Tom arrives, parking in the handicap spot (a nice little gag as Star’s crush at the time Oskar points it out, while the dead skeletal horse pulling tom’s carriage turns around to look at him), and all the girls stop and stare.. including Janna, who would probably regret this moment once she realize tom was a bad boy because he’s socially awkard and has anger issues. Basically he’s Kylo Ren but his redemption dosen’t come straight out of JJ Abrhams ass.  Tom arrives at Star’s classroom, removes his shade and damn if he dosen’t have game.. but naturally showing up unnannaounced to her school (Not that TOm probably gets what school is as Mewni dosen’t have those, but still), basically assuming she’ll go out with him, after they had a messy breakup it dosen’t go well and we get a great cut of Star shoving tom back into his carriage.. we also get the best joke of the episode.  Star: So take your invitation and your fire and your dead horse and go.  Dead Horse: wait.. i’m dead? Sad but hilarious. Anyways it’s quickly conved to viewers like us that Tom has anger problems, but he insists to star he’s doing better: he has an anger managment counsler he takes with him places, Brian, voiced by the wonderful and weirdly in Disney’s pocket these days Stephen Root, and a bunny he pets. Before star can pet said bunny Marco , KARATE CHOPS TOM’S HAND OFF.. I just.. until this review I hadn’t sat back to consider just how freakishly strong that boy is , that he can just accidently chop off a hand. I mean tom may have weak joints or something but even after taking far worse blows later on his hands just.. don’t come off. Tom flies itnto a rage and it becomes clear that yeah, whatever happened, it was tom’s fault, and given the kind of rage she flies into, you can see why i’d assume the writers really didn’t want the audience to see him at his worst. I certainly don’t.  Star both worried and clearly having seen this sort of thing go bad before urges Marco to run but tom quickly recovers, both reuniting with his hand and having calmed down, and he and Marco are formally introduced, with star explaning the invite. We also get a great line with marco encouraging her “Star never go with a preadator to a second location”. This show was damn good at getting shit past the radar and i’m here for it. Anyways, Star isn’t quite sold despite tom clearly TRYING to get better, and Tom , in a really nice  move, gives her a bell and tiny hammer to summon his carriage with if she decides to go but leaves it up to her, not pressuring her or anything. For how selfish tom is initially.. this is a spark that shows h’es not a TERRIBLE person, just one who has some growing up to do. Marco however is not convinced and wants to go with, with Star teling him no because A) he wasn’t invited and it’d be rude to ask and B), she appricates the concerns but she can handle this, and implicily, despite her reckless nature knows this is a risk but knows if the night turns she can handle Tom, and that maybe he’s changed. Marco insists Tom can’t change.. which I find hilarious given his massive character arc to the point I had as eires ofessays planned, and one don about his growth before deciding to change formats to doing each ep of his journey instead every so often, to the point where two years on in the series timeline.. we’ve gone from Marco thinking Tom is a predator to...

But star decides to go and .. it’s clear from the subtext that while part of it is clear concern for star, Marco’s line about “it being fun here all the time” may mean that while he DOES have the best intentions.. part of him is jealousssssss. More on that in a bit.  For now we go to the underworld with the second best gag of the episode as Tom is toning down the spookiness to please star, and one of the guys in the picture at the top insults him... and when tom asks which one he says me. We sadly don’t get an answer but it’s small gags like this that made me want to do this episode by episode. Star arrives.. and things quickly go south. Tom tries giving her a corsage that’s a live spider and she rejects it. This admitely looks bad on both as Tom , living in you know, a hell dimenson probably sees it as a sweet gesture, and Star is refusing it.. but star does so POLITELY, and for understandable reasons, and Tom is still clearly pissed about it. Not long after, they line up for what’s essentially a prom photo.. and to get Carried by a bucket of unicorn blood, another nice little gag. Star refuses since well her best friend is a unicorn, one of them anyway, or at least it’s head.. and yes one of the species in this series multiverse is a bunch of headless unicorns. IT’s wonderful. And star also notices tom needs his anger managment bunny and is clearly pissed about it when, having dated her for several months, clearly should’ve KNOWN this might bother her.  That’s really tom’s problem here: He wants everything his way on his terms and only compromises if he thinks it’ll get star to do things with him. He’s made the PRETENSE of changing.. but he really dosen’t WANT to yet. He just wants her back and wants to change just enough to get her back so he can stop trying again. He also may , due to the underworld being diffrent and a place where being covered in a bucket of blood is a time honored tradition instead of the thing that turns a young mutant into a mass murderer, and yes I think a carrie x-men crossover would be the shit. He probably dosen’t GET that star wouldn’t like a spider corasge or bathing in her best friends blood.. but the problem isn’t that. that’s culture shock, that can be bridged with some talk.. the problem is tom dosen’t want to talk, he just wants her to do what he wants and things to be all cool and to get his way. Being a prince with two loving parents, we’ll meet them soon enough just not this episode, and tons of servants, I get the impressionf rom this and other episodes tom simply isn’t USED to not getting what he wants.He’s not USED to being told “No”, and thus has no way to deal with it healthily and isntead lashes out like an angry toddler. It dosen’t make his actions RIGHT but it does make them more understandable and makes it so Tom’s later growth FEELS natural depsite some of his sketchier actions beforehand. 

Back at Marco’s house, Marco is depressed eating nachos in a sumbrero.. which if I had corn chips, cheese and a sombrero would probably be my daily life right about now. It’s then we get a WEIRD dropped bit, as Marco hears a weird piratey voice telling him the blood moon is the moon for lovers and stuff. This is IMPLIED to be his monster arm, from an earlier episode.. but it’s.. never explained. Whatever it was going to be was dropped. Which would be fine if the blood moon itself and the end of this episode didn’t get a full explination in season 4 with the writers clearly going back to it to resolve the dangling thread.. but still not explaning the spooky voice. I mean what was it? Marco’s pirate ancestor? the sea captain from the simpsons? the monster arm? terry that bastard? Burt Macklin FBI? Old Man Withers the guy who runs the amusment park? Dirk Dastardely? A sentient payphone? The alps? Tell us damn you! Okay that tangent aside Marco decides to party crash at the advice of the ominous voice.. seriously is it Flintheart Glomgold? Nevermind. Back at the ball star is bonding with a small skeletal fish int he magma punch whent his random asshole comes up and whines for a good minute,if hilariously so, about the ball being changed.

He’s feels, looks and acts like the combination of those morons who were mad adora wasn’t “as hot” in the she ra reboot and was aged down to a teenager and the threw it on the ground guy.  After that interlude, tom shoos away a guy asking star to dance and the guy makes vauge comments about tom wanting his and star’s souls to be link while making kissy nosies. Before Tom can explain what he means by that, or at least lie about what he means by that, the blood moon is about the drop, the lights turn red and tom walks off because he wants the music to be perfect. And then Marco arrives in his really damn cool calevara outfit. Which fair play, I can see why, besides ship reasons, it gets a lot of art: it looks really damn neat.  Speaking of shipping.. it’s time. Star, not realizing it’s marco, dances with him.. quite romantically in fact. It’s here that the show conciously starts Shipping star and marco together. Starco is born, and the scnee is really good: romantic, well animated, jsut great all around. While the ship would .. end up done rather poorly and lead to some really terrible stuff at the time.. it wasn’t abd and already shipping them I loved this and even now, even knowing what woudl come later... it’s not a bad sequence. The only bad thing is what would come later, but I can’t fault the writers of THIS EP for what they would do in a LATER ONE. That’s just not fair. The ship wasn’t bad to start and the later arc springing from it in season 2 would be good.. it just quickly went in bad directions as the series went on , then disappeared, then how it finallyc ame about was just awful. But as much as I want to.. I can’t blame the sequence on this. It didn’t create rabid shippers or poor writing, it was just good and deserves to be praised as such.  Naturally tom takes this about as well as me when I found out HBO max wouldn’t be on roku at launch and prepares to murder Marco.. and promptly gets frozen by star who decides to wisely get out of there. It’s a ncie moment.. and  reminder that Star is crazy powerful, as is the wand itself, because as we’ll see later, tom is no slouch himself in the power department, but even if her attack was from behind, she still stopped him in one move.  So Star takes marco home and dresses him down for sneaking in, understandbly so: while it was an iffy situation, Star knew who she was dealing with and as shown at the end, was strong enough that tom was no threat to her, and given what we learn later, Tom’s parents would likely never let her come to real harm. For all her reckless decision making, Star thought this one out and Marco shoudl’ve repsectied that and didn’t for his own reasons. To his credit though he apologizes, Star admits to liking the dance, then the two speak in unison a few times, and we wont’ get followup on that till the last season! Roll credits. I don’t have the credits for this episode so enjoy this instead:

Final Thoughts: Blood Moon Ball is a spectacular ep. A good plot, a great introduction for tom, and great animation and humor really make the episode pop and it’s nice to get our first look at the underworld and tom himself. Tom would be back, and i’ll be back to tom eventually, but on it’s own the episode is really good and it’s standout sequence still holds up even as starco ended up in the sewer quality wise. All in all a great ep and a great starting point if you haven’t watched the show yet.  Coming Soon: A return to Star in the near future probably since Tom is great and his second ep deserves love too, as do several other star eps, as well as a look at the saluna episodes of the loud house because i’m in a gay mood for obvious reasons, and a loud house mood for less obvious reasons. Until then, feel free to hit me up with asks with suggestions or commisosns for future reviews, and until next time, later days. 

[nalufever]

Opportunity

Chapter Two of The Night Shift, a collaborative work between myself and @hidetheremote

AnS fandom, Obi x Shirayuki, hopelessly late posting for ‘Trope Madness’ 

One of Obi's faults is that he's gallant, always wanting to help those less fortunate - and some people (Torou) take advantage of his foolish, soft heart. Good thing Shirayuki is always in Obi's corner.

Read Chapter One HERE

Fifteen years ago…..

Garbage whipped by a bitter wind skittered past a cold and shaking Obi. Winter had hit hard, the snow was piling up fast. If he’d had free time and the urge he’d have made a snowman - but he didn’t and couldn’t waste energy on such a frivolous activity. Obi needed to find shelter and he was running out of time.

Tall for his age and thin, most people assumed he was an adult and left him to his own devices. Obi was barely able to feed himself, let alone clothe himself. His jacket was half as old as he was - and badly patched. It didn’t keep him warm from the snow that threatened to freeze his bones as he scrounged for work. Not wanting to burden his few friends with overstaying his welcome, Obi refused to take advantage. He moved from friend's house to friend's house, keeping his secrets close to his chest.

A newspaper carried by the strong wind hit him in the chest with a wet thump, startling Obi into reflexively grabbing it. An article jumped out at Obi, one that mentioned a food kitchen looking for volunteers. It was close - and that was the best news he'd had all day.

The first person to greet Obi was a short but bouncy, red-headed sprite of a girl. “Hi! I’m Shirayuki, what’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Manners are very important!”

The young girl pouted and Obi couldn’t help but tease. “On second thought, you’re right. Manners are what separate humans from animals, Miss. Please accept my apologies for my lack of priorities. My name is Obi.”

Shirayuki smiled and Obi’s worries and fears started fading. He’d have a hot meal and maybe start to rebuild his life; this girl was beaming at him so brightly he felt invincible - his guiding star had to be on the rise. Obi accepted a tray from the girl and portions of everything available, waving goodbye to the little Miss and then searching for a good spot to sit and eat.

In the far corner away from the door (which every time it opened sent more cold snow and air swirling into the room), Obi sat with his back to the wall at a table with another girl of roughly his own age - also with her back to the wall. Intent on feeding himself, Obi tore open the bun and slathered butter on it, ripping a big portion off with his first bite. He chewed and did his best to keep his appreciative moans and smacking lips to a minimum.

“Oi! Keep it down!”

“Sorry-not-sorry.” Obi shoved a giant spoonful of stew into his mouth and turned his head to look with suspicion at his table mate. “Mrff sppr anfry.”

“Gross. You always talk with your mouth full?”

Obi swallowed and sighed at the girl. “I’m super hungry.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘super hungry,’ I’m Torou.” The girl - Torou - flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder and batted her matching brown eyes at Obi coquettishly. “First time in a place like this?”

“Is it that obvious?” Obi sat more upright and pretended to not be guarding his food. “I’ve been doing alright for the most part. I don’t like to have to accept help, but I-I’m having a hard time.”

“We all are, every person here has it tough.” Torou pulled out another bun from her pocket and a couple more packets of butter, pushing them at the thin but cute teen. “What about a real name?”

“Ugh, yeah - sorry. You can call me Nanaki.” Obi crammed the rest of his bun into his mouth, grabbing the offered bread to shove it into a pocket for later. He chewed and swallowed. “Thanks, Torou, I haven’t eaten since…I’m not sure.”

“I could tell.” She giggled, twirling strands of her hair around one finger, leaning closer. “Well, maybe we can help each other.”

“You got more food in your pockets? Don’t you want to eat that?”

“Silly boy, I’m talking about taking opportunities and turning them into cash.”

><><><><><

Present day….

Obi checked his phone and again Torou had texted him, begging for one more chance. Enough was enough. He’d done lots of stupid things when he’d been young and homeless - and now Obi was poised to finally have a date with Shirayuki. There was no way in hell he wanted to screw his chances.

He sighed, about to shut off his phone, but it chimed - this time a phone call from Torou. Voice pitched low and aggravated, Obi growled, “What do you want?” The hallway was too full of distractions so Obi sped to the stairwell and slumped against the far wall.

“I still want what I was asking from you at the Greenhouse.” She was clearly amused. “I’m gonna keep working on you until you cave. One little, tiny favour is all I ask - you could do it in your sleep!”

“Maybe fifteen years ago, but I’ve changed - and I thought you had too.”

“What’s that old saying? A leopard doesn’t change its spots?” Torou’s laugh was high and shrill. “I’ve shed some of my spots - but there’s one big one that just won’t budge. Tomi won’t let me escape so easily.”

“Tomi, still?” Ire and disgust coloured Obi’s tone.

“Don’t say it like that, I gave up most of that when he got sent away.” Torou’s voice got thin and small, in direct contrast to how she’d laughed only seconds ago. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

“Ugh… Dammit.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“I’m not saying yes, but it looks like I can’t say no.” Obi rubbed his forehead. “My shift is pretty well over. Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the address. And Obi...don't end up like me.”

Obi heard Torou sniff and end the connection. Stomach roiling with old fears, new doubts and a fair amount of anger for Tomi, Obi shoved his phone into his pocket and made tracks for the parking lot.

><><><><><

“Pssst!” Torou yanked Obi’s arm as he walked past where she’d been lurking. “Come here often?”

Obi grimaced, turning to face Torou as she started giggling. He growled, “I didn’t come here for my health or any of your lame jokes. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss your problems in my car? It’s too cold out in the open.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to get cozy.” Torou batted her eyelashes and licked her lips. “Giving up on Shirayuki? ‘Bout time.” She held onto his shoulders, almost leaning against him.

“As if. Your antics leave me even colder than the weather.” Obi shrugged away from Torou.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, well -”

Torou’s phone chirped and she shushed Obi to look at the message she’d been sent. The blood drained from her face and she gasped, shivering, absently rubbing her gut. All her previous flirtatiousness behaviour died. “The job is a go - right now.”

Obi watched Torou shrink in on herself. As much as he didn’t want to assist her - he felt obligated. He’d never seen her so distraught before, not even when she’d been threatened with juvie. “And never again.”

“Sure, sure.” Torou pulled herself together, turning back into a capable thief in the space of a heartbeat. “Joint’s been cased thorough, I need you to get me inside, my talent will crack open the safe.”

“Fine, I open the door and leave.”

“Not so fast, two heads are better than one, right? I could use an extra set of eyes and ears - just in case.”

“Sounds like it hasn’t been cased proper.” Obi folded his arms and glared. “You need me to help search for the safe, don’t you?”

“Tomi stops digging once he sees what he wants.” Torou shrugged, jamming her hands into her pockets. “Especially if he can send someone else to do the real work.”

“Fucking unbelievable.”

“I promise, never again.” Torou gave a subtle head nod to the garish green house on the corner. “C’mon, time’s a wasting!”

><><><><><

It was regretfully easy for Obi to bypass the electronic locks on the back patio door; fifteen years hiatus on his break and enter skills hadn’t been enough to set any rust on them. Dammit. One more careful motion and the physical lock popped open. Obi slid the door open and motioned to Torou. “Hurry.”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot.” She blew on her gloved fingers. “We both search - upstairs first - there’s only three bedrooms on that floor. Behind big ugly paintings first and closets second.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” Torou blew Obi a kiss before tiptoeing down the hall and running up the stairs, knowing her unwilling partner would soon follow once he explored the main floor. His habits were part of his charm.

Obi scowled as he stalked through the house, finding nothing out of the ordinary - it was well maintained and decorated nicely - if a bit old-fashioned. He shuddered - lots of big floral patterns and an excessive amount of plaid where they’d run out of room for roses. There was a wood burning fireplace too - currently unused - flanked by an antique set of wrought iron tools.

Obi met Torou leaving the bedroom closest to the stairs; she shook her head. “A kid’s room. It’s gotta be the second or the master bedroom.”

“You take the master then, most likely it’s not the second - but I’ll check it out.”

“Okay.” Torou gave Obi a mock salute. “You haven’t missed a trick even after all these years.”

“But I’d like to,” he muttered, “forget all about this and the dumb stuff you pulled me into.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Torou taunted Obi with a wink and another blown kiss.

“That’s only if Tomi didn't steal them first.” Obi rubbed his forehead and walked towards the second bedroom, slipping inside. Nothing on these walls except more giant, ugly, cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Ugh! So old-fashioned. Was this the house of a grandma from the 1950’s? The closet door was in contrast overly new looking - and the right size for a custom walk-in. Could be the safe was here instead of in the master.

Only one way to find out - Obi drew open the closet door and did his best to staunch a horrified gasp. No safe, but lots and lots of adult...gear. Whips, chains, what had to be porn magazines, several squirt bottles of lube and items he thankfully could not easily identify. He shook his head and shuddered. Fucking hell.

Suddenly aware he’d zoned out, standing in front of what could fully stock an orgy, Obi made to shut the Pandora’s box of porn - but a heavy tread stumping up the stairs made his flesh crawl and his blood chill. Too late to run to warn Torou… A split second later, Obi made up his mind and jumped into the closet, sending a frantic text to Torou. <>

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He anxiously watched his phone, expecting Torou to text him back - but no answer. Shit. Was the homeowner bludgeoning Torou as he cowered amongst the pleather outfits and massive battery driven toys? Shit. Obi held his breath - the carefree, loud footsteps were getting louder. His stomach plummeted. Somebody wanted a little something-something before getting some sleep.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi secured his phone and waited in the farthest corner of the closet, poised to take action. The door was yanked open and a hand rummaged inside - through long familiarity no doubt - reaching with unerring grace for the flesh pocket - and shut the door. Obi slumped backward in relief. Thank all the unholy sex gods and goddesses.

Shit - now did he try to save Torou from the horny homeowner or escape? Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi strained his ears - nothing. No horrid buzz of an adult toy - no heavy footsteps - no screams. He said a little prayer and pushed the closet door open the smallest amount he could to see out of - and about felt his soul leave his body.

The horny homeowner was sitting on the spare bed looking through his mail - the waiting lurid plastic lips of the fleshlight leering at Obi. Jesus, lord love a duck. At least the guy's head was bowed and he’d missed seeing a surprise visitor pop out of his closet. Obi didn’t know what to hope for - the horny guy going to town on himself, or sudden merciful death.

Torou texted Obi. <>

Several things happened at once. Obi’s phone signalled itself with a snippet of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, horny homeowner bolted off his bed, still holding his mail, looking around wildly. “What the fuck!”

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Obi yanked his balaclava down to obscure his face, blindly taking the closest item to hand and bolted out of the closet. Fast, so fast - sprinting like the wind - but the horny homeowner managed to tackle Obi. Obi felt a sharp, burning pinch and then he twisted, bucking off the guy who was screaming bloody blue murder. Slamming the door behind himself, Obi used the bullwhip he'd grabbed, jamming it like a doorstop to keep the irate man a little occupied while they escaped.

“Go, go, go!” Obi ran past Torou who was cradling her ill-gotten goods in a nondescript gym bag.

“I’m going!” Torou hissed. “New much?”

“Never again!” Adrenalin kept Obi and Torou running outside into the bare glimmer of dawn - Obi towards his car and Torou - she jumped into a waiting white van that zoomed off before she’d even fully landed in the passenger seat. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Obi ran into the semi cover of a bush - slowed his headlong rush into an ambling power walk and uncovered his face. Nothing said ‘up to no good’ like a balaclava pulled down on a guy fleeing in the dark. He’d fucked up but he could repent at leisure once he was safe.

Obi hustled down the alley to his car, unlocking it, smiling at the cheerful chirp and slid inside behind the wheel. His back spasmed - fire erupted in his nerves. What the fuck? He felt his back as best he could, fingers coming away sticky - with something god-damned familiar.

><><><><

“Gimme a damn minute!” Shirayuki pulled on her bathrobe and belted it tight - the idiot pounding on her door was obviously drunk - and she’d have to kick his ass to curb without her pajamas. Barefoot, she stomped over to her front door, quickly checking that her door was on the chain. “What the hell is wrong with you? Some people are trying to-” she yanked open the door as much as the safety chain allowed, her angry tirade dying as she met Obi’s glazed eyes in his pale face.

“Mostly, what’s wrong with me, is I’ve been stabbed.” Obi gurgled a listless chuckle and collapsed.

[dramarising-replacement]

http://dramarising.com/post/180579291383/earths-centaur-rep-is-a-butterface-fite-me

Oh, you misunderstand me. Her being a butterface is the least of her problems,overall she and her doppleganger are hot messes.

https://i.imgur.com/jkUV4pp.png

If you take an actual look at her, instead of fapping to her diversity dewlap, she’s got a host of issues. I suspect the centaurs know dragons are stupid and don’t know when they’re being insulted by their “ambassadors”.

You can see she’s long in the toe and has low heels on all four feet, meaning her breakover is quite bad.  In the left hind leg especially you can see where her toes are going to dig into the turf as she rotates the heel over the point of the hoof.  Her toes hurt, as every step jabs them down into the ground, like constantly stubbing the ends of your toes, so she lifts them much higher than is naturally comfortable for a walking gait, leading to this ridiculous mincing stride you’re seeing here, where the knee is nearly raised higher than the elbow and the whole thing is being moved out to the side for each stride.   Let’s now look at the bizarro overmuscled human arms that make up that elbow and shoulder. The hell is that bicep doing there, poking out of the body wall?

This is what a properly muscled horse looks like, along with how their stride is supposed to go.

https://i.imgur.com/xqCXI3S.jpg

Knee is below elbow joint, ankle forward, hooves are short and heel is high.  This is a comfortable trot, this horse can do this for miles. Notice how the muscle moves in a continuous line without bulging.

This is Julia Vins, aka. Muscle Barbie, a powerlifter. She’s built as hell and it looks good on her.

https://i.imgur.com/lPj416e.jpg

You tell me which one looks more like that WRONG horse leg.

https://i.imgur.com/jkUV4pp.png

Let’s continue:

She’s cowhocked in the back on top of being long in the toe, noted by the positioning of the right knee and the overbuild of what looks like the semimembranosus and semitendinosus muscles, so her ass drags and her gait is fully uneven. 

Big-ass horses are usually the sorts that have to drive from their rears (draft horses) or perform particular airs above the ground (Lippizaners).  Compare the asses of these Belgians at a Pull and this Lippizaner performing the Levade.

https://i.imgur.com/NfnzbnY.jpg

No junk in those trunks!

If the craptaur had to run, she’d trip over her own toes and kick herself in the back of the knees on the way down.  But knowing dragons, I’m sure they think the way she strides around it’s some kind of regal prance.

Such a horse-body is going to go lame quickly, if it hasn’t already.

But let’s talk about that fucking face.  Y'guys know what Cushing’s disease is (PPID in horses)?  In humans it comes with a few visible symptoms, one of those is that moonface that that walking glue pile has.

A dead-ringer, gentle-its and honored-thems.

https://i.imgur.com/qneRJ2V.jpg

So, yeah, the anatomy is a shitshow. The centaur ambassador has Cushing’s disease and is likely lame by now, clearly the centaur herd was dicks for not taking care of it’s unhealthy members anyway, but just sending them off to be the dragons problem is frosting. So when the sick thing dies after a fall that breaks a leg (courtesy of those too long toes and problematic wound healing associated with Cushings,), there can be a nice big scandal and Earth has to give the centaur beastclans land concessions for taking such shit care of their ambassador.

It’s a pretty clever plan, to be honest, too bad no dragon bothers to study or raise animals so much as eat them. Anyone raising Rambras should spot these problems too.

Me calling the familiar a butterface was literally the least of its problems. 

Sincerely,

A Veterinary Technician, who plays FR, and is desperate for some good in-game DnD political drama.

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: The Assassin’s Blade, Ch 23-24

Sorry this took so long but this book is fucking exhausting

Celaena and Ansel knew their little escapade with the Asterion horses would have consequences. Celaena had at least expected to have enough time to tell a decent lie about how they acquired the horses. But when they returned to the fortress and found Mikhail waiting, along with three other assassins, she knew that word of their stunt had somehow already reached the Master.

But how? Who told him? Who the hell saw them steal the horses and somehow got back to the fortress before them?

So, get this. The Mute Master has them alone in his chambers, no doubt about to get furious at them for pulling such a stunt, right? And then Celery pulls this fucking shit.

And suddenly, as the memory of that day echoed through her, she remembered the words Sam kept screaming at Arobynn as the King of the Assassins beat her, the words that she somehow had forgotten in the fog of pain: I’ll kill you!

You’re about to be possibly kicked out of a training fortress that you need to receive a letter of approval from in order to be allowed home and now you’re suddenly splooging over a guy because he... didn’t want you to be hurt? Like any decent fucking human being? God I fucking hate you, Celery, you stupid piece of shit.

After Celery finishes drooling  over Sammy wanting to kill Arobynn for hurting her, she at least has the good sense to take the fall for the idea since this is Ansel’s home and getting in trouble would extremely affect her.

Apparently the Mute Master is fairly chill with them stealing horses and Ansel tells Celery she can go tomorrow for her first private lesson. Jesus Christ, finally, this story is going somewhere.

Their punishment next morning is cleaning animal shit out of the pens.

Another benefit was that they didn’t have to go running. Though after four hours of shoveling animal droppings, Celaena would have begged to take the six-mile run instead.

Not really a benefit then, is it?

Celery goes to the Master’s hangout on the roof for her first lesson.

Celaena cleared her throat again, and the Master finally turned. She bowed, which, strangely, was something she felt he actually deserved, rather than something she ought to do.

Celery learning that diplomacy is a thing?? She really does grow stupider as the books go on, since in E0S she threatens and attempts to stab the people in a political meeting that don’t agree with her viewpoint.

The Mute Master gives her a basket with a snake inside and tells her to observe its movements, so she spends the lesson moving with the snake and copying its movements. It’s actually really cool and more interesting than generic swords training.

SJM describes some more cool training in passing about how Celery has to study the movements of other animals like bats and rabbits. So let me get this straight; a whole page in the market scene was dedicated to Celery crying because she wanted new shoes, and that’s plot important, but you skip over her training which was the whole point of her coming to this place.

I’m.... speechless. Utterly speechless. It isn’t often you see someone fail so badly at all aspects of writing, but SJM has done it. She has officially failed at a basic component of storytelling. And her books are New York bestsellers. Truly, the world isn’t a fair place.

And every day, Celaena went to sleep after lunch and dozed until the sun went down, her dreams full of snakes and rabbits and chirping desert beetles. Sometimes she spotted Mikhail training the acolytes, or found Ilias meditating in an empty training room, but she rarely got the chance to spend time with them.

Ilias I kinda get, but you’ve spoken what, five words to Mikhail? You have no relationship with him lmfao.

There were quiet moments also, when she wasn’t training or toiling with Ansel. Moments when her thoughts drifted back to Sam, to what he’d said. He’d threatened to kill Arobynn. For hurting her.

Ask me if I give a fuck. Seriously, I don’t. I don’t feel this chemistry at all and I’m dreading when we return to Arobynn’s assassin joint and we have to read multiple paragraphs of Celery splooging over how hot Sammy is.

Next chapter opens up with Celery putting make up on Ansel because it’s apparently her birthday.

“What?” Ansel said. Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.” “Why?” “Because you look better than I do.” Ansel pinched Celaena’s arm. Celaena pinched her back, laughter on her lips.

Girls being friends? Pure and wholesome. Too bad SJM ruins it immediately after with this.

She hadn’t even dared ask the Master for her letter yet. But more than that … Well, she’d never had a female friend—never really had any friends—and somehow, the thought of returning to Rifthold without Ansel was a tad unbearable.

Hmm... it does raise the eyebrows a little that Ansel is super masculine and a “stronk female character’ like Celery and she is the only girl Celery has ever considered as a friend.......almost as if... it’s sexist towards girls who aren’t masculine like Celery.....hm...

At the party people are dancing with no music, which is whack af to Celery.

Though she loved, loved, loved parties, Celaena would have rather spent the night training with the Master. (...) But he’d insisted she go to the party—if only because he wanted to go to the party. The old man danced to a rhythm Celaena could not hear or make out, and looked more like someone’s benevolent, clumsy grandfather than the master of some of the world’s greatest assassins.

Hey, you leave him alone. He’s one of the few good characters in this shitty ass story, and if he wants to dance like an old grandpa, then let him.

Celery sees Ansel dancing with Mikhail and makes it all about her own feefees for Sammy, as usual.She gushes over how Sammy is totally in love with her and how she totally busts a nut every time he looks at her or some stupid shit like that.

Someone touched her shoulder, and Celaena looked up from her empty wine goblet to find Ilias standing behind her. She hadn’t seen much of him in the past few days, aside from at dinner, where he still glanced at her and gave her those lovely smiles. He offered his hand.

Poor Ilias, man. Obviously Celery doesn’t owe him anything, but.... you deserve someone so much better, Ilias. Imagine if it were Sammy here instead of Celery. I want that fanfic, someone write it.

Ilias and Celery eventually ditch the party since Celery’s feet hurt from dancing.

What would he say—that is, if he could speak—if he knew that Adarlan’s Assassin had never been kissed? She’d killed men, freed slaves, stolen horses, but she’d never kissed anyone.

God, we’re really going there, aren’t we... god I’m so tired....

First off, good job on shaming any older teenagers because they’ve never kissed someone before, as if that makes them weirdos. Makes me feel fucking amazing as an 18 y/o who hasn’t kissed anyone yet. Thanks, SJM.

Second, who gives a shit?? In fact, Celery, you have a good excuse for not kissing anyone; you’re an assassin. If you told Ilias, he’s probably just assume you’re too busy with work to settle down with someone. Like, do you think he’s really gonna make fun of you for not having kissed anyone before? Does SJM know how human beings function????

Anyways, Ilias does try to kiss Celery, but immediately stops when she backs away. Man, a male character who respects boundaries?? In MY SJM book?? Never thought I’d see the day.

“I—I can’t. I mean, I’m leaving in a week. And … and you live here. And I’m in Rifthold, so …” She was babbling. She should stop. Actually, she should just stop talking. Forever.

You really should. Sadly, Celery doesn’t take her own advice.

Ilias is just like, “whatever, that’s cool fam,” and goes to his room. I can’t believe SJM is making me praise a character for respecting personal boundaries but holy shit, that’s how low the bar is with her characters.

Alone in the hallway, Celaena watched the shadows cast by the torches. It hadn’t been the mere impossibility of a relationship with Ilias that had made her pull away. No; it was the memory of Sam’s face that had stopped her from kissing him.

First off, that semicolon is making me wince when a comma would’ve sufficed better, so jot that down. Second, unghhhh I don’t care, I don’t give a shit about Celery’s sudden crush on Sammy! He deserves someone who will treat him right!

Ansel arrives late next morning to shoveling shit duty because she slept with Mikhail. Again, ask me if I give a fuck.

Out of the blue, Ansel gets all pissy and jealous of Celery training with the Mute Master. It’s so literally out of nowhere and so obviously shoehorned in just so there can be conflict. SJM looking up basic writing tips and was like, ‘Oh shit, my story has no conflict and I need a falling out before the final climax! Uhhh Ansel is mad at Celery, yeah okay.”

Celaena’s throat tightened, and she cursed herself for feeling so hurt by the words. She didn’t think the Master felt that way at all, but she still hissed, “Yes, my glorious fate. Shoveling dung in a barn. A worthy task for me.” “But certainly a worthy task for a girl from the Flatlands?” “I didn’t say that,” Celaena said through her teeth. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Jesus Christ, Ansel, I think I hate you almost as much as I hate Celery. Ansel is one of those fucking assholes who twists around words of others and reblogs someones post with a shitty “So you’re basically saying you hate all of (x) people, are you OP?” guilt trip.

Celery is like ‘whatever, nobody cares about you reclaiming your shitty homeland even though it has nothing to do with our conversation and I only brought it up because the author wants us to hate each other now” and Ansel stomps off. Riveting Drama, this is, these characters are so well developed! I totally care about how this conflict will resolve itself!

[theliterateape]

The Trouble with Transactional Relationships and Recognizing Them

by Don Hall

"Who the FUCK spends $288.00 in a Denny's?!"

Back in the 80s, the Wild Wild West was known as King 8 Casino & Hotel and was host to the King 8 Grill. At the time it was one of the hottest spots to eat in Vegas off the strip. Today, the King 8 Grill is a Denny's franchise and separate from the casino and hotel. Managers can still comp guests (and staff) but the company pays the Denny's Corporation for the courtesy.

Given the lack of perks for the guests, the Denny's comp is about all the managers at the West have to placate those with a beef.

The machines are rough around the edges. Approximately a third of the Game Kings and Buffalo's are decades old and break down frequently while players have money in them. In the earlier days of Vegas, slot machines were mechanical. Today, they are almost entirely Microsoft computers, monitors, and bugs.

✶

I noticed one of my cocktail waitresses at two tall Buffalos. She was flanked by two women who were both a solid foot taller than she was and highly animated, talking and gesticulating wildly. I came over, saw that the two machines were frozen. One had $11.00 in it. The other had $10.00 but had frozen during a Bonus Round. I tapped my waitress out. "I got this."

I held up my hands dramatically.

"I'm going to predict the future!" I exclaimed. "I'm going to get into these machines and do my level best to get them up and running so you can continue playing and you can get your bonus round. For the next ten minutes or so, I will endeavor to fix this. But I'm going to say something now that, if I cannot get things up and running, will not change from now to then. If I can't get your machines up and running, you will be given your $11.00 and $10.00 back, no question but you will not be awarded for a Bonus Round unplayed. You will now commence to bitching about this while I work."

And bitch they did commence.

For eight minutes I pulled out all the tricks. I checked the bill validators. I unplugged and plugged back in the silver box, the blue box, and the main computers. I put in my special reset card and reset both machines twice.

All the while, the two women yelled non-stop about how they treat people at the MGM Grand, about how one was a nurse and if something didn't work with a patient it would be on the hospital to compensate them, that the casinos were all making so much money that we could afford to pay out Bonus Rounds even if they weren't played. During the cacophony, I learned that they were mother and daughter but hardly looked it, that they were there with 'boyfriends' who they didn't really know too well (neither could get the mother's male companion's name right), and that they played here at the West all the time.

"OK. I tried. I failed. As I predicted, you will now be refunded the money in your machines."

Immediate discord.

My hands went up again. "Alright. I hear you. Here's what I can do. For you (the mother) I can give you your $11.00 back. That's it. My apologies and $11.00. For you (the daughter) I can either shut down the machine and you can wait for a slot technician to come and fix it and then play your bonus round. That'll happen next week and I can call you if you win anything. Or I can refund your $10.00 and offer you a meal at the Denny's for your trouble."

A pause.

"How about four meals? There's four of us."

I did a quick calculation in my head. I could get away with four meals at Denny's and justify it if for no other reason than to shut these ladies up and move on with my day.

"OK. I can do four meals."

The four of them, satisfied, walked over to the Denny's. I went to the cage and got them their $21.00. I handed it off as they were getting drinks. "This is on the house," I told the waitress.

I went about my business.

Ninety minutes later, the Denny's waitress came over to give me the bill so I could fill out the comp slip.

"$288.00?! What the hell did they freaking order? Holy Shit!"

Four steak dinners. Four milkshakes. Four desserts. Three breakfasts, a sandwich, and a meatloaf platter to go along with two more milkshakes. An order of brownies. The list went on. I was stunned and furious.

I was so caught off guard, I left the casino to smoke and vent out loud to myself. The first trip around the property I was angry at them. The second trip, I realized I was pissed at myself. I had opened the gate; they had just walked through it.

Twenty minutes later, I came back and noticed they were still there. No longer at the Denny's but back playing the machines. I knew that as soon as my general manager saw the $288.00 comp, it was my ass but I thought I saw a way out. I approached the four, all smiles.

"Did you enjoy your meal? You should've because you got enough food to serve a football team!" And they laughed.

"You sticking around? If you are, can I get you some drinks on me?"

They were and I could. They ordered four double shots of Patron. $72.00 in tequila. "Absolutely!" I said. I was betting these idiots wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Patron and El Toro so I had the bartender pour four double shots of the latter. A $1.80 comp.

Sure enough, they didn't know the difference between premium tequila and horse piss so they were feeling quite taken care of. I kept this up, delivering my fake Patron double shots every 45 minutes or so, chatting them up, directing them to slots that I told them were big payouts but, in fact, were more like donation boxes.

Six hours later, they were plastered and had lost over $6,000.00. I had made my $288.00 back and then some.

A few months later, I saw them in the joint again. The mother was having a problem with her free play points. There was no chance I was being suckered twice. I explained that I could email our marketing department to look into it but there was nothing I could do for her at the moment.

"What about some Denny's?" the daughter asked.

"No. I'm sorry but I can't give out Denny's for a $5.00 free play issue."

"That's alright. We already jacked up that stupid manager." They both started laughing. They didn't recognize me as I had shaved my beard off since our first encounter. "We ordered $300.00 in food. We ate on that for two days. That white boy was DUMB."

Yes. He was.

✶

In the casino most of the relationships are openly transactional. That's the very nature of the business. The casino wants people to come in and lose their money on slots. The people want something in return if they keep losing. Everyone is looking to get one over on everyone else. The nicest encounters from the nicest people can turn ugly in seconds as soon as the staff refuses a request.

My difficulty in life has been my inability to recognize these transactional relationships outside of the casino.

When we moved to Vegas, we came out here with a friend who financed the move in exchange for our help. He was disabled and couldn't handle the move. We were friends and it all seemed kosher until we arrived and the move was complete. The transaction had been concluded but the relationship was cemented in our obedience to more transactions. After all, he was still disabled and expected that we would continue to do his bidding and as soon as either my wife or I refused a request, we became his enemies.

My second marriage was transactional. She wanted someone to produce her artistic inclinations; I wanted someone brilliant to create shows I would produce. When I stopped producing shows of any kind, she moved on to a mutual friend for a year before we divorced.

In the earliest days of the theater I founded in the nineties, I thought we were all in it together but whenever I attempted something that would benefit us all and I failed, my failure resulted in my perceived comrades in arms turning on me in a split second. I spent the first several years of that endeavor constantly worried that the ensemble would simply leave should I not meet the transactional requirements in place. Eventually I got tired of that pressure and when people left only to scorch the earth with tales of what an asshole I was, I couldn't be surprised.

I was definitely the asshole. I reneged on the premise of the relationships. I was there to serve them, they were there to be served. I rejected the premise thus the promise.

Upon reflection, I've never been great at making friends. I can lay blame on a host of reasons for this but I'd wager that the rolling stone nature of my growing up has me gaining status and relationships based in large part from what I can supply. I'm worth your time because of what I can do for you. As soon as I find myself resenting the transactional nature of the friendship, as soon as I stop doing things, the relationship becomes null and void.

I'm getting on in years at this point and I find a healthy sense of misanthropy is settling into my bones. My earlier inability to understand the transactional nature of so many of my relationships—from the assistant I trained at the public radio station who was instrumental in my resignation to the misperceived friends I had in Chicago who abandoned me in the face of controversy—has fostered a desire to be left alone.

Yes. There was a time when I blamed them, was angry at them. After a second walk around the property, I realized that I had opened the gate; they just walked through it. If anyone is to blame (as if assigning blame is either necessary or helpful) it is most definitely me. I am the asshole. I entered into the agreement of friendship in exchange for industry. I no longer have any desire for that sort of bought and paid for relationship. Thus multiple burnt bridges to multiple transactional friendships.

I am, gratefully, beginning to recognize those relationships based on mutual interest, common enthusiasms, and equal transactions. I'm beginning to see the joys of friendships without strings attached, without a contract.

✶

With the economy having taken a hit and employment moving further and further online, it concerns me that so much of our communication to one another has become strictly transactional. GoFundMe, Patreon, Buy Me a Coffee, OnlyFans. As our relationships grow exponentially from in-person to online, the mixed message of being a "friend" (the definition changing before our very eyes and meaning everything from 'friend' to 'subscriber' to 'follower') and a transactional partner is murkier.

I mean, Christ, I just started to see the difference in my own life and I'm over half a century old. I wonder if my niece is able to see the difference now that so many of her relationships are primarily digital. I wonder about kids who've spent the past year in lockdown and who's only relationships are within the social media platforms.

From this position I'm in, having realized the emptiness of transactional friendships, I offer a caution. Take a moment or two and reflect upon your relationships. The ones that are predicated on transaction are doomed.

[mandysimo13]

Chapter 5 - Where is My Gallant Knight

Chapter 5 is up, y’all! Just started a new job and second stage of German so life’s been a little hectic. But here we are, chapter 5 for your reading pleasure! Enjoy! On AO3 (X)

“I have so many questions,” John said softly as he dropped heavily onto the ground in front of the tent. He laid back, not caring that the ground was moist or that there were twigs and stones digging into his body. He needed to be horizontal more than anything else no matter the terrain.

Greg stood next to him, groaning with exhaustion. “You and me both. That fire was incredible!”

“But did you see how it drained him? How he just crumpled like wet paper afterwards? Do you think that using his magic hurts him?”

Greg shrugged. “We’ll have to wait until he comes round again. Not much else we can do but make him comfortable and wait.”

John nodded. “Too true. What do we do in the meantime? Can’t light a fire. Those bandits are probably out there looking for us as we speak.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I plan on filling the water skins and then laying down for an early night, myself.” He walked off towards their packs so as to retrieve their empty water skins.

John felt uncharacteristically restless. His brain was wired, flooding with questions about Sherlock and his magic, worrying that every twitch and rustle in the woods was an enemy, wanting to get up and help Greg just so his hands would be busy. But his whole body screamed with exhaustion from their harrowing capture and escape. His body yearned to crawl inside the tent and curl up next to Sherlock, the prospect of cuddling the man becoming less and less distasteful by the second. He would be able to feel every breath of Sherlock’s, the gentle rise and fall of his chest to assure John that he was still alive. He would be there when Sherlock woke first thing, to see for himself that the wizard hadn’t slipped back into eternal sleep.

Not that kissing him back to life would be a hardship.

John’s eyes snapped open, not recalling when he had first closed them. Why was he wanting to kiss Sherlock again? Sherlock had made it clear that advances on his person were unwelcome. Was it just gratitude for having saved them all? That had to be it. John didn’t exactly execute his plan with the bandits well. The situation spiralled way out of hand and Sherlock managed to save him and Greg, even despite Sherlock’s insistence that he didn’t care what happened to his rescuers. He just wanted to show his appreciation.

Right. Enough of that , he decided.

Resolute, he forced himself to stand up and go help Greg with the water before scouting out a good place to set up a watch. With the action they had with the bandits, it was ludicrous not to have someone stand watch over night.

Finding Greg at the water’s edge, filling their skins, John crouched beside him and grabbed an empty one. He dipped it into the river and told Greg of his decision to have a watch. They agreed it was prudent, capping their full skins and reaching for the last two empties.  “I’ll take first watch,” John insisted.

“Find by me,” Greg said, voice weary. “I’m so knackered, I could fall asleep here.”

John grinned. “Please don’t. I don’t have the energy for a water rescue right now. Can’t have you drowning on me.”

“I do live to make your life easier,” Greg quipped dryly, smile on his face.

They rose with groans and popping joints and arms full of water. It didn’t take long for them to stow their water and do a sweep of the perimeter of their camp for any and all possible attacking points. All things considered, they were well placed. River behind their tent. Not far off in front of them but far enough back you couldn’t see them from was the road. Dense foliage on either side to shield them from those coming from either side. It seemed to be a popular spot to make camp but evidence showed that no one had been there in awhile, no recent human footprints or fire residue.

If they were lucky, the night would be uneventful.

John found himself a perch on a large boulder nearby and Greg waved to him in goodnight before crawling inside their tent for the next few hours. John was left with his thoughts and the sounds of the nighttime forest for company. He didn’t want to tread back into dangerous territory, thinking about Sherlock, so he played a game with himself. As the nightly chorus of forest animals began to play, John picked out each one and named them. Owl calling out after prey. Two foxes who have found their mate. A flock of bats on the hunt. Deer stalking gently through the underbrush.

The game eventually became tiresome and repetitive. His eyes drooped and his head jerked up sharply in an effort to stay awake. Rather than try to play his guessing game he began to daydream. His mind began to wander. He thought of the cadence of his horse’s steps while they rode that day, the feel of his chest against Sherlock’s chest. If he closed his eyes he could feel the sway of their bodies atop the beast and almost smell the dusty sweat of travel that collected at the back of Sherlock’s neck. Their shared ride had ended with an argument and a capture that irked John to no end. He replayed the encounter with Felix over and over, trying to see where he could have done better. But every scenario still ended with Sherlock taking matters into his own enflamed hands.

Realization dawned on him, the reason he was revisiting the scene over and over again.

John had never been saved before.

He had always been the rescuer, the one to arrive in the nick of time, the hero. But it was undeniable in the dark and still of night; John had been in need of help, in need of rescue, and Sherlock delivered. The first to ever extend a hand and pull John out of peril. He put himself in harm’s way to save John and couldn’t fathom why.

Why why why why why why why?

He implied he’d run off at the first chance he got and he hadn’t. He said he would let bandits and thieves be a cover for him to take off and leave us to fate but he didn’t. He argues and rails against being rescued but then saves his captors from death even though it would benefit him. And inconvenience his brother with a ransom which, given his expressed “brotherly affection”, is something he’d draw amusement from. He could have let us die and yet he put himself in the line of fire.

John had never been more confused.

At last, his watch ended and it was time for him to get some blessed sleep. He slid off his boulder, stretching briefly and rubbing his numb bottom, and went to wake Greg. A gentle shake of the shoulder and whisper of “your turn” and Greg was grumbling awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. John sat back on his heels so Greg could crawl out of the tent and after a quick exchange of words, observations then goodnights, John let himself fall into the space his squire had occupied.

The bedroll was warm from Greg’s body and John snuffled happily into the cushioning. The chill of the evening slowly dissipated and his body relaxed, preparing for sleep. His eyes peeked open to where Sherlock was sound asleep. The man had his back to John but splayed limply as if he had melted, unconsciously taking advantage of the extra space with only two in the tent at a time.

Suddenly the warmth of Greg’s bedroll couldn’t compete with the warmth of Sherlock’s body. John’s fingers twitched with the desire to scoot his padding closer and collect Sherlock in his arms as he had that morning. To feel the soft puffs of sleep sour breath, to feel rather than hear dreaming snuffling, to have Sherlock clutch him again.

But he wouldn’t force himself on Sherlock again. Even if it was to break a spell, his kiss was unwanted and John doubted Sherlock would ever want him intimately in return. He wouldn’t ever force himself on Sherlock again. Sherlock didn’t want him anyway, even if he had wrapped himself around John that morning and saved him from certain death. That just proved that a sleeping Sherlock sought the warmth of another body and that awake Sherlock preferred one band of kidnappers over another. Neither occurrence was promising of anything other than platonic.

With a sigh and a wave of sadness, John pushed off his desire and wrapped his arms around himself and forced himself to roll away from Sherlock. He would go to sleep and wake up the next day and, maybe, they would get Sherlock to tell them a little about his magic.

\~*~/

John found himself walking to the river’s edge, disrobing as he went and desperate for a bath. He knew the water would be cold but refreshing and he welcomed the sensation. His skin was hot, so hot, he needed to cool himself nor surely he would catch fire. His feet squished the mud beneath, oozing between his toes and sending little thrills of cold chills up his spine as the breeze danced across his naked skin. The first touch of the cool, glassy water pulling a gasp from his lips.

He waded into the river, feeling the water support him and the current move around him. He walked and walked, knowing without realizing that he was seeking someone in the water. He turned his head this way and that, searching for someone. A few yards down the river a shock of pale skin and dark curls grabbed his attention.

Sherlock. Of course, of course he had been looking for Sherlock.

Despite the temperature of the water John felt his own temperature rise. His mouth stretched into a wry grin. He stood there, watching for a moment as Sherlock bathed himself with his back to John. Sunlight glinted off the droplets of water that perched on his creamy skin and John’s mouth went dry. He licked his lips, needing to taste the water on Sherlock’s skin. As if he were a bee seeking nectar from a flower.

His feet carried him towards Sherlock, the water quietly shushing and swishing with his movements. He knew Sherlock was aware of his presence, how could he not. Still, he kept his face turned away, letting John gaze only upon the canvas of skin of his back. John stopped, a hand's breadth of space between them, and he could swear for a moment that the air crackled like lightning between them.

Unable to contain himself any longer, John raised a wet hand to Sherlock’s shoulder, the drops from his fingers mingling with the ones already present on the man’s shoulder. “Sherlock,” he whispered, afraid to break the intensity but needing to see him all the same.

His fingertips barely brushed Sherlock’s skin when his voice answered back, more of a sigh than a word. “John…”

Slowly, deliberately, Sherlock moved. First, his chin lifted, tilting his head so that John could see him in profile. Then his shoulder shifted, torso twisting to bring his front into John’s sight. Lastly, his arms, ones that had been curled protectively around himself, unfolded to draw John impossibly closer. In a second, their bodies were flush together and the water around them practically boiled with passion.

“John,” his whispered again, lips against John’s earlobe. The word, said like a prayer, sent shivers along his spine and John found his hands caressing Sherlock’s bare hips.

“Sherlock,” he murmured back.

Without words of mutual agreement, they bent their heads and slot their lips against each other. This kiss was worlds different than their first. Sherlock didn’t hit him or push him away. In fact, Sherlock’s arms tightened around him, hands clutching at his bare skin as his lips slid over John’s. He opened underneath Sherlock’s momentum, relishing the control he took as he let Sherlock’s tongue dip inside his mouth. The groan that was torn from his mouth was swallowed by Sherlock and John sent his hands roaming for better holds. One splayed over the marblesque skin of his back and the other firmly grasping Sherlock’s arse, he rutted their pelvises together and they both moaned in slick delight.

“John,” Sherlock sighed once more, tilting his head back in ecstasy.

“Sherlock,” John replied, desperate.

“John…

John

John.

Tags under the cut                                                               Continued on AO3 (X)

@sweeter-than-cynicism @beadmaven @readermagnifique @conversationswithjohnlock @lawyermargo @sundayduck @cloakstone69 @ellipsicalelle @salve-regina-mills @cannibalcuisine @thedownfaller @soldierjhwatson @fuck-off-watson @littlethingwithfeathers @benedictgingerbatch00 

As always, if you want to be tagged and I didn’t tag you, let me know. And if you don’t want to be tagged let me know. You guys rock! Thanks for reading!

[nightfoot]

This is a commission I did for @hoskky​!  She drew these characters, gave me a vague description, and asked me to flesh them, so here are three little backstories I wrote for each.  Set in a vaguely-fictional medieval Persia.

Commission Info

The Runner

Rahim first realized he was fast when he was seven years old.  He had always known he liked running, of course, but that was typical of a young boy.  The epiphany came when he was seven and he found himself challenged to a dare: retrieve a pomegranate from the tree at the far side of the school master’s garden, and get back to the street without getting caught.  Though he feared the beating that would surely be in store if he failed, Rahim could not tolerate his friends thinking him a coward. Overcome by pride and the need to prove himself, he clambered over the wall and crept through the bushes.  

It had been his intention to achieve his goal through stealth, and he managed to get all the way to the tree and pluck a pomegranate from its branches without being seen.  He had just turned back to the wall to wave to his friends poking their heads over when heart-stopping bark reminded the hair on the back of his neck that humans were prey animals.  The saluki dog raced down the garden path toward him, graceful legs galloping like a horse and silky hair streaming from its ears and tail.  Rahim only needed a moment’s glance at the snarling teeth to take off in a sprint.  Rahim pushed his legs faster than he ever had in his life, certain that the dog’s breath so close behind him was pushing him onward.  When he reached the edge of the garden, he tossed the pomegranate over the wall and leapt up a trestle of ivy.  At the top of the wall, he perched with one leg hanging on both sides.  He looked to his left and saw a dog furious that he’d outrun it, and then looked to his right and saw his schoolmates shouting and cheering.  From that moment, he knew two things: one, speed was a gift he possessed in strides, and two, he rather liked being above everyone else. 

Over the years, his parents were pleased with him.  Rahim was a dutiful son, paid attention to his studies, respected his elders… and won every race he entered.  He was the best, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the kindest.  An endless stream of praise from relatives and teachers alike can do things to a man’s ego, so when he sprinted past the finish line at the spring athletics competition, he felt confident that he deserved the applause being thrown his way.  When an attendant from the palace introduced himself afterwards, praised his speed and stamina, and offered him a position running messages for the Shah, he felt he deserved that, too. 

Rahim left his small town to travel to Asheveh.  There, he became a royal messenger and raced around the empire.  He enjoyed the luxurious perks that came with palatial connections while he was at home, and also relished every mission he was sent on.  Nothing made him happier than running down long roads, letting the warm air fuel his lungs and his legs flow so rhythmically that it would take more effort to stop.  Some people said that racing was his one true love, and that was why he’d never pursued any romantic relationships.  He wasn’t sure if that was true; he’d just never found the time nor inclination.  On any sunny day, he could often be found running back home after a job, an invisible saluki nipping at his heels.  Back home was fine wine, decadent food, and an evening of good company with other well-respected workers in the palace, but in the moment, there was only the race.  

The Urchin

Tamaris had never been comfortable with her older brother’s stealing. She knew where he got the loaves of bread he sometimes brought home, but she tried not to think about it.  It became even worse the first time her older brother had shown her how he picked pockets, and then she was met by crushing terror when he told her it was her turn.  She pressed her back against the sandstone wall, shaking her head.  She would get caught! And stealing was wrong!  But her brother scolded her, pointed out that picking pockets was what had put food on the family table for years, and that, being six, she was old enough now to help support the family.  With the guilt piled on, she hesitantly crept into the bustling market.  

Shafts of light pierced through gaps under the brightly coloured awnings and voices cried out from every stall.  The smell of sweaty bodies and spices on display nearly overwhelmed her, and she felt certain that every  vendor and shopper alike was watching her and knew what she was planning.  The panic nearly sent her scurrying back to her brother to insist she couldn’t do it, but the thought of him scolding her and thinking she was a baby was even worse.   She tried to find someone who looked wealthy - someone whose day wouldn’t be ruined by losing a few coins.  She spotted a man arguing over the price of a necklace and eased toward him, slinking past a donkey and creeping up behind him.  She swallowed heavily, licked her chapped lips, and reached for his pocket.  Just like her brother had demonstrated, she pulled out the pouch of money and then bolted into the crowd.  She didn’t even look back to see if he’d noticed.  

Tamaris didn’t stop running until she reached a sunny plaza and fell into the shade of a date tree.  Breathing hard, she looked down at the money pouch in her shaking hand.  She tipped the coins into her palm, dazzled by the gleam, and then quickly put them away before someone saw and asked where she’d gotten them.  A scrawny girl in clothes as baggy as hers clearly hadn’t come by them honestly.  

With that thought, guilt spread through her like venom from a snake bite.  She was a thief.  A dishonest, thieving, no-good street urchin.  When she was little, she’d hated the disgusted looks richer people gave her when they passed her on the street, but she deserved them now, didn’t she? People looked down on kids like her because you couldn’t trust them, and they were right.  She tried to tell herself that this money would help feed their widowed mother and younger siblings, and that they needed it more than the rich man needed the necklace, but she still felt awful. 

She turned her head away from the market and toward the domes and slender pillars of Asheveh’s palace in the distance.  Tamaris tried to imagine how nice it would be to live there and spend her days lounging on silk cushions as servants fanned her and brought her infinite platters of food.  It was hard to imagine such luxury being real when she’d spent her whole life in the slums.  She had good friends there, and the camaraderie between those that had nothing was unmatched, but she often dreamed of a world of sparkling fountains and golden jewellery.  She wanted that life so bad she could feel the longing lashing against her rib cage, but this pile of stolen coins clutched in her hand was the closest she would ever get to it.  She’d never achieve wealth without stealing it, and she’d never be anything but a thieving street rat.  

The Warrior

It was the final months of the Isfahan Campaign.  The war had raged for almost two years now, and the enemy was on their last legs.  What were they fighting for?  Well, Behrou had never bothered thinking too hard about that.  She was a soldier, and soldiers went into battle when told.  The whys and the whens were questions for the officers to sort out.  

That morning, the sun rose over the hill and shone like gold on the cavalry’s spears.  With the blast of a horn, a hundred horses galloped down the slope to the enemy encampment below.  Wind whipped the flags, voices shouted in unison, and the ambushed enemy scrambled to pull their pants up in time to meet them.  Behrou rode at the front of her division and led them into the encampment.  They cut down every last one of those barbarous curs before the sun was halfway up the sky, giving them time to be back to their own camp before lunch.  

But then, just as they were settling down to enjoy a well-earned meal, Behrou spotted movement behind a fig tree. Sneaking up behind the lieutenant was a straggler from the enemy camp, dripping with blood and face filled with vengeful fury.  The lieutenant, too busy feeling pleased with himself after the successful raid - as officers are wont to do - didn’t even notice.  The enemy began to raise his scimitar to strike down the unsuspecting lieutenant, but before he could deal the fatal blow, Behrou threw her spear like a javelin.  Her aim was true; the spear went right through the enemy’s neck and sank into the trunk of the tree, pinning him there.  Everyone in the area stopped to stare, and in the utter silence that followed, a single fig dropped from the tree and plopped onto the dead man’s head. Behrou stepped past the frozen lieutenant to pick up the fig.  She held it out to him and said, “Care for some dessert, sir?” 

At the conclusion of this tale, the bar erupted into applause.  Behrou, withered by age, drank in her audience’s rapt attention… and then drank in another mug of beer.  Was it true, she was asked, the part with the fig? Behrou assured him that of course it was true, and that for the rest of the campaign, some jokers in her regiment thought it would hilarious to offer her a fig at any opportunity.  From there, she moved on to the next story, a tale that involved a daring mission across enemy lines and how she and a small handful of companions scouted out the enemy’s numbers.  She remembered the mission fondly, and especially remembered how it felt to ride a horse with joints that didn’t creak, to sleep in a tent on the ground without aching the next day, or to spring to action at a word and never look back.  She was old now, and the vigour of youth was long behind her. Things had been simpler in her youth.  She went where the officers told her and fought the enemy because they were the enemy.  Your friends were the ones who fought at your back and you never worried more than a month ahead, because who knew if you’d still be alive to deal with it?  

At a young age, Behrou had realized that her parents’ farm held nothing for her but a future of marrying a farmer, so she followed the trumpets into the cavalry as soon as she was old enough to do so.  She rose through the ranks until she commanded scores of soldiers (but never to officer, of course - she would be insulted to be mistaken for an officer), and every time she screamed a battle charge while stampeding into battle, she thought about how the rows of pikes ahead of her were still a better future to look forward to than season after season of wheat fields.  And eventually, after decades of adventure, the borders of the empire began to stabilize, campaigns came fewer and far between, and her treacherous body started having trouble getting on and off a horse.  In the end, she retired with honour, a handful of medals, and enough stories to fill a book. 

It had been a good life.  She took her military pension and bought a house in Asheveh, because even now she wanted to stay as far away from a farm as possible.  She’d been all across the empire with the army and seen more of it than most of the patrons in this bar combined. She had a thousand and one tales of daring and valour, and a few more that focused on the naughty bits.  As long as her stories kept flowing, so did the beer.   

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 18

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Eighteen The Silverglade Farmer’s Market

The next morning, they were up early and eating toast on the run as they ran around the Manor doing maintenance chores and getting ready. Even Linda was excited. She was going to cover it all on her social media. Antonia had ingredients that needed to be taken down to her outdoor kitchen at the pavilion where she’d be making a smaller version of the menu, mostly the lunch and dessert items with the chicken soup.

They loaded all the boxes up on their horses with the items for their display, choosing the most loyal of ducks to go with them and made quite the parade to Silverglade with Antonia riding ahead of them on her scooter like a pacer. (Linda got several pictures.)

Sally met them with a clipboard. “The Silver Glade Fine Dining is in the food pavilion. We have had to put up three pavilions!” Her eyes got big. “This has been amazing. There’s a card with your name on it for your spot, Chef Antonia.”

Antonia nodded and the girls with the boxes of food went with her.

“And we’ve set up an entire section for the Clubs in Pavilion two with the crafters,” Sally said and checked her clipboard.

“Got it!” Lily saluted.

“Pavilion one is the farmers,” Sally said. “And Andy has put in a petting zoo.”

“Good of him,” Regina grinned. “We’ll go get set up.”

“Oh, and while Loretta and Tan didn’t have anything to do with the planning, they’re more than willing to take advantage of the publicity,” Sally curled her lip. “So, they’re here too. Just a warning. But so is Justin with a display about Camp.”

They made faces and nodded at her before heading inside tent two. They set up their display, a big board about the Silverglade Equestrian Center with pictures of everything underway and everything they hoped to accomplish.

The ducks settled into a barrel full of straw they’d brought with them. They had big bows around their necks similar to the one that the Baroness had on the back of her dress.

Lily went around and shook all the President’s hands, including Loretta’s, and thanked them for coming. The others gushed. Except Loretta, she sniffed.

Across the way, Lily could see Ferdinand’s Horse Market, though there was a farmer’s wall and a couple fields between them. You didn’t need binoculars to see their horses. “I’m going to go over, say hi, and see if they want to send someone over to direct tourists to check them out.” She got on her horse, waved, rode over.

“Morning!” She called out to the older couple who were getting some horses settled.

“Morning,” the older and somewhat portly man smiled at her.

“I’m Lily of the Silver Drakes Riding Club,” she slid off her horse. “And um, I’m sure Pia has been by to tell you that today we’re having a Farmer’s Market by the Golden Fields. And, you’re more than welcome to send someone to direct them down here to check out your beautiful horses.”

Ferdinand beamed at her. “Pia did tell us that was going on. We’ve been watching those pavilions going up with quite a bit of interest.”

Eddie nodded. “Thank you for riding over to tell us what’s going on. Oye! Goofy Lars!” She raised her voice only slightly. She didn’t want to scare the horses. “You go with this young lady and tell folks about our horse market, you hear?”

“Sure thing, Eddie,” Goofy grinned. He chose one of the horses and tacked it up.

Lily smiled. “Pia might be by later to tell you again, or Kate, the leader of the Summer Chipmunks.”

“We’ll be just as appreciative of them as of you. Might want to go take a gander myself later,” Eddie said. “But can’t leave the horses by themselves.”

“I’ll mention it to the other clubs. We can spell you for a bit so you can check it out. Course, they might want to buy your horses after,” Lily said with a sly smile and twinkling eyes.

Ferdinand laughed.

Eddie smirked.

Lily tugged on her hat. She mounted her horse and joined Goofy Lars. “So, is there a reason they call you Goofy?”

He shrugged and pretended to fall off his horse.

“Right,” Lily giggled and they rode off together.

People other than the vendors were beginning to arrive when they returned. The chefs were meeting each other and shaking hands talking about their menus for the day and where they were situated.

There was a blonde man with a mustache named Mario who claimed he was from the observatory. He was dreadfully French. He wanted to put in an eatery and a store up there. But the only way anyone could get up there was if there was a reliable lift to get there. Melissa reassured him that they were working on it. Lily said she might have the perfect chef for him. Did he like bouillabaisse?

He adored bouillabaisse.

Lily gave him the French chef’s number. She hadn’t gotten five feet before Mario was on the phone and grilling them about their different French dishes and if they wanted a job.

Melissa tapped her shoulder. “Thank you. We had no idea who to ask.”

Lily smiled. “Not a problem. That chef’s nose is probably out of joint since the Baroness hired Antonia. He’ll probably leap at the chance to have a restaurant in the sky so to speak. Maybe you can get Franz’ restaurant plans he had before taking up with Courtney out of him.”

“Which one is Franz?” Melissa asked. “And Courtney?”

“Courtney Summers, big girl in the farmer’s cap,” Lily tugged her over to the restaurant tent and pointed Courtney out. “She probably has a bunch of sandwiches and is doing fried chicken wings.”

“Oh, her,” Melissa said.

“Real snooty attitude, better deal with him.”

Melissa nodded and trotted off to chat up Franz.

Lily went to check out the farmer’s tent. Each of the farmer’s had made up a display or the different clubs had help them make up displays. Lily wasn’t sure. There were pictures and they all had produce and finished products on their tables.

The first farmer was Steve’s Farm and Stable. Steve was a grain farmer. He grew wheat, oats, and corn. His fallow fields were full of alfalfa and hay that he used to help feed the Tinker Horses he kept at the stable. The other farmers paid him to rent the horses to plow their fields. They were cheaper, sort of, than tractors. Though, they did have some smaller tractors they could use if the horses got stubborn.

And horses could get stubborn.

Steve was the reason why there was the grist mill on top of the hill. Most of the places around got flour to make bread and such from Will’s Mill that was supplied with grain from Steve!

Steve also, along with the Baroness, and the Camp, supplied a lot of the fertilizer that the farmers put out on their fields to keep them nitrogen rich. Horse manure was richer than cattle manure.

He was the leader of the little farming cooperative around Silverglade.

Landon was a sheep farmer. And his sheep provided milk, meat, and wool. He tended them out on the Everwind Fields. It could be lonely. The sheep helped the grass stay short though. But sheep could be delicate and they got bugs and things. They were constantly wandering off too. That’s why he was grateful to have the Summer Chipmunks around. They were farm girls and knew the signs. They also had a good knack for finding strays.

Barney and Marley Summers were brothers. (They were related to Carney and Courtney. Lily sensed a theme.) They both had produce farms. They grew things like potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbage, turnips, peas, beans, onions, garlic, spinach, and the like. They sold a lot of their produce to Jorvik City high end restaurants and were thrilled that more restaurants like that would be coming to the area.

While the Vineyard wasn’t really a farm, there was a small display about it with grapes and flats of duck eggs that had been brought down by Godfrey in his car. (No one really wanted to trust eggs to horses.) The Silver Drakes had help him unload it.

In Valedale, there was a dairy farmer. However, every day they shipped their milk off to the Sunfield Creamery over by Jarlaheim. Their cattle were free range cattle that wandered about the oaks of the Hollow Woods. They supplemented their feed with alfalfa and the cows were heavy creamers. They made a decent living off of this.

Andy, he who had set up the petting zoo, had a sheep farm in Firgrove. Or, he had sheep and no farm. He wasn’t really old enough to own a farm yet. He had some chickens but not enough to do more than supply the local cafes and his grandmother’s pancake cakes. He mentioned that there was an abandoned farm out by the mountains he had his eye on for when he was older. But, he had to beware of wolves and the bear who saw his sheep as easy meals.

There was also a large apple orchard in Firgrove run by a rather boisterous family. They’d tried other trees, but apples had liked the area best. They too sold a lot of their apples to Jorvik City. Though the stables did buy their fair share as treats for the horses.

And that was the main Silverglade area farms.

Lily hugged Maya. “I’m so glad you came.”

“So am I,” Maya said and she brandished a sheaf of papers. “Look at all these orders,” she looked ready to cry. “When we said we were an animal farm for eggs, milk, and meat, they almost overwhelmed me with things they needed.”

“That’s wonderful, Maya.”

“And, your Chef Antonia gave me shillings to cover the olives she’s been taking from the farm. I can’t believe it. It’s working. You were right.”

Lily beamed at her. “That’s great. Antonia is really mad about what G.E.D. is doing to your family. We all are. In fact, where is Luciana?”

Luciana was deep in talks with Anastasia Silverglade.

“Anastasia,” Lily said and tugged Maya forward. “This is Maya Dew of the Epona Dew family.”

“Yes, my darling, Luciana and I were just talking about your family’s little predicament.” Anastasia gushed. “With the right publicity, we will be able to wrap this up before summer is over and get your family back where they belong.” She kissed Maya’s cheeks. “You leave it to us.”

Maya blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“We are doing a charity event to help your get your farm back,” Luciana explained. “Organized trail rides that riders will get sponsors for, the more trails they do, the more their sponsors will pay them! Anastasia has friends in the city that will match the amount of the private donations. We’re all very excited.”

Maya’s face slackened. “You, you’d do that for us, but, we’re nobodies.”

“You are an integral part of this county,” Anastasia said. “And we aren’t going to let the G.E.D. bully our people into hiding.” She stamped her foot. “My mother is going to hear about this, I swear it.”

“Hear about what, Anastasia dear,” Annabella Silverglade said in her bland but frosty tone.

Anastasia put her arm around Maya’s shoulder. “Mother, please meet Maya Dew of the Dew family. They had a lovely olive farm in Eastern Epona, but that wretched Ms. Drake and Mr. Kemball of the G.E.D. have run them out. They’re now hiding somewhere in shame.” Anastasia glared at her mother. “We can’t let them control our lands.”

“Of course not,” Annabella said. “They should have come to me immediately.”

“Well, they own the land now, but we have plans mother,” Anastasia raised her chin.

“I’m more than willing to hear them.”

“Ms. Luciana, these are your ideas, please explain,” Anastasia said, her tone imperious.

Luciana explained the idea to the Baroness as best she could.

Annabella nodded along. “Put down our Winery for one of the corporate backers.” She said to Anastasia. “We’ll get your farm back, young lady and run that horrible corporation out of my county for good.”

Maya nodded pale and her eyes wide.

“Silverglades know how to get things done,” Annabella declared and then moved off.

Thomas Moorland moved over. “And put down the Moorland Summer Camp as well. We support you, young missy.”

Maya burst into tears.

Thomas reached out, grabbed her into a big hug. “Oh, don’t be like that. I knew things were bad. I didn’t know they were that bad. You should have said something.”

“I wanted to. I didn’t know how,” Maya wailed.

Thomas rubbed her back. “That’s a good girl. We’ll get this all settled. You heard the Baroness. Not in her territory.”

Maya nodded. She returned to her table sniffling and wiping her eyes. The other farmers came around and gave her supporting hugs and shoulder squeezes. “Scary thing.” “Could be any of us, really.” “We’re here for you.”

Lily continued to learn about the farms. In the Harvest District, the Goldspurs had a large grist mill. They were also grain farmers like Steve. And they’d raided the Greendale forest for strawberry and blueberry plants, turning a couple fields of their farm into berry fields.

The Sunfield Farm was a dairy farm. They had a creamery. They kept chickens but only for themselves and a few local businesses. They grew grain and alfalfa to feed their cows and any extra they sent to the Goldspurs to make into flour.

The Jarlsson’s Farm was another produce farm.

Jasper in the Golden Hills may have called his farm a pumpkin farm, but he was another produce farmer. He grew mostly pumpkins and other squashes. His farm was really popular in the autumn months as he set up displays of carved and joined together pumpkins to be toured for a small fee and he had so many pumpkins that ranged from the size of his hand to bigger than your average toddler in height, it was great fun to look at them all. But an old man such as himself couldn’t live off the profits of pumpkins alone.

The Storm Garden display was as full of plans as the Silver Drake’s and Silverglade Winery display. They were another vineyard and they also had a maple orchard. Though, all of Western Epona was a big maple forest and they had permission to tap those trees as well. So, they made maple syrup and wine. Their wine cave was an actual cave that had an exit in the New Storm Garden’s house cellar.

This amused Lily and Ami. Both were making syrups and wine. It was silly. The other farm in the Epona area was the Rockwell Farm. They were quite a large farm as they were the primary tenant farmers for the Winterwell family. They did everything from having sheep wandering about Sunset Islands, to growing produce and growing grains. They didn’t keep chickens or have cows however.

The Buttergoods grew cotton and flax.

Ginny pulled Lily aside and whispered to her that the Buttergoods were in league with G.E.D. That didn’t sound good at all. They had an inside man in the family, Robert Buttergood who was sabotaging the G.E.D. equipment. And the middle brother seemed like a good enough fellow, it was the eldest brother who was in charge that was the problem.

Pamela Moonriver had beehives and her honey was really quite delicious. She was looking to expand her operation if at all possible.

Lily put her into contact with Agnetha (who was wandering around looking at the displays herself.) And with the family who ran the Firgrove Apple Orchard, apple trees needed pollinating too! Mrs. Holdsworth wandered by and got into a conversation with Pamela about checking up on Mrs. Holdsworth hives. She was an old lady and wasn’t as spry as she used to be and bees made honey, lots of honey. (Hers was Dandelion honey or so she claimed.)

Birk’s Grange was a new farm, or well, an old farm under new management. Most the farming in Dundull was small family operations. Luciana though had encouraged the woman to come out and see what she could grow if she wanted to sell things like eggs and milk or extra produce out of her farm.

The South Hoof Farm was another family farm run by the Hightowers. They worked a rescue ranch for sick horses and so a lot of their produce went to feeding and taking care of their rescues. They didn’t always have a lot left over.

“Why not import some Highland cattle for the moors?” Lily asked.

“Highland Cattle?” Erik Hightower sounded dubious.

Lily showed him a picture on her phone. “They’re from Scotland. They’d do well on your land.”

He hemmed and hawed.

Lily took the idea to Kelsey.

“Oh it’s useless to ask him to do anything,” she rolled her eyes. “I know who to take that information to, it’s not like the younger two really know anything about farming or, care about it that much.”

Lily winced.

“I swear, the place runs on hopes, dreams, and Madison’s sugar high.”

Lily winced more.

Kelsey bit her lip. “I was also going to encourage sheep.”

“We might be over inundated with sheep.”

“Too true,” Kelsey nodded.

Deciding she’d seen everything, and that she was hungry, Lily jogged over to the restaurant tent to get some food. Out of loyalty to Antonia, she got a Gyro and some baklava. “Going well?” She asked after she swallowed.

“Amazingly. You wouldn’t believe all the corporate people Anastasia brought in who are raving about the countryside, the food, the hospitality. We’ve got an entire two busses of brides. It’s a madhouse.”

Lily grinned. “But that’s good for us.”

“You bet it is,” Antonia said as she rapidly sliced up the meat. “By this time next year, we’ll have weddings two to three times a week.”

Lily nodded and kept eating. She removed her gloves so the tzatziki sauce wouldn’t mess them up and she could lick her fingers. “You need anything, text me, and we’ll go get it for you.”

“Oh, Tracy came by half an hour ago, checked the stocks and ran off to the Manor before I could say boo.”

Lily grinned. “Good.”

“And that butler of the Baroness brought me more eggs without asking, Tracy helped him unload.” Antonia wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “You go be president of the club and make connections.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Lily said as she finished her gyro, wiped her mouth and went to do just that. She was flagged down by Anastasia as soon as she got into the woman’s sight range and was introduced to Herman’s brother in the music business and soon all the names swam together.

She saw Conrad in the crafter tent. And a couple vendors from Silverglade she thought, a tailor and a baker. There was someone selling stuffed animals and riding vests at least. (nothing she would ever wear, far too many colors.) But Ingrid was talking to each of them and it sounded from what little Lily could hear (before Anastasia whisked her away) she was trying to set up a flea market in Firgrove.

That could be something.

It seemed to be a rousing success.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.