#Alexander Calamity

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & OC Picrews

Tagged by @atomsace @voidika @imogenkol and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

Got music for The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and my Wings And Horns WIP, WIP snippets for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters, plus picrews for an A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore OC, picrews include Christmas stockings, regular OC looks and 1880's aesthetic/design. Without further ado, listen and read below the cut:

Silva is defined by both "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" and "still pretty traumatizing experience though". It's a balance that I'm trying my best in keeping steady, and I don't think I'm doing that bad of a job at. Even if we exclude the AUs (which Silva is just put into MORE situations), one thing is clear, Silva is tough. She survives. Her father, the Tumultite Massacre, the journey at sea till she and her small family make it to America, Paul and the Apostles of Zachariah, the hopelessness and grief she felt after Persephone's death, the Reaping and Eden's Gate, Adam's Guard, the Collapse and the five to seven years in that bunker with Faith and Azriel (in addition to Mercy), the 11-13 years spent on the surface of Montana post-Collapse, the Highwaymen and Paul's return. Silva living in itself is a massive blatant "Fuck You" to both her father and the Voice's efforts in trying to kill her (or at least make her suffer). Anyway, listen to Kelly Clarkson killing it below:

"You know the bed feels warmer Sleeping here alone You know I dream in color And do the things I want

You think you got the best of me Think you've had the last laugh Bet you think that everything good is gone Think you left me broken down Think that I'd come runnin' back Baby, you don't know me 'cause you're dead wrong

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

You heard that I was starting over with someone new They told you I was moving on, over you

You didn't think that I'd come back I'd come back swinging You tried to break me, but you see

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

Thanks to you, I got a new think started Thanks to you, I'm not the brokenhearted Thanks to you, I'm finally thinking 'bout me You know in the end, the day you left was just my beginning In the end

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

When I'm alone."

Funny how this FNAF song can fit Poppy Playtime and this unnamed WIP I've made for it. Throughout the game and this WIP, Poppy encourages the protagonist to continue further down into the factory. Honestly not surprising she leads the protag of this WIP into Frederick Rosemary's industry of pure horror:

"What's the story in all this clutter Give me more than exotic butters! Some cryptic lines will be fine Keep your innards, and I'll keep mine She's pulling strings, but I'm trying To figure out what kinda puppet I've been Never gonna let her get under my skin!" "Heard of Frederick Rosemary*? You're gonna like him!

Can't help but feel like you belong here." "But I wanna leave, I just gotta leave." "You know that something's going wrong here." "And she's watching me, now she's onto me." "Come find out what's been going on here." "Has my progeny caught up to me?" "You know you're nothing but a pawn here." "Am I part of them? Are they/you part of me?"

[* Purple Guy, or William Afton from FNAF, doesn't exist in the Poppy Playtime universe, and in this WIP, Frederick is the major antagonist]

And lastly, a funky upbeat remix that hints towards what kind of past Xiang Ba'al, a sloth demon from the Sloth Ring of Hell, had in his youth and now in his adult life. Learn how he became such a great quick-draw that even gives Archangel Metatron trouble when fighting him:

"All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

Daddy's* got a quick hand He'll look around the room He won't tell you his plan He's got a rolled cigarette Hanging out his mouth He's a cowboy kid Yeah he found a six-shooter gun In his pa's** closet, in a box full of fun things I don't even know what But he's coming for you, yeah he's coming for you

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet (Hit it!) All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

Faster than my bullet Faster than my bullet

Daddy works a long day He be coming home late, and he's coming home late And he's bringing me a surprise Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice I've waited for a long time Yeah the sleight of my hand is now a quick-pull trigger He reasons with his cigarette*** Then says "Your hair's on fire, you must've lost your wits, yeah?""

[*Name changed justified as it goes from Xiang's POV recalling his gangster father. **Xiang only ever recalls his father calling his own dad "pa". ***Xiang doesn't smoke but obviously his father does. Also a moment of "noticing your son has a natural hand for this weapon much like yourself, even if held back by hesitancy". Seeing himself in Xiang essentially and stoking the flames of curiosity with a tease to continue those damn familial/generational cycles, y'know?]

Here's some more Vengeful!Silva AU snippets where Jacob's gonna attempt to capture Silva after she makes a concerning number of head ways and nearly successful assassination attempts towards Joseph. He and Alexander's ambush gets intercepted by Silva's new guardian angel Margarett (whom she and Azriel have granted an additional... helpful augmentation):

Jacob lowered to his knees as he placed the barrel of his rifle onto the log they too cover behind.

Alexander and two of their Chosen caught up to him; his right-hand crawled up next to him, stationing his crossbow alongside Jacob's rifle. One Chosen took cover behind a tree stump to the right of the log, while the other stood hidden behind the foliage on Alexander's left.

Jacob lifted a hand up in an open palm to signal to his present men. They waited as he looked through his scope onto their target's location; the back of a small abandoned home, more like a cabin, that had belonged to one of his effective if stranger men. Dansky, he recalled Alexander mentioning.

They lost contact with him after overhearing what seemed to be a break-in.

Through his scope's lens, Jacob noted the window was blocked, leaving the only entrance way the door. A foolish decision, leaving them open for attack. He could hear no activity as well, leaving Jacob frowning.

Jacob glanced at Alexander beside him, catching the brunette's attention. He gestured to the other man's bag, which Alexander nodded in affirmation, unlatching the hood so Jacob could see the contents; some minor explosives, strong enough to remove the obstacle to the window.

Jacob shared a smirk with Alexander, giving an affirming nod. He began formulating the plan; two to the door, two to the window, destroy the window, move in through both at the same time. Hopefully they'd be able to take down the defector's bodyguard that Terry had described to them after they found the man.

Then they can take the "unruly child" back to her "Father", just as his brother requested.

Jacob huffed and shook his head, but this had been one of the few things Joseph remained adamant on.

As Alexander began to tweak the explosives so they'd be ready, Jacob looked towards the Chosen to his left and closed his hand into a fist, then pointing towards the direction of the door. He then turned to Chosen on his right for the same thing, but paused when the Chosen was inspecting something he found on the ground.

The Chosen looked toward Jacob, and handed him the small object.

On Jacob's scarred flesh, he could feel the bits of ash and dirt that covered the crushed paper roll. Jacob brought it up to his nose, inhaling the foul scent that mixed with the dry earth; a cigar. There was still a surviving warmth to it, meaning it was recently put out.

He glanced to the stump, and when looking at it, he took notice of the deep cuts ingrained into the wood. He looked down to the log, and realized it was the same color as the stump, and the serrated end of it had chunks split across it.

This is a set up.

Then he heard it. The stomping footsteps rushing up behind them.

Grabbing onto Alexander, he hoisted the surprised younger man over the log, barely hopping over it himself before a behemoth-sized woman in large ragged cloaks broke through the foliage and slashed across the log.

She managed to cut down the Chosen on the right, and before the Chosen had enough reaction time to aim his bow at her, she spun her staff, hitting him in the stomach with it before bringing her other weapon over his head.

Jacob and Alexander rolled down the short steepness, before they collected themselves. The bag of explosives had been left behind the log, same with Alexander's crossbow, but Jacob still had his rifle on hand.

The taller woman, older and more scarred than Jacob himself, glared down at them with her one amber eye, firmly thinly lined lips quirking up into a smirk once she recognized Jacob.

Jacob look down to the blade in her other hand, but realized it wasn't just a blade; where he expected to see flesh holding onto it, instead was a metal prosthetic that's wrist had an axe head attached to it.

With the window no longer an option, Jacob glanced to Alexander, cocking his head towards the cabin's doorway around the corner; the brunette would need to retrieve Silva himself.

Alexander glanced between Jacob and his leader's approaching opponent, flabbergasted but accepting the task.

With Alexander leaving just the two of them, Jacob's cold blue eyes narrowed into the hungry amber of his newest enemy.

Another WIP draft for the first of three Arcane: League of Legends fics I'll be working on, after gaining a better idea on what to do with this after the much needed second season to close things off. Below is a rough draft of the prologue where Silco visits pre-Singed's lab for anything useful to his cause against Piltover, especially with the proliferation of Shimmer. He finds a... peculiar and uncanny creation of the Doctor's just collecting dust and begging to be used:

The clicks of the mechanisms inside the door set off in one loud groan as the sounds echoed in the wet cave, the unlocked door to the Doctor's lab widening open.

Silco gestured his subordinates, Ran and Licker, to guard the front as he followed his companion inside, walking with a lazy sway as his good eye took in the state of the Doctor's laboratory.

It was vastly different from the one they were setting up at the aquarium; at least there, everything was clearer and more organized. Here, the Doctor's base of operations was a mess and far cruder; pages of paper spread out chaotically on tables, pinned to boards and across lines, vats of organs and other insides unrelated to another stocked on top or next to each other, as well as the preservation chamber that held a giant salamander like creature in stasis.

Silco couldn't remember what the Doctor named it, and frankly couldn't care; all it's use came from the component within it that allowed them to manufacture their newest weapon, Shimmer.

"You may browse if you wish," the Doctor told him, walking off towards one unorganized section of his lab, "Retrieving the last of my research shouldn't take long."

Silco grunted out a hum in acknowledgement as he looked around the laboratory.

Holding his hands behind his back, he surveyed all the illicit materials the Doctor had collected over the years. Besides the Shimmer research, there wasn't much inside the lab that could prove useful in their fight against Piltover and their independence for Zaun.

Most of the materials didn't even seem ready, making the Doctor's permission even more useless in hindsight.

Until something in the corner caught his glance.

It looked slouched over, non-organic. More mechanical than anything. It's figure was almost human like.

Another of the Doctor's pet projects? Silco wondered, curiosity sinking its teeth on his skin. He wandered closer towards the deactivated machination, cautious but hungry to know what it was.

Though it was slouched over and he was standing above it, the sheer height of the machine reached up to his chest. He noted that, were it standing, it would be taller than him. Its entire body was clearly designed to be feminine.

The metal features was dark and sleek, even if the welded material was jagged and sharp at the edges. The face was smooth, with various small streaming lines cascading down its features and body, unfilled like the Lanes when Enforcers made their presence known. Though the darkness of the metal made it hard to determine certain features unless closely inspected, like the closed mouth.

The inside of the eyes was nothing more than a dark abyss, though he took note of the frames that were barely visible inside the hollowness. Perhaps a mimicking irises.

The limbs were lean yet welded with a thick and muscular robustness near the thighs and biceps, although the half a chunk of the arms seemed to be missing. Silco wondered for a moment how fitting rapid-fire weapons would look on this creation.

The hair, if he could call it that, was like an anchor reel, with the "braids" being four chain-like appendages with curved blades at the end of them.

He looked long and hard at it, his mind trying to make heads and tails of what and why.

Although when it came to the Doctor, there also came the indifference of leaving those questions unanswered and the mercy of not knowing. Though the reason behind the creation of such a thing wasn't worth the headache, Silco did find himself still standing there, observing the deactivated and motionless being.

There was something about it that was... off to Silco. Naturally he'd expect that by now when working with the Doctor, but there was a personal intrigue too. The thing was uncanny. It looked familiar and unfamiliar. Like it's supposed to be alive and moving, not inactive and still. A disturbing distortion of something real, with morbid beauty attached to it's contradictory state; like sleeping, and yet dead.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

Silco broke his focus away from the slouching hunk of junk, glancing to the Doctor, who'd quietly crept beside him. Silco glanced from his secret observer's face to the research documents held in a folder tucked closed to his chest.

"You can take her, if you wish..." the Doctor permitted, licking his lips while ignoring how Silco raised a brow towards him, "I have a variant of Shimmer that acts as fuel for certain technologies. It still needs to be worked on, but it should work for her."

Silco turned back to the humanoid machination before him, thinking.

"I know how much you fancy your monsters," the Doctor commented, as he made his way towards the laboratory door, leaving Silco to reach a decision.

A monster, huh? Silco pondered over the comment, his eye tracing up and down the unnaturally smoothness and roughness of the machine, how frightening it could be for an enforcer to face such a machination. With a few minor modifications... it doesn't sound half bad.

And lastly a few picrews for A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore OC. That being the magnificent glory of Ress Bishop:

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP

[the-silver-chronicles]

Music Monday + "What Are You Doing Here?" Quiz

Tagged by @g0dspeeed and @inafieldofdaisies

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @purplehairsecretlair @deputyash @afarcryfrommymain @depyotee @voidika @onehornedbeast @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @nightbloodbix @adelaidedrubman @wrathfulrook @chazz-anova @cassietrn @jacobmybeloved @henbased @carlosoliveiraa @ladyoriza @minilev @vasiktomis @neverthesameneveranother @thewanderer-000 @corvosattano and @vampireninjabunnies-blog

Here's three songs for my other Far Cry The Silver Chronicles stories, known as the following; Call To Arms duology starring Nadi Sinclair, Ain't It A Joy? staring Alexander Khaos and finally No One's Safe At Home starring Gavin Turquoise. The Quiz will be for an OC who appears in A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore (a Fallout fanfic series). The quiz can be found here.

The Call To Arms fanfic duology of the Call Of Duty Modern Warfare games (at least only one and two, both taking elements from the original and reboot) starring Nadi Sinclair, a sharpshooter and recon for Task Force 141, fighting off terrorists like Makarov alongside her brothers (and sisters) from other misses and misters. This will only be a few years before she eventually leaves and joins the Project at Eden's Gate in Montana, Hope County.

"Come on

Come on, people Stand tall for the beast of America Lay down like a naked dead body Keep it real for the people workin' overtime They can't stay livin' off the government's dime

Stand tall for the people of America Stand tall for the man next door We are free in the land of America We ain't goin' down like this, come on, now

Come on, people Come on, people Come on, people Ha!

Come on, people Come on, people Come on, people Ha!

I will be right to you I will be right to you I will be right to you And together we can stand up to the beast."

Ain't It A Joy? is a modern-ish fanfic adaption of the We Happy Few game, starring Alexander Khaos as the main protagonist, as he finds out the lies behind Wellington Wells, the self-proclaimed happiest city of England which is closed from the rest of the country, is in fact nothing more than a cult stuck in a perpetual state of drugged bliss with the inhabitants believing they're clean of atrocities and stuck in a 1940s/60s mindset while being taken advantage of by a pharmaceutical tycoon, Crawford Klaus, as he replays old videos of a TV personality named "Uncle Jack" and supplies the next batches of "Joy"... and the newest variant called "Glee".

"A brilliant day is dawning A million smiles are forming Our shimmering isles are all enthralled No, there's nothing like conforming

Perish the thought of mourning Did you ignore the warnings? All negative thoughts abhorred "My Lord! Did you take your Joy this morning?"

Ask anybody in Wellington Wells They'll tell you it's terribly swell Delirious denizens swell where there's nary a speck between heaven and hell

They say that the empire fell "Oh, but you never could tell!" You say you remember it well? "You'd better forget it or else!"

Why try to better yourself? Reach for the medical shelf Just take your medicine, death and the pestilence melt into pleasant locales

Another rebellion quelled Dust off your suspenders and belts It's horrendous to dwell, so remember how splendid it felt to surrender yourself The roses we grow have a terrible smell

It's a Joy! It's a Joy (it's a Joy) It's a Joy (it's a Joy) To be among we happy few It's a Joy It's a Joy (it's a Joy) It's a Joy (it's a Joy)!"

No One's Safe At Home is a fanfic set in the Welcome To The Game universe, where the inner circles of "the Ministry" run their illegal activities behind the dark web as it reigns at the top, with constant murder, kidnappings, trafficking of all kinds and the most vile corruption persist in a world where morals are a joke. Until Gavin Turquoise starts going to great lengths in his intent on wiping their repulsive stain out of society and rigging the Game in his favor. In his crusade, he finds a strange child with... the most abnormal abilities. I can't help but laugh at the irony that this feared vigilante eventually becomes a lawyer in Hope County, being a bane to the Project at Eden's Gate and John Seed's existence.

"As Property Manager, my job is sorting the utilities Disposal of the garbage and the laundering facilities Why would I compile a full report on your activities? I'm just a standard landlord, "Glory to the Ministry"

Lock the doors and close the curtains, hold your breath lest you should speak your sins But you can't keep a secret from the building that you keep it in Befriend your fellow tenants, show a smile and keep it pleasant But know everyone's a friend until you need to turn some people in It's the breathing on the phone, hiding just beneath the tone It's the things that shift when no one's home Well, you may be on your own, but you'll never be alone Yes, we all live here, but it's no one's home

("They're here!")

To get through the day It behoves you to play by the rules and behave Do the state preapprove all the tunes that you play? When alone in a room, well, to whom do you pray?

Assume that your neighbours are moving away When the black van comes in the night And you're numb to the sight Of another fumbling for somewhere to hide As their wife just runs for their life 'Fore the ones with the guns can arrives And they're gone 'fore the Sun can arise To a government provided bunker for some realignment It's just fine, you can trust it's a wonderful time

Just go about your business normally No one's following, I'm not recording Your paranoia is awfully boring According to all of your friends that talk to me

Most importantly, please speak clear when you're broadcasting Your honest thoughts on the law or economy My provided mics are tiny And I can't transcribe properly Should you ever behold Me with my peepers pressed to a keyhole You can trust I'm just checking the tumblers for rust I'm a custodian, not a Ministry mole

Settle in for a night on the couch No questioning what that red light is about Now bleeping on your ceiling since the time you were out It's just a little gaslighting, put aside any doubts

You're fine in your house, so you confide to your spouse any crimes carried out Any tiny amount of new ideas found just a mite out of bounds 'Cause I'm writing them down in a timestamped account

What's it matter, every night or two? If I sneak in, have a rifle through? But depending what I find, well, You'll be faced with another kind of rifle, too

Privacy is the cry of the defiant to compliancy But grease my palm and I might not see Those books they banned from the libraries What do you mean, that's not yours? It appeared one night in your cabinet drawers? I have to report it, I regret But, of course, I could forget

Societal ideals are reliably pliable So the rise of a tyrant becomes entirely viable You will find that the spying is really quite justifiable Why are you crying when it's your blind eye that's liable?

Handy landlord here to fix your ventilation whistling Too many questions and it's not the air that needs conditioning That telephone's not tampered with Of course it isn't listening But were it, it prefers the words: "Glory to the Ministry!"

And last the results from the quiz! From my character:

Ortega "Ore" Brantley (A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore, a Fallout fanfic series)

Ore has this "hope" that he carries with him. Despite the Wasteland he walks in, just as his sister Ress does, unlike her and their father, he can't help but focus on the beauty that has thrived even after the destruction. He's no fool, the world he lives in is dangerous, and as powerful as he is being a half-human, half-magical-creature-from-another-dimension, there are beings like his father, Arcane Urias, and his lackeys, like Aggravor, who can and will kill him if given the opportunity. Ress is hopeful... hopeful that with his efforts, the Wasteland can heal. That the people he's bonded with can live long content lives. That his sister can appreciate the lives of who she views as "weak" and see the strength these folks have despite the disadvantage they have against the likes of the Super Mutants, Synths and the Occult Urias founded. To see the responsibility to protect these people that they as the "strong" must carry. He hoped he could have seen the day where him, his sister and their companions could just lay down underneath the blue sky one day and just share with each other without the burden of death and destruction hovering over them in a moment of peace. Though he himself never lives to achieve this vision, he at least was glad to look at his sister and reassure her one last time before Aggravor's curse cut his long life short.

[chaoscomesfirst]

Welcome :3

This is a blog dedicated to the ocs and world of @stormyfis (mod 🦈) and @caly-opaleye (mod 🦖)

Here we document the adventures (and misadventures!) of a few special residents of Splonk City who are more than they seem:

Kira: a girl with a knack for trouble and an unhealthy caffeine addiction, as well as studying medicine and chemistry, Kira has a few ideas that turn out more than explosive. Operating under the name ‘Dr. Sparkles’, she’s an incredibly dorky supervillain who rangers from glitterbombs to war crimes.

Alexander: fancy rich British boy, literature student and childhood friend of Kira’s, he’s the sidekick and voice of reason to her crazy ideas. With a knack for poetry and writing, as well as a bit of engineering, he helps Kira with her schemes as her right hand man, Professor Mayhem.

Miah: is insanely flexible and really likes cats. Her villian name, Mistress Calamity, came to her one day when she was listening to pop music in her room. She has a part time job working in a craft store, which is were she met Sparkles.

Barnaby: Mistress Calamity's sidekick. He's kind of chill and really doesn't want to be there. Their pronouns vary from He/They to He/Him on a bad day, and only Calamity and his boyfriend (Sam) can tell which it is. He works in a mechanic store and creates all of the gadgets for Calamity. No matter how many times he asks, Calamity rarely uses his villian name, Gelignite.

Lore will be tagged with #lore post and art with #art

[targwh0re]

The Meeting

Summary: You know what they say, climb out a window and meet a blue eyed boy

Warning: None (I’m pretty sure)

A/N: so it’s not gonna be to terrible long that they’re children, I promise. But we gotta get to know Calamity a little bit more to understand who she becomes, so I hope y’all just power through with me

The wagons rolled on the uneven trail, hooves of their horses clattering against cobblestones, casting echoes into the early morning fog. The cityscape of New York unfurled before them, a grand orchestra playing a symphony around them, a magnificent tapestry of sights, sounds, and scents mingled with the air. Skyscrapers were but a far off dream, instead replaced by squat buildings of stone, wood, and steel, huddles together unceremoniously. Thick forests of soot stained chimneys spat out tendrils of smoke that weaved their way into the clouds above.

Calamity, a picture of youth, sat atop her sleek gray horse surveying the sprawling city lying out before her with a spark of curiosity. Noble was a creature of elegance and agility, her hide a canvas of gray adorned with darker speckles that seemed to dance each time the sunlight caressed them. Much like his rider, he possessed a thirst to discover the secrets that the city held within its depths, hunger for some form of adventure evident in his lively trot. Amos, cast a protective gaze over Calamity and the city rising from the ground up ahead.

He saw not just the beauty or the vibrancy, but also the dangers and shadows that lurked just beneath the surface. The wisdom in his eyes betrayed the age the years had gifted him as he felt a mix of pride and fear - he was proud of the fearless woman his daughter was becoming, but he feared for her because that seemed to be the most important thing she was lacking; fear. He guided his own mount beside her, a majestic creature with striped black legs to symbolize her pure Spanish lineage. The horses coat was one reminiscent of an ancient desert, a pale, sandy tan that was accented by the black markings that start around the eyes before trailing down to the nostrils, lending it a certain air of mystic, much like the man whom primarily rode her.

Amos, carried the weight of something he couldn't quite put his finger on yet, heavily on his shoulders. His presence was supposed to represent a reassuring beacon in the unpredictable terrains of the wilds, but how could he offer any reassurance when he felt so unnerved. He felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Their journey was one of both duty and desire, a father committed to the protection of those brave enough to venture into the unknown, and a daughter with a longing of adventure burning brightly inside of her. As they rode in at a steady trot side by side, the raw beauty of Hell's Kitchen unfurled before them, its heart beating in sync with their own. The thrumming pulse of the city filled the air around them, a symphony of life and livelihood that resonated around them and swept up their own from under them. The journey remained much ahead, they'd rest for a night after dropping of the English and German families they'd picked up from Maryland and Philadelphia, before starting the trek all over again. This time they'd take the trail westward, their path intertwined with the tales of the city and the people who  currently called it home.

"Hell's Kitchen, eh?" Calamity tilted her head, her eyes sweeping over the bustling streets alive with the cultural clash of city life. It was pure chaos. "Doesn't look much like hell, where's the fiery pits?"

Amos laughed at that, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to rumble through the air around them, the chuckle blending seamlessly with the cacophony of the city. "Yeah, darlin', and that's what makes it all the more dangerous." He replied, voice carrying the weight of past lived experiences.

As they rode on, the city seemed to unfurl around them, revealing a melting pot of cultures and a maelstrom of voices that echoed off the cobblestone streets and imposing brick buildings. Hell's Kitchen was a boiling pot of life, a cacophony of a thousand untold stories being lived at once. It was a place of chaos where the dirt-streaked faces of the laborers coexisted with the porcelain features of the upperclass elitists. Cobblestone streets were a whirlwind, lined with busy stalls, vibrant with the colors of various goods and echoing with the clamor of haggling voices. The air was filled with the smell of cooked meats, fresh bread, and a hint of the sea, a testament to the harbor nearby where the lot behind Calamity and her Pa should have been deposed of to begin with.

Is that where we're going, Pa?" Calamity pointed to a great leaning wooden shanty, the paint peeling off like an aged man's skin, door practically hanging off its hinges. It stood defiantly amidst the sprawl of stone buildings, a relic of a time long past, the sign above read the "Frontier Inn".

"No, sweetheart," Amos said, his lips curling up into a wry smile, his mustache tickling his upper lip. "We aren't desperate enough to stay there for a night yet, are we?"

"Speak for yourself, old man," Calamity retorted, a cheeky grin on her face as she dreamt of sleeping in a bed instead of on the cold hard earth, though she supposed the beds there couldn't be much better. "I wouldn't mind a place where the roof doesn't leak." She still reminisced.

"Now sweetheart," Amos began, heart tightening in his chest, his tone shifting to take on a more serious note. "When we stop here, you can't go wandering off. It's a big world out there, and I can't lose you."

Calamity smirked, her youthful defiance shining through. "I don't wander," she coolly retorted, a thrill secretly shooting down her spine at the thought.

Amos raised an eyebrow at her, his smile never once faltering. He saw once more her spirit and her fearlessness, he saw her Ma, and he loved her all the more for it. "Sweetheart, all you do is wander. And the place we're going to is literally called Hell's Kitchen. Now, I have no quarrels with searching through all of hell to find you, I'd just rather not do it today, much thanks."

The laughter that fallowed was both melodic and thunderous - a sweet refrain that filled the thick air with a warmth that even the city couldn't drown out.

The wagons creaked to a stop, hushed whispers replaced the clatter of hooves and soon, the immigrants disembarked. Families clung to one another, their hopeful eyes surveying the crowded streets of New York, a stark contrast to the rural landscapes they were previously accustomed to. The city, a veritable jungle of stone and steel, buzzed with a fierce energy, its song of promise and peril calling to some peace inside of them. One by one, they peeled off from the group, fanning out into the city's narrow arteries to seek homes and jobs for their families in this new land.

As the last of the immigrants disappeared into the city's embrace, Amos watched, a knowing gaze and his heart heavy with understanding as he traced their retreating figures. He mumbled to himself, melancholy seeping into his words, little louder than a whisper that was quickly consumed by the constant hum of the city. "Folks comin' to America, lookin' for a better life..."

His gaze lingered as it swept over the few straggling families gathered around their wagons, their faces alight with heady mix of hope and trepidation. He thought about how most of these families would barely be here before they decided to pack it up again and hire someone else this time for a journey Westward. "Manifest destiny..." he muttered, a sarcastic smile curling the edges of his lips. "Ain't nothin' but a bunch of hogwash."

It wasn't until hours later, under the cover of darkness, and away from the bustling streets and into quieter confines, when Calamity found the courage to ask him about it. She stirred from her bed, her curiosity unquenched. The room was a small sanctuary amid the city's chaos, with threadbare tapestries hanging on the walls and a solitary window overlooking the sprawling cityscape. They were both tucked into their respective beds, the city's daytime symphony transforming into a nocturnal chorus. The room was bathed in darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight that snuck in through that window.

Calamity studied Amos from across the room, her curiosity piqued by the offhand comment he had made as they bid farewell to the last of the immigrants. The words had hung in the air, a cryptic insinuation that had her mind spinning with questions of what he was poking around at.

"Pa," she ventured, voice piercing through the quietude with a hint of trepidation. She was clad in her cotton nightgown, her hair cascading down her shoulders like a calm river of gold. "What did you mean earlier? 'Manifest Destiny'? Better life? Hogwash?"

Amos, who had been teetering on the edge of sleep, sighed and sat up, his weathered face softened by the candlelight. He fumbled for a moment in the dark before striking a match and lighting a candle. Its soft glow cast a warm light in the room as the flame danced and flickered, as he prepared to explain. "You see, Mamie," he began, his voice like a rustle of leaves in the silence. "These folks, they've crossed vast oceans, left everything they knew behind in hopes of finding a better life here in America."

He paused, his gaze lost in the flickering shadows. "And now, they're being told to move westward, to civilize and claim the land. They believe it's their 'destiny'." He gave a sarcastic laugh, tongue teasing at the inside of his cheek. "And they're calling it 'Manifest Destiny'."

Another chuckle rumbled from his chest, this one harsher than the last, his mustache twitching in a shadow of his earlier mirth. "But destiny, sweetheart, isn't a path just laid out for us to follow. It's a wild river, unpredictable and untamed. It can lead us to calm waters or sweep us into roiling rapids. We don't choose it - it chooses us."

He leaned closer towards her, his eyes meeting hers with a sobering intensity that had her feeling her bones stiffening in her body. The room echoed with pure silence she felt. "But it's all a load of bull, darling. Just pretty words to dress up the ugly truth: they're being driven by desperation and hope, not some divine mandate."

Slowly, the distant hum of the city came back to her as Calamity digested his words, her youthful defiance wrestling with the wisdom of his explanation.

"Even so," Amos added, a twinkle in his eyes as he watched her brain whirl, "there's something admirable about their spirit, don't you think? The courage to chase a dream, even when it's wrapped up in a pretty lie. That's something worth remembering, Calamity. Something worth wandering for."

And with that, the lesson ended, he blew out the candle and the room once more surrendered to the dark chorus of the New York night. He placed his worn hat over Calamity's face, just like he'd had it on his when she had first posed the question. "Now go to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured as he lay back down, his voice a comforting lullaby in the witching hour.

Calamity, left in the dark with only his words for company, could only smile. Even in this city that never slept, under the protective brim of her father's hat, she felt a sense of peacefulness. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes, letting her dreams run the wind through her hair and spin wild tales and adventures for her to see.

The morning light was a riotous intruder, its luminescent tendrils prying open Calamity's weary eyes to whisper the arrival of a new day. The cacophony of her pa's snoring resonated throughout the room. Outside their provisional shelter, the city was already throbbing with life, its discordant hum seeping through the cracks, a stark contrast to the serene quiet of the prairies they had left behind.

Rising before her father, in the dim, dust-laden light, Calamity began her morning routine. Pulled the tunic over her head, fingers fumbling over the delicately embroidery, a living testament to her mother's skilled handiwork. The riding skirt, a gift from a well-meaning aunt Clara was donned with a measure of reluctance. It felt like shackles, a barrier to her freedom and the life that a girl on the trail endured. In a tangible act of defiance, she reached for a pair of scuffed cowboy boots over the more feminine ones expected of her to complete her rebellious attire. Her reflection in the dusty mirror was an odd mix of innocence and daring, an echo of the woman that she was to become.

Before embarking on her morning escapade, she cast a final glance back at a her father. She gently removed the hat he had placed over her face the night before, the brim still warm from her dreams. With a tender smile, she placed it over his still snoring form, its soft wool a substitute for her presence.

The city beckoned to her like a siren would a sailor with its irresistible allure. She felt a rush of exhilaration that echoed with the pulsating rhythm of the city, the excitement coursing through her veins, making her feel alive. As she moved towards the lone window, she was filled with a sense of anticipation and a hint of fear, and the wild beating of her heart reflected as much.

Hoisting herself onto the window ledge, she paused, her silhouette framed against the sprawling cityscape, teetering precariously on the edge of the stone sill at the unfamiliar height. The ledge was just wide enough to hold her, a precarious platform suspended over nothing but air.

Below her, the building's face was a jumble of shingles and ledges. They were arranged haphazardly, mapping out her path, each one as unique in size and shape as the city itself. Some ledges jutted out more than others, while some shingles were weathered and rough, offering little in terms of grip. But to Calamity, it was a dance, some secret choreography.

With a deep breath, she twisted her body back to reach for the first shingle. Her fingers curled around its rough surface, it scraped against the soft pads of her fingers as her knuckles whitened under the strain.

Her nimble fingers continued to grapple with the shingles as she descended, navigating the uneven terrain, moving from one ledge to another. She tried to keep her moves fluid, confident and determined. She figured if she wasn't afraid of falling then she was less likely to do so.

The descent was not a smooth one. Each jump sent jolts of impact up her small but strong legs, her feet absorbing the brute of the force as they connected with the wood and brick. Her acrobatics became filled more with youthful enthusiasm rather than professional grace.

Below, the city watched as she moved, a small assembly of onlookers gathering below, their eyes wide with a mix of fascination and concern. They watched her decent, their breaths hitching each time she leapt.

With a heavy thud, she landed, her boots kicking up a small cloud of dust that billowed around her. Rising from her crouched position, she dusted off the remnants of her descent. The city greeted her like an old friend, wrapping her in its chaotic embrace as she melded into the crowd, boots clicking against the cobblestone as she left the crowd rooted in awe.

She slipped through the city's cracks and crevices, squeezing through the undulating sea of humanity, her heart pounding with the thrill of a new day. Her sweeping gaze fell on a familiar sight, the wagon trains, a symbol of hope and despair in all ways that mattered. In that sea of faces, one family in particular caught her eye - their desperate attempts to secure passage for their group mirrored a play of human desperation, and she found herself drawn to them.

In particular, it was the eldest brother whom fascinated her the most. His mess of dark curls gave her the impression of rugged charm whilst his eyes reflected youthful determination. His aura demanded attention even in a place as busy as a New York thoroughfare, despite his age. He was with a blonde boy of around the same age, though it was hard to tell; their silent camaraderie only serving to draw her in more.

Their path led them to a man called Moss, a name she knew all to well from her pa's hushed whispers of since passed days of revelry. Their conversation, intended to be private, drifted towards her, a stray breeze carrying their words. The blonde friend was a mute, and the boy with the intense blue eyes was named Billy. The name echoed in her mind, a piece of the mystery that was this intriguing stranger.

"And what about your little friend over there, huh? She a mute too?" Moss's gruff voice sent a jolt of alarm through her as it sliced through her thoughts, finger outstretched and pointed at her. She held her breath as Billy's eyes met hers, a spark of surprise flickering in his gaze. There was almost recognition in that look, as if he'd seen her somehow before, and she couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd been one of the spectators in the small crowd she'd culminated earlier. "I don't know her," he admitted, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to Moss.

She remained hidden in the crowd still, like a shadow the sun painted against the exterior. "So, can you see me?" Billy questioned, nothing but curiosity coming from him as he waved a hand back and forth in front of the mans eyes.

"I can see well enough to know that you can't afford the drivers your folks are talking to," Moss retorted, his voice laden with wisdom and experience.

They want to go to some place called Coffeyville, you know it?" Billy asked, his voice tingeing with eagerness.

"I do," Moss stated matter of factly, giving a curt nod as further confirmation.

"What are your terms?" Billy demanded, his youthful determination cutting through the air.

Moss laughed, a weathered very wry note. And then he paused, a glimmer of amusement dancing in the eye not clouded over by loss. "Well, young man, I charge 75 dollars. That's a fair price. I don't cheat anyone. My wagons are almost as beat up as I am, but they'll get us there."

The exchange hung heavy in the air, an unfinished promise of uncertainty. As Billy turned to leave, a silent acknowledgement passed between them. The thrill of anticipation coursed through her veins.

With a final, lingering look at Billy's retreating form, Calamity pivoted and sprinted away, her boots striking a quick tap-tap of a rhythm on the cobblestones. She needed to find her father, to share the news of the potential journey.

The bustling throng of humanity parted for a lone figure weaving her way through the crowd as tumultuous as her very name. She darted through the sea of bodies with a sense of frantic urgency. She didn't care if she was knocking into people, her path marked by the clash of her apologetic glances and the unyielding set of her jaw. She would utter an apology if she didn't think it would be swallowed by the cacophony of the city.

Suddenly, a burly arm shot out, ensnaring her small frame in a vice-like grip, halting her momentum. The burly arm was as rough and rugged as the cobblestones beneath her feet. She turned to face the man, jerking around with her heart beating like a drum in her head, to find him unshaven with a permanent snarl carved into his weathered face as he sneered down at her. That malicious grin that sent a shiver down her spine. "What's the hurry, little girl?" His voice was like gravel, his grip on her arm tightening with each word.

Fear danced in her eyes, but she swallowed it down, not one to be easily intimidated. Calamity, ever defiant, retaliated. With a sudden burst of energy, and a calculated movement, she swung her foot until she felt the impact of it connecting with the man's shin. As he stumbled back, loosening his grip on her arm, a gasp emitted from the crowd as they watched whom they'd now dubbed, 'that wild child' in their whispers. She didn't stop there, though. Seizing the opportunity, she sunk her teeth into the rough skin of the hand that'd grabbed her.

The man howled, releasing her fully, but before she could dart away, a familiar figure loomed his shadow over them. Her father, Amos, still half-asleep and buckling his belt, slipped between her and the stranger, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and concern — the laughter that usually resided there momentarily dimmed in his slitted eyes. He was a formidable figure, his towering height stood over them. He moved with an ease that bellied that size. His movements were swift, predatory, a lion protecting his cub. With an iron-like grip, is hand snatched the man's arm, just as he'd done to Calamity, a low ominous rumble chilled the air, his voice held a warning that would make even the bravest of hearts falter. "Touch her again," he intoned, voice like the lethal rattle of a rattlesnake, "and you'll be meeting your maker sooner than you'd like."

Calamity, however, despite the veiled threat hanging in the air, seemed obliviously lost to the danger she had just been in and was entirely gone to her own head. Her mind raced with thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest like that of horse hooves crashing against the hard packed earth. She tugged at her father's arm, her words tumbling over each other in her rush to tell him in a breathless whisper what had happened.

Amos' stern gaze shifted to hers, his stern reprimand that followed echoing in her ears only to be blatantly dismissed by her darting eyes. "Running through a crowd like some wild horse, Calamity. Show some respect." His gaze then softened against her as he took a good look at her, giving her a once over and looking her over front and back. When he determined she bore nothing but faint bruising at the wrist he took a step back and truly looked at the girl before him. He saw a force of nature, a fierce determination that reminded him so much of his late wife, Calamity's mother.

She paid his looks no mind, her eyes flickering back and forth to where she had left Billy and Moss. Noticing this, with a roll of his eyes, he allowed her to lead the way. By the time they approached, entire McCarty clan had formed a semi-circle around Moss, their faces etched with anxiety.

Paddy, the patriarch, was in the midst of negotiating, his somewhat voice gruff and twinged with what Calamity seemed a funny accent. "My son tells me you're asking seventy-five."

Though his voice was not nearly as gruff as Moss', "Your son's got it right. Seventy-five includes... protection." The 'protection', looked more like the people you'd want to be protected from.

"We need two wagons." Paddy interjected, a pleading note entering his voice. "We barely have 50 dollars each. It's all I have in the world."

A silent moment of tension filled the air as Moss weighed his options, their future in such palpable uncertainty. But then, He glanced at Billy, his gaze lingering for a moment before he let out a sound of resignation. "Alright then. Two wagons. Fifty each. No protection."

It was then that Amos' gaze flitted to Mrs. McCarty. Her dark hair and kind face stirred something within him, a ghost of a memory. That kindness seeped into her blue eyes, a stark contrast to his wife's fiery hazel ones. And then there was something else missing as well, the mischievous glint that his wife used and had subsequently passed on to their daughter was absent, replaced by a loving that loving warmth. His heart ached slightly at the revelation, the differences between the two women serving as a poignant reminder of what he'd lost.

Just then, at the same moment as her father locked eyes onto Mrs.McCarty, Calamity's eyes met ones that mirrored the curiosity in her own. The boy had seen her earlier, climbing from the window. He found her fascinating then, and now here she was to give him a better picture of whom exactly she was. The connection was inevitable, an invisible thread entwining their fates together.

The world seemed to slow down around them, every single note of New York fading into the background. It was a moment of understanding, a silent acknowledgment passing between two young souls, as bewildered as it was exhilarating.

Amos, noticing the exchange, stepped forward, his voice steady and clear, pulling them out of their silent reverie. "I'll offer protection." The declaration hung in the air, echoing with silent promise.

Moss agreed in the form of a curt nod, his remaining eye glinting with a sense of respect. "Protection it is, then." Voice carrying a touch of finality that left no room open for any further negotiations.

Relief washed over Calamity, the tension gnawing at her heart easing some. As she glanced at Billy, she saw the same relief mirrored in his own mesmerizing blue. Both of their plans, it seemed, were falling into place. They had a long journey ahead, but for now, they had hope.

[moon-keepers]

"Ay, we prevented our past, but we lost her... I lost her again."

[thecastlesystem]

so we have a spreadsheet with alter info. all cool, all good, it's interesting to see how we're different. but i love some of these responses.

(about making jokes about them) 'ok but only if i think they're funny'

(a symptom holder asked about being brought up in therapy) 'why would you need to?'

(about asking for comfort from them) 'why????'

(fronting indicators) 'loud voice'

[the-bi-library]

As bisexual visibility month approaches us, I wanted to highlight a few bi books we don't see people talking about much and give people some recs for bi books to read!

Books listed:

Fall Into You by Georgina Kiersten

Splinter by Jasper Hyde

Spring on the Peninsula by Ery Shin

When Tara Met Farah by Tara Pammi

Forever Is Now by Mariama J. Lockington

More to Love by Georgina Kiersten

When the Stars Alight by Camilla Andrew

Lulu Sinagtala and the City of Noble Warriors by Gail D. Villanueva

No Two Ways by Chi Yu

Exposing Lesser Demons by K.N. Robertson

Wolfpack by Rem Wigmore

A Dance of Water and Air by Antonia Aquilante

Hugged by Verity Ritchie

Where Willows Weep by Luna Fiore

Fake it by Lily Seabrooke

Small Gods of Calamity by Sam Kyung Yoo

Beyond Repair by Catherine Stein

Baptism of Fire by Jessie Thomas

Poisoned Primrose by Dahlia Donovan

Birthright by M.A. Vice

A Masc for Purim by Roz Alexander

Your Driver is Waiting by Priya Guns

Errant by L.K. Fleet

Loser of the Year by Carrie Byrd

Fortune Favors the Dead by Stephen Spotswood

Monstersona by Chloe Spencer

Scoring a Spouse by Liz Lincoln

Tengoku by Rae D. Magdon

Leaving's Not the Only Way to Go by Kay Acker

Speech and Debacles by Heather DiAngelis

Things I'll Never Say by Cassandra Newbould

Chameleon Moon by RoAnna Sylver

Allure by CEON

To Beg or Not to Beg by Cat Giraldo

Shadows Dark and Deadly by Andrea Marie Johnson

Ride with Me by Jenna Jarvis

Dearly Departed by Heather Novak

Swift and Sudden Exit by Nico Vincenty

Wishing on Winter by Brenna Bailey

Crystrals and Contracts by A. A. Fairview

Tomb of Heart and Shadow by Cara N. Delaney

False Hearts and Broken Frets by Elle Bennett

The Blood Born Dragon by J. C. Rycroft

An Act of Devotion by A. M. Leibowitz

Biting down by Torrance Sené

[voidsentprinces]

Ishikawa is just a crack genius writer, she used Meteion to not only tie off the storyline of Hydaelyn/Zodiark Arc Arc Arc. But also to tie off the Syrcus Tower Questline. If you remember the Students of Baldesion were trying to enter the Tower to begin with but didn't have the resources to really get in it. Until we came along and could fetch it easily for us. But who sent us over? Nero. And why did Nero send us over? Cause he kept getting this strange morse code from the Syrcus Tower that was trying to get in contact with him.

Now...the Syrcus Tower has us meet with Cid and G'raha. G'raha eventually is sealed into the Syrcus Tower to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. In another time line, the Eighth Umbral Calamity occurs. Cid and his descendents invent time travel by inventing a Faux Alexander. G'raha goes to the past and ends up in the First. We save the First from the Umbral Calamity and then go back to the Source with G'raha in tow.

Later during Endwalker, we use that same Syrcus Tower with the aid of Elidibus's fading spectre to go to Elpis, meet Meteion and Hermes and kick start the entire series in motion.

Okay, Void fine, we all played Endwalker we all know this. What does this have to do with Ishikawa being a crack genius writer?

Well...Nero was following a morse code coming from the Tower.

And what is a phrase Meteion and her sisters repeat after finding that most the universe is suffering or dead?

[grey822aaa]

Kantrio as Calamity Trio

No matter what you ask, I didn’t watch it lol

But Sasha is a cool name, Alexander a

You can call Zhenya, Shura and this is one name

[sforzesco]

What do you mean when you say that Pompey is a lover in a story of inescapable violence? I am extremely intrigued

the Late Republic is a stage of violence intent on gorging itself on this violence, the structure of the system leaves no other outcome.

Pompey is both someone born into this cycle and someone who is an acting hand of violence. He fashions himself after a military ideal, Alexander the Great, he positions himself as Sulla’s successor in the arena of political spectacle (rising/setting sun), he is Rome’s conquering hand.

He’s also, in Plutarch’s biography, intensely aware of matters of love and romance and does not treat them as an idle and casual affair. It is, in some way, an inherent part of his character. He is the ideal of a husband, even if it conflicts with whatever other ideals he’s supposed to embody, and apparently trades in his role as a general to remain in Rome with his wife.

We are told that Flora the courtesan, when she was now quite old, always took delight in telling about her former intimacy with Pompey, saying that she never left his embraces without bearing the marks of his teeth. Furthermore, Flora would tell how Geminius, one of Pompey's companions, fell in love with her and annoyed her greatly by his attentions; and when she declared that she could not consent to his wishes because of Pompey, Geminius laid the matter before Pompey. Pompey, accordingly, turned her over to Geminius, but never afterwards had any thing at all to do with her himself, although he was thought to be enamoured of her; and she herself did not take this treatment as a mere courtesan would, but was sick for a long time with grief and longing. (…) Moreover, Pompey also treated the wife of Demetrius his freedman (who had the greatest influence with him and left an estate of four thousand talents) with a lack of courtesy and generosity unusual in him, fearing lest men should think him conquered by her beauty, which was irresistible and far-famed. But though he was so extremely cautious in such matters and on his guard, still he could not escape the censures of his enemies on this head, but was accused of illicit relations with married women, to gratify whom, it was said, he neglected and betrayed many public interests.

Plut. Pomp. 2

All this won him admiration and affection; but on the other hand he incurred a corresponding displeasure, because he handed over his provinces and his armies to legates who were his friends, while he himself spent his time with his wife among the pleasure-places of Italy, going from one to another, either because he loved her, or because she loved him so that he could not bear to leave her; for this reason too is given. Indeed, the fondness of the young woman for her husband was notorious, although the mature age of Pompey did not invite such devotion. The reason for it, however, seems to have lain in the chaste restraint of her husband, who knew only his wedded wife, and in the dignity of his manners, which were not severe, but full of grace, and especially attractive to women, as even Flora the courtesan may be allowed to testify.

Plut. Pomp. 53

Nevertheless, the marriage was displeasing to some on account of the disparity in years; for Cornelia's youth made her a fitter match for a son of Pompey. 3 Those, too, who were more critical, considered that Pompey was neglect­ful of the unhappy condition of the city, which had chosen him as her physician and put herself in his sole charge; whereas he was decking himself with garlands and celebrating nuptials, though he ought to have regarded his very consul­ship as a calamity, since it would not have been given him in such an illegal manner had his country been prosperous.

Plut. Pomp. 55

The messenger, finding her in this mood, could not bring himself to salute her, but indicated to her the most and greatest of his misfortunes by his tears rather than by his speech, and merely bade her hasten if she had any wish to see Pompey with one ship only, and that not his own. When she heard this, she cast herself upon the ground and lay there a long time bereft of sense and speech. At last, however, and with difficulty, she regained her senses, and perceiving that the occasion was not one for tears and lamentations, she ran out through the city to the sea. Pompey met her and caught her in his arms as she tottered and was falling. "I see thee," she cried, "husband, not by thy fortune, but by mine, reduced to one small vessel, thou who before thy marriage with Cornelia didst sail this sea with five hundred ships. Why hast thou come to see me, and why didst thou not leave to her cruel destiny one who has infected thee also with an evil fortune so great? What a happy woman I had been if I had died before hearing that Publius, whose virgin bride I was, was slain among the Parthians! And how wise if, even after his death, as I essayed to do, I had put an end to my own life! But I was spared, it seems, to bring ruin also upon Pompey the Great."

So spake Cornelia, as we are told, and Pompey answered, saying: "It is true, Cornelia, thou hast known but one fortune to be mine, the better one, and this has perhaps deceived thee too, as well as me, in that it remained with me longer than is customary. But this reverse also we must bear, since we are mortals, and we must still put fortune to the test. For I can have some hope of rising again from this low estate to my former high estate, since I fell from that to this.”

Plut. Pomp. 74-75

I have some vague thought in here about how Pompey was entrusted with Rome’s safety, and that conflicts with his Lover status because you can’t love something more than Rome without Rome deciding to cast you out, and it also prevents him from reclaiming his Soldier role in the ensuing war with Caesar. Doomed by Rome, doomed by Love, doomed by Fortune, etc. but also simply the inevitable cycle of war and violence, the ever turning wheel of Rome.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Happy Disability Pride month and a big ol fuck you to Alexander Graham Bell.

Who despite having a deaf mother who he communicated with via tapping certain things to.

And thus having an understanding that she needed something other than verbal communication to understand things.

.... Saw deaf people as "a defective race".

He wanted deaf people eradicated and at his school for the deaf, he banned the use of sign language.

Yeah he saw sign language as a foreign language.

And as he was also a racist and very against immigration, he went all "we're in America and in America we speak English and only English."

So glad thats not a thing anymore...

His answer to this was that deaf people should be unable to marry other deaf people.

Lest they produce more deaf children a which he saw as a "great calamity that could ruin humanity."

Well jokes on him because 90% of deaf children are born to hearing parents.

And if you think he kept those opinions to himself... Nope.

Encouraged by him, in 1880, the Second International Congress on the Education of the Deaf was held.

164 delagates were in attendence, only one of which was deaf.

And they voted to banned sign language in schools.

As an "effort to encourage spoken language skills, and thus restore the Deaf-mute to society."

... By actively taking away what for many was the only way they could communicate in society.

People who had their own community that he wanted destroyed.

But the deaf community is still thriving.

Decades of campaigning resulted in British Sign Language bring recognised by the UK Parliament and passing the BSL Act.

... In 2022.

Yes it was technically recognised in 2003, and was legally recognised in 2015 in Scotland.

But not over all of the UK and did not have the same protections and recognition as it does now.

As of the passing of that bill, there were around 90,000 deaf people in the UK that have BSL as their first or preferred language.

Which I'm sure Alexander Graham Bell was rolling in his grave at hearing.

Also, he is credited as the inventor of the telephone but he may not actually have invented it.

So yeah Happy Disability Pride month and maybe learn some sign language.

[simplegenius042]

"What Archetypes Are Your OCs?" Quiz, Top Four Fictional Crushes and The Worst Ship Chart Ever

Tagged by @shellibisshe @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather @voidika and @imogenkol

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @icecutioner @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @rhettsabbott @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @g0dspeeed @turbo-virgins @aceghosts @afarcryfrommymain @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @wrathfulrook @softtidesworld @shallow-gravy @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cloudofbutterflies92 @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @titiagls @minilev @skoll-sun-eater @thewanderer-000 and @lulu2992 (for Top Four Fictional crushes, but you can join with the other tags if you want).

Three results for OC archetypes, a listing of four of my fictional crushes (oh fuck-) and two worst ship charts ever. You can find the quiz here. You can find these and the template for the chart below.

Three results for Archetypes for OCs from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore.

ALFRED "JEFF" HOPPER (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

I don't this is necessarily correct. Throughout the first two sagas (The Pefect Storm and The Omniscient Rule sagas), Jeff has been nothing more than a supporting and often times tertiary protagonist. Maybe not a main but definitely important. He has moments of selfishness, sure, but that's not often. The only really selfish "messed shit up for everyone" moment was when he took the opportunity to change course of events which worsened the space-time continuum while he had been helping the Time Guard chase after a time-travelling mass serial killer fugitive who had been making Time unstable in the first place, which wasn't even out of malicious intent, rather he just wanted his bestest friend back from non-existence, that being Lena Elliot. So yeah, he screwed up, but not to a villainous extent.

ALEXANDER KHAOS (THE SILVER CHRONICLES)

Oh god another villain result. Which... is more accurate for Alexander than it is for Jeff. He's more of an antagonist to Silva, that's for sure (being the right-hand man and Chosen Extraordinaire, which is basically Jacob's top elite Chosen, of Jacob Seed). He has unresolved trauma in regards to his time in Wellington Wells and has embraced his role in Hope County in Eden's Gate, though if a stronger or more ideological compatible person came around, he'd take his loyalists (which includes Hannah McCalkin) and leave Jacob behind.

ALPH DOLEN (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE)

Link to Minecraft Poem for anyone interested. Oh good, I worried it wasn't going to be different. And OH WOW! Alph got read to filth here. Kind of ironic that he craves love and wants to be surrounded by love but is the "Lone Wanderer". Doubly ironic when he's ghoulified... something that should be where he is rejected by everyone and everything, but ends up with more than he could ever ask for, especially with Ress and Amata... until Arcane Urias ruins everything, as he does.

Here's the list of my top four fictional crushes:

Maki Zen'in - Jujutsu Kaisen (Specifically post-Shibuya Arc)

(I want to be lifted up and carried bridal-style in her arms)

2. Soundwave - Transformers Prime (when I was young and both completely blind without glasses I didn't know I required and literacy blind to whatever I was watching, I thought this Soundwave (the only one I had been introduced to at the time) was female... he's still pretty aesthetically pleasing though, cool AF, and a caring parent to Laserbeak so...)

3. Faith Seed - Far Cry 5 (daydreaming-about-frollicking-in-green-flower-fields-and-living-in-cozy-cottages lesbians UNITE!)

(however fair warning she might get you high enough to talk to God and try to convince you to join her older adoptive brother's cult)

4. GLaDOS - Portal

(...her soothing condescending voice that belittles and tries to get you killed and her smooth + robust curves in her awesome design enchant me...)

Honourable Mention goes to (look'em up):

5. Sea Empress - Subnautica

Two of the worst ship charts for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters.

Translation for the unreadable:

What draws them together? Initially the mystery surrounding each other as no one except a very specific few know much about their former lives, and their opposing factions forces them to interact a lot, and thanks to the Bliss, that's what they mostly end up doing. Plus they mostly fit each others preferences.

What stands in the way? They are at war in two opposing factions, one that wants to kill/detain (Resistance) and the other that will kill but will try to indoctrinate Silva (Eden's Gate). Opposing morality, beliefs and trust issues also get in the way.

What are their good traits? Silva and Faith find companionship with another due to their similar past/current circumstances, and Silva's compassion and unexpected kindness is bizarre and appealing to Faith, as her cunning and passions are appealing to Silva. Both are willing to sabotage their own factions to keep the other around a bit longer, plus their determination to find a peaceful resolution.

What makes them hopeless at romance? Trust, or lack there of. Silva is weary that Faith will report anything she says to Joseph to better get her into Eden's Gate, while Faith is weary that Silva is trying to get close to manipulate her into coming out into the open to better take her down. Both are correct in the beginning but later down the line it gets muddied. Silva also refuses to speak of her past (understandable) except for the vaguest of truths while Faith doesn't fully open herself up in fear of being scorned. Not to mention it's been a long while since Silva had been in a romantic relationship and Faith is very inexperienced.

Describe them with one trope: Toxic Toxic "I can fix her" & "I can make her worse/better" Enemies-To-Lovers Yuri.

Translation for the unreadable (Also note that when Jennifer is talking about her partner, it's mostly complaining about Sonya, and Sonya's image is more a reference to what I closely envision her as):

What draws them together? They both fail to kill each other and have a bone to pick with both Dicko and Sir Enigma Malvolio and they're also considered "non-human" now.

What stands in their way? Sonya is unstable to the point she's agitated enough to kill others on instinct which Jennifer is trying to control much to Sonya's distaste. There's also the fact Sonya is like a 12-foot something mecha-beastie which she doesn't think Jennifer finds attractive. Jennifer is in denial of her feelings and believes if she loses control of Sonya then it will be right back to square-one like it was with Dicko or she'd die, either one.

What are their good traits? They both have a common interest revenge against Dicko (successful) and Malvolio (work-in-progress), and Sonya acts as Jennifer's trump card and intimidation factor in their illegal business. Both also have an appreciation for their brutal honesty and openness with one another and relatability (with Jennifer as a synthetic human and Sonya's brain transferred to a mecha-beastie). They have no problems committing murder together.

What makes them hopeless at romance? Jennifer is used to being treated as an object of lust and since her freedom from Dicko and take over of his business has pushed to be in control of everything (including Sonya) and is trying to ensure she doesn't lose that control and denying all romantic/sexual feelings, while Sonya is a victim of Malvolio and his treatment of her has left a lot of psychological scars where she dehumanizes herself and does everything in her power to prove it correct too.

Describe them with one trope: Toxic "I can make you so-so-so worse baby" bloody murder Yuri situationship/partnership on a mission of revenge with a pinch of monsterfucking and goes from "I want to kill you" to "I'd kill for you" pipeline.

Template below:

[dweemeister]

Whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I.

Born to a turbulent family on a Mississippi farm, James Earl Jones passed away today. He was ninety-three years old. Abandoned by his parents as a child and raised by a racist grandmother (although he later reconciled with his actor father and performed alongside him as an adult), the trauma of his childhood developed into a stutter that followed him through his primary school years – sometimes, his stutter was so debilitating, he could not speak at all. In high school, Jones found in an English teacher someone who found in him a talent for written expression, and encouraged him to write and recite poetry in class. He overcame his stutter by graduation, although the effects of it carried over for the remainder of his life.

Jones' most accomplished roles may have been on the Broadway stage, where he won three Tonys (twice winning Best Actor in a Play for originating the lead roles in 1969's The Great White Hope by Howard Sackler and 1987's Fences by August Wilson) and was considered one of the best Shakespearean actors of his time.

But his contributions to cinema left an impact on audiences, too. Jones received an Honorary Academy Award alongside makeup artist Dick Smith (1972's The Godfather, 1984's Amadeus) in 2011. From the end of Hollywood's Golden Age to the dawn of the summer Hollywood blockbuster in the 1970s to the present, Jones' presence – and his basso profundo voice – could scarcely be ignored. Though he could not sing like Paul Robeson nor had the looks of Sidney Poitier, his presence and command put him in league of both of his acting predecessors.

Ten of the films James Earl Jones appeared in, whether in-person or voice acting, follow (left-right, descending):

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) – directed by Stanley Kubrick; also starring Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, Keenan Wynn, and Slim Pickens

The Great White Hope (1970) – directed by Martin Ritt; also starring Jane Alexander, Chester Morris, Hal Holbrook Beah Richards, and Moses Gunn

Star Wars saga (1977-2019; A New Hope pictured) – multiple directors, as the voice of Darth Vader, also starring Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Peter Cushing, Alec Guinness, Billy Dee Williams, Anthony Daniels, David Prowse, Kenny Baker, Peter Mayhew, and Frank Oz

Claudine (1974) – directed by John Berry; also starring Diahann Carroll, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, and Tamu Blackwell

Conan the Barbarian (1982) – directed by John Milius; also starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sandahl Bergman, Ben Davidson, Cassandra Gaviola, Gerry Lopez, Mako, Valerie Quennessen, William Smith, and Max von Sydow

Coming to America series (1988 and 2021; original pictured) – multiple directors; also starring Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall, John Amos, Madge Sinclair, Shari Headley, Jermaine Fowler, Leslie Jones, Tracy Morgan, and KiKi Layne

The Hunt for Red October (1990) – directed by John McTiernan; also starring Sean Connery, Alec Baldwin, Scott Glenn, and Sam Neill

The Sandlot (1993) – directed by David Mickey Evans; also staring Tom Guiry, Mike Vitar, Patrick Renna, Chauncey Leopardi, Marty York, Brandon Adams, Grant Gelt, Shane Obedzinski, Victor DiMattia, Denis Leary, and Karen Allen

The Lion King (1994) – directed by Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff, as the voice of Mufasa; also starring Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Matthew Broderick, Jeremy Irons, Moira Kelly, Niketa Calame, Ernie Sabella, Nathan Lane, and Robert Guillaume, Rowan Atkinson, Whoopi Goldberg, Cheech Marin, Jim Cummings, and Madge Sinclair

Field of Dreams (1989) – directed by Phil Alden Robinson; also starring Kevin Costner, Amy Madigan, Ray Liotta, and Burt Lancaster

[gm-warlic]

DragonFable Timeline

Hello again my friends! Now that Book 3 is complete, I am back with an updated timeline complete with holiday events! It isn't perfect, as I am missing the most recent holiday events (really hoping I can fit those into Book 4 or the space between Books 3 & 4), but I think this is a pretty accurate timeline overall, perfect for all those wanting to play the game all the way through now that Book 3 is finished.

(One thing to remember is that not all holiday events happen exactly on the holiday itself, and not all are explicitly a year after the last event. I have placed certain holiday events in the same year where it makes sense to do so)

Book 1

Year 1

A Hero is Born Bored

Oaklore

Falconreach

Undead Assault

Sepulchure's Flying Fortress

Ice Dragon War

Frostval Chapter 1: A Frostval Tale

(This technically isn't actually the holiday itself, but instead the event that leads to the Frost Moglins creating the holiday, so it does not necessarily have to happen at the same time of the year as the holiday. After all, Jesus wasn't born in December)

Dragon Egg Saga

Robina→The Hatching

Sunbreeze Grove

DragonLord Training

Willowshire Burns

Amityvale

Haunted House

Crystal Clear Lake

Graveyard (Meet Artix)

Sir Ano's Quests

Beach Invasion 

Amityvale 

Vampire Tower

War at See

Mogloween Chapter 1: First Mogloween

Saving Lymcrest

Thankstaking Chapters 1→3

Sunbreeze Grove

Titans of BattleOn

Frostval Chapter 2: Out in the Cold!

Year 2

Wind Orb Saga

Water Breathing Potions

Nythera Saga

Stocking the Shelves→It's Elementary!

Wind Orb Saga

Pirates vs Ninjas War→Sepulchure

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 1→2

Lucky Day Chapters 1 & 3

Nythera Saga

Potion Mastery

Darkness Orb Saga

Save Moonridge!→Moonridge: Saved!

Light Orb Saga

Meeting Zhoom→Dynasty Tomb

Darkness Orb Saga

The Outcast

Nythera Saga 

The Storm→The Storm War

Darkness Orb Saga

The Gate Keeper→Extra Credit

Light Orb Saga

The Sandwich→Death From Below!

Ice Orb Saga

Mogloween Chapter 3: Mogloween Theft

Archknight

Thankstaking Chapter 4: Gooble-ocalypse

Energy Orb Saga

Frostval Chapter 3: Lumps of Coal!

Year 3

Fire Orb Saga

A Letter From Home→The Ultimate Weapon

Vilmor Saga

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 3: Change of Heart

Lucky Day Chapter 4: (Somewhere over the Rainbow Bridge)

Fire Orb Saga

Going East→Epilogue

Water Orb Saga

Mogloween Chapters 4→5

Tomix Saga

Highway→Museum

The Clashening

Thankstaking Chapter 5: Welcomegiving!

Nythera Saga

Into the Void→Face Your Destiny

Tomix Saga

Penitentiary→The End?

Darkness Orb Saga

A Dark Letter→Memory-Demons

Tomix Saga

Meeting Aegis→Soulweaver Training

Frostval Chapter 4: Frosty Reception

Year 4

Earth Orb Saga

Dravir Siege→Gorgok?

Spy Saga

Earth Orb Saga

Guardian Tower?→The Whole Truth

Nythera Saga

Know Your Nature→Embrace Your Destiny 

Earth Orb Saga

The Temple→Hidden Blades

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 4: The Greatest Hug of All

Lucky Day Chapter 5: Unlucky Escape

The Final 13th

Between

True Mortal: The Rise of Nivalis

Alexander's Saga 

(Not when the events actually occur, but when you should play the questline)

Book 2

Elemental Dissonance

Introduction: Flames in the Dark→A Brief Respite

Mogloween Chapter 6: 48 Weeks Later 

Elemental Dissonance

To Atrea→The Hunt Begins

Thankstaking Chapter 6: The Biggest Thankstaking Ever!

Elemental Dissonance

Appointment

Frostval Chapters 5→6

Year 5

Elemental Dissonance

North→The Merge

Between  

Thankstaking Chapter 7: Good Gravy!

(Yes, this is while the Hero is frozen. But these events actually don't need the Hero to be present to happen exactly as they do, and the feast has character models from both Book 1 and Book 3)

Book 3

Year 5/13

The End of Magic

Hero is Thawed→Player Hatching

Ravenloss

To Edelia→The Headmaster

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 5: The Threat List!

Calamity

13th 13th

Popsmashed

Ravenloss

The Gnomes Gnow→Autumn Wind

The End of Magic

The Rose Tree→Sands of Eternity

Ravenloss

Desert Night→Tithril

Blood and Roses

Full Moon War→Swamp Lake

Ravenloss

Deep Void→The Codex

The End of Magic

Discover Sulen'Eska

Song on the Wind→Dancing Breeze

Calamity

Forest Hunt→The Evil Artifact

Mogloween Chapters 7→8

Thankstaking Chapters 8→10

Frostval Chapters 7→8

Year 6/14

The End of Magic

Smoke in the Trees→Chains of Command

Blood and Roses

Neron's Request→Blood Patrol: Weres

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 7: The Love Ship

Lucky Day Chapters 6→7

Ravenloss

Into the Ynnungaap→Epilogue 

The End of Magic

Haven on the Horizon→The Siege of Haven

Calamity 

Serenity Before the Storm

Mogloween Chapter 9: Candy Troubles 

Calamity

The Valtrith Tomb→Breaking Down

Thankstaking Chapter 11: Attack of the Filler Golems!

Blood and Roses

The Locket→Blood and Roses

Frostval Chapters 9→10

Year 7/15

Calamity

Shattered→Ashes

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 8: Bubble Trouble

Lucky Day Chapter 9: Cysero's Golden Eggs

The End of Magic

One Step Forward→Trust

The Shears

Oculus Tower→ Shear Destruction

Ravenloss

Just Chillin'

The End of Magic

Melissa→ A Day for Farewells

Calamity

Madness→ Weal

The Nest

The Nest→ Leaving the Nest

The End of Magic

Unbound→ Timelines

The Thorns

Dark Devices

The Nest

Epilogue

Mogloween Chapter 10: Bubble Trouble 

Calamity

Corruption→Epilogue 

Thankstaking Chapter 12: The Felonious Five

Frostval Chapters 11→13

Year 8/16

The End of Magic

The Tournament of Champions

The Thorns

Enigmatic Epidemic→Artifact Heist

Six Heroes

Return to Lymcrest→The Burning Village

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 9→11

The Maleurous

Sinnocence→Remthalas

The Thorns

A New Student→Theano: A Thorn's Story

The Maleurous

Mr. Nameless

Ravenloss

Secundus

The Maleurous

Archive E-189-L

Six Heroes

The Apprentice→ ANOMALY 

The Maleurous

The Angel of Azaveyr→Myalos

Mogloween Chapters 11→15

(Time in Apsaydaaun is stated to move differently than on Lore, so these could all feasibly happen in the same month)

The Maleurous 

Iconoclasm→Reality

The Thorns

Fear

The Maleurous

Epilogue: Remembrance 

Thankstaking Chapters 13→14

The Thorns

Fortress of Thorns→Epilogue: Loose Ends

Frostval Chapter 15: The Great Giftnapping

Year 9/17

The End of Magic

My Spot→Khvorost

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 12→13

The End of Magic

A Petal Falls→Plans Entwined 

The First Weaver

Introduction→Father of Mine

The End of Magic

Out of Control→Sunfall: Part 2

Mogloween Chapter 17: The Ebil Dread

(Technically this would be partway through Storm in the Night, as I imagine it as the Hero stopping in Falconreach on their way to Doomwood, but the quest skips from talking in Swordhaven to arriving in Doomwood)

The First Weaver

From the Citadel with Love→Marzanna

The End of Magic

Storm in the Night→Broken Circuit (Part 1)

The First Weaver

The Beginning of the End→The End of the Beginning

The End of Magic

Broken Circuit (Part 2)→Of Duty and Dragons

Thankstaking Chapters 16-17

The End of Magic 

Speaker and Slayer→Reasons to Fight

Frostval Chapter 16: The Grand Snowfight

The End of Magic

Into the Unknown→Awakened Depths (Epilogue)

Frostval Chapter 17: The Reindragon

Year 10/18

The End of Magic

The Point of No Return (Part 1)→The End of Magic (Epilogue)

I hope you enjoy the timeline! (It took a lot of work to put together) Battle On!

[targwh0re]

Untamable Equine

Summary: Calamity takes her first steps on her road to disaster

Warning: Gun, blood (nothing gory or anything but you never know what might trigger someone)

A/N: So I first posted this on Wattpad but I figured I’d bring it over here to share with y’all

(THE BANDITTI OF THE PRAIRIES.

A TALE OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY)

CHAPTER. I.

"THE valley of the Mississippi River from its earliest settlement has been more infested with the reckless and the bloodstained men, than any other part of the country, being more congenial to their habits and offering the great inducements to follow their nefarious and dangerous trade.

Situated as it is, of great commercial importance, and the river who's name it bears, together with its tributaries stretching four thousand miles north from the Gulf of Mexico, and draining all the country south and west of the great chain of Lakes, and between the Allegheny and Rocky Mountains, it has afforded them an unequalled chance to escape detection and pursuit, and thus wooed as it were, countless villains and blood-stained, law-doomed ones to screen themselves in its bosom.

Organized bands, trampling upon right, and defying all law human or divine, have so annoyed the peaceful and quiet citizens of this great valley, that in the absence of a sufficient judicial power the aid of "Judge Lynch" has been but too frequently called in, and a neighboring tree proved a gallows and "a short shrift and strong cord" been the doom of those who have ever plead vainly for mercy at his bar."

Basking in the shade underneath the sun-dappled canopy of an ancient sycamore, on the cusp of a serpentine trail, a girl named Calamity Grace found herself lost in the timeworn pages of Edward Bonney's 'Banditti of the Prairie.' This book, a gateway further into a world not so terribly distant from her own, was an ever present companion for the spirited young girl. Their winding path was leading them closer to the bustling heartbeat of New York, a city that existed like a mirage in her eagerly expectant mind.

For Calamity, who was christened as such in memory of her mother's death, the trail was home. So, having always lived on the countryside, the thought of an actual city seemed like a far-off dream. Her Pa, a brawny robust man with a heart and spirit as boundless as the plains they traversed, was her only family. I mean, sure, she had kin in her aunts and uncle back up at the family's farm in Virginia, but they had long since abandoned the wild unpredictability of the trail in favor of settling down. Not her Pa though, her Ma had died on the trail and he was still here, headed to New York to work as protection to those traveling West on the wagon trains. He was less a conventional father and more of a boisterous older brother, his eyes always alight with mischief, sporting a grin that seemed to outstretch the horizon itself. People always told her she had his smile.

Disrupting the tranquil silence, a shadow lumbered towards her until it swallowed her up in its darkness, his big bellied laugh echoing and ripping through the quietude. "Calamity, you're obsessed, honey." He started, plucking the book from her fingers just as one plucks the petals from the pulp of a flower. "You need to make some friends beyond the ones in these dusty, old pages. Or someone who ain't a book for that matter." Amos, he wore that signature grin, the limited sunlight setting his hair and the scars that littered his body aglow. To most he was an intimidating foe, but when his little girl looked up into those eyes like an open expanse of blue sky, the only feeling she felt was home.

His playful jest kindled a spark of laughter in Calamity's eyes. He held the book within arms reach, teasing, challenging her. She sprang to her feet, her nimble fingers reaching out for the purloined leather-bound pages. A dance of playful tussle ensued as he pulled the book back at the very last second, so as to leave her agile little hand grappling with the air. His chesire grin was more arrogant now. Calamity didn't mind, sending back an even more mischievous smile to mirror his own, her eyes alight.

They continued this game of back and forth, each time Calamity becoming closer to her end goal. With frustration nipping at her heels, she could feel the pressure of the book zipping through the air, tickling the tips of her fingers. It all came to an end however, halting abruptly when Calamity tripped and scrapped her knee against a jagged rock.

Though getting quicker, she had still been no match for the stone that caught her unsuspecting and sent her stumbling down bloody to the hard packed earth. She immediately dropped down as a shock of pain went through her body. Her hands instinctively coming up to cradle the broken skin, tears welling up in her eyes. She could feel the sting of the air mixing with her cut as blood welled up freely from between her fingers .

She heard the book collide angrily against the ground, dust shooting up to create a film aimlessly on top of it. Amos collapsed at her side only a moment later. The sight of blood had quickly dissolved the laughter in her father's eyes, replaced by the familiar warmth of a parent's love. His voice softened as he insisted, "Move your hands away, let me see it, Calamity."

As he examined her scrapped knee, Calamity's keen eyes saw a glimmer behind him, and it wasn't from her tears left unshed. As she pieced together the fact that it was the sparkling of a river, an idea began to blossom in her sharp mind, sweet revenge tickling at the edges of her brain.

She saw her opportunity.

Seizing the chance, Calamity just 'gave him a little push' she would later go on to say, sending him sprawling back into the river. It rose up to greet his fallen form, creating an outline of his defeat. His surprised laughter echoed, reverberating through the clearing, merging with her own unladylike giggles that escaped past her lips in triumph.

Heaving himself back up onto the bank, he shook out his golden locks in her direction, making her squeal in delight. Though when he shook his head again it was in disbelief. "Now, how about you tell me how you noticed that, and I didn't?" He questioned, eyes twinkling with pride and intrigue.

Mimicking his teachings, she replied, "I did what you always tell me to do," her voice mirroring the hum of the river, "observe and listen."

As they lay sprawled out in the grassy field, the sun drying her Pa's clothes, he steered the conversation back to the book. Calamity Grace, her eyes reflecting the endless sky above, began to narrate the captivating tales of outlaws and their thrilling escapades with fascination twinkling in her eyes.

Her voice was bummed with fervor as she spoke, something that only a young heart could command, her words painting countless pictures and weaving vivid images of a life marked by excitement and all the other thrills that sort of life had to offer.

"I want to experience that," she confessed, almost as if she was just whispering it to the wind. A determined glint filled up her deep brown irises, "I want to know what it's like."

Her Pa, taken aback, slowly adjusted his head so that he was facing the side of her own. "Why would you want to go and do such a silly thing like that?"

With the rivers soft murmur serving as a backdrop to safeguard her secrets, she responded with, "So I can taste what it's like to be truly free, Pa." Her voice, unwavering, carried with it the hardness of the outlaws she so admired.

The sun was setting over the New Mexico landscape, casting long shadows that danced across the expanse of plains. Little Calamity now sat cross-legged in the grass, her freckled face glowing in the waning light. Her declaration hung in the air, a bold statement of intent that seemed to echo across the vast, open landscape. It staled in the air, something the girl seemed to pay no mind to and if she did, she didn't show it.

Amos, a grizzled veteran of countless gunfights and a man who had seen both the best and the worst that the West had to offer, was taken aback by her words. He sat up abruptly, his worn leather boots digging into the soft earth. His gaze fell upon his only child, the spitting imagine of himself and her beloved Ma. His heart clenched as he pondered her words, teetering with them in his mind.

Without saying a word, he had now risen all the way up onto his feet, striding over to his saddlebag. His hand disappeared into the worn leather pouch, emerging with a weighty object. He blocked his daughter's view with his broad back, the physical representation of his internal battle only increased the chaos going on inside of his mind as he now contemplated the object resting in his hands. It was a pistol, a brutal testament to the harsh realities of the Wild West, a harbinger of life and death.

His mind was a tangle of thoughts, like a tumbleweed caught in a desert wind. Would he be promoting violence by reaching her how to handle a firearm? Or was he simply preparing her?

Slowly, he turned to face his daughter at long last, pistol still cradled in his calloused hands. The rays from the sun caught on the gunmetal, causing it to gleam ominously. "Calamity," he called, his voice a gravely whisper carried on the wind. "Come here."

She rose to her feet, curiosity dancing in her dark eyes. She stepped towards him, her small boots leaving light impressions on the grass. He held the gun out to her, his heart pounding in his chest.

The pistol was a thing of brutal beauty, a testament to the deadly craftsmanship of the 1800s. It was a Colt Single Action Army revolver, its body a sleek expanse of steel, forged and tempered to withstand the rigors of frontier life. The grip was pristine white, made from the finest ivory to represent purity and elegance, adorned with intricate carvings that Amos had commissioned when Calamity was born. A rearing mustang, a symbol of untamable freedom, was etched into the wood of the ivory, its wild spirit mirroring that of its intended owner.

Casting a glance towards the boys, who were currently engaged in a game of horseshoes a little distance away, Amos led Calamity farther off into the rolling hills as their laughter echoed in the wind behind them. The world around them eventually fell away until it was just the two of them surrounded by natures natural and foreign song that was the star beauty of the West in both father and daughter's eyes.

"The gun ain't a toy, Calamity," he began, his voice stern yet gentle. He showed her how to hold the firearm, how to aim, how to squeeze the trigger and not pull. "Pulling the trigger is a careless act, no way to know if your aim will be true. But when you pull that trigger is when you really mean it, you hear me?" It wasn't a question.

The recoil jarred her much smaller arm, a sharp reminder of the weapon's lethal power, she could feel the surge of empowerment coursing through her veins now. She didn't flinch, her young face set in a steely determination that made Amos's heart swell with pride.

And the recoil that was still rattling her arm didn't just fill her with sensation, a thrill raced down her spine. It was intoxicating to her, feeling like she could protect both herself and others with the simple squeeze of the hairpin trigger. She felt invincible, responsible for life and death if her small hands so chose. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears like the beat of a drum following no specific rhythm or pattern. A symphony of fear, excitement, and pure joy swam through her ears. She was not just a girl traveling the Wild, Wild West; she was a force to be reckoned with.

As the echo of gunshots reverberated off the plains, Amos watched his daughter, her face still being illuminated by the setting sun, eyes ablaze with newfound knowledge. With pride, there can sometimes come equal parts dread. He felt a pang of foreboding, a dark shadow that began seeping in at the edges of his heart as he watched her hand, clutching the ivory handled pistol in a tight resolve. This was a dangerous place, it's beauty matched only by a brutality Calamity had only ever read about. His smile slowly faded, replaced by a contemplative frown. For some reason he found himself reflecting on her name.

Calamity Grace. A disaster disguised as beauty.

The irony of her birth had not been lost on him. She was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, and she had taken the woman he had loved more than anything. He didn't blame her, nor did he harbor any resentment. Instead, he loved her more if that was even possible. He decided to find humor in the situation, a bittersweet coping mechanism he supposed .

But now aside, still remained entirely glued to his little girl holding that instrument of power and danger, he couldn't help but wonder to himself. Would she become a calamity to others one day? Would her desire for freedom and her spirit of rebellion lead her to getting her wish and becoming an outlaw, bringing disaster to other towns and people? Would she one day live up to her name, and send a shiver of fear down the spines of those who dared to utter her name?

These thoughts worried him. His heart clenched with a father's worry. A father fear that they can't protect their own child from themselves. His little girl, his Calamity Grace, was standing on in the precipice of a path that could lead to an uncontrollable life of danger and uncertainty. He could only pray that she would navigate this wild frontier with the wisdom and strength he knew she'd inherited from her Ma.

He had given her a tool of survival, a piece of the harsh reality they lived in. But in her hands, it was more than just a weapon, it was a symbol of her will to carve her own path in this world, a testament to her spirit that was as wild and free as the rearing Mustang etched onto the guns handle.

He stood there, the sun dipping below the horizon his daughter by his side, he made a silent vow to a spirit resting in a grave. He would guide her, teach her, and stand by her, come what may. Because no matter what she was his little girl, his Calamity Grace, a disaster masked by beauty. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

But life has a funny way of doing whatever it likes doesn't it?

[tallbluelady]

Your OC, Rowan, is alone in a supposedly haunted building or abandoned ruin.

Rowan had been in an odd mood since she overheard Y'shtola and Urianger's conversation about her aether. That Urianger was hiding aught from her but sought to court her... Well, the ruins surrounding Fannow had called to her to explore just then. Unfortunately, their so-called ally had to taunt her newly improving skills in magic after she cut her hand. She was certain he was left behind, but her skin was still crawling from meeting Emet-Selch. She was a bit surprised that Lahabrea hadn't caused as much irritation while he possessed Thancred, because she did remember Nabriales doing so. Mayhap the Ascians could cloak their aether when they possessed someone. I wonder what Urianger thinks about that...

She sighed at that thought. Despite the fact that he was lying to her, at least by omission, Rowan still felt drawn to Urianger. He sought to be her refuge during this time and with his mere presence and gentle words he was. And whenever he soothed the young Minfilia, Rowan felt her heart melt. There was plenty to want.

If you looked past the secrets.

She supposed there was an irony that the man she trusted the least was being the most forthright with information about the state of her soul. He created the Garlean Empire, and revels in it. Forthrightness means nothing in the face of that.

Rowan then tilted her head. There was a soft hum under the general cacophony of the forest. She pushed a curtain of vines and the hum got louder. She gasped when she saw a figure laid out on a bed of sorts. She tapped on a few tiles with her rapier first - though the weapon was expensive, it would be replaceable - and found nothing strange there. After giving the room a once over for any Ronkan Owls and finding none, she tossed a stone near the bed to see if the occupant would awaken before stepping closer to them. With the figure remaining immobile, Rowan approached.

Twas a male figure, with Viera - Viis, here - features and besides the lime green paint on his face, he was deathly, wickedly white. He was surrounded by dried flowers and small trinkets. Offerings?

"Dead, I hope. Poor bastard looks like he was on the brink of turning," Ardbert said, appearing next to Rowan.

"Tis almost as if someone put him in stasis to prevent that from happening..." she murmured, thinking back to Alexander. She pulled back her hand at that thought.

"Scared to touch the dead, hero?" Emet-Selch drawled from the doorway.

Rowan saw Ardbert give a snarl that she wanted to give the Ascian. She rolled her eyes. "I'm using an onze of caution, Ascian. There could be any number of enchantments on the figure. I only have my one body to inhabit, and I intend to keep it whole."

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow and sauntered closer. Rowan felt her hackles raise and maneuvered so that he wasn't blocking the doorway. "From what you're doing with the Lightwardens, I'd say that you're doing a rather poor job of it. Or are you saving yourself to be a proper sacrifice?"

"What else is there to be done? I don't see you taking upon the Lightwarden's aether, though mayhap it would do you some good to struggle."

"The defeat of the Lightwardens and the salvation of this world is your trial, hero. I may offer aid, but the heavy lifting is left to you and yours. If you cannot solve that problem on your own, then what use are you to solving mine?"

"I suppose you'll have your way no matter the outcome. You either get a reliable ally, or this shard collapses into a proper calamity." Rowan shook her head. "Anyroad, I've enough of you for the day. I'll return to the others so you don't feel so comfortable bothering me. After I've paid my respects."

With that, she knelt at the dais of the figure and placed a few pressed blossoms she kept in her pack. Though it never felt as if it was enough, she whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods the Viis had in life. Then she felt the rush of an Echo vision.

*   *   *

This wasn't a typical vision, Rowan realized, as she felt she had control of herself. The Viis man tilted his head, studying her. He had dark mahogany skin and black hair in life. And green eyes that matched his face paint.

"Why do you feel so familiar?" he asked in the accent of the Fannow villagers.

Rowan shrugged. "I'm close to you in the waking world."

The man's ears twitched. "There's another familiar presence... and then a putrid one."

"Aye, that would describe my companions at the moment... But who are you? Are you still alive?" Rowan asked.

"They called me Moth Orchid when I was still walking. Though my soul hasn't returned to the lifestream, I can't claim to be one of the living."

She gave a sad hum and shook her head.

"I'll have to release you from this state - you can't be safe with Emet-Selch nearby."

"How do you know it's him?" she asked.

"I met him! A lover of mine became infatuated with him and his secrets. But he cannot be trusted. Even if he says that he wants to work with you, it's... it's not truly you he wants. It's a ghost, a shade he seeks."

Rowan nodded. "Thank you for the clarity. I need every clue I can get to deal with him."

Moth Orchid nodded back. "Anything for a fellow adventurer, Rowan. Were there a way to do aught more than just warn you... though mayhap..."

He reached out his hand and Rowan mirrored him. There was a warmth, then another rush.

*   *   *

Rowan gasped as the world fell back into place. She was still kneeling at the dais but Moth Orchid's body was gone. A whirl of wind floated the flowers and dust, catching on the shafts of light that peeked through the ceiling of the chamber. One of her pressed blossoms settled neatly on her hand, almost as if Moth Orchid placed it there himself.

She turned, and found Ardbert was still kneeling next to her.

"Emet-Selch left as soon as you started praying. Almost as if he couldn't stand your sincerity for the moment."

"Did... did you know who that was?" Rowan asked, motioning to the empty dais.

He shook his head. "I don't think I ever saw him before the flood. And I would remember if I saw him in my listless wanderings."

"His name was Moth Orchid. He was an adventurer like you and me."

"Was he now? Just proves how harrowing this job is. As if my presence wasn't enough."

Rowan shrugged and gathered her possessions. Taking stock of herself, she felt much more at ease. What ever Moth Orchid was able to give would see her to the next step, at the very least.

She never even worried that he knew her name.