#{ i like your pilgrim hat | positivity }

[feminaferitas]

jam bby, you already know how amazing i think you are! every character that you portray, from faith to the yj girls, you always try to get a deeper (hehe) understanding of the muses that you write and it shows every time in your threads and when you plot. i love discussing them all with you! we're so lucky to have you as part of this fandom! you help keep it alive and thriving. getting to know you has been one of the highlights for me and i can't wait for us to see juliette & the licks together at the end of the month!!

beep beep how’s my portrayal?

//RAE how dare you!!! thank you my love, i so appreciate you and char scooping me up and bringing me into this madness with you. i'm so happy we can all shout about this stuff together even if it deals immense psychic damage at the same time sdjklf <3

and YES omg even if you might not get your mosh pit dreams we're gonna have a fucking blast (and get you some good firsthand reference for your nat band AU at the same time). ilu !!!

[yorkshiregirlwrites]

(the prompt for this was a picture of a chicken wearing a scarf, coupled with unexpected characterisation. long story. anyway it's from a while ago)

-------

There was at the top, a most unimposing figure: who in positioning itself as the Guardian of the Mountain, may have done better to guard a small to moderate snow-drift: and who as I drew nearer, took on the form not of a human, nor of some grand (though minuscule) figure of myth, but, –

‘I have not seen,’ I remarked aloud, ‘such a thing in my life before. Pray Guardian, I have not in all my travels and studies of Creatures of Fable, known your like or representation, –’

‘I am a chicken,’ said the Guardian.

Whereupon I lifted my hat; thought better of bowing; only scratched my head, and looked down at her, and, – my ears beginning to freeze outside of their woollen confines, – replaced the hat. The chicken only stared, – with all the grandeur, I thought, of a hen lately divested of her eggs; and wanting at least as compensation, a handful of corn. I had not brought a handful of corn. What with the mountain-shoes, and the extensive food-provisions, and the letter of recommendation, and the hairbrushes, and the padded fur coat, and most particularly the hat with the ear-flaps, – it had not even occurred to me.

‘I have nothing, O Chicken,’ said I most conscious of the vocative, ‘with which to appease you; you must forgive my lack of foresight, –’

‘Fear not, my child,’ said the chicken, who spoke so serenely, that I thought the voice come of the snow itself, ‘for I am no jealous god, and you must not fear to tread my path.’

I looked at the chicken. The chicken looked at me.

Slowly she drew herself up; then in a great mass of feathers, shook out her wings and her tail that the snow went up about her and shone in her wake like angel-light; and returned to herself, she tested her beak, wiggled her wattle and clucked.

She was, after all, a chicken.

‘Many have made this pilgrimage before you, –’ she began.

‘O and they brought back not the slightest suggestion of your form,’ said I: ‘speak only more hoarsely, or more gobbly, and I’ll perhaps believe it; for you are a brown hen, a simple brown hen, – and, – and, – and you have a knitted scarf.’

‘It is cold up here,’ said she.

‘But the form goes not with the voice nor the title, –’ I must protest.

The hen shuffled most uncomfortably.

‘Ought I to be a ptarmigan?’ she suggested: ‘would I be less out of place were I a mountain-grouse?’

‘O no,’ said I: ‘that is not the problem; it is rather that I came through ice and peril, over days of effort which has entirely spent me, –’ I nodded to the earflaps, which had been worn down with nervous chewing, ‘– to the shrine of the Mountain-Goddess, guarded by Her Ladyship herself, –’

‘And what precisely, child,’ said the hen, – I not liking the appellation from a voice hardly thigh height, – ‘did you expect a deity to resemble?’

I must stammer and stutter; and blame for this, not without a flake of reason, some looming hypothermia. I could not answer: because the representation of a goddess ought to be unanswerable: o because I could not and should never have been able to describe the Mountain-Goddess, so eluded she my grasp and the mundane!

‘My poor pilgrim,’ said she at last: ‘come, I will lend you my scarf, just as the saint gave his cloak to the beggar, –’

‘It is chicken-sized,’ said I.

‘It contains multitudes,’ said the chicken: and taking its tassels in her beak, made such deft and graceful work of its removal, – all in a hail of icicles and of snowflakes, – until it was off; and the thing, which might go around me thrice, was humbly offered to me, – by a chicken, – whose eyes like the scarf, pooled so bright and deep, that in beholding them I half believed, – and blamed the hypothermia, but believed, – in miracle!

[letstravelsworld]

5 Suggestions you need to know before going to Kailash Mansarovar?

Starting the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra is a serious spiritual undertaking that needs careful planning. This guide offers five key recommendations to guarantee a successful and rewarding pilgrimage, including useful guidance on packing, selecting the best tour operator, physical fitness, acclimatization, and mental preparation.

Suggestion 1: Physical Preparation and Fitness

The Kailash Mansarovar Yatra is physically demanding, involving long treks at high altitudes. Physical fitness is crucial for a successful pilgrimage. Engage in regular cardiovascular exercises, strength training, and flexibility routines several months before the trip. Activities like brisk walking, running, cycling, and yoga can enhance endurance and flexibility. Consult your physician to ensure you are fit for high-altitude trekking.

Suggestion 2: Acclimatization to High Altitudes

High altitudes pose significant challenges due to lower oxygen levels. Proper acclimatization is vital to prevent altitude sickness. Spend a few days at higher altitudes before starting the trek to allow your body to adjust. Stay hydrated, avoid alcohol and smoking, and eat light meals. Gradual ascent and rest days are essential to adapt to the altitude changes.

Suggestion 3: Essential Packing List

Packing the right items is crucial for comfort and safety during the yatra. Essential items include warm clothing, waterproof jackets, sturdy trekking shoes, gloves, and hats. Carry a first aid kit, altitude sickness medication, sunscreen, and personal hygiene products. Pack lightweight, high-energy snacks, and a refillable water bottle. Ensure your gear is suitable for high-altitude conditions and consider the weight and convenience of your pack.

Suggestion 4: Choosing the Right Tour Operator

Selecting a reputable tour operator can make a significant difference in your yatra experience. Look for best india tour operators with extensive experience and positive reviews. Ensure they provide experienced guides, medical support, and proper acclimatization schedules. Compare packages to find the best value for your needs, considering the quality of accommodations, transportation, and additional services.

Suggestion 5: Mental and Spiritual Preparation

The Kailash Mansarovar Yatra is not just a physical journey but also a spiritual one. Mental and spiritual preparation is essential to fully appreciate the experience. Engage in mindfulness practices, meditation, and prayer to cultivate inner peace and resilience. Understanding the cultural and religious significance of Mount Kailash and Lake Mansarovar can enhance your spiritual connection to the journey.

FAQs

What is the best time to go for the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra? The best time to undertake the yatra is between May and September, when the weather is favorable.

Do I need any permits for the yatra? Yes, pilgrims require permits to visit the Kailash Mansarovar region. Your tour operator usually arranges these.

What are the accommodation options during the yatra? Accommodations range from basic guesthouses to tents, depending on the route and operator.

How can I manage altitude sickness? Proper acclimatization, staying hydrated, and taking prescribed medications can help manage altitude sickness.

Key Takeaways

Physical fitness and acclimatization are crucial for the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra.

Packing essential items and choosing a reputable tour operator enhance safety and comfort.

Mental and spiritual preparation enriches the pilgrimage experience.

Conclusion

A once-in-a-lifetime spiritual adventure, the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra requires extensive preparation. You can make sure your pilgrimage is effective, safe, and enjoyable by adhering to these five recommendations. To truly understand the great significance of the yatra, embrace its mental, physical, and spiritual facets.

[talesofsonicasura]

MKR!Sun Wukong with a Persona User s/o

MKR stands for Monkey King Reborn is you guys are curious. Ooh boy is this particular Sun Wukong quite a character! More positive than the wild week I'm having. Couldn't resist taking a spin at writing him. If you don't know Persona, don't worry. I'll fill in the blanks when they come up! Also this is a slow burn too. Can be read as preferred gender or gender neutral.

You met Sun Wukong at a small quarry of sorts. Well, more like he found you.

How you got to 14th century China from 2022, you had no clue. Just working on a sketch in your room then bam! Here you were.

Luckily you had your Persona, Raoul, to keep you company. Who knew that the spirit of your rebellious soul was a demonic version of the famous phantom thief and alias to Arsene Lupin?

Anyway, you were minding your own business when some demons decided to ruin that. Clearly thought you were easy pickings since you were alone and seemingly unarmed.

Nope. Called upon Raoul and magically changed into your battle attire which comes with a collapsible crossbow plus your favorite wire knife.

Guess Sun Wukong came across the fight, well, one sided massacre would be more accurate. None of your opponents could land a single blow while you and Raoul weave around and assaulted them in a blade dance.

What made it worse was that you wrecked their pride by merrily singing in the middle of the fight. A spectacular show as once you finished the fight the Monkey King began clapping.

Of course you had to grab the attention of China's most infamous trickster gods, DURING his legendary journey. He must've snuck away from his Shifu, Tripitaka.

Sun Wukong wanted you to join his fellow pilgrims in hopes of making the long quest more bearable. I.E alleviate the(his) boredom.

You obviously said no. You've read Journey To The West and didn't want to risk the chance of altering it.

The Monkey King clearly doesn't take no for an answer. Why? Cause he literally chased after you. Had to ride on poor Raoul's back just to outpace Sun Wukong.

Still got caught as the Monkey King dragged you over to his group albeit covered in filth like mud, leaves, and fruit jam. Didn't exactly go quietly as you pulled every trick you could.

Of course, you couldn't lie about the chase being fun. A thrill seeker at heart and what's a better thrill than getting chased by Sun Wukong across multiple forests?

Every member of the JTTW crew were here: Zhu Bajie, Sha Wujing, Ao Lie the White Dragon Horse and Tripitaka. There was also someone you didn't recognize, a little fruit child called Qi Energy or Fruity for short.

The Tang Monk did scold Sun Wukong and offered to take you to the nearest village. Instead, you decided to join them under the inkling that they could lead you back home. (And avoid the Monkey King running off to chase you again.)

A response that made the Monkey King very happy. Although none of you remembered to tell them about Raoul. Guess you were caught up in the moment.

So Zhu Bajie understandably freaked out when he saw the large demon thief floating there with you in his lap. The Persona wanted to join in on your reading. A normal routine between the two of you.

You ended up explaining to them about Raoul thanks to that. Didn't stop some of the questions from Sha Wujing or Tripitaka. Or banter between him and Zhu Bajie.

Nor Fruity sitting atop his hat. At least the sweet fruit baby asks permission first unlike Sun Wukong. The Monkey King was a different story.

Completely unpredictable around Raoul. From asking all sorts of question, get into random discussions that would sometimes devolve into an argument or just sit on his shoulder like it's a brand new perch.

Overall being part of the group isn't so bad. Everyone was friendly albeit a bit whacky or strange but nice. Only if the Monkey King didn't lay on your chest and look through your stuff.

And that's it! I recently watched Monkey King Reborn. It was good but the pacing is a bit awkward along with minor stuff. Also this version of Sun Wukong is so chaotic that I won't be surprised if he did something like this. Guess any animated Monkey King from a movie with Reborn in the title would be this nutty, full of snark and have so much gremlin energy.

I've been having some nasty writer's block as I literally rewrote this with a different role for the reader. Hopefully it goes away soon.

Until next time folks, I'll see you later. BTW, this is Raoul and your battle attire plus mask which is based on Hei from Darker Than Black.

[atypicalacademic]

The Arcana Royalty AU- Asra x Reader

Highness

You meet him on your travels- you're both pilgrims in magic- for the moment, apprenticing under the same Master Magician. Your Master doesn't know- or if they know, they don't tell you. All you know is that this wandering newcomer stumbled in one day- a pretty purple snake nestled in his too-big scarf and a mop of fluffy white hair under a too-big hat, all shy smiles and rare trinkets and so, so eager to learn. He's exceptional, remarkably talented for his age. He's so full of questions too- "How does that work? What does that do? How do you manifest that in this way?"

Night after night you stay up late poring over spellbooks and sharing shy glances while arranging potion ingredients for your Master, showing each other what magic you could do, swapping stories of what you've learnt. He's a delight to watch, really. A delight in general.

Faust curls up in your lap by the end of one night as you're stargazing side by side, and he waits till she's asleep there so he could shyly lean in to kiss you.

His skin smells like cedar, and his smile tastes like souchong in your mouth.

He's gone one day before you could wake up and there's a scented letter on your pillowcase- swearing up and down that he'd be back, he promises, he just has something to get to at home, and-

And he's back before sundown that very same day, choking over his apologies and saying he came back because he felt so bad for leaving like that. He asks you if you'd - maybe- want to come home- come visit, someday.

You've heard of his country, a beautiful little Kingdom nestled between three great lakes, where magic and freedom are equally revered.

He writes letters to you till the day you finish your apprenticeship, sweet, shy, rambling affairs always enchanted to smell like your favourite candle or glow by your bedside in your favourite colour.

As soon as you're relieved, you book the next ship to his country- and you're surprised to find that the bunker you've been assigned to has your favourite baked treat by the side. He's waiting for you at the docks, bouncing on his heels, fretting over how your journey was and smiling brightly- but there's a nervousness about him that you haven't seen before.

You don't figure it out in the carriage ride home- the carraige is grand, sure, but everything here looks beautiful. The coachman bowed deferentially, sure, but maybe everyone here seem kinder and politer than where you're from. And besides, you're distracted- he keeps a running commentary all the way, pointing out all his favourite spots in the city, places he can't wait to visit with you- he stops the carraige for a loaf of pumpkin bread. It's the best you've ever had.

You do figure it out when you stop by the Palace just as he turns to you with "I don't think I've told you but-", and then the gates are opening, the building arresting your gaze with its towering domes and flowing lines- alchemy thrums in the very air around you. Your mouth hangs open, your heart is in your throat, and your throat is very, very dry and he doesn't get to break the news when two magician-guards in colourful, bell-sleeved tunics open the carraige and drop to their knees.

"Your Highness," they call him. Sheepish, terribly apologetic amethyst eyes catch your incredulous stare.

He wasn't trying to be evasive, honest. He was just so caught up in you, in talking to you, getting to know you, and he tends to forget his position even within the four walls of the Palace, 'til someone addresses him by title. (You get the feeling that he doesn't like it too much, with the way he fidgets with his scarf and laughs nervously at it). There were so many wonderful things to talk about, so much more interesting than his background, that the ocassion never arose.

So you forgive him for that little lapse. He's so cute when he's flustered-

And at least he had the decency to look ashamed.

💜

[serenity-the-firefly]

get to know me game

tagged by @impossibletruths, thank you so much!! Tagging @thesparrow1996, @queennsansa, @phlorealcalicanto,@augustinremi, @feralsnail if u wanna!

Why did you choose your URL? look it was 2011 and i really liked firefly and homestuck. and at this point i’ve had it for so long that i can’t just change it! however my original tumblr url was generallyconfused and i do miss that one.

any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them. I generally don’t do sideblogs because thats just. so much effort. However i do have one aesthetic sideblog with approximately 15 followers that i’ve been running since like 2013 that i use as a way to curate visual inspiration

How long have you been on tumblr? since 2011 which is really all you need to know about me

Do you have a queue tag? absolutely not lol. I almost never queue things on my main blog whereas my sideblog runs completely on a queue.

Why did you start your blog in the first place? once again, it was 2011 and i was really into homestuck. i joined to impress/bond with my friend who got me into homestuck. now that i think about it that was definitely my first real experience with fandom, and honestly it was a really positive one!

Why did you choose your icon/pfp? it‘s a picrew of me, obviously! I’ve been thinking abt changing it tho bc i don’t love the colors.

Why did you choose your header? it’s a scene from the scott pilgrim books that i quote CONSTANTLY to myself. strangely enough i find it a very helpful piece of advice.

What’s your post with the most notes? uhhh I think it’s some random post joking about how i don’t shave. However my SECOND most popular post is one calling out alice quinn for dumping a metric ton of sugar in her coffee <3

How many followers do you have? 595

How many people do you follow? 542

Have you ever made a shitpost? oh, constantly

How often do you use tumblr every day?ahahahhahahahaha

Did you have a fight/argument with a blog once? a couple of times! not as many as i’d like tho

How do you feel about ��you need to reblog this post’? get out of my house. i hate you.

Do you like tag games? Yeah!! a lot of times i don’t participate because they often have a lot of questions about music and tbh i don’t have interesting/any answers. Love to be included tho!

Do you like ask games? also yes!! please....interact with me.......

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? hm probably @alice-quinn. Still can’t believe we’re mutuals tbh

Do you have a crush on a mutual? you know who you are ;)

[just--another--daydreamer]

Two things

Bucky Barnes x male reader

Fandom: Captain America/Avengers (movies) Genre: Fluff Summary: On undercover missions, hiding from the bad guys can be tough but luckily, Bucky knows what to do Warnings: mentions of violence and guns, maybe some anxiety? Words: 1.1k

Requests are closed!

You can find a link to my Masterlist in my bio

“Sam, are you in position?” Bucky adjusted his beanie that he had chosen as the ‘perfect disguise’ for an undercover mission. He looked like a modern man, cool, stylish, and totally not like he was about to chase after some bad guys. “I’ve been in position for the past ten minutes, Y/N and you are just hella slow,” Sam complained over the comm. Bucky only rolled his eyes at that while you chuckled. “Sam, you know that our Bucky here is an old man. Don’t be so hard on him.” Your partner for the mission sighed. “Thanks for the back-up Y/N, I hope that during out mission you won’t stab me in the back.” “Anytime, Barnes!���

The banter between the three of you was a way of relaxing a little before a hard undercover mission like this. So just like Bucky, Sam and you tried fitting in with the people around you at the mall – civilian’s clothes, only a few guns and knives hidden, almost no gear. Your mission was to stop some trade of illegal weapons. That would have been easier, if that trade was not at a public place with thousands of civilians who needed to be protected as well, so you needed to be very discreet, operate fast. Stop the trade, maybe beat them up a little if necessary, then get them into the van as fast as possible to get them away from everyone.

While Bucky and you were supposed to walk around the mall on the hunt for the buyer and the two sellers, Sam sat in the van between countless displays showing him every single corner of the mall. And if you needed him to, he would step in.

“If you keep standing there staring around like that, it’ll make you look even more suspicious,” Sam’s voice rang in your ear. With another eyeroll, Bucky started walking and you followed him.

You passed many shops, all with people going in and coming out of them. You scanned everyone’s faces, the features of your three subjects burned into your mind, memorized closely so even if they were to wear a disguise, you would recognize them, but there was no match just yet.

As you were walking, Sam kept babbling into your and Bucky’s ears. He went on about everything: a woman he saw with a strange hat, some teens shoplifting, an old man who tripped on a staircase (whom he then compared to Bucky) – but none of them were your suspects.

At some point, when you stood in front of a bakery with a snack after hours of walking up and down, Bucky turned his comm off. “Y/N, what is he doin-” was all you heard from Sam before Bucky reached behind your ear and turned off yours as well. However, you did not stop him. Sam’s voice died out and you let it happen. “What are you doing, Bucky?” “Two things, Y/N.” He took a deep breath. “I think they hijacked our comms. They know that we’re here.” You frowned, and as you thought about Bucky’s words, it all made sense. “That’s why we haven’t been seeing them,” you whispered, scared that if you would speak up, your voice would break. “They’re waiting for us to think that we’re at the wrong location and leave.” He nodded. “Shit.” You took a deep breath to collect yourself; your heart was beating incredibly fast and you felt your whole body tense up. One of Bucky’s hands landed on your shoulder with a strong yet comforting grip. His eyes met yours and he gave you a reassuring smile. “Come on, we can do this.” And with that, he turned his comm back on and started walking again.

“Wait, Bucky! What is the other thing you meant to tell me?” – “Later!”

You turned your own comm back on and listened to Bucky say, “Do you know if it is raining?” – A secret code for when you knew that someone else was listening. Sam seemed to understand immediately. “Nah, not yet. But the forecast didn’t look good this morning. We’re gonna leave before it starts raining?” – “Yeah. There’s no point in staying.” Bucky winked at you and you could not help but smile at that. You turned off your comms. “Now we wait, but I’m sure they’re going to come out soon.”

You approached an escalator that led to a lower level. People with enormous bags queued in front of it, waiting to continue their shopping. When you finally stood on one of the stairs, you turned to Bucky. “And?” He did not look at you but scanned the people again. “What did you mean to tell-” You saw Bucky clench his jaw. Upon turning around to face the same direction, you spotted some of the men you had seen in the files for this mission, still at the bottom of the escalator that went up, into the opposite direction, but coming toward you quickly. In a heartbeat, you turned to Bucky. “They’re gonna see us.”

Bucky’s reply was not what you would have expected in a situation like this and your jaw dropped. “Kiss me.” – “What?!” – “Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.” You scoffed. “Where did you get that fro-” You were cut off by Bucky’s lips meeting yours. A noise of surprise (you told yourself that it was surprise rather than excitement or even happiness) left you, but in the next moment you decided to be a professional Avenger and rolled with it. Your lips were grazing against each other like you had done this a million times, it felt so familiar yet new… You needed more of it. Pulling Bucky closer by his shoulders, you deepened the kiss a little, making you forget everything around you, even the bad guys coming toward you. And in this moment, you realized that you were not playing a character anymore. You were not two friends casually shopping, no. You were Y/N and Bucky, in love and on a mission. And that was what Bucky meant to tell you. Your grip on Bucky’s jacket tightened and he let out a content sigh, before-

“There they are!” Bucky and you pulled away immediately. Your brain was still dazed from the kiss, everything in you screamed to just kiss Bucky again. You shook out of it and got back to your senses. Pretty much all people on the escalator were staring at you, including the two men you had wanted to fool, one of them pointing at you, enraged. “Looks like your plan did not work out,” you commented. “Well,” Bucky sighed, “I forgot that people tend to stare at two men kissing and being in love.” He shrugged. “I think we should run now.” And with that, he took your hand, interlaced his fingers with yours, before you both started running.

***

Tag list (open):

General male reader tag list: @spnfanboy777​ @skidaddle-skid​ @lemoncholychronicles​ @hxmmebot​ @mcuvenom​ @rxvenclxw-hunter @gracereplies-notinuse​  @maximum-fander​ @pilgrim-to-rome​ @evansdiaz​ @inhumanshadows​ @jerod-writes​  @lovellsstuff​

[cometcalloway]

Ok to reblog, but only within the dark souls rpc, please! source: [xxx]

Pilgrimages and saints’ relics -

In the Middle Ages, pilgrimages to holy sites were common.  Technically, the ideal was to show devotion to faith, but people might go on pilgrimages for all kinds of reasons, including taking a fun trip (the lecturer said that pilgrimages could be an equivalent of taking a cruise, for some).  Pilgrims would wear clothes/hats/etc. that identified them as pilgrims.  It was seen as a means of devotion in of itself for people to offer pilgrims food and shelter and such, so it was actually viable to become a ‘professional pilgrim’ and essentially couch surf your way across medieval Europe as a lifestyle, as long as you were traveling (or presumably traveling) to holy sites.  You’d find specific accommodations for travelers around common pilgrimage routes.  Holy sites would have patches and badges and souvenirs, so people could prove that they’d been there.  One common reason to go on pilgrimages was to try and heal sickness through faith healing, so some holy sites became hospital sites as well. 

Some holy sites were Big Deal holy sites, like Jerusalem.  Other holy sites might be much quieter, like a church that had a saint’s relic, which is unfortunately a bone of a saint, or another body part, like a finger, or blood, or hair, or even fingernail clippings.  I forget the name for it, but a relic might be housed in some kind of special container decorated with jewels and whatnot.  If you swore an oath on a saint’s bones/etc., that was considered to make your oath absolutely unbreakable (which made communication with, say, vikings, extra difficult because vikings didn’t find the same things holy & kind of liked to raid monasteries because monks don’t put up much of a fight).  There was actually a black market for saints’ relics, full of forgeries, which, I’m guessing, is exactly as gruesome and horrible as it sounds. 

In the Middle Ages, Christianity/Catholicism was the main religion in Europe, and all of this had to do with specifically Christian churches and saints and so on.  In Dark Souls, there are a lot of religious factions, some of which have living figureheads a pilgrim could, in theory, actually visit (Gwyndolin, Rosaria, Aldrich, Lothric before he left, etc.).  So the nasty body part thing has this complicating factor of some of the figures involved actively being alive and able to live for centuries (I’m almost positive saints in real life would have to have already died to be considered for sainthood).  In the spirit of being true to how nasty medieval people were, it could be plausible that a god might give trusted followers blood or hair or whatnot to send to distant churches and sites important to the religion, to legitimize those sites for followers living further away.  And maybe people would make pilgrimages to those sites, and maybe the god’s actual location would be the more impressive pilgrimage site.  And maybe to protect the god from spending all day mobbed by paparazzi, maybe they’d have a blood or hair type relic for people to look at and be satisfied with, even at their actual site of residence, and actual audience with them might be limited to a very chosen few.  Of course, there must have been plenty of other figures considered saints in a more usual devout & deceased sense too. 

Perhaps swearing an oath on a god or saint’s ‘relic’ would be considered unbreakable.  Perhaps swearing an oath in the presence of a god, who gave their blessing to the oath, would have the same effect.  Perhaps swearing an oath to a god would be considered unbreakable automatically, with no casual version available.  Perhaps you’d have to be careful that this person you were trusting to see an oath as unbreakable actually worshiped or supported the god whose presence or relic you were using.

[feminaferitas]

CALL THIS SOME RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESS BUT — i just wanted to invade your inbox to say that WOW! wow wow, i heart you. i heart your face. i heart your mind. i heart everything about you. because you are amazing & beautiful & so so talented! yes, i am sending this to multiple people, but you are one of those that i truly admire & feel so incredibly lucky to know & get to write with on this platform. thank you for everything. thank you for keeping this fandom alive with your brilliance. never forget how truly special that you are & i hope you're having a wonderful day/week/month/life. thank you for letting me be apart of it.

//ooc; thank you rae ;; <3 you're a sweetheart and I really appreciate it!!! thank you for welcoming me into this little community and thank you to everyone who's taken the time to plot, chat, and laugh with me. i'm having a blast with everyone and seeing how much folks love these characters and want to put them through The Horrors together sjlkfs

i'm here by the grace of everyone who lets me take fun chances with my writing! <3

[bunyipsims]

Jacoban’s Day Out

It was hard out there for a Jacoban. The Watcher was constantly on your case about being a better person and donating more to the Church, and your local proclamations seemed to change what’s right and what’s wrong every other day.

What as a Jocoban to do? Take a trip to the place where it all started, of course! A pilgrimage to Jacob’s birthplace and the start of the modern-day Jacoban faith could turn a stressing into a blessing.

Approach: The Greatest Adventure

Every Jacoban’s dream is to go on the greatest adventure of their lives: a trip to the birthplace of Jacob himself. One lucky Joacoban from the kingdom will actually embark on such a journey, and things may never be the same again.

Primary Hero: Shepherdess Eve

Gruel for one. The breakfast of champions.

Lord Horatio has agreed to fund my pilgrimage because he is a Chill Dude (TM) and also because he is afraid of my large and pointed hat. It is a weapon.

Before I go ANYWHERE I’m going to need to have a Jacoban Pilgrim’s Neck Kerchief made up --  the cloth for which is stored in the secret Vault in the forest.

Attendant Marcos will be handling my position while I am away. I have absolutely no faith in him whatsoever.

“You will make this neck kerchief for me, Tailor Jaren. You will make it and it will be the spiffiest thing you have ever sewn.”

One last sermon to strike fear into the hearts of the masses while I am away --

-- and then it is time to embark.

Shepherdess Eve felt the fresh air on her face, and it almost felt a bit like The Watcher was providing the wind that was pushing the boat toward its destination.

The sky was clear and the water looked smooth ahead. Eve turned and went to rest below the desk. They would arrive soon, and she wanted to be fully rested for the greatest adventure she might ever have.

[qqueenofhades]

Please please please write more steamy Garcy action!

Welp.

The combination of this prompt and the above shot from the promo was very bad, so…. have an absolutely will-not-be-remotely-canon, total shipper trash version of Salem, for reasons. Because apparently the combination of Lucy + Flynn + Salem results in nothing but smut for my muse.

Rated E.

AO3.

The summer night wind pulls at Lucy’s skirt as she ismarched down the path, escorted by a pair of Pilgrim’s Progress extras in their black hats and high starchedcollars, a sea of eerie earthbound stars twinkling to every side. Of coursethey’re not actually stars, they’re torches, clutched by the fearful populaceof Salem gathered on Gallows Hill, and the rope strung from an old tree wherefive days ago, on July 19, 1692, Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah Martin, SarahWildes, and Rebecca Nurse were hanged. There will be another round of hangingsin about a month, Lucy recalls, until the trials burn themselves out as quicklyas they’ve started, in October. This still all seems rather academic to her.She wasn’t expecting to it to come this far, but she isn’t that concerned.She’ll get out of this.

Admittedly, she’s not certain how, and she would like tohave a few more options. She’s been separated from the boys, and she isn’t surethey know where she is, which is alarming. She isn’t sure she can pull the H.H.Holmes oracle trick to stop them – Holmes, psychotic as he was, was still onlyone man. This is a mob. Not to mention, that will serve as proof positive ofwitchcraft, and good luck fighting her way through all of them alone. Lucy’scontributions to the team are not of the brute-force and multiple-weaponsvariety. For the first time, her stomach turns over in genuine apprehension. Where are Wyatt and Rufus?

(She thinks for half a minute that the most effective one ofthem here would be Flynn, but there’s no way he’s coming.)

A low, ugly murmur is starting to rise by the time Lucy andher guards reach the hanging tree, and they come to a halt. Cotton Mather,looking more smug and punchable than ever, is standing nearby in his vicar’sstock, swelled with pride, ready to preside over another essential measure insaving the souls of Salem’s impressionable citizens. Lucy has a generous viewof the past, for the most part. Knows that it’s always more complicated thansimplistic pictures would like to paint it. Given the modern world’s irrationalbeliefs and panics and scapegoating, she’s not even about to point too many fingersat the ability of the Salemites to convince themselves that these women arewitches, servants of Satan, and their existence depends on killing themimmediately. But the faces watching her are huddled and hard and blank withhatred. Parents clutch their children close. There are kids here? Probably a vital moral lesson for them or something. Thehell. Never mind the historical relevancy and comparative morality and whateverelse. These people have problems.

Peter Puritan, on her left side, steps forward and makes aflourish at Mather. “Behold Goodwife Preston,” he booms. Too bad communitytheater isn’t a thing in seventeenth-century New England, he would be great atit. “The Court of Oyer and Terminer has judged beyond all doubt that this womanis guilty of the abominable sin of witchcraft, and – ”

“You haven’t tried me!” Lucy says loudly, earning shocked and scathing looks. “You’ve – this is a miscarriage of justice, it’s – ”

This is pathetic. Of courseit’s a miscarriage of justice, and there are still at least two monthsuntil anyone gives a shit about it. “I want to speak to Colonel NathanielSaltonstall,” Lucy plunges on. “I – I know him, he – ”

“Silence, witch!” Paul Puritan, from the other side, looksas if he’s aiming a blow at her, which Lucy instinctively ducks. Her heart isstarting to pound. All right, this is cutting it too close. She’s more thanready for Wyatt and Rufus to turn up on whatever improvised rescue missionthey’ve definitely contrived, and her eyes sweep the crowd, in case they’repulling the Will Turner trick (though a hat with a fancy feather woulddefinitely stick out). The trials do arrest a few men for being accomplices.Are they across town in some other jail?

Is nobody coming?

Lucy starts looking around, wondering if there’s a plank shecan grab or anything else to improvise as a weapon. But while she’s doing this,she’s losing time as Mather reads out whatever canned indictment Rittenhousemust have provided him with – is this thepoint, she doesn’t think her own mother will actually let her get killed, arethey going to swoop in as convenient saviors as the last moment? Is it possiblethat even Rittenhouse doesn’t know where she is? If she’s relying on them to pull her ass out of this –

“Remove your mob cap, witch,” Peter Puritan orders her. “Doyou have any last confession or recantation of your heretical views, before youface the proper punishment for your crime?”

“I’m not a witch.” Lucy’s voice isn’t as loud as she wants.“None of them are witches! You’re killing innocent women, you – ”

Unfortunately, true as this is, everyone sees the defense ofaccused and executed witches as, well, proof of witchcraft. There’s amaddeningly circular illogic to this entire thing, and the gasp that thisutterance provokes is followed by a shout. “HANG THE WITCH!”

Oh, please, Lucythinks frantically. You’ve got to bekidding me. Come on, past. I’m literally fighting to save your entireexistence. Do me a solid.

The past does not, in fact, do her a solid. The shoutspreads, quick as poison, and in that, Lucy can feel the final dam break. PeterPuritan reaches for the strings of her cap – she will be literally exposedbefore the crowd, die bare-headed and stripped of her shame and modesty – andLucy twists away, even as he pulls at the knots and jerks it off. Her hairtumbles out, as Paul Puritan grabs her and pushes her toward the hanging noose.Lucy kicks and snaps, trying to head-butt him, and feels her ear scrape as hejerks the rough hemp down around her neck. She stumbles on a loose board,briefly terrifying her that she’ll hang herself by accident like a clumsyidiot. The crowd is literally baying for her blood, Cotton Mather’s eyes aretwo piggy black sparks, and chasing Rittenhouse has made her believe in onekind of evil, but this is altogether another – she is actually going to die, and –

“LUCY!”

Her heart stops for a full beat in her chest, as the bellowrings out across the rising tide of madness and momentarily halts even Peterand Paul in their tracks. Her eyes sweep across the crowd, looking desperatelyfor Wyatt, even as she doesn’t think that sounds like Wyatt. But how – but how –

Garcia Flynn punches down a final minion trying to stop himand bulls into the middle of the mob like a runaway locomotive, charging acrossthe ground and toward the gallows. Peter and Paul recollect themselvessufficiently from their shock to try to grab him, which is a very bad idea.Flynn decks Peter with one punch and judo-throws Paul, sending himsomersaulting off the gallows with a squelchy noise. His violence is economicand brutal and effortless, almost mesmerizing – Lucy has seen it many times, ofcourse, but usually as something she has to stop or redirect or otherwiseprevent from its fullest potential. Now, for the first time she can remember,it is entirely focused on her – not as its target, but its purpose. For a wildmoment, it feels like Flynn is some strange avatar of her own rage, the way shewould fight if she wasn’t a five-foot-five history professor who had neverhandled a gun in her life until she shot Jesse James. How is he here. How is he – how is he here?

Right now, Lucy doesn’t care. Flynn reaches her in the nextinstant and practically wrenches the noose off her neck, scraping her earagain, and she stumbles forward, clutching hold of his waistcoat. The Salemiteshave been briefly and totally stunned by what looks like the wrathfulmaterialization of the Devil Himself to pluck one of his concubines from thebrink, and Lucy’s historian’s brain has a moment of wondering if this is goingto make the trials even worse. Causes and consequences, short-and-long-termeffects, all the shit she can’t stop thinking about even when her own life isat stake – but God, she was scared, she’s only realizing just now how much, andFlynn – and Flynn –

She can’t bring herself to let go of him, even as Flynnhalf-wraps her in his jacket and hauls her toward the edge of the gallows. Butat this point, Cotton Mather has – unfortunately – recovered himself. “DEVIL!”he booms. “I DEFY THEE, SATAN! I DEFY THEE!”

Despite everything, Flynn has almost a sardonic grin on hisface, just visible in the flickering torchlight, as if even this isn’t theworst thing he has been called. Mather raises his missal, bellowing what soundslike something intended to make Flynn vanish in a puff of brimstone, but whichdoes nothing of the sort, because of course not. The Salemites are confused andterrified to see their vaunted spiritual leader so utterly overmatched, andLucy’s ankle twists under her as Flynn drags her off the gallows. Mather takesa step, as if realizing that God has left him out to dry on this one and it’stime for more physical weapons. He grabs for the truncheon at Peter Puritan’sbelt. “Prince of Lies! I will not allow you to – ”

Flynn, keeping hold of Lucy with one arm, plunges his freehand into his leather jacket, removes a gun, and shoots Cotton Goddamn Matherin the head. It sounds like thunder.

Mather goes down hard, as Lucy screams and muffles it in herhand. Mather is one of history’s most unpleasant racist and misogynisticjackasses, it’s not like this is a terrible loss, and maybe with theintellectual architect of the witch trials gone, Salem will come to its senses.Or it will become convinced that he was completely right all along, with Luciferhimself in their midst, and double down. Lucy isn’t sure if Mather’s dead –Flynn didn’t get a clean hit, just a glancing one – and they have no time to besure. Flynn throws her over his shoulder, and runs, fittingly, like the devil.

He doesn’t stop until they’re well away, somewhere deep inSalem Woods, also known as the Witches’ Wood, and the noise and shout and totaldisorder of Gallows Hill has faded to a distant, dreamy clamor. Flynn stumblesto a halt, pulls Lucy down, and practically throws her against the nearesttree. She has never seen his face look like this. “Are you – did they – ”

“Stop,” Lucy chokes out. “Stop, Flynn. Flynn. Flynn! Garcia!I’m fine. I’m fine!”

This is more or less the truth – aside from her scraped ear,twisted ankle, and hammering heart, she’s physically undamaged, thanks to histimely intervention, but the mental shock is going to take longer to set in.His hands are practically bruising her shoulders, he belatedly realizes it, andloosens them a fraction. His dark hair is tousled, there’s an abrasion on hischeek, and his knuckles are scraped. He has clearly been fighting the entiretown to get to her.

Lucy, to say the least, has no idea how to react to this. Itsays something about how successfully he has convinced her that he hates thesight of her and will never forgive her that she ranked Rittenhouse a morelikely rescuer than him. But it’s him here, face frantic in the moonlight,still completely unable to put up a pretense or façade. “Lucy,” he says again,barely more coherently. “I – Lucy. I thought – ” He stops. Straining madly forhis usual brusque dismissal, he says, “How could you be so foolish as to – ”

“It’s my faultthat the place literally known for murdering slightly strange innocent womenwas about to murder me, a slightly strange innocent woman?” Lucy flares. Shecannot believe him. He has hauled her bodily from certain death and badlywounded or killed Cotton Mather in doing it, and now of course he’s going to bea dick about it. “If you actually think so, I’m happy to walk back there andlet them finish the job!”

This of course is a bluff, as she’s going nowhere near them,but it turns Flynn’s face a sick white. His grip tightens convulsively on her,her toes practically dangling off the ground, and she shoves at him until heputs her down. They stare at each other for a crackling moment. She wants toask him where Wyatt and Rufus are, but the words get stuck. He looks disheveledand frantic and still not quite able to look away from her face. He half-raiseshis hand as if to touch it, remembers himself, and stops. His chest heaves.Quieter, he says, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Lucy opens her mouth, to shoot back any of the obviousrejoinders about how she is not going to have much choice in their present lineof work, and besides, it’s a considerable shock to hear he gives a shit. Onceagain, the words don’t make it that far. It is not only the fear and adrenalineof the near-hanging and dramatic rescue that is making her heart keep up itspresent pace. His face is quite close to hers, and it wouldn’t be hard. To juststep up, and –

(Lucy feels something for Wyatt beyond any doubt. Somethingwarm and alluring and tender, something she could see turning into somethingmore, a foundation to build on, a home to come to, strong and sweet and real.She always has.)

(Lucy also feels something for Flynn beyond any doubt.Something raw and dark and hungry, something she can’t see turning intoanything but the crash of a devouring sea that would take her and drown her,pull her under. This is nothing to build on, cannot move forward, strikes likelightning and burns, burns, burns. She always has.)

The witch and the Devil in the woods at midnight, Lucythinks. It is almost surreal, the way the crickets shirr, the starlight issharp and cold, and in the distance, men who want to kill them chant like Moriadrums. Is she not a witch? She knows their future, she’s traveled here from it,she has seen and done things that defy explanation in her own time, not merelythose. They have wanted to kill her for it, but something else is surging inher now. She wants that power, in a way. And the fear. That moment when Flynnwas decking Peter Puritan, when she felt it as if it was her arm, as if he washer and she was him and both of them were two strange halves of a twisted andtorn-apart creature –

Lucy boosts herself on her tiptoes, grabs Flynn by themostly-undone cravat, and kisses him.

It’s not like kissing Wyatt. That is generous, easy, gentle,knowing she will be caught when she jumps over the edge. This is flingingherself into the abyss without a rope, with no idea what kind of reaction itwill provoke. Flynn could do literally anything, and as a rule in his life,has. But this Lucy, the Lucy who’s so fucking furious at her mother she can’tbreathe, who has spent every waking moment sacrificing for everyone else, who wants to be the one to do the reckless,idiotic thing for once, doesn’t care. This is a dangerous man, and she isn’tabout to romanticize or underestimate that. But if nothing else – if there’sanything she’s taking away from her recent near-death experience – she is alsoa dangerous woman.

Flynn, for his part, is too floored to do anything at all.His hands windmill feebly in the air, and he remains briefly inert against her,until Lucy wonders if she’s completely mistaken and there isn’t whatever there is between them, whatevershe thought there was. His mouth is a hard seam of granite, grim and ungenerousand guarded like a castle wall, just like the rest of him. Just then, for thatinstant, it feels like kissing a statue.

In the next, it doesn’t. His hands clamp onto her face,pulling her head up almost hard enough to strain her neck – well, he’s a fullfoot taller than she is, something’s got to give, something has to bridge thedistance, in more ways than one. He kisses like he punches: he takes noprisoners, he doesn’t waste time on peripheral targets, and it feels liable toknock you out if you run into it too hard. Her hands come up, clutching hiswrists, as their noses mash and their teeth scrape and they bite each other’slips, too used to conflict to come easily into convergence. Lucy isn’t evensure she is enjoying it, exactly. Just that she can’t stop.

It’s Flynn who breaks the kiss (if such a polite,sweet-sounding word can be used to dignify the proceedings) after a gasping,gulping moment. He clearly thinks the insanity of the Salemites must becontagious. “Lucy – ”

Oddly enjoyable as it is to hear her name in his mouth likethat, the way his accent sometimes thickens in moments of heightened emotion,Lucy Preston rarely gets the chance to outright do stupid things, and shedoesn’t feel like losing this one. She takes a step, grabbing his lapels, herloosened hair falling around her face, dark shadows on the paleness. She feelsa little demonic herself, breathing enchantment, whispering spells, and it’s aneven more enjoyable feeling, the tremor that runs through him, the knowledgethat she could break that desperate self-control with not much more than aflick. Witches are known to have sex with the devil, after all. It’s one of themajor features by which you can identify them. How, God knows, but Lucy isn’treally interested in the logistics. Just this. Her monster.

(He’s not, he’s not a monster, she hasn’t thought that for along time now, and yet. She hungers. She hungers.)

(Perhaps the monster is her.)

(She doesn’t altogether mind.)

They stare at each other for a dazzled moment longer, andthen Lucy’s grip changes, turns possessive, as she pulls him closer again.Flynn resists for a valiant split-second longer, and then she can feel himsnap. They are two people with, to say the least, a volatile history, who havehad some sort of connection from the start and whose chemistry has always beenundeniable, who have been spending a lot of time (at least on someone’s Garbage Lord part) insistingthey hate each other now. Of course it was going to become inevitable.

Flynn kisses her ferociously, hand curling behind her head,fingers brushing her scraped ear, but Lucy doesn’t care. Her arms tangle aroundhis neck, they overbalance, and slide down the trunk of the tree into the softmoss at the bottom. Flynn comes down heavily on top of Lucy, catching hisweight on an elbow just in time, as well as tangling in her skirts. It’s awonder anyone gets to the actual fornication part around here, given the amountof clothing, but Lucy happens to know that Puritans hump like rabbits. Don’tlet the buttoned-up religious zealot image fool you. This – sneaking off for atryst in the woods, in the ditches, in the fields, anywhere away from the whiteclapboard house and the judgment of the church – is far from uncommon. And allof that is alarming, if it’s what they’re doing, but it appears they are.

Breathless and entangled, Flynn sprawled between her legs,his head resting almost on her chest, they struggle to sit up halfway, stillkissing, grunting and whimpering between breaths, as he rakes her bottom lipwith his teeth. Lucy wrestles him into a better angle, as he puts down one handto brace himself and strokes her neck with the other, running his callusedthumb up the hollow of her throat and onto her cheek, half-tender despite theheat of their kiss. His eyelashes flutter. The look on his face is unspeakable.This is probably the first time he’s kissed anyone since his wife died. Lucywonders if he’s seeing the ghost of a dead woman in her face – or if he’s not.

It still doesn’t matter. His mouth leaves one more long,hungry brand on hers, then breaks off, venturing down her chin, the undersideof her jaw, as he tugs aside the torn white collar. Lucy shudders from head totoe, even as his free hand has successfully made it under the skirts and isrunning up the slim line of her thigh. As much clothing as Puritans wear ontop, they wear less below. Lucy has made it a policy of retaining her ownunderwear, but aside from a petticoat, there’s not much in Flynn’s way.

She shifts position, crawling onto his lap, shucking hisheavy coat and hearing a thump as it hits the ground with his gun still inside.She may regret that if they are abruptly caught by the Puritans, but then,public indecency would definitely get them arrested, so Flynn will be punchingsomeone anyway. This is insane, this is insane, this is insane, and for a moment, Lucy wonders if she’s actually beingbewitched, that the moon is rising in Salem Wood on a seventeenth-centurysummer night and she’s fallen sideways out of reality. But that is her lifeevery day now. This is something still more.

It doesn’t take long until Lucy’s skirts are hiked up aroundher hips, Flynn’s trousers have been unbuttoned, and if either of them aregoing to stop this before it goes past the point of no return, it has to benow. But Flynn’s hand has almost reached the top of her thigh, and Lucy isgoing to lose her mind if they don’t, and this is going to solve nothing at alland will probably result in their relationship being even more fraught. But it still doesn’t matter. Nothing does except him,and them, and this. She pushes Flynn onto his back, hooks her panties off herankle, and picks her skirts up. Their eyes meet, in a moment of silentquestion. It’s not entirely clear who’s asking who.

Flynn gives half a jerky nod, hands already reaching for herhips, pulling her closer, as Lucy straddles him, knees pressing into the softloam on either side of his thighs. The first intimate brush is practicallymaddening, and she reaches down, taking hold of him in her hand, stroking tipand shaft with her thumb. Then she shifts, guides him in the darkness, andslides him slowly into her, hard and hot and solid. Her fingers slip on him andher, this raw and elemental communion, like druids coupling in the shadow of astanding stone. This ritual, this old magic of man and woman, has beenpracticed for thousands upon thousands of years.

Lucy utters a faint whimper in her throat as she settlesfully onto him, opening her hips, feeling him sliding deeper and deeper untiltheir bodies are entirely given to the other. She leans forward, breathcatching, as she rolls her hips, then plants her hands on his shoulders as shethrusts. He reaches up to grab her wrists, meeting her halfway with a thrust ofhis own, hard enough to send something haywire inside her. She sees sparks. Shegulps and swears, eyes closed, sweat beading in her hair and rolling down theback of her neck. Hitches herself up, drags herself against him, and bends downalmost on all fours, riding out the long shudder of frisson and friction. Hegrips her harder. Her head comes down close to his as she fucks him thoroughly,her hair hanging in his face. He snarls and lunges for her mouth.

As they kiss again, Flynn comes up beneath her like acyclone, flips them over, and catches hold of her hands, shoving them over herhead, as he thrusts into her practically to the back of her spine. One of hishands pulls loose from hers and gets hold of her thigh instead, pushing itwider. Every time Lucy thinks the next stroke can’t keep coming, can’t be moreintense, it is, rutting and jerking. Her free hand claws at him, searching forpurchase in this mad, mad universe, when she fears she has been tipped off theedge and it is a very long way down. Bunch and burst and buck, her back presseddown into the loam, Flynn’s hips coiling and loosening for a final, wrackingheave. He has given up on any feeble denial whatsoever that he does not want todo exactly this. He mounts her once more, strong and lithe and ruthless as atiger, and then starts to lose it altogether.

Lucy isn’t sure if she orgasms, so much as she reaches apoint where her body simply cannot take a single instant more of sensation andstimulation and breathless need, the system overloads, has to call a halt andstart again. Her mouth is open, head thrown back on the leaves, gaspingfruitlessly, her body shaking and blazing. It’s like standing too close to anopen bonfire, not so much soft and pleasurable as searing and primal. She thinksthat perhaps, the Salemites have gotten their wish. She has, in fact, beenburned alive.

It is a very long moment until either of them can even thinkabout moving. Flynn is still inside her, pulsing and softening, until he jerksout of her abruptly enough to make her feel bereft. He sits back on his knees,pulling his trousers up and fumbling with the buttons. Lucy lies where she is,still not quite able to move, as he steals a brief, shamefaced look at her andreaches out to pull down her skirts, as if hiding the evidence will deny it everhappened. His hands are shaking, faintly but relentlessly. He wipes his mouth .“Lucy,”he says hoarsely, the first thing either of them have managed since thismadness started. “We should go.”

Slowly, head rushing as she does, Lucy sits up. She can’tquite get enough air, due to a combination of the obvious and never havinggotten around to taking her corset off. Her thighs are slick and her mouthfeels wet and swollen. She is going to have bruises.

“Lucy.” He remains hunched where he is. “Lucy, did I hurtyou?”

Garcia Flynn, as far as she knows, has never asked thatquestion to anyone before. Lucy doesn’t know how to answer. He didn’t, and hedid, and she feels like the white-hot anvil in the forge, and she isn’t sureher knees can bear her weight. She feels both possessed and cleansed. God,where does she even start to understand this.

(Maybe she doesn’t have to. Maybe it just is.)

Flynn is still looking at her. Waiting.

Lucy reaches up to touch his face, cupping her fingersaround his jaw. He turns his head almost reflexively, as if to kiss her palm,and to hide his eyes. She can feel a wetness that is not sweat. He shudderswith the weight of all the tears he is not remotely about to shed. But despitehimself, a few more slip out. He shakes again. He doesn’t make a sound.

Lucy leans forward and kisses his cheek, softly and chastelyafter the carnal heat and fury of their coupling, and tastes the salt on herlips. Then she puts her other hand out, and allows him to help her up. Theygrasp at each other once they’re back on their feet, struggling to steady eachother. He looks at her again. His expression is indescribable.

It’s a strange feeling to know you own a dangerous man’ssoul, but Lucy Preston will be gentle.

“Come on, Garcia,” she whispers. “Let’s go home.”

[ithelpstodream]

Brace yourself — the holiday season is upon us. Returning home for the holidays can be complicated for us queer folk, as our families are often unprepared to behold the incandescent, gender-transcendent, anti-establishment beings we have become. Take my family for example: We love baseball (not me, I’m too gay for sports) and we LOVE the holidays. Our Thanksgiving menu consists of classic American holiday fare: turkey, cranberry sauce, yams with marshmallows, plus The Outlier: sticky rice with Chinese sausage, to remind us where we came from. We are, dare I say it, very "diverse," so our holiday dinners look like a Norman Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell had had a 90’s post-racial utopia phase. I even have some relatives who are queer… though we don’t really talk about that. My fam is stuck in a time machine set to "early 2000s liberalism," so I find coming home queer for the holidays can be difficult. They’re not sure what to make of my constantly shifting gender presentation, much less my conflicting feelings about getting joy from a holiday I objectively know is about genocide. It gets awkward real fast. If you feel similarly, here are some #lifehacks for being queer and home for the holidays! 1. Wear a name tag. Maybe this is your first holiday season going by a new name. Maybe you look really different from last year. Maybe both! In any case, you deserve to be recognized for who you are. The first time I shaved my head, my dad walked me around a dim sum hall "introducing" me to relatives I’ve known my whole life, trying to justify my new look. “This is Jes, you remember, right? The flamboyant artist?” I thought to myself, “I’m not an ‘artist,’ DAD, I’m just queer.” (Since then I’ve realized I can actually be both.) Avoid this awkwardness with a handy dandy name tag! Now everybody knows you’re the baby cousin who took off your diaper and climbed into the cranberry sauce that one year, even though you’re grown up and have a giant septum ring now. Or, you have a new name and a giant septum ring, and nobody knows why you remind them so much of their baby cousin who took off their diaper and climbed into the cranberry sauce that one year. You’ll get to eat your siu mai, or mac 'n' cheese, or whatever, in peace. 2. Bring a decoy. Okay, so maybe the name tag didn’t work, and people are still calling you by the wrong name. Tremendous bummer. Really puts a lump in your mashed potatoes. Divert that negative energy by carrying a decoy that bears your deadname during all your interactions with stubborn relatives. It can be a teddy bear, a Bratz doll, a small porcelain cherub, really anything you like. I prefer a sock puppet. Suddenly, it’s [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who has “grown into such a lovely young woman,” [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who “should really man up for once,” and [Deadname] the Sock Puppet who “used to be so beautiful, before they got all those Friday the 13th flash tattoos.” It’s not about you anymore. It’s about the sock puppet. And your sock puppet will love the compliments. 3. Make friends with animals. Socializing with humans — especially humans you’re related to — can be extremely taxing. Instead, wander away from the party to make some animal friends. Animals don’t speak human languages, so they don’t have trash opinions about our current president (though it is highly speculated that all animals hate Trump), they won’t say your gender-neutral pronouns are “grammatically incorrect,” and they will never refer to your partner as your "roommate." One of my most distinct memories from a childhood Thanksgiving is of the time I met my cousin’s pet hedgehog, Barbie. Barbie didn’t care that she was more of a chubby, spine-covered ball than a leggy blonde — she knew exactly who she was, and she was proud of it. I was so captivated by her that to this day, I can’t remember anything else from that night. Barbie was a true queer icon. You, too, can forge such meaningful bonds with whatever cat, dog, or bearded lizard you can get your hands on. And before you know it, you’ll feel just like a Disney Princex. 4. Use your queer powers for good. There’s no doubt about it: queer people are powerful. Whether our experience with family is positive or negative, we have the power to heal, and the power to destroy. As a wise man in a gender-nonconforming, but culturally appropriative outfit once said, “use the force, Luke.” Unless your name isn’t Luke, in which case refer back to #1. Use your fashion influence — lez be real, you’re probably the most fashionable, or at least most self-actualized member of your family — to show your nieces and nephews that their “pilgrim hats” and “Indian headbands” aren’t a cute look ("so 1600s colonialism!" "so 20th century romanticism of genocide!"). Shadow your uncle in the kitchen so you can make a vegan version of his stuffing for your queer fam. Help Gramma pick out a new holiday sweater. Play video games with your burgeoning gender-nonconforming cousin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll help a family member find their truth, and then you won’t have to be the only Gay Cousin. 5. Eat. If all else fails, eat the food. That turkey (or vegan substitute) is calling your name, and yes, it’s the name you are meant to be called. https://www.them.us/story/survival-guide-to-awkward-family-time

[ghostphilia]

DP x Fallout Crossover: Ch 2

Chapter 1 here

Nora Taylor used to practice law before all this. She hadn’t been in the game in a while, but she was going to come back after Shaun’s birth. She was going to defend the rights of the people in a country that kept trampling them by selling the individual to corporations and using war as an excuse. She was going to make a change in society, and she was going to protect the weak, and she was going to raise a beautiful, smart, young boy with Nate, the love of her life. Yeah right.

She couldn’t help but let a loud laugh course through her whole body as she went through her thoughts, standing at the edge of the glowing sea. Nick Valentine was beside her, silent and eyeing her thoroughly, but not looking an inch more surprised than usual. He was used to Nora’s chagrin. He wasn’t quite as human as everyone else around him, but he would have eaten his mangled Stetson hat if he didn’t know Nora like the back of his trench coat by now. The lass had increasingly become more and more haunting since the day she had first stepped foot in his office with an impossible request. He couldn’t even fathom what kind of mental process one had to go through to shift from loving mother in a (relatively) tender world to one of the most ruthless, dangerous wastelanders currently in the commonwealth, but for Nora to make the cut, something had to have broken up or fizzled out in the central processing unit. Not that it didn’t make her any less good of a friend, or human being, no. Just a little trigger-happy and with the occasional psychotic outburst.

 Nora knew what nick was thinking whenever he gave her the long looks. She chuckled, seemingly unparsed by her own inner misery.

 “Ready to get out there again Nick? Haven’t set foot in this place in a while, didn’t really have much of an excuse to visit since our friend Virgil went all human again, I forgot how charming it was.” She chuckled again, hysterically. Nick kept being silent, near her, waiting her to calm down. She exhaled, and ran a hand through dirty, short red hair “All right all right, sorry for the little show there, it’s just been, what, one year? Wow.” She exhaled, composing herself inside her rad-resistant power armour. Nick nodded, making a small underhanded but affectionate comment about loosing screws. She didn’t need to specify. It had been one year since the both of them had traveled all the way into the glowing sea to find Virgil, a super mutant scientist. In a few weeks time, it would have been one year since she destroyed the institute, and murdered her own son.

 They were off to the glowing sea on a mission from the minutemen, a now growing force for good within the commonwealth. Nora hadn’t taken the position of leadership Preston had offered her, but she still helped out from time to time, made sure the group didn’t mess around again like before. She trusted Preston, but the guy was still way too emotional to handle things on his own.

 There had been a suddenly huge afflux of children of atom pilgrims, coming from all sides or the commonwealth and beyond, converging into the place of worship Nora understood as ground zero, Atom’s Crater. Most of them were harmless, but many had disrupted commonwealth settlements by acting violent towards non-believers, or bringing in radiation. Some brought with them chained glowing ones as offerings and items of worship, and more than a few times those ghouls had gotten loose, ending up in a bloodbath and a lot of radiation poisoning. Nora had dealt with the children before, and had found them mostly harmless, but these numbers had started to make her worried. The crazy worshippers might be weak from radiation sickness half the time, and hallucinating the other half, but now they were crazy and with an army, one that was hard to fight, since it was located in a place most people would be mad to even try to approach.

 She had popped her helmet on and moved forwards. They had traded a few essential quips as they moved inside the green storm. At the end of a day’s walk, something would shut both of their mouths entirely.

 The crater of Atom wasn’t just a crater any longer. It was a small town. She couldn’t even fathom where the children were able to scavenge that many supplies within a radioactive desert, but there it was… If these people hadn’t multiple times proved to be completely insane, she would have even felt some sort of awe, or innate respect, for what they were able to accomplish.

 Two men had stopped them in front of some sort of gates. They had erected a wall around the town borders, which Nora assumed wasn’t to protect from fellow men, since the only people roaming the glowing sea were the children themselves. Deathclaws, on the other hand, might’ve been increasingly attracted by the growing populace.

 “Hail Atom, travelers. You come to worship his holy vessel?”

 Nick and Nora had given each other a quick comedic glance.

 “We’ve come to meet with your leader, Mother Isolde. They know me, We’ve met a year ago. Although… she’s never really said anything about a holy vessel? What, has she been up somebody’s pants lately? Cause if so good for her.” Nora added commented in a half sarcastic tone. The guard dislodged him mandible, looking personally affronted.

 “Would you dare speak heresy against the mother and holy vessel? Atoms fury will rain upon all that..”

 He was stopped by Nick Valentine’s loud, raspy groan.

 “Remind me of why I travel with you again?”  He said, his voice grouchier than usual as he stepped up in front of Nora, trying to hide her as much as possible

 “Look Buddy, you’ve got to forgive my partner here, she talks a big mouth but could probably use a bit of atoms wisdom.” He put extra stress on the last part, turning around to glare at her. “You see, me and my partner here don’t mean you guys and your god no harm. We are just here to trade a few words with the good mother, representing the minutemen. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this many children out in the commonwealth, and since we are neighbours and all I think we oughta figure out a way to help each other, don’t you?”

 “As far as I’m concerned heretics like you should be banned from the holy site.” The guard hissed. “But we shall see what Mother has to say.” He nudged his head towards his radiation blaster, then motioned at the duo to follow him through the gates.

 Not everyone in the village looked like the usual children of atom worshipper. Some seemed to be new, and had just begun loosing their hair. Some were actual children, which made Nora’s stomach turn in disgust. Children had no way of making a crazy religious choice for themselves. Were these guys recruiting orphans and sending them to their deaths?

 “I’ve seen some of these people before, in the commonwealth. Pretty bold move to choose to leave everything behind for this.” Nick had commented off handedly as they approached the center of the crater, giving nora the quick glance that usually meant he suspected something rotten. Nora couldn’t be more inclined to agree. These ‘new people’ seemed to be there of their own will, but why such a sudden conversion to such a crazy religion. This village had walls now. They might have kept bad things out, but they could also hold things in. Did it have to do with something this.. vessel.. the guard was talking about.

 “Atom’s will is great, and he has blessed us with a grand gift. Even the stubborn nonbelievers can now see into his glory. Look for yourself.” The guard added smugly, as they approached the central crater.

 Surrounded by dozens of men and women in prayer, was a pool of radioactive water Nora was familiar with. What she wasn’t familiar with was the pedestal of glowing trinkets at its center, upholding something that was objectively just plain weird.

 It was the most vivid blue crystal she had ever seen. She would almost have confused it for ice if not for the fact that she hadn’t seen actual ice ever since she’d gotten out of her cryo-pod and that, well, the crystal seemed to be glowing. The most stunning thing though, was not the glow in the ice itself, but the bright, ethereal white light, outlining a human figure, trapped inside the crystalline obelisk.

 “Behold, foreigners, Atoms holy corpse. That is the vessel all here come to worship.” The guard phrased slowly, stopping in his step reverently. “You will be quiet and wait now, for Mother Isolde is about to give a sermon. We will meet her as she is finished.”

 Nora remembered Isolde. She had looked humble, crazy of course, but reasonable enough. That was not the way she looked now, as she walked out of a balcony, above ‘the relic’. What she looked now, was possessed. It was as if something within that glowing crystal had caused her to snap, well, snap more than she had already snapped before. Nora had been on the brink of loosing it a few times herself, and quite frankly, seeing Isolde’s face like that was driving it home a little too much.

 As she had reached the edge of the balcony, she had raised her hands to the sky, her long green robes flowing across her arms like wings. The whole town had quieted down, leaving only the sound of a few chants lost in the radioactive wind.

 “Six months ago, dear children, a few of our devoted found the Holy Vessel within the glowing pools of the west”

  “Six Months ago, we were lost in his glow, dear children, we were asking for his love. We were battling the non-believers, suffering to prove our faith. But we were unseen, unconnected, unloved. Yet fret not, for Atom is great, and his love infinite. For now, Atom has found us!”

 She paused, looking towards the sky, and lowering her arms onto the crowd.

 “Six months ago, I have gazed into Atom’s endless green eyes. Atom himself showed me a vision, through his body. He has given us a great gift, and bestowed upon us a great duty. For he will descend upon the earth, and he shall descend within this vessel. Dear children Atom wishes to live among us. Together, he wills to guide us through Division. Thus we must worship him, until he is resurrected. We must worship him and sacrifice for him, so that he may walk amongst us.”

 At this point, Isolde was visibly shaking.

 “He has spoken to me. He feeds on our feelings, asks for our pain, and we must answer to him. Each day we must. None will be like us in history. We are Atom’s chosen! We shall worship him, we shall save him, and he will save us!”

 And with that, she lifted some form of staff into the air, and the crowd exploded in a huge roar.

 “Tomorrow, we begin the ritual of awakening. Bless you All! May Atom be with you!” She erupted madly, retreating away from the balcony. The crowd remained in unrest, chanting furiously and making noise. The guard escorting Nora and Nick grabbed both of their arms to make sure they would not escape in the chaos, and led them towards the main hub. After waiting for a small time in a separate room, Nora was asked to step out of her power armour. Radiation levels seemed to be lower in the crater, and she didn’t want to start shooting just yet, so she begrudgingly accepted after popping a few pills of Rad-X. They were lead into the Mother’s residence. She awaited them while sitting. Meditating.

 “Welcome, wanderers” She smiled, politely facing them. “I see we have met before, you vanquished the heretic for us, way back. Brother Adam here tells me you have come to bargain for the Minutemen. How lucky for you to be here again, at such a great time of our lord’s awakening.”

 “Well that’s a way of putting it” Nick mumbled in the back.

 Nora stared down at Isolde. “Lady I have about a million questions more at this point that have absolutely nothing to do with what Preston asked me to do, but yes, let’s just say I’ve come to bargain.” She crouched down in front of her, relaxing, completely ignoring the tension in the room.

 “I see you’ve been stacking up quite a community here. Odd place to be at but hey, you guys seem to immune to this stuff, so good for you. Us ‘normal’…” She wiggled her fingers as if to say she was not normal at all “…people in the commonwealth though… well, let’s just say some of us don’t like all this radiation flying around? Some of your caravans have been harming our settlements, and well, we don’t really want to start preparing defenses against them if we can help it. We’d rather come to some form of agreement with your pilgrims, you feel? They stay away from our territories, and we make sure the roads to the glowing sea are safe to travel.  We could also exchange trades while we are at it. That’s just one of a few ideas.” She smirked.

 Isolde, oddly enough, seemed to be matching Nora’s smirk. Except for the mad glint in one of her eyes.

 “These seem all excellent ideas my child, but I am afraid they will have to wait. Tomorrow is a great day for our community, and none can tell what shall come after it, except for Atom himself”

 “Yeah, about that, what the fucking hell.. mmhph..”

 “I suppose what my partner is trying to say here.” Nick interceded again, at this point just plain used to it. “Is that we were surprised at how much your community has grown. We’ve also managed to see the relic, and hear your speech, and were wondering more about it.”

 “Ah, so Atoms glow has drawn you in. Not to worry, all can take his path to division, even those lacking human flesh.” She eyed him and smiled, ignoring Nick’s pronounced frown. “There is not much more I can say that my speech has not already revealed. All questions will be answered tomorrow. Atom has spoken to me, through his eyes I’ve seen what to do to bring him into this world, and I have chosen to serve him. He is close to resurrection, and tomorrow, he will walk amongst us.”

 Nora shifted on her feet. She didn’t like this. There was no way the children would resurrect their god, but whatever was going to happen, it couldn’t be pretty, and, well, if she could help it she didn’t wanna be anywhere around it.

 Except for…

 The children she had seen, among the crowd… Could she abandon them? It would be that easy now, after what she’d done, wouldn’t it?

 “Of course you’re welcome to stay for the ritual. We may continue our discussion after. Our brothers will prepare your loungings. You must leave me know, I have much to meditate on”

 A few reveries later, and a few question that Isolde kept outright dodging, they were brought to a separate room and left alone, asked to wait as the guard would bring back Nora’s power armour.

 They had been silent with each other, waiting for one to break the ice.

 “Nick..” Nora mumbled under her breath

 “Oh thank the railroad, I thought you were just gonna let me do the talking.” He whispered back.

 “You’ve been great at it so far, constantly interrupting me and everything”

 “You’re a real piece of work you know? I don’t know if you noticed here boss, but these people are straight up insane, and now they seem to think their god will walk on earth. I don’t like lying just as much as you, but I can omit a few personal opinions if it gets my gears still grinding underneath my trenchcoat.”

 “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You know what we have to do, right?”

 “My best guess at this point is that you first chose to run away with your tail between your legs, figuring that these people would accidentally blow themselves up, and then saw the obviously kidnapped children and took a 180 degree angle turn.”

 “You know me so well.”

 “So are we rescuing the children and the new recruits? Do we even know if they are here by force?”

 “Well, we could always talk to them and find out. Maybe they know what this ritual even is in the first place. Also, what did you think of that.. thing. That was just weird right?”

 “Don’t tell me you believe in that pigeon’s milk. It’s probably some rad infused crystal that happened to look like there’s a fella inside it. There’s lotsa weird stuff like that happening in the world.”

 “…You’re probably right. Probably also what drove the Mother insane. Gosh Nick this is a mess.”

 “You’re telling me, you got my work cut out for me. By the way, we should watch out while we are out in the crater. If some of these people were actually kidnapped, the dear Mother might definitely have sent some goons to babysit us. They could strike at any m…”

 Nick’s voice fizzled out, his golden eyes turning off. A small electrical device had been lodged in his back, seemingly shorting out his power. Nora turned as fast as she could, but a long sharp needle stabbed her near her neck juncture, and things gradually.. gradually turned to black.

[orbemnews]

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After coordinating with native academic authorities and academics, and with the blessing of the scholars’ mother and father and guardians, the photojournalist Andria Hautamaki spent over a month in 2019 touring to 5 such colleges. “The coronavirus pandemic has upended academic routines throughout the globe, and many colleges in Chile have pivoted to distant studying. However rural Chilean colleges face notably tough challenges.” Andria Hautamaki Learn extra about rural Patagonian colleges » A number of years in the past, the photographer Richard Frishman started to doc vestiges of racism, oppression and segregation in America’s constructed and pure environments — lingering traces that have been hidden in plain sight behind a veil of banality. A few of Mr. Frishman’s footage seize websites that have been unmarked, missed or largely forgotten. Different images discover the Black establishments that arose in response to racial segregation. A handful of the images depict the websites the place Black individuals have been attacked, killed or kidnapped — some marked and extensively recognized, some not. “Slavery is also known as America’s ‘unique sin.’ Its demons nonetheless hang-out us within the type of segregated housing, schooling, well being care, employment. Via these images, I’m making an attempt to protect the bodily proof of that sin — as a result of, when the telling traces are erased, the teachings threat being misplaced.” Richard Frishman Learn extra concerning the “Ghosts of Segregation” » The waters surrounding Britain are speckled with hundreds of small islands, solely a small fraction of that are inhabited. Amongst those that name Britain’s small islands residence are a group of wardens — caretakers who spend their lives in quiet solitude, away from the crowded corners of our city world. Their position: to take care of and handle the preservation of their small speck of land, typically whereas conducting analysis into delicate ecosystems. Over the previous three years, the photojournalist Alex Ingram has been visiting a few of these distant islands, spending not less than every week on every. Supply hyperlink #Corners #Revisiting #unseen #World

[progeny-of-the-fury]

Drachen Trials: Instructor Guiscareaux | Part I

Log date:  2/13/18

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the reader’s enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participant’s knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

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We had just returned from a rather... unenjoyable theatre performance. If one could call even an onze of that performance worth anyone's time. Regardless, I was... anxious. Anxious to get away from all this mess surrounding me. And most importantly, anxious to begin my ambition...

Lucius Guiscareaux walked into the room, and carefully placed the hat under the crux of his arm. Noting the lack of a chair, he would nod. "I'll stand, then."

Adelise De'bayle: "I figured the lack of chair would not bother anyone, standing did not kill anyone, nor do I expect it would kill someone such as yourself. Though if you wish to sit, we can move," she scoots her chair back.

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I have no problem standing, just making a joke is all." He took the seat regardless. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Apologies, I have never been one for jokes. Especially after this evening," she brings a tired hand up to the bridge of her nose, pinching there. "My upcoming trials. When did you wish to begin, I would like to be swift in starting. And where shall we start?"

Lucius Guiscareaux nodded, his face flat, expressionless. "Jokes are the only thing that got me through that concert. No matter. Your trials may begin as you request. But understand the order is not as glorious as we were in the times of the Dragonsong."

Adelise De'bayle: "I am well aware," she gestures out a hand, "I may not have slain a dragon, least, not yet. Though, I have slain one of Shinryu's 'brood'. A Hakkinryu. Earned me the title of Adelise, the Hakkinslayer during the Ala Mhigan liberation."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I've heard, aye. But titles are titles, are you aware of the risks inherent to your trials and the possible dangers?"

Adelise De'bayle: "I have heard some Dragoons do not even make out of them alive. Believe me, I am well aware."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Aye. This is a serious request and more then one noble has attempted this for the sake of their own personal glory rather then service to the Holy See."

Adelise De'bayle: "Do not mistake my desire. Every onze of what I do, is for my people and for the power to be strong enough to lead them. It is as much for myself, as it is for them, and Her Fury. I choose to walk in Her image."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Many others have spoken in the same way; you wish to lead your fellow Ishgardians?"

Adelise De'bayle: "I would have it no other way. My goals come from my desire to walk in Halone's image."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I've heard talk of this from people twice your age; why do you presume yourself worthy of leading the Holy See?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Have you seen where the city currently stands? It is not say I wish to take our Lord Commanders position, but rather I wish to be a figure that can help ignite change. That can help guide our people back onto a path of righteousness. Away from the lies that were sewn into our very being. I wish to see our people once more truly be followers of Halone. Not simply speak of Her. I do not expect to change the world, Ser Guiscareaux. No. No great leader changes the world. They strike change into the hearts of people. That is where true change lies. I see weakness in people's hearts, and I try to help them see past it. To guide them from that. I want them to change their own world, by standing on their own two feet. People rely on strong leaders for that though. That is why I need to be a stronger figure head."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "The life of a member of the Knights Dragoon is not fit for those wishing to be a Role Model, Adelise De'bayle. We are solitary hunters, now protectors of the pilgrims and traders into the hinterlands. Do you wish to be a role model, or a Knights Dragoon?"

Adelise De'bayle: 'Times are changing, Ser Guiscareaux, it is about time you change with them. The Knight's Dragoon are considered to be an elite task force. Even more so, those with the title are granted a status almost higher than that of a nobleman, that much you should know well. That sort of social power does entail being a role-model. To dismiss that, is to use your power in vain. I presume you would not do such?"

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I did not become a member of the Knights Dragoon for the title, or to be an inspiration. I joined the order to serve the Holy See and the country that I love.  I spent my nights on the Dravanian Hinterlands, with naught a companion. My deeds will not be recorded or written in books of history, and that is something I have understood all my life. You speak true, that in the storm we find ourselves in, such titles may lend you greater influence, but that should not be why you find yourself a member of our order."

Adelise De'bayle: "You presume heavily that my desire to lead and bring glory back to the See means I expect to be placed on a pedestal. I do not care if I am ever written in any tomes. Or ever once preached about in classes. I want this just as much for the reason you did. Because I love my country and I wish to see it strive. While our reasonings differ, I see there are more avenue's to this particular job than just slaying things. And with the War over, Ser, we most certainly will need to find other avenue's to make our polearms of use. I doubt you wish to live out the rest of your life as an escort. As I see it, there is plenty we are still capable of. More for us to offer, and the order will be what brings Ishgard back onto its feet. That will help it become the shining beacon we wanted to believe it was."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I did not presume you to be seeking fame, I believed you to be using the possible title of a member of our order to garner influence. We are not merely slayers of wyrms, tis truth you speak, my polearm has done more then kill. It is a weapon of protection, it has saved more lives then it has slain. While the truths revealed during the conferences have tarnished our legacy, Ishgard has been my home and will always be the beacon of light in this world. The Eorzean peoples have grown slack in their peace, and find themselves barely able to assist their allies in overthrowing the shackles of the Garleans...yet began a two front conflict that may indeed bring those very legions to the borders of our own cities. But nevermind this. You wish to use the Knights Dragoon to foster change in Parliament, to assist in the restoration of Ishgardian glory?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Who knows how much change a half-breed will be able to manage," she notes blandly, "but I intend to use the influence of my title to reach the hearts of those who can. To use my spear to protect people, to protect my people. Our city. My home and world from those who would seek its destruction. I seek true justice for this place, Ser Guiscareaux. Zealous, is it not? Only the zealous make it by. I will not stop until my ambition to see Ishgard truly a beacon of peace is achieved, not a shining false image built on lies and the lives of people who got tangled in them. I have seen what it has done to our city. What even that mindset has done here in this very household. I cannot stand it. You and I might stand for different things, but if you are any man of Ishgard, you will know I want for nothing more than the best for our city-state."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Know that this path is not an easy one, and you may be required to choose your profession over your loved ones." The man paused, hesitating to speak for a moment. "Family."

Adelise De'bayle: "I am well aware. I have spoken to Killian already. If I need travel, he wishes to accompany as a healer. I have no intentions on having any children, this body was not fit for such. This is all I have to offer this world. I need make the most of it," she remarks in some unwavering determination.

Lucius Guiscareaux dug into his jacket, pulling a small locked box. Drawing the key from his sleeve, the man unlocked the container, and lifting the contents to make it plainly visible. "This is a wyrm eye. I am sure you are familiar."

Adelise De'bayle twists her lips in disdain, "unfortunately so."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Unfortunately. the lengths I went to obtain this eye destroyed my family. This was my grandfather's, and the body count attached to this artifact is bordering on disgusting."

Adelise De'bayle: "A tragedy, I am sure. I have my fairshare of tragedy at the hands of a dragon eyes," she scoffs, bringing a hand into her hat to pull out a decently sized round stone. "Let me ask you this, Ser Guiscareaux. Despite my zealotry, which I am well aware of, will you accept me under your wing?"

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I intend to, aye. But know that your training and devotion to this order should supercede your family and personal relationships. If a choice forces you twixt the order and the blind man, you choose the order."

Adelise De'bayle makes no remarks toward this, simply raising the stone up. "My father syphoned a dragon eye to his own, then conceived me," she remarked out plainly. "With that, came illness. Trouble. I nearly died. I spent nearly eighteen turns now, fighting for this existence." Opening her mouth she exposed sharpened thick fangs. "I know the cost of a dragon-eye, perhaps as well as you do. Though on a completely different spectrum."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "There are costs that must be paid, sometimes in blood, for such power, Adelise."

Adelise De'bayle: "Good thing I did not have the choice, yes?" She remarks bitterly, "but I understand the sentiment. I understand how important this job is, or it would not have the status it does."

Lucius Guiscareaux ran a hand through his own hair, rolling the wyrm eye in his free hand, grimacing. "But it is settled, despite what your father has done, you are a prime candidate for recruitment into the order. Had I my way, I would not have heard of his attempts to garner more power. They are childlike in their futility. Title and power mean nothing to me if they cannot be trusted with such. Your father is a good man, I am sure, but not one I would trust with your training."

Adelise De'bayle: 'He is not all too different from my uncle. Both in which delved into... powers they should not have. I will find a way to be powerful on my own. Not that I have much of a choice anyhow. But... these people. I want them to see the order as powerful for us, not for our trophies. I have plenty of things I wish to set into motion myself, but all things in time. When shall we begin?"

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Only weaklings and imbeciles take the quick path to power, and all of us suffer for their incompotence. We shall begin this coming week, First day, at dusk. Dravania. "Your trials begin once I understand you."

Adelise De'bayle: "Understood. This could not be better timing. I could use getting away from this place," she huffs out.

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Truth be told, I am not fond of the canines Mr. Waltz purchased. The barking penetrates my study. The less time I have to read, the more time I have to be myself, with a lance in hand, hunting."

Adelise De'bayle: "They do not live here, so I am unsure of what barking you might be hearing. Perhaps the neighbors? Also," her eyes narrow, "they are my dogs, and they are trained to the utmost obedience."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Then I am mistaken. Perhaps it wasn't your canines. I am not fond of animals."

Adelise De'bayle: "To each their own. My dogs have been quite useful, in plenty of ways. I have intention on making them hunting animals as well. Animals are not for everyone, though my mother was quite fond of them. You could even call them a master of them, of the sorts, so I grew up with them," she gestures up a dismissive hand. "They listen on command, so they should not bother you, if ever they are present."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I've never been much of an animal person, I had no time to find myself in their company, unless I was hunting something, of course."

Adelise De'bayle: "The order has been given quite a bit more time to their leisure, so I was not too worried over my adopting of them. Even then, I have prepared them for a life of travel."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "As you should have. Not much sense to keep them solitary with how often you disappear around Eorzea."

Adelise De'bayle: "Indeed. I have done everything up until this point, with my future career in mind."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Smarter then most people your age, then. Now, your trials are set. I presume you wish to spend your night with Killian, then?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Most people believe me to be ignorant and full of myself because of my age. Very few understand what I went through to get here. If only I could have had the time to be a child," she shrugs, her voice neutral. "No need for that though. Yes, I will see to spending time with him and telling him about the beginning of them. I think it will do us some good, to get away."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I had no such time in my life either, my father saw to that; every hour of my life has prepared me for my career and the act of violence."

Adelise De'bayle: "There came a time where I needed to make a choice. I lived with a guardian. I could be a child, go to school. Or be the lancer I dreamed to be. And so I chose the latter, watching from afar at the life I could have had. Do I regret such? There is not room for regret when chasing ambition."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "I have no regrets."

Adelise De'bayle: "Regrets are the seed of hesitation."

Lucius Guiscareaux: "Your father, made a stupid, stupid mistake, and I am sorry you carry the burden of his failures. I do not pity you, of course. That would be disrespectful."

Adelise De'bayle: "I worked too hard for pity, to live this life. I just... feel like I owe the people who helped me live, my best. I owe myself my best. I lived too long in my own hatred of what I was, and the abomination I felt I was, to do that to myself any longer. And I want others, to never have to feel that same sort of loneliness and pain. I want to be someone who protects and changes hearts. I want to be that, and I will be."

Adelise De'bayle: "I will help people see there is more to life than what they are told they deserve."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “You speak of protection and honor, and wish to defend those who cannot protect themselves?. You remind me of myself when I was your age. I ...personally, seek redemption for the actions that lead to my trials at the hands of the inquisition. I’ve committed actions nearly, if not more Reprehensible than your fathers.”

Adelise De’bayle: "Many tell me I will grow jaded in time, but the truth of it all is that I am already jaded. Bitter, scorned by my own existence. I seek redemption as well, for what my father did. I do not hate him. I have forgiven him, as that is what She would want. Mercy. He has expressed his remorse, and that is all I can ask for. However, it does not change what it did to my life and what I must now live with. I believe in that vision, Ser Lucius. I believe there is still a way to be a bulwark and stand for what is good. Even if it means spilling blood."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “Spilling blood is the currency of Justice. Violence is the natural state of reality; but what makes it malignant or beneficial is the context provided by the actions of the perpetrator, Miss Debayle.”

Adelise De’bayle: "Quite so. I am no stranger to violence now... especially since my return. Violence and chaos is the natural state of this reality, but it need not always be that way. I strive to see a change where that does not have to be our reality."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “It is a lofty goal to change reality itself, have you the means to change nature? It is built upon violence, or do you speak of man?”

Adelise De’bayle: "Nature is never soley violence. Nature is a balance between discord and tranquility. If nature were purely violence, this world would be in a constant state of calamity. Life as we know it, would have no means to exist, as it cannot exist on violence alone. Even if you may try and argue otherwise," she waves a finger. "I speak of putting an understanding of that balance into the hearts of people who only know discord. That there is tranquility yet to be have."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “Ah, I understand your point then. Tell me, why did your father attempt to absorb the aether of the wyrm eye, surely he was aware of how dangerous that was?”

Adelise De’bayle: "My family is full of idiots," she notes lamely. "He practically begged for my forgiveness upon my return to the mainland for what he did to me, but even still, I cannot help but wonder if he would have even considered his actions had he not given birth to a sickly child because of it," she shrugs.

Lucius Guiscareaux: “He would not have regretted it. The draw of the power of wyrms drive most men mad. I’m surprised your father managed to maintain his sanity, to be honest, I barely survived.” He noted, folding his arms and leaning back into his chair. “An idiot, but a survivor.”

Adelise De’bayle: "I do not think he did. He ventured out into the wilderness of Coerthas for nearly a turn on his lonesome. Even if the eye belonged to a nobody, it still affected his way of thinking. From what I have heard, he has had its presence mostly siphoned out of him."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “It never truly leaves you. Tis the price of untold power:. He was lucky he had not fallen like Wyrmblood..”

Adelise De’bayle: "I did not even make the choice, and it will never leave me," she notes naturally   After a moment of pregnant silence, she peers up to Lucius. "I am to bring Killian with me, on this journey. As my healer."

Lucius Guiscareaux: “Provided he does not Interfere to insure your safety or question my teachings, I will allow it.”

We conversed on for some time longer before turning in for the evening. While that performance may not have been the highlight of my evening, I was certainly fortunate something came of my time.

[feminaferitas]

for the portrayal meme - you instantly had such a good grasp on these characters that are so complex and complicated!!! i mean i said this the other day but the way you crafted adult jackie's storyline specifically .... iconic. you are a sweetheart out of character and always make writing short lil silly things so fun <3 glad to have you here!

beep beep how’s my portrayal?

//maddie!!! you're too kind to me oh gosh <3 thank you for writing with me and loving my nonsense even if jackie and tai ended up being the same traumatized adult in different fonts dfjlksdf <3

i'm so glad we get to talk so much not only about YJ but also fuffy stuff hehehehe

you rule, thank you for including me in the fun!!!